William Shakespeare

Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way,
And merrily hent the stile-a.
A merry heart goes all read more

Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way,
And merrily hent the stile-a.
A merry heart goes all the day,
Your sad tires in a mile-a.

Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity
(So it be new, there's no respect how vile)
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Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity
(So it be new, there's no respect how vile)
That is not quickly buzzed into his ears?

Et tu, Brute?--Then fall Caesar.

Et tu, Brute?--Then fall Caesar.

Methinks I have a great desire to a bottle of hay. Good hay,
sweet hay, hath no fellow.

Methinks I have a great desire to a bottle of hay. Good hay,
sweet hay, hath no fellow.

There 's small choice in rotten apples. -The Taming of the Shrew. Act i. Sc. 1.

There 's small choice in rotten apples. -The Taming of the Shrew. Act i. Sc. 1.