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You kiss by th' book : new poems from Shakespeare's line / Gary Soto.

You kiss by th' book : new poems from Shakespeare's line / Gary Soto.
Soto, Gary
San Francisco : Chronicle Books, [2016]

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TextRequest in advance PS3569.O72 A6 2016Off-site


108 pages; 23 cm
Uniform Title
Poems. Selections
Alternative Title
  • Poems.
  • You kiss by the book
  • poetry.
  • Poetry
  • Poésie.
Processing Action (note)
  • committed to retain
Introduction -- I'll not budge an inch -- This wish I have, then ten times happy me -- What's in a name? That which we call a rose -- Words are no deeds -- You kiss by th' book -- One half of me is yours, the other half yours -- 'Tis like a pardon after execution -- My salad days, when I was green in judgment -- The sight of lovers feedeth those in love -- Who alone suffers, suffers most i' the mind -- What would you have me do? -- For ever and a day -- All that glisters i not gold -- A stage, where every man must play a part -- Love will not be spurred to what it loathes -- Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? -- This above all: to thine own self be true -- Most true it is that I have looked on truth -- The more I give to thee, the more I have -- Men's flesh preserved so whole do seldom win -- Need and oppression starveth in they -- My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel -- Get thee a good husband, and use him as he uses thee -- Pitchers have ears -- Take him and cut him out in little stars -- That comfort comes too late -- We would, and we would not -- Love is blind, and lovers cannot see -- What is the opinion of Pythagoras concerning wildfowl? -- You blocks, you stones -- Being fond on praise, which make your praises worse -- The evil that men do lives after them -- Drunk? and speak parrot? -- The fault and glimpse of newness -- The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt -- The time will come that foul sin, gathering head -- They come not single spies, but in battalions -- Who so firm that cannot be seduced? -- This fellow is wise enough to play the fool -- 'Tis time to fear when tyrants seem to kiss -- To have seen much and to have nothing -- Nothing will come of nothing -- He can speak French; and therefore he is a traitor -- To say there is no vice but beggary -- What village, friends, is this? -- By the pricking of my thumbs -- Can honor set to a leg? No. Or an arm? No. -- Every man has his fault, and honesty in his -- He Jests at scars that never felt a wound -- But for mine own part, it was Greek to me -- He hath not drunk ink -- An honest tale speeds best being plainly told -- How shalt thou hope for mercy, rendering none? -- If money go before, all ways do lie open -- I have a touch of your condition -- My pride fell with my fortunes -- Neither a borrower nor a lender be -- He hath eaten me out of house and home -- I am a great eater ... -- But yet I run before my horse to market -- The king was weeping-ripe for a good word -- It lies as coldly in him as fire in a flint -- Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind -- We must not make a scarecrow of the law -- For they say an old man is twice the child -- There's many a man hath more hair than wit -- To kings that fear their subjects' treachery -- To one not sociable -- The colt that's backed and burdened being young -- Have is have, however men do catch -- Who chooseth me, must give and hazard all he hath -- Th' inaudible and noiseless foot of time -- What do you read, my lord? -- Youth's a stuff will not endure -- There comes the ruin, there begins confusion -- This disease is beyond my practice -- We see which way the stream of time doth run -- Marry, this is the short and the long of it -- Doth it not show vilely in me to desire small beer? -- Every one can master a grief but he that has it -- And one man in his time plays many parts -- I wasted time, and now doth time waste me -- And many strokes, though with a little axe -- Poor soul, the center of my sinful earth -- Sir, I'm a true laborer -- The wheel is come full circle -- Since brevity is the soul of wit -- His worse fault is that he is given to prayer -- Die single, and thine image dies with thee -- There's place and means for every man alive -- Saint Peter ... shows me where the bachelors sit -- Thus conscience does make cowards of us all -- We are such stuff ... rounded with a sleep -- About the Author
  • 9781452148298
  • 1452148295
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Harvard Library