William Shakespeare

Ay, gentle Thurio, for you know that love
Wilt creep in service where it cannot go.

Ay, gentle Thurio, for you know that love
Wilt creep in service where it cannot go.

How use doth breed a habit in a man!
This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods,
I better brook read more

How use doth breed a habit in a man!
This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods,
I better brook than flourishing peopled towns.

He that filches from me my good name
Robs me of that, which not enriches him,
And read more

He that filches from me my good name
Robs me of that, which not enriches him,
And makes me poor indeed.

What then? What rests?
Try what repentance can. What can it not?
Yet what can it when read more

What then? What rests?
Try what repentance can. What can it not?
Yet what can it when one cannot repent?
O wretched state? O bosom black as death!
O limed soul, that struggling to be free
Art more engaged!

(Cornwall:) Thou art a strange fellow. A tailor make a man?
(Kent:) A tailor, sir. A stonecutter or a read more

(Cornwall:) Thou art a strange fellow. A tailor make a man?
(Kent:) A tailor, sir. A stonecutter or a painter could not
have made him ill, though they had been but two years o' th'
trade.