William Shakespeare

Did ever raven sing so like a lark
That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise?

Did ever raven sing so like a lark
That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise?

If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, read more

If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again! it had a dying fall: O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour! -Twelfth Night. Act i. Sc. 1.

So honour peereth in the meanest habit.

So honour peereth in the meanest habit.

Come, our stomachs
Will make what's homely savory.

Come, our stomachs
Will make what's homely savory.

Fire that's closest kept, burns most of all.

Fire that's closest kept, burns most of all.