William Shakespeare

Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp'd,
Doth burn the heart to cinders, where it is.

Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp'd,
Doth burn the heart to cinders, where it is.

But that our feasts
In every mess have folly, and the feeders
Digest it with a custom, read more

But that our feasts
In every mess have folly, and the feeders
Digest it with a custom, I should blush
To see you so attired, swoon, I think,
To show myself a glass.

What if this cursed hand
Where thicker than itself with brother's blood,
Is there not rain enough read more

What if this cursed hand
Where thicker than itself with brother's blood,
Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens
To wash it white as snow?

Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act i. Sc. 2.

Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon. -King Henry IV. Part I. Act i. Sc. 2.

My prophecy is but half his journey yet,
For yonder walls, that pertly front your town,
Yon read more

My prophecy is but half his journey yet,
For yonder walls, that pertly front your town,
Yon towers, whose wanton tops do buss the clouds,
Must kiss their own feet.