William Shakespeare

Let still the woman take An elder than herself: so wears she to him, So sways she level in her read more

Let still the woman take An elder than herself: so wears she to him, So sways she level in her husband's heart: For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn, Than women's are. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 4.

(Pedro:) In faith, lady, you have a merry heart.
(Beatrice:) Yea, my lord; I thank it, poor fool, it read more

(Pedro:) In faith, lady, you have a merry heart.
(Beatrice:) Yea, my lord; I thank it, poor fool, it keeps on the
windy side of care.

O dearest soul, your cause doth strike my heart
With pity that doth make me sick.

O dearest soul, your cause doth strike my heart
With pity that doth make me sick.

A forted residence 'gainst the tooth of time And razure of oblivion. -Measure for Measure. Act v. Sc. 1.

A forted residence 'gainst the tooth of time And razure of oblivion. -Measure for Measure. Act v. Sc. 1.

I would fain die a dry death. -The Tempest. Act i. Sc. 1.

I would fain die a dry death. -The Tempest. Act i. Sc. 1.