William Shakespeare

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely
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For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin?

Be large in mirth; anon we'll drink a measure
The table round.

Be large in mirth; anon we'll drink a measure
The table round.

A woman's general. What should we fear?

A woman's general. What should we fear?

All's well that ends well; still the fine's the crown.
Whate'er the course, the end is the renown.

All's well that ends well; still the fine's the crown.
Whate'er the course, the end is the renown.

If all the year were playing holidays,
To sport would be as tedious as to work;
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If all the year were playing holidays,
To sport would be as tedious as to work;
And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.