William Shakespeare

And with them words of so sweet breath composed
As made the things more rich.

And with them words of so sweet breath composed
As made the things more rich.

And what art thou, thou idol Ceremony?
What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more
Of read more

And what art thou, thou idol Ceremony?
What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more
Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers?

They say, best men are moulded out of faults, And, for the most, become much more the better For being read more

They say, best men are moulded out of faults, And, for the most, become much more the better For being a little bad. -Measure for Measure. Act v. Sc. 1.

Now, good my lord,
Let there be some more test made of my mettle
Before so noble read more

Now, good my lord,
Let there be some more test made of my mettle
Before so noble and so great a figure
Be stamped upon it.

Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time in you? -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 3.

Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time in you? -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 3.