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Evyl weed ys sone y growe. - Unattributed Author, Harleian Library Manuscript Call us not weeds. we are flowers of the sea. - Mrs. E.L. Aveline, The Mother's Fables Great weeds do grow apace. - Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher, The Coxcomb (act IV, sc. 4) Still must I on, for I am as a weed, Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam, to sail Where'er the surge may sweep. - Lord Byron (George Gordon Noel Byron), Childe Harold (canto III, st. 2) An ill weed grows apace. - George Chapman, An Humorous Day's Mirth In the deep shadow of the porch A slender bind-weed springs, And climbs, like airy acrobat, The trellises, and swings And dances in the golden sun In fairy loops and rings. - Susan Coolidge (pseudonym of Sarah Chauncey Woolsey), Bind-Weed And what is a weed? A plant whose virtues have not been discovered. - Ralph Waldo Emerson The wolfsbane I should dread. - Thomas Hood, Flowers To win the secret of a weed's plain heart. - James Russell Lowell, Sonnet XXV The richest soil, if uncultivated, produces the rankest weeds. - Plutarch, Life of Caius Marcus Coriolanus Now 'tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted. Suffer them now, and they'll o'ergrow the garden And choke the herbs for want of husbandry. - William Shakespeare, King Henry the Sixth, Part II (Queen Margaret at III, i) I will go root away The noisome weeds which without profit suck The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers. - William Shakespeare, King Richard II The summer's flow'r is to the summer sweet, Though to itself it only live and die' But if that flow'r with base infection meet, The basest weed outbraves his dignity: For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds; Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds. - William Shakespeare, Sonnet XCIV The even mead. that erst brought sweetly forth The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover, Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank, Conceives by idleness, and nothing teems But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burrs, Losing both beauty and utility. - William Shakespeare, The Life of King Henry the Fifth (Burgundy at V, ii) You thus employed, I will go root away The noisome weeds which without profit suck The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers. - William Shakespeare, The Tragedy of King Richard the Second (Gardener at III, iii) Small herbs have grace; great weeds do grow apace. - William Shakespeare, The Tragedy of King Richard the Third (Duke of York at II, iv)
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