William Shakespeare

This guest of summer,
The temple-haunting martlet, does approve
By his loved mansionry that the heaven's breath
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This guest of summer,
The temple-haunting martlet, does approve
By his loved mansionry that the heaven's breath
Smells wooingly here. No jutty, frieze,
Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird
Hath made his pendent bed and procreant cradle.
Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed
The air is delicate.

My heart hath one poor string to stay it by,
Which holds but till thy news be uttered,
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My heart hath one poor string to stay it by,
Which holds but till thy news be uttered,
And then all this thou seest is but a clod
And module of confounded royalty.

I prithee take the cork out of thy mouth, that I may drink thy
tidings.

I prithee take the cork out of thy mouth, that I may drink thy
tidings.

Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity
(So it be new, there's no respect how vile)
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Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity
(So it be new, there's no respect how vile)
That is not quickly buzzed into his ears?

Enough, with over-measure. -Coriolanus. Act iii. Sc. 1.

Enough, with over-measure. -Coriolanus. Act iii. Sc. 1.