William Shakespeare

Lo, here the gentle lark, weary of rest,
From his moist cabinet mounts up on high
And read more

Lo, here the gentle lark, weary of rest,
From his moist cabinet mounts up on high
And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast
The sun ariseth in his majesty;
Who doth the world so gloriously behold
That cedar tops and hills seem burnished gold.

(Macbeth:) Here's our chief guest.
(Lady Macbeth:) If he had been forgotten,
It had been as a read more

(Macbeth:) Here's our chief guest.
(Lady Macbeth:) If he had been forgotten,
It had been as a gap in our great feast,
And all-thing unbecoming.

Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow,
That I shall say good night till it be morrow.

Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow,
That I shall say good night till it be morrow.

Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew,
Thou mak'st thy knife keen; but no metal can--
read more

Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew,
Thou mak'st thy knife keen; but no metal can--
No, not the hangman's axe--bear half the keenness
Of thy sharp envy.

The world is grown so bad, That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch. -King Richard III. Act i. read more

The world is grown so bad, That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch. -King Richard III. Act i. Sc. 3.