William Shakespeare

Death will have his day.

Death will have his day.

All swol'n with chafing, down Adonis sits,
Banning his boist'rous and unruly beast;
And now the happy read more

All swol'n with chafing, down Adonis sits,
Banning his boist'rous and unruly beast