William Shakespeare

The more thou dam'st it up, the more it burns.
The current that with gentle murmur glides,
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The more thou dam'st it up, the more it burns.
The current that with gentle murmur glides,
Thou know'st, being stopped, impatiently doth rage;
But when his fair course is not hindered,
He makes sweet music with th' enameled stones,
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge,
He overtaketh in his pilgrimage.
And so by many winding nooks he strays
With willing sport to the wild ocean.
Then let me go and hinder not my course.
I'll be as patient as a gentle stream
And make a pastime of each weary step,
Till the last step have brought me to my love;
And there I'll rest, as after much turmoil
A blessed soul doth in Elysium.

The noble sister of Publicola,
The moon of Rome, chaste as the icicle
That's curded by the read more

The noble sister of Publicola,
The moon of Rome, chaste as the icicle
That's curded by the frost from purest snow
And hangs on Dian's temple--dear Valeria!

The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man's hand is not able to read more

The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was. -A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act iv. Sc. 1.

What infinite heart's-ease
Must kings neglect that private men enjoy!
And what have kings that privates have read more

What infinite heart's-ease
Must kings neglect that private men enjoy!
And what have kings that privates have not too,
Save ceremony, save general ceremony?