William Shakespeare

Death my lord,
Their clothes are after such a pagan cut to 't
That sure th' have read more

Death my lord,
Their clothes are after such a pagan cut to 't
That sure th' have worn out Christendom.

O monstrous! but one halfpennyworth of bread to this intolerable
deal of sack!

O monstrous! but one halfpennyworth of bread to this intolerable
deal of sack!

But then I sigh, and, with a piece of Scripture,
Tell them that Gods bids us do good for read more

But then I sigh, and, with a piece of Scripture,
Tell them that Gods bids us do good for evil:
And thus I clothe my naked villainy
With odd old ends stol'n forth of holy writ,
And seems a saint, when most I play the devil.

All is not well.
I doubt some foul play. Would the night were come!
Till then sit read more

All is not well.
I doubt some foul play. Would the night were come!
Till then sit still, my soul. Foul deeds will rise,
Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes.

At Christmas I no more desire a rose Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled mirth; But like of each read more

At Christmas I no more desire a rose Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled mirth; But like of each thing that in season grows. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act i. Sc. 1.