Two Midgets Shitting In A Bucket


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2 midgets shitting into a bucket. : funny

CLIV The little Love-god lying once asleep, Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand, Whilst many nymphs that vowed chaste life to keep Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand The fairest votary took up that fire Which many legions of true hearts had warmed; And so the General of hot desire Was, sleeping, by a virgin hand disarmed. Therefore I lie with her, and she with me, And in our faults by lies we flattered be. CXLI In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes, For they in thee a thousand errors note; But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise, Who, in despite of view, is pleased to dote. CXL Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain; Lest sorrow lend me words, and words express The manner of my pity-wanting pain. Do I not think on thee, when I forgot Am of my self, all tyrant, for thy sake? And whether that my angel be turned fiend, Suspect I may, yet not directly tell; But being both from me, both to each friend, I guess one angel in another's hell: Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt, Till my bad angel fire my good one out.

Untitled 24 sec ago Untitled 31 sec ago Untitled 34 sec ago Untitled 34 sec ago Untitled 35 sec ago Untitled 39 sec ago Untitled 1 min ago Thaumotorium by Ychor 1 min ago. A maid of Dian's this advantage found, And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep In a cold valley-fountain of that ground; Which borrowed from this holy fire of Love, A dateless lively heat, still to endure, And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove Against strange maladies a sovereign cure.

Who taught thee how to make me love thee more, The more I hear and see just cause of hate? Or mine eyes, seeing this, say this is not, To put fair truth upon so foul a face? But when she saw my woeful state, Straight in her heart did mercy come, Chiding that tongue that ever sweet Was used in giving gentle doom; And taught it thus anew to greet; 'I hate' she altered with an end, That followed it as gentle day, Doth follow night, who like a fiend From heaven to hell is flown away.

Past cure I am, now Reason is past care, And frantic-mad with evermore unrest; My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's are, At random from the truth vainly expressed; For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, Who art as black as hell, as dark as night. CXLVII My love is as a fever longing still, For that which longer nurseth the disease; Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, The uncertain sickly appetite to please.

To make me give the lie to my true sight, And swear that brightness doth not grace the day? This brand she quenched in a cool well by, Which from Love's fire took heat perpetual, Growing a bath and healthful remedy, For men diseased; but I, my mistress' thrall, Came there for cure and this by that I prove, Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.

But at my mistress' eye Love's brand new-fired, The boy for trial needs would touch my breast; I, sick withal, the help of bath desired, And thither hied, a sad distempered guest, But found no cure, the bath for my help lies Where Cupid got new fire; my mistress' eyes.

If I might teach thee wit, better it were, Though not to love, yet, love to tell me so; As testy sick men, when their deaths be near, No news but health from their physicians know; For, if I should despair, I should grow mad, And in my madness might speak ill of thee; Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad, Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be.

Who hateth thee that I do call my friend, On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon, Nay, if thou lour'st on me, do I not spend Revenge upon myself with present moan? Why so large cost, having so short a lease, Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? Then soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, And let that pine to aggravate thy store; Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross; Within be fed, without be rich no more: So shall thou feed on Death, that feeds on men, And Death once dead, there's no more dying then.

What merit do I in my self respect, That is so proud thy service to despise, When all my best doth worship thy defect, Commanded by the motion of thine eyes? If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote, What means the world to say it is not so? Use power with power, and slay me not by art, Tell me thou lov'st elsewhere; but in my sight, Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside: What need'st thou wound with cunning, when thy might Is more than my o'erpressed defence can bide?

No want of conscience hold it that I call Her love, for whose dear love I rise and fall. If it be not, then love doth well denote Love's eye is not so true as all men's: No marvel then, though I mistake my view; The sun itself sees not, till heaven clears. The Dark Lady Sonnets They know what beauty is, see where it lies, Yet what the best is take the worst to be.

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Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill, That in the very refuse of thy deeds There is such strength and warrantise of skill, That, in my mind, thy worst all best exceeds? If thy unworthiness raised love in me, More worthy I to be beloved of thee. CXLIII Lo, as a careful housewife runs to catch One of her feather'd creatures broke away, Sets down her babe, and makes all swift dispatch In pursuit of the thing she would have stay; Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase, Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent To follow that which flies before her face, Not prizing her poor infant's discontent; So runn'st thou after that which flies from thee, Whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind; But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me, And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind; So will I pray that thou mayst have thy 'Will,' If thou turn back and my loud crying still. And wherefore say not I that I am old? If eyes, corrupt by over-partial looks, Be anchored in the bay where all men ride, Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged hooks, Whereto the judgment of my heart is tied? My reason, the physician to my love, Angry that his prescriptions are not kept, Hath left me, and I desperate now approve Desire is death, which physic did except. Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss, Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove: For, thou betraying me, I do betray My nobler part to my gross body's treason; My soul doth tell my body that he may Triumph in love; flesh stays no farther reason, But rising at thy name doth point out thee, As his triumphant prize. CLII In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn, But thou art twice forsworn, to me love swearing; In act thy bed-vow broke, and new faith torn, In vowing new hate after new love bearing: But why of two oaths' breach do I accuse thee, When I break twenty? Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young, Although she knows my days are past the best, Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue: On both sides thus is simple truth suppressed: But wherefore says she not she is unjust? That I may not be so, nor thou belied, Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide. Why should my heart think that a several plot, Which my heart knows the wide world's common place? In things right true my heart and eyes have erred, And to this false plague are they now transferred. Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lov'st those Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee: Root pity in thy heart, that, when it grows, Thy pity may deserve to pitied be. CLI Love is too young to know what conscience is, Yet who knows not conscience is born of love? Shall worms, inheritors of this excess, Eat up thy charge? But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind, Those that can see thou lov'st, and I am blind. Let me excuse thee: Yet do not so; but since I am near slain, Kill me outright with looks, and rid my pain. If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide, By self-example mayst thou be denied! I am perjured most; For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee, And all my honest faith in thee is lost: For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness, Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy; And, to enlighten thee, gave eyes to blindness, Or made them swear against the thing they see; For I have sworn thee fair; more perjured eye, To swear against the truth so foul a lie! We use cookies for various purposes including analytics. The better angel is a man right fair, The worser spirit a woman coloured ill. Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune delighted; Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone, Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited To any sensual feast with thee alone: But my five wits nor my five senses can Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee, Who leaves unswayed the likeness of a man, Thy proud heart's slave and vassal wretch to be: Only my plague thus far I count my gain, That she that makes me sin awards me pain. To win me soon to hell, my female evil, Tempteth my better angel from my side, And would corrupt my saint to be a devil, Wooing his purity with her foul pride. Proud of this pride, He is contented thy poor drudge to be, To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side.
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