With rue my heart is ladenFor golden friends I had,For many a rose-lipt maidenAnd many a lightfoot lad.By brooks too broad for leapingThe lightfoot boys are laid;The rose-lipt girls are sleepingIn fields where roses fade.
With rue my heart is laden For golden friends I had, For manya rose-lipt maiden And many a lightfoot lad.
A weary lot is thine, fair maid, A weary lot is thine! To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, And press the rue for wine!
Scarce had the morning starre hid from the lightHeavens crimson canopie with stars bespangled,But I began to rue th' unhappy sightOf that faire boy that had my hart intangled;Cursing the time, the place, the sense, the sin;I came, I saw, I viewd, I slipped in.If it be sinne to love a sweet-fac'd boy,Whose amber locks trust up in golden tramelsDangle adowne his lovely cheekes with joy,When pearle and flowers his faire haire enamels;If it be sinne to love a lovely lad,Oh then sinne I, for whom my soule is sad.richard barnfield
What actually happened was that Rolling Stone paid me fifteen hundred dollars for the use of all the drawings - about twenty four of them - and then offered to buy the originals from me, which my agent urged 'was a good move!'. He sold the whole damn treasure trove to Jann Wenner for the princely sum of sixty dollars per drawing. I rue the day I let him convince me.ralph steadman
Then purg'd with euphrasy and rue The visual nerve, for he had much to see.john milton
There's fennel for you, and columbines: there's rue for you.william shakespeare
She will rue the day she forces nature.
This England never did, nor never shall, Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, But when it first did help to wound itself. Now these her princes are come home again, Come the three corners of the world in arms, And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue, If England to itself do rest but true.
Each moss, Each shell, each drawling insect, holds a rank Important in the plan of Him who fram'd This scale of beings; holds a rank which, lost Would break the chain, and leave behind a gap Which Nature's self would rue.
In time the savage bull sustains the yoke; In time all haggard hawks will stoop to lure; In time small wedges cleave the hardest oak, In time the flint is pierced with softest shower, And she in time will fall from her disdain, And rue the sufferance of your friendly pain.thomas kyd