Had Cain been Scot, God would have changed his doom nor forced him wander, but confine him home. |
I am no Poet here; my pen's the spout where the rain water of my eyes run out. |
Love melts the rigor which the rocks have bred; a flint will break upon a feather bed. |
My tears will keep no channel, know no laws to guide their streams, but like the waves, their cause, run with disturbance till they swallow me as a description of his misery. |
Strafford who was hurried hence / 'Twixt treason and convenience. |
The astrologer who spells the stars, mistakes his globes, and in her bright eye interprets heaven's physiognomies. |
The marigold, whose courtier's face echoes the sun, and doth unlace her at his rise, at his full stop packs and shuts up her gaudy shop. |
This raw clip of Palmetto Pointe will give anyone goose bumps, because it has a dynamite cast and tight line of talent from other hit shows, |
We come down to play with each other. We'll play on the porch or in the parking lot. We just want to meet bands and play together. |