The Knave of Hearts
The Queen of Hearts she made some tarts all on a summer's day;
The Knave of Hearts he stole the tarts and took them clean away.
The King of Hearts called for the tarts and beat the Knave full sore
The Knave of Hearts brought back the tarts and
vowed he'd steal no more.
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Related quotes
Those Sweet Tarts You Seek
You received the wrong memo.
I am not the one handing out sweet tarts.
I know what you have been told,
With gossip to support your expectations.
But no...
I only deliver clarity unseasoned.
Those sweet tarts you seek,
Can be retrieved over there...
Where those deceiving in masks,
Are treating those standing patiently...
In that long line.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A knave; a rascal; an eater of broken meats; a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy, worsted-stocking knave; a lily-livered, action-taking knave, a whoreson, glass-gazing, super-serviceable finical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a bawd, in way of good service, and art nothing but the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pandar, and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch: one whom I will beat into clamorous whining, if thou deniest the least syllable of thy addition.
Earl of Kent in The Tragedy of King Lear
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We are no more free agents than the queen of clubs when she victoriously takes prisoner the knave of hearts.
quote by Mary Wortley Montagu
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I was determined that no British government should be brought down by the action of two tarts.
quote by Harold MacMillan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nothing more completely baffles one who is full of trick and duplicity than straigthforward and simple integrity in another. A knave would rather quarrel with a brother knave than with a fool, but he would rather avoid a quarrel with one honest man than with both. He can combat a fool by management and address, and he can conquer a knave by temptations. But the honest man is neither to be bamboozled nor bribed.
quote by Charles Caleb Colton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Care For One Another..
Look at the hearts only,
Beating inside punctually,
as the stars majestically,
One above other vertically,
Hearts are beating vibrantly.
One above the other in high rise,
hearts toil with no surprise,
as the galaxies and constellations,
Hearts are beating horizontally,
Few hearts in big space,
Many hearts in small place,
as the diamonds twinkle in space,
Hearts are found in the ocean,
Hearts are there in the mountains,
Hearts are loitering in the jungles,
Hearts are beating in places,
as the planted gems above us,
Daring hearts are weak,
Weaker hearts are strong,
Most hearts are healthy,
Run and work in safety,
A few suffer and are sickly,
Clogged with fat and heavy,
Rich and poor man's hearts,
Educated and uneducated hearts,
Good and evil hearts,
Agnostic and spiritual hearts,
Healthy and sick hearts,
Beat everywhere to show,
That we care for one another,
and we love one another,
as we look at the stars,
the stars look at our hearts.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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The Next Great World War!
the next great world war
is already being fought...
within... within the hearts
of the poor of all nations,
struggling to survive,
for food and shelter.
in the hearts of the jobless,
the homeless, the sick.
in the hearts of prisoners,
of victims...
in the hearts of the takers,
the movers, the ones that make
the decisions, that hold
the key and the whip.
in the hearts of soldiers,
of politicians, of the innocents
killed by the bombing.
in the hearts of seekers,
of the lonely, the desperate.
in the hearts of the angry,
of the haters...
of priests, preachers, and moral guides.
in the hearts of the common,
in the hearts of the gifted,
in the hearts of the protesters,
and the cops that beat them.
in the hearts of all people everywhere,
crying out for change in spite of...
the war rages...
and who will stand
when the day is done?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Hearts On Fire
We saw the writings on the wall
When heathens ruled above us all
Tormented, we still heard the call
You come to bring us down
Wield the scepter, steal the crown
Time on the throne is running out
Cause seasons change but we are still the same
Event though the cold winds blow were burning like a flame
Hearts On Fire, Hearts On Fire
Burning, burning with desire
Hearts On Fire, Hearts On Fire
Burning, burning with desire
Hearts On Fire, Hearts On Fire
Burning, burning with desire
Burning for the steel
Hearts On Fire
For years shunned by society
Outcasts, condemned for our beliefs
Our legions grew in secrecy
And now, the time is here
I see the Templars everywhere
The Freedom Call is drawing near
We hold our rebel banners up with pride
The colours crimson and the Hammer is the sign
Hearts On Fire, Hearts On Fire
Burning, burning with desire
Hearts On Fire, Hearts On Fire
Burning, burning with desire
Hearts On Fire, Hearts On Fire
Burning, burning with desire
Burning for the steel
Solo: Stefan
Hearts On Fire, Hearts On Fire
Hearts On Fire, Hearts On Fire
Burning, burning with desire
Hearts On Fire
song performed by by Hammerfall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hearts Can
Hearts can be used
to hate or love.
Hearts can do kindness
for others in need.
Hearts can be giving,
Hearts can be greedy.
Hearts can be evil,
Hearts can be good.
Most of all is this,
if I lose you,
My heart will be broken.
(4-7-07)
Perhaps it is a metaphor?
