William Shakespeare

Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way,
And merrily hent the stile-a.
A merry heart goes all read more

Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way,
And merrily hent the stile-a.
A merry heart goes all the day,
Your sad tires in a mile-a.

The very staff of my age, my very prop. -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 2.

The very staff of my age, my very prop. -The Merchant of Venice. Act ii. Sc. 2.

Have you the heart? When your head did but ache,
I knit my handkercher about your brows--
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Have you the heart? When your head did but ache,
I knit my handkercher about your brows--
The best I had, a princess wrought it me--
And I did never ask it you again;
And with my hand at midnight held your head,
And like the watchful minutes to the hour,
Still and anon cheered up the heavy time,
Saying, 'What lack you?' and 'Where lies your grief?'

Where every something, being blent together turns to a wild of nothing.

Where every something, being blent together turns to a wild of nothing.

There's villainous news abroad.

There's villainous news abroad.