William Shakespeare

What think you, if he were conveyed to bed,
Wrapped in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fingers,
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What think you, if he were conveyed to bed,
Wrapped in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fingers,
A most delicious banquet by his bed,
And brave attendants near him when he wakes,
Would not the beggar then forget himself?

A kind Of excellent dumb discourse. -The Tempest. Act iii. Sc. 3.

A kind Of excellent dumb discourse. -The Tempest. Act iii. Sc. 3.

What work's, my countrymen, in hand? Where go you
With bats and clubs? The matter? Speak, I pray you.

What work's, my countrymen, in hand? Where go you
With bats and clubs? The matter? Speak, I pray you.

Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this son of York;
And all read more

Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this son of York;
And all the clouds that lowered upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.

Every night he comes
With musics of all sorts, and songs composed
To her unworthiness. It nothing read more

Every night he comes
With musics of all sorts, and songs composed
To her unworthiness. It nothing steads us
To chide him from our eaves, for he persists
As if his life lay on't.