William Shakespeare

Virtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes.

Virtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes.

O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night,
Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible.

O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night,
Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible.

Perseverance, dear my lord,
Keeps honor bright; to have done, is to hang
Quite out of fashion, read more

Perseverance, dear my lord,
Keeps honor bright; to have done, is to hang
Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail
In monumental mock'ry.

He that loves to be flattered is worthy o' the flatterer.

He that loves to be flattered is worthy o' the flatterer.

Death my lord,
Their clothes are after such a pagan cut to 't
That sure th' have read more

Death my lord,
Their clothes are after such a pagan cut to 't
That sure th' have worn out Christendom.