Hamlet, Act 2, Scene 2. Polonius.
Modern version:
“You may wonder if the stars are fire, You may wonder if the sun moves across the sky. You may wonder if the truth is a liar, But never wonder if I love.”
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If my dear love were but the child… It might for Fortune’s bastard be… As subject to Time’s love or to T… Weeds among weeds, or flowers with… No, it was builded far from accide…
Poor soul, the centre of my sinful… These rebel powers that thee array… Why dost thou pine within and suff… Painting thy outward walls so cost… Why so large cost, having so short…
From fairest creatures we desire i… That thereby beauty’s rose might n… But as the riper should by time de… His tender heir might bear his mem… But thou, contracted to thine own…
All the world’s a stage, And all the men and women merely p… They have their exits and their en… And one man in his time plays many… His acts being seven ages. At fir…
Betwixt mine eye and heart a leagu… And each doth good turns now unto… When that mine eye is famished for… Or heart in love with sighs himsel… With my love’s picture then my eye…
Let the bird of loudest lay, On the sole Arabian tree, Herald sad and trumpet be, To whose sound chaste wings obey. But thou, shrieking harbinger,
Let not my love be called idolatry… Nor my belovèd as an idol show, Since all alike my songs and prais… To one, of one, still such, and ev… Kind is my love today, tomorrow ki…
Blow, blow, thou winter wind Thou art not so unkind As man’s ingratitude; Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen,
If music be the food of love, play… Give me excess of it, that, surfei… The appetite may sicken, and so di… That strain again! it had a dying… O, it came o’er my ear like the sw…
Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more… Men were deceivers ever; One foot in sea, and one on shore, To one thing constant never. Then sigh not so,
IT was a lording’s daughter, the… That liked of her master as well a… Till looking on an Englishman, th… Her fancy fell a-turning. Long was the combat doubtful that…
What’s in the brain that ink may c… Which hath not figured to thee my… What’s new to speak, what now to r… That may express my love, or thy d… Nothing, sweet boy, but yet, like…
That thou art blam’d shall not be… For slander’s mark was ever yet th… The ornament of beauty is suspect, A crow that flies in heaven’s swee… So thou be good, slander doth but…
WHEN daisies pied and violets bl…    And lady-smocks all silver-w… And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue    Do paint the meadows with de… The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Tired with all these, for restful… As to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimmed in jolli… And purest faith unhappily forswor… And gilded honour shamefully mispl…