William Shakespeare

Praising what is lost Makes the remembrance dear. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act v. Sc. 3.

Praising what is lost Makes the remembrance dear. -All 's Well that Ends Well. Act v. Sc. 3.

You sunburnt sicklemen, of August weary,
Come hither from the furrow and be merry.
Make holiday: your read more

You sunburnt sicklemen, of August weary,
Come hither from the furrow and be merry.
Make holiday: your rye-straw hats put on,
And these fresh nymphs encounter every one
In country footing.

Thou know'st, great son,
The end of war's uncertain, but this certain,
That, if thou conquer Rome, read more

Thou know'st, great son,
The end of war's uncertain, but this certain,
That, if thou conquer Rome, the benefit
Which thou shalt thereby reap is such a name
Whose repetition will be dogged with curses,
Whose chronicle thus writ: 'The man was noble,
But with his last attempt he wiped it out,
Destroyed his country; and his name remains
To th' ensuing age abhorred,' Speak to me son.
Thou hast affected the fine strains of honor,
To imitate the graces of the gods;
To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o' th' air,
And yet to change thy sulphur with a bolt
That should rive an oak.

'Tis neither here nor there.

'Tis neither here nor there.

What cracker is this same that deafs our ears
With this abundance of superfluous breath?

What cracker is this same that deafs our ears
With this abundance of superfluous breath?