William Shakespeare

I would have thee gone,
And yet no further than a wanton's bird,
Who lets it hop read more

I would have thee gone,
And yet no further than a wanton's bird,
Who lets it hop a little from her hand,
Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,
And with a silk thread plucks it back again.

The language I have learnt these forty years,
My native English, now I must forgo;
And now read more

The language I have learnt these forty years,
My native English, now I must forgo;
And now my tongue's use is to me no more
Than an unstringed viol or a harp,
Or like a cunning instrument cased up
Or, being open, put into his hands
That knows no touch to tune the harmony.

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied read more

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment,
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.

Oh, what a bitter thing it is to look into happiness through another man's eyes.

Oh, what a bitter thing it is to look into happiness through another man's eyes.

A great while ago the world begun,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain;
But that's read more

A great while ago the world begun,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain;
But that's all one, our play is done,
And we'll strive to please you every day.