William Shakespeare

Take her, fair son, and from her blood raise up
Issue to me, that the contending kingdoms
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Take her, fair son, and from her blood raise up
Issue to me, that the contending kingdoms
Of France and England, whose very shores look pale
With envy of each other's happiness,
May cease their hatred, and this dear conjunction
Plant neighborhood and Christian-like accord
In their sweet bosoms, that never war advance
His bleeding sword 'twixt England and fair France.

The devil hath power
To assume a pleasing shape.

The devil hath power
To assume a pleasing shape.

O, how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors!
There is betwixt that smile read more

O, how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors!
There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
More pangs and fears than wars or women have;
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.

O, good old man, how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world, When service sweat for read more

O, good old man, how well in thee appears The constant service of the antique world, When service sweat for duty, not for meed! Thou art not for the fashion of these times, Where none will sweat but for promotion. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 3.

Promising is the very air o' th' time; it opens the eyes of
expectation. Performance is ever duller for read more

Promising is the very air o' th' time; it opens the eyes of
expectation. Performance is ever duller for his act; and, but in
the plainer and simpler kind of people, the deed of saying is
quite out of use. To promise is most courtly and fashionable;
performance is a kind of will or testament which argues a great
sickness in his judgment that makes it.