William Shakespeare

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief
That read more

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief
That thou her maid art far more fair than she.
Be not her maid, since she is envious.
Her vestal livery is but sick and green,
And none but fools do wear it. Cast it off.

I found not Cassio's kisses on her lips.

I found not Cassio's kisses on her lips.

Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts read more

Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form. -King John. Act iii. Sc. 4.

That were to blow at fire in hope to quench it;
For who digs hills because they do aspire
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That were to blow at fire in hope to quench it;
For who digs hills because they do aspire
Throws down one mountain to cast up a higher.

I am not merry; but I do beguile
The thing I am by seeming otherwise.

I am not merry; but I do beguile
The thing I am by seeming otherwise.