William Shakespeare

Yet 'tis greater skill
In a true hate to pray they have their will;
The very devils read more

Yet 'tis greater skill
In a true hate to pray they have their will;
The very devils cannot plague them better.

Whence is that knocking?
How is't with me, when every noise appals me?

Whence is that knocking?
How is't with me, when every noise appals me?

These are the forgeries of jealousy;
And never, since the middle summer's spring,
Met we on hill, read more

These are the forgeries of jealousy;
And never, since the middle summer's spring,
Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead,
By paved fountain or by rushy brook,
Or in the beached margent of the sea,
To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind,
But with thy brawls thou hast disturbed our sport.

Lie ten nights awake, carving the fashion of a new doublet. He was wont to speak plain and to the read more

Lie ten nights awake, carving the fashion of a new doublet. He was wont to speak plain and to the purpose. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act ii. Sc. 3.

Meagre were his looks,
Sharp misery had worn him to the bones;
And in his needy shop read more

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 boxes,
Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds,
Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses
Were thinly scattered, to make up a show.