William Shakespeare

What then? What rests?
Try what repentance can. What can it not?
Yet what can it when read more

What then? What rests?
Try what repentance can. What can it not?
Yet what can it when one cannot repent?
O wretched state? O bosom black as death!
O limed soul, that struggling to be free
Art more engaged!

More matter for a May morning.

More matter for a May morning.

Be stirring as the time, be fire with fire;
Threaten the threat'ner, and outface the brow
Of read more

Be stirring as the time, be fire with fire;
Threaten the threat'ner, and outface the brow
Of bragging horror.

O, beware, my lord, of jealousy!
It is the green-eyed monster, which doth mock
The meat it read more

O, beware, my lord, of jealousy!
It is the green-eyed monster, which doth mock
The meat it feeds on. That cuckold lives in bliss
Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger;
But O, what damned minutes tells he o'er
Who dotes, yet doubts--suspects, yet strongly loves!

I do remember an apothecary,
And hereabouts 'a dwells, which late I noted
In tatt'red weeds, with read more

I do remember an apothecary,
And hereabouts 'a dwells, which late I noted
In tatt'red weeds, with overwhelming brows,
Culling of simples. Meagre were his looks,
Sharp misery had worn him to the bones;
And in his needy shop a tortoise hung,
An alligator stuffed, and other skins
Of ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves
A beggarly account of empty boxes,
Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds,
Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses
Were thinly scattered, to make up a show.