William Shakespeare

All gold and silver rather turn to dirt,
An 'tis no better reckoned but of these
Who read more

All gold and silver rather turn to dirt,
An 'tis no better reckoned but of these
Who worship dirty gods.

Be it not in thy care. Go,
I charge thee, invite them all; let in the tide
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Be it not in thy care. Go,
I charge thee, invite them all; let in the tide
Of knaves once more; my cook and I'll provide.

Ingratitude! thou marble-hearted fiend,
More hideous when thou show'st thee in a child
Than the sea-monster.

Ingratitude! thou marble-hearted fiend,
More hideous when thou show'st thee in a child
Than the sea-monster.

Away with him, away with him! He speaks Latin.

Away with him, away with him! He speaks Latin.

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.