William Shakespeare

O, he's a limb that has but a disease:
Mortal, to cut it off; to cure it, easy.

O, he's a limb that has but a disease:
Mortal, to cut it off; to cure it, easy.

Sir, my circumstances,
Being so near the truth as I will make them,
Must first induce you read more

Sir, my circumstances,
Being so near the truth as I will make them,
Must first induce you to believe; whose strength
I will confirm with oath, which I doubt not
You'll give me leave to spare when you shall find
You need it not.

The sense of death is most in apprehension,
And the poor beetle that we tread upon
In read more

The sense of death is most in apprehension,
And the poor beetle that we tread upon
In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great
As when a giant dies.

Hold, there is the very remuneration I had of thy master, thou
halfpenny purse of wit, thou pigeon-egg of read more

Hold, there is the very remuneration I had of thy master, thou
halfpenny purse of wit, thou pigeon-egg of discretion.

O, grief hath changed me since you saw me last,
And careful hours, with Time's deformed hand,
read more

O, grief hath changed me since you saw me last,
And careful hours, with Time's deformed hand,
Have written strange defeatures in my face.