Poems List

But to my mind,—though I am native here And to the manner born—it is a custom More honor’d in the breach than the observance.

I, iv, l. 14

But virtue, as it never will be mov’d, Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven, So lust, though to a radiant angel link’d, Will sate itself in a celestial bed, And prey on garbage.

I, v, l. 53

But whate’er you are That in this desert inaccessible, Under the shade of melancholy boughs, Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time; If ever you have look’d on better days, If ever been where bells have knoll’d to church, If ever sat at any good man’s feast, If ever from your eyelids wip’d a tear, And know what ’tis to pity, and be pitied, Let gentleness my strong enforcement be.

II, vii, l. 109

But when I tell him he hates flatterers, He says he does, being then most flattered.

II, i, l. 207

But yesterday the word of Caesar might Have stood against the world; now lies he there, And none so poor to do him reverence.

III, ii, l. 124

But yet I’ll make assurance double sure, And take a bond of fate.

IV, i, l. 83

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But, alas! to make me A fixed figure for the time of scorn To point his slow and moving finger at.

IV, ii, l. 52

But, for my own part, it was Greek to me. 26

I, ii, l. 288

But, look, the morn in russet mantle clad, Walks o’er the dew of yon high eastern hill.

I, i, l. 166

By heaven methinks it were an easy leap To pluck bright honor from the pale-fac’d moon, Or dive into the bottom of the deep, Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, And pluck up drowned honor by the locks.

I, iii, l. 201

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