William Shakespeare

I will be gone,
That pitiful rumor may report my flight
To consolate thine ear.

I will be gone,
That pitiful rumor may report my flight
To consolate thine ear.

I have shot mine arrow o'er the house
And hurt my brother.

I have shot mine arrow o'er the house
And hurt my brother.

Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp'd,
Doth burn the heart to cinders, where it is.

Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp'd,
Doth burn the heart to cinders, where it is.

Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit, And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, I will be brief.

Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit, And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, I will be brief.

O Cromwell, Cromwell,
Had I but served my God with half the zeal
I served my king, read more

O Cromwell, Cromwell,
Had I but served my God with half the zeal
I served my king, he would not in mine age
Have left me naked to mine enemies.