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Love, unrequited, robs me of my rest: Love, hopeless love, my ardent soul encumbers: Love, nightmare-like, lies heavy on my chest, And weaves itself into my midnight slumbers!

W. S. Gilbert

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W. S. Gilbert
Age: 74 †
Born: 1836
Born: November 18
Died: 1911
Died: May 29
Dramatist
Illustrator
Librettist
Playwright
Poet
Screenwriter
Theatrical Director
Writer
London
England
Sir William Schwenck Gilbert
William Schwenck Gilbert
William S. Gilbert
William Schwenk Gilbert
Bab
Bab Gilbert
William Gilbert
Like
Nightmare
Robs
Memorable
Unrequited
Heavy
Slumber
Lies
Ardent
Rest
Chest
Lying
Chests
Soul
Midnight
Slumbers
Love
Hopeless
Weaves

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What though I cannot meet my bills? What though I suffer toothache's ills? What though I swallow countless pills?
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I am the Captain of the Pinafore And a right good captain too! . . . . And I'm never, never sick at sea! What, never? No, never! What never? Hardly ever! He's hardly ever sick at sea! Then give three cheers, and one cheer more, For the hardy Captain of the Pinafore!
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If the jests that you crack have an orthodox smack, You may get a bland smile from these sages But should it, by chance, be imported from France, Half-a-crown is stopped out of your wages!
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You must lie upon the daisies and discourse in novel phrases of complicated state of mind. The meaning doesn't matter if it's only idle chatter of a transcendental kind.
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A popular speaker, however unpopular and insignificant, has only to wind up his speech with half-a-dozen lines of Shakespeare (and to make it clearly understood that they are Shakespeare's) and he will sit down amid thunders of applause.
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Is life a boon? If so, it must befall That Death, whene'er he call, Must call too soon.
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Then a sentimental passion of a vegetable fashion must excite your languid spleen, An attachment a la Plato for a bashful young potato, or a not-too-French French bean!
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Though I'm anything but clever, I could talk like that forever.
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Wherever valor true is found, true modesty will there abound.
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every Jack He must study the knack If he wants to make sure of his Jill!
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In all the woes that curse our race there is a lady in the case.
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Life is a joke that's just begun.
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I shall carry to the Catacombs of Age, Photographically lined On the tablet of my mind
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Utopia's quite another land In her enterprising movements, She is England--with improvements
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No one can have a higher opinion of him than I have and I think he's a dirty little beast.
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poverty is obsolete and hunger is abolished
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Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold, And the mate of the Nancybrig, And a bos'sun tight, and a midshipmite, And the crew of the captain's gig!
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Deerstalking would be a very fine sport if only the deer had guns.
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