But who would scorn the month of June,
Because December with his breath so hoary,
Must come? read more

But who would scorn the month of June,
Because December with his breath so hoary,
Must come? Much rather should he court the ray,
To hoard up warmth against a wintry day.

Who is there that, shooting all day long, does not sometimes hit
the mark?

Who is there that, shooting all day long, does not sometimes hit
the mark?

All the world's a stage.

All the world's a stage.

You cannot flea a stone.

You cannot flea a stone.

He that hath no good trade, it is to his losse.

He that hath no good trade, it is to his losse.

He plaies well that winnes.
[He plays well that wins.]

He plaies well that winnes.
[He plays well that wins.]

There are a kind of men so loose of soul,
That in their sleeps will mutter their affairs.

There are a kind of men so loose of soul,
That in their sleeps will mutter their affairs.

Giving is dead, restoring very sicke.

Giving is dead, restoring very sicke.

Presse a stick, and it seemes a youth.

Presse a stick, and it seemes a youth.