O hell! what have we here?
A carrion Death, within whose empty eye
There is a written scroll! I'll read the writing.
All that glitters is not gold;
Often have you heard that told:
Many a man his life hath sold
But my outside to behold:
Gilded tombs do worms enfold.
Had you been as wise as bold,
Young in limbs, in judgment old,
Your answer had not been inscroll'd:
Fare you well; your suit is cold.
Cold, indeed; and labour lost:
Then, farewell, heat, and welcome, frost!
Portia, adieu. I have too grieved a heart
To take a tedious leave: thus losers part.
|
My hat is old.
My teeth are gold.
I have a bird
I like to hold.
My shoe is off.
My foot is cold.
My shoe is off.
My foot is cold.
I have a bird
I liked to hold.
My hat is old.
My teeth are gold.
And now
my story
is all told.
|
A carrion Death, within whose empty eye
There is a written scroll! I'll read the writing.
All that glitters is not gold;
Often have you heard that told:
Many a man his life hath sold
But my outside to behold:
Gilded tombs do worms enfold.
Had you been as wise as bold,
Young in limbs, in judgment old,
Your answer had not been inscroll'd:
Fare you well; your suit is cold.
Cold, indeed; and labour lost:
Then, farewell, heat, and welcome, frost!
Portia, adieu. I have too grieved a heart
To take a tedious leave: thus losers part.
My teeth are gold.
I have a bird
I like to hold.
My shoe is off.
My foot is cold.
My shoe is off.
My foot is cold.
I have a bird
I liked to hold.
My hat is old.
My teeth are gold.
And now
my story
is all told.
- sally mckay 2-02-2007 8:11 pm
- L.M. 2-02-2007 11:20 pm
pimp your titles
- sally mckay 2-03-2007 1:46 am