Diego Rivera Portrait of Natasha Zakolkowa Gelman painting

Don't you think it's a cruel, barbarous thing to whip a child. . . any child?" exclaimed Anne, her face flushing with earnestness.
"Well," said Gilbert slowly, torn between his real convictions and his wish to measure up to Anne's ideal, "there's something to be said on both sides. I don't believe in whipping children much. I think, as you say, Anne, that there are better ways of managing as a rule, and that corporal punishment should be a last resort. But on the other hand, as Jane says, I believe there is an occasional child who can't be influenced in any other way and who, in short, needs a whipping and would be improved by it. Corporal punishment as a last resort is to be my rule."
Gilbert, having tried to please both sides, succeeded, as is usual and eminently right, in pleasing neither. Jane tossed her head.
"I'll whip my pupils when they're naughty. It's the shortest and easiest way of convincing them."
Anne gave Gilbert a disappointed glance.
"I shall never whip a child," she repeated firmly. "I feel sure it isn't either right or necessary

Diego Rivera Portrait of Natasha Zakolkowa Gelman painting

What thou seest when thou dost wake,Do it for thy true-love take,Love and languish for his sake:Be it ounce, or cat, or bear,Pard, or boar with bristled hair,In thy eye that shall appearWhen thou wakest, it is thy dear:Wake when some vile thing is near.
[Exit]
[Enter LYSANDER and HERMIA]
LYSANDER
Fair love, you faint with wandering in the wood;And to speak troth, I have forgot our way:We'll rest us, Hermia, if you think it good,And tarry for the comfort of the day.
HERMIA
Be it so, Lysander: find you out a bed;For I upon this bank will rest my head.
LYSANDER
One turf shall serve as pillow for us both;One heart, one bed, two bosoms and one troth.
HERMIA
Nay, good Lysander; for my sake, my dear,Lie further off yet, do not lie so near.
LYSANDER
O, take the sense, sweet, of my innocence!Love takes the meaning in love's conference.I mean, that my heart unto yours is knitSo that but one heart we can make of it;Two bosoms interchained with an oath;So then two bosoms and a single troth.Then by your side no bed-room me deny;For lying so, Hermia, I do not lie.