William Shakespeare

Omittance is no quittance.

Omittance is no quittance.

I do remember an apothecary,
And hereabouts 'a dwells, which late I noted
In tatt'red weeds, with read more

I do remember an apothecary,
And hereabouts 'a dwells, which late I noted
In tatt'red weeds, with overwhelming brows,
Culling of simples. Meagre were his looks,
Sharp misery had worn him to the bones;
And in his needy shop a tortoise hung,
An alligator stuffed, and other skins
Of ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves
A beggarly account of empty boxes,
Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds,
Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses
Were thinly scattered, to make up a show.

Berowne they call him; but a merrier man,
Within the limit of becoming mirth,
I never spent read more

Berowne they call him; but a merrier man,
Within the limit of becoming mirth,
I never spent an hour's talk withal.

My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, That fools should be so deep-contemplative; And I did laugh sans intermission An read more

My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, That fools should be so deep-contemplative; And I did laugh sans intermission An hour by his dial. -As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 7.

I had rather be a kitten and cry mew
Than one of these same metre ballet-mongers.

I had rather be a kitten and cry mew
Than one of these same metre ballet-mongers.