William Shakespeare

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.

Make me to see't; or at the least so prove it
That the probation bear no hinge nor loop
read more

Make me to see't; or at the least so prove it
That the probation bear no hinge nor loop
To hang a doubt on--or woe upon thy life!

Good hay, sweet hay, hath no fellow.

Good hay, sweet hay, hath no fellow.

But Hercules himself must yield to odds;
And many strokes, though with a little axe,
Hews down read more

But Hercules himself must yield to odds;
And many strokes, though with a little axe,
Hews down and fells the hardest-timbered oak.

No, misery makes sport to mock itself.

No, misery makes sport to mock itself.