William Shakespeare

Her voice was ever soft,
Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman.

Her voice was ever soft,
Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman.

Confusion's cure lives not
In these confusions.

Confusion's cure lives not
In these confusions.

These are the forgeries of jealousy;
And never, since the middle summer's spring,
Met we on hill, read more

These are the forgeries of jealousy;
And never, since the middle summer's spring,
Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead,
By paved fountain or by rushy brook,
Or in the beached margent of the sea,
To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind,
But with thy brawls thou hast disturbed our sport.

But that I am forbid
To tell the secrets of my prison house,
I could a tale read more

But that I am forbid
To tell the secrets of my prison house,
I could a tale unfold whose lightest word
Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood,
Make thy two eyes like stars start from their spheres,
Thy knotted and combined locks to part,
And each particular hair to stand on end
Like quills upon the fretful porpentine.

The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on. -King Henry VI. Part III. Act ii. Sc. 2.

The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on. -King Henry VI. Part III. Act ii. Sc. 2.