William Shakespeare

Bleed, bleed, poor Country!
Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure,
For goodness dare not check thee; read more

Bleed, bleed, poor Country!
Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure,
For goodness dare not check thee; wear thou thy wrongs,
The title is affeered!

She would have made Hercules have turned spit, yea, and have
cleft his club to make the fire too.

She would have made Hercules have turned spit, yea, and have
cleft his club to make the fire too.

I ask, that I might waken reverence,
And bid the cheek be ready with a blush
Modest read more

I ask, that I might waken reverence,
And bid the cheek be ready with a blush
Modest as morning when she coldly eyes
The youthful Phoebus,
Which is that god in office, guiding men?

Now the good gods forbid
That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude
Towards her deserved children is enrolled
read more

Now the good gods forbid
That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude
Towards her deserved children is enrolled
In Jove's own book, like an unnatural dam
Should now eat up her own!

More matter for a May morning. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 4.

More matter for a May morning. -Twelfth Night. Act iii. Sc. 4.