William Shakespeare

How far that little candle throws its beams;
So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

How far that little candle throws its beams;
So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne,
Burned on the water: the poop was beaten gold;
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The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne,
Burned on the water: the poop was beaten gold;
Purple the sails, and so perfumed that
The winds were lovesick with them; the oars were silver,
Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made
The water which they beat to follow faster,
As amorous of their strokes.

Thus when I shun Scylla, your father, I fall into Charybdis, your mother. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iii. Sc. read more

Thus when I shun Scylla, your father, I fall into Charybdis, your mother. -The Merchant of Venice. Act iii. Sc. 5.

He that is strucken blind cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost.

He that is strucken blind cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost.

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely
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For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin?