A blank, my lord. She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, Feed on her damask cheek : she pin'd in thought, And with a green and yellow melancholy, She sat like Patience on a monument, Smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed... The Works of William Shakespeare: As you like it. The taming of the shrew ... - Strana 354 autor/autoři: William Shakespeare - 1866 Úplné zobrazení -
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