William Shakespeare

Death my lord,
Their clothes are after such a pagan cut to 't
That sure th' have read more

Death my lord,
Their clothes are after such a pagan cut to 't
That sure th' have worn out Christendom.

This Tharsus, o'er which I have the government,
A city on whom Plenty held full hand,
For read more

This Tharsus, o'er which I have the government,
A city on whom Plenty held full hand,
For Riches strewed herself even in her streets;
Whose towers bore heads so high they kissed the clouds,
And strangers ne'er beheld but wond'red at;
Whose men and dames so jetted and adorned,
Like one another's glass to trim them by;
Their tables were stored full, to glad the sight,
And not so much to feed on as delight;
All poverty was scorned, and pride so great
The name of help grew odious to repeat.

Thy gown? Why, ay--come, tailor, let us see't.
O mercy, God, what masquing stuff is there?
What's read more

Thy gown? Why, ay--come, tailor, let us see't.
O mercy, God, what masquing stuff is there?
What's this, a sleeve? 'Tis like a demi-cannon.
What, up and down carved like an apple tart?
Here's snip and nip and cut and slish and slash,
Like to a censer in a barber's shop.
Why, what's a devil's name, tailor, call'st thou this?

The mercy that was quick in us but late,
By your own counsel is suppressed and killed.
read more

The mercy that was quick in us but late,
By your own counsel is suppressed and killed.
You must not dare for shame to talk of mercy;
For your own reasons turn into your bosoms
As dogs upon their masters, worrying you.

She bears a duke's revenues on her back,
And in her heart she scorns our poverty.

She bears a duke's revenues on her back,
And in her heart she scorns our poverty.