William Shakespeare

Can it be
That modesty may more betray our sense
Than woman's lightness? Having waste ground enough,
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Can it be
That modesty may more betray our sense
Than woman's lightness? Having waste ground enough,
Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary
And pitch our evils there?

To have done, is to hang
Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail
In monumental mockery.

To have done, is to hang
Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail
In monumental mockery.

When I bestride him, I soar, I am a hawk.

When I bestride him, I soar, I am a hawk.

O Cicero,
I have seen tempests when the scolding winds
Have rived the knotty oaks, and I read more

O Cicero,
I have seen tempests when the scolding winds
Have rived the knotty oaks, and I have seen
Th' ambitious ocean swell and rage and foam
To be exalted with the threat'ning clouds;
But never till to-night, never till now,
Did I go through a tempest dropping fire.

'T is strange that death should sing. I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan, Who chants a doleful read more

'T is strange that death should sing. I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan, Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death, And from the organ-pipe of frailty sings His soul and body to their lasting rest. -King John. Act v. Sc. 7.