William Shakespeare

My falcon now is sharp and passing empty,
And till she stoop she must not be full-gorged,
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My falcon now is sharp and passing empty,
And till she stoop she must not be full-gorged,
For then she never looks upon her lure.

In those holy fields Over whose acres walked those blessed feet Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd For our read more

In those holy fields Over whose acres walked those blessed feet Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd For our advantage on the bitter cross. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act i. Sc. 1.

The sweetest honey
Is loathsome in his own deliciousness
And in the taste confounds the appetite.

The sweetest honey
Is loathsome in his own deliciousness
And in the taste confounds the appetite.

Done to death by slanderous tongues
Was the Hero that here lies.

Done to death by slanderous tongues
Was the Hero that here lies.

But mine, and mine I loved, and mine I praised,
And mine that I was proud on--mine so much
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But mine, and mine I loved, and mine I praised,
And mine that I was proud on--mine so much
That I myself was to myself not mine,
Valuing of her--why she, O, she is fall'n
Into a pit of ink, that the wide sea
Hath drops too few to wash her clean again,
And salt too little which may season give
To her foul tainted flesh!