Oh man I want to fart,
Perhaps I had one too many tarts,
I am too lazy to walk to the bathroom.
I will instead use a corner close to me
A natural thing is inconvenient, just like Pee.
Perhaps a metaphor?
poem by Nicholas Abaddon
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Raglan Road
On raglan road on an autumn day,
I saw her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare
That I may one day rue.
I saw the danger, yet I walked
Along the enchanted way
And I said let grief be a falling leaf
At the dawning of the day.
On grafton street in november,
We tripped lightly along the ledge
Of a deep ravine where can be seen
The worst of passions pledged.
The queen of hearts still baking tarts
And I not making hay,
Well I loved too much; by such and such
Is happiness thrown away.
I gave her the gifts of the mind.
I gave her the secret sign
Thats known to all the artists who have
Known true gods of sound and time.
With word and tint I did not stint.
I gave her reams of poems to say
With her own dark hair and her own name there
Like the clouds over fields of may.
On a quiet street where old ghosts meet,
I see her walking now away from me,
So hurriedly. my reason must allow,
For I have wooed, not as I should
A creature made of clay.
When the angel woos the clay, hell lose
His wings at the dawn of the day.
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On Raglan Road
On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue;
I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way,
And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.
On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge
Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion's pledge,
The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay -
O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away.
I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that's known
To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone
And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say.
With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May
On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now
Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow
That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay -
When the angel woos the clay he'd lose his wings at the dawn of day.
poem by Patrick Kavanagh
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Queen Of Hearts
The queen of hearts
has made the scene
so lovely, and
serene
an air of mystery
came to play
her royalty leads
the way
in purple and gold
attire
such a picture to
admire
when the queen of
hearts
enters the room
everyone begins to
swoon.
Like alice in
wonderland
on a stary night
the queen of
hearts
a true delight
poem by Heather Burns
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The Bloke Wot Gits The Girls
'E passes by, each day, at ten
A bottle-shouldered yid
Wot looks as if 'e pushed a pen
An' drawes a weekly quid;
'E's always with some little lass;
(By cripes, 'e gets some pearls!)
We calls 'im, watchin' of 'em pass,
The bloke wot gits the girls.
An' strewth! it beats me outer sight
'Ow girls can stand 'im - straight!
'E don't go five-feet-two in height
Or eight-stun-two in weight;
'E couldn't swing a pick, - or scrap,
Soft 'ands an' sheeny curls!
'E's just a sorter - well, mishap,
The Bloke wot gits the girls.
But yet each day some bit o' fluff
Trips by, with this 'ere fraud,
A-breathin'-in 'is silly guff
As if 'e wos a gawd.
'E shoots 'is cuffs, 'e swings 'is canes,
'Is spiky mo 'e twirls,
'E seems to mesmerise the Janes,
The bloke wot gits the girls!
Well, tarts is tarts - it's 'ow they're built:
I s'pose their gawd is clo'es;
But 'im - the puffed-up piece o' gilt,
I'd like to punch 'is nose!
A-struttin', starin' round about
As if 'is kind was earls!
Cripes! 'Ow I'd like to pass 'im out
The bloke wot gits the girls!
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Is love the lore of lust
Is love the lore of lust
The primal touch, that lure, which feeds
The preying beast
Looking out at will, at any cost, by any means
To spread its ever moving genes
And if so
Help arouse the vital urges
For which the flesh searches.
It shakes the mind
And blinds the eyes
Turns naivety to desperate cries
And yet
Is readily accepted, as if
Laid out before us worldly creatures
A part of life, a destined set
With all kinds of mental tortures
Through all seasons, year and year
Never far and always here
Will it ever cease to rest
And let true platonic feeling nest
In the ignorant absorbing hearts
And free man from lust for tarts
poem by Andreas Molander
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Butterfly Collector
So you finally got what you wanted
You've achieved your aim by making me walk in line
When you just can't get any higher
You've used your senses to suss out this week's climber
And the small fame that you've acquired
Has brought you into cult status but to me you're still a collector
There's tarts and whores but you're much more
You're a different kind 'cause you want their minds
And you just don't care 'cause you've got no pride
It's just a face on your pillowcase
That thrills you
And you started looking much older
And your fashion sense is second rate like your perfume
But to you in your little dream world
You're still the queen of the butterfly collectors
As you carry on 'cause it's all you know
You can't light a fire
song performed by by Garbage
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Fruit That Looms From My Labor
The fruit that looms from my labor,
Is more often than not...
Bittersweet.
And sometimes my tongue,
Spews less than tarts...
For those anticipating,
A display of ego accomplishments.
And they may get more heat...
With sweat expressed,
Than expected.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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No man is so much a fool as not to have wit enough sometimes to be a knave; nor any so cunning a knave as not to have the weakness sometimes to play the fool.
quote by George Savile
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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