William Shakespeare

Who riseth from a feast
With that keen appetite that he sits down?

Who riseth from a feast
With that keen appetite that he sits down?

She swore, i' faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange;
'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful.

She swore, i' faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange;
'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful.

I'll potch at him some way;
Or wrath or craft may get him.

I'll potch at him some way;
Or wrath or craft may get him.

On Tuesday last
A falcon, now tow'ring in her pride of place,
Was by a mousing owl read more

On Tuesday last
A falcon, now tow'ring in her pride of place,
Was by a mousing owl hawked at and killed.

There is gold for you. Sell me your good report.

There is gold for you. Sell me your good report.