William Shakespeare

In the posteriors of this day, which the rude multitude call the afternoon. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act v. Sc. read more

In the posteriors of this day, which the rude multitude call the afternoon. -Love's Labour 's Lost. Act v. Sc. 1.

O, break, my heart! poor bankrout, break at once!
To prison, eyes; ne'er look on liberty!
Vile read more

O, break, my heart! poor bankrout, break at once!
To prison, eyes; ne'er look on liberty!
Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here,
And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier!

Trust not the physician;
His antidotes are poison, and he slays
More than you rob.

Trust not the physician;
His antidotes are poison, and he slays
More than you rob.

I am your host.
With robber's hands in my hospitable favors
You should not ruffle thus.

I am your host.
With robber's hands in my hospitable favors
You should not ruffle thus.

O nation miserable,
With an untitled tyrant bloody-sceptred,
When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again,
read more

O nation miserable,
With an untitled tyrant bloody-sceptred,
When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again,
Since that the truest issue of thy throne
By his own interdiction stands accursed
And does blaspheme his breed?