Thomas Kyd - The Spanish Tragedy (1592)

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Oh eyes, no eyes, but fountains fraught with tears;
Oh life, no life, but lively form of death;
Oh world, no world, but mass of public wrongs,
Confused and filled with murder and misdeeds.

Thomas Kyd

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.

Thomas Kyd

My son—and what's a son? A thing begot
Within a pair of minutes, thereabout,
A lump bred up in darkness.

Thomas Kyd

Thus must we toil in other men's extremes,
That know not how to remedy our own.

Thomas Kyd

What outcries pluck me from my naked bed
And chill my throbbing heart with trembling fear.

Thomas Kyd

Dost thou think to live till his old doublet will make thee a new truss?

Thomas Kyd

It grew a gallows and did bear our son,
It bore thy fruit and mine.

Thomas Kyd

Why then I'll fit you, say no more.
When I was young, I gave my mind And plied myself to fruitless poetry:
Which though it profit the professor naught Yet it is passing pleasing to the world.

Thomas Kyd