William Shakespeare

Now begin;
For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing runs
Close by the ground, to hear our read more

Now begin;
For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing runs
Close by the ground, to hear our conference.

All things that are, Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd. How like a younker or a prodigal The scarfed read more

All things that are, Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd. How like a younker or a prodigal The scarfed bark puts from her native bay, Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind! How like the prodigal doth she return, With over-weather'd ribs and ragged sails, Lean, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind! -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 6.

With these shreds
They vented their complainings, which being answered
And a petition granted them, a strange read more

With these shreds
They vented their complainings, which being answered
And a petition granted them, a strange one,
To break the heart of generosity,
And make bold power look pale, they threw their caps
As they would hang them on the horns o' th' moon,
Shouting their emulation.

O, grief hath changed me since you saw me last,
And careful hours, with Time's deformed hand,
read more

O, grief hath changed me since you saw me last,
And careful hours, with Time's deformed hand,
Have written strange defeatures in my face.

My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical,
Shakes so my single state of man that function
read more

My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical,
Shakes so my single state of man that function
Is smothered in surmise and nothing is
But what is not.