William Shakespeare

Nay, do not think I flatter.
For what advancement may I hope from thee,
That no revenue read more

Nay, do not think I flatter.
For what advancement may I hope from thee,
That no revenue hast but thy good spirits
To feed and clothe thee? Why should the poor be flattered?
No, let the candied tongue like absurd pomp,
And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee
Where thrift may follow fawning.

Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school.

Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school.

I cannot, nor I will not hold me still;
My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his will.

I cannot, nor I will not hold me still;
My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his will.

Confusion's cure lives not
In these confusions.

Confusion's cure lives not
In these confusions.

Here beauty hangs upon the cheek of night,
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear.

Here beauty hangs upon the cheek of night,
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear.