William Shakespeare

This grief is crowned with consolation, you old smock brings
forth a new petticoat, and indeed the tears live read more

This grief is crowned with consolation, you old smock brings
forth a new petticoat, and indeed the tears live in an onion that
should water this sorrow.

I have shot mine arrow o'er the house
And hurt my brother.

I have shot mine arrow o'er the house
And hurt my brother.

There is gold for you. Sell me your good report.

There is gold for you. Sell me your good report.

Sweet recreation barred, what doth ensue
But moody and dull melancholy,
Kinsman to a grim and comfortless read more

Sweet recreation barred, what doth ensue
But moody and dull melancholy,
Kinsman to a grim and comfortless despair,
And at her heels a huge infectious troop
Of pale distemperatures and foes to life?

How quickly nature falls into revolt
When gold becomes her object!
For this the foolish overcareful fathers
read more

How quickly nature falls into revolt
When gold becomes her object!
For this the foolish overcareful fathers
Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains with care.
Their bones with industry.
For this they have engrossed and piled up
The cankered heaps of strange-achieved gold;
For this they have been thoughtful to invest
Their sons with arts and martial exercises.