William Shakespeare

My prophecy is but half his journey yet,
For yonder walls, that pertly front your town,
Yon read more

My prophecy is but half his journey yet,
For yonder walls, that pertly front your town,
Yon towers, whose wanton tops do buss the clouds,
Must kiss their own feet.

The sense of death is most in apprehension; And the poor beetle, that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds read more

The sense of death is most in apprehension; And the poor beetle, that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies. -Measure for Measure. Act iii. Sc. 1.

It had a dying fall;
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound
That breathes read more

It had a dying fall;
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odor.

Here burns my candle out; ay, here it dies,
Which, whiles it lasted, gave King Henry light.

Here burns my candle out; ay, here it dies,
Which, whiles it lasted, gave King Henry light.

Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow,
That I shall say good night till it be morrow.

Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow,
That I shall say good night till it be morrow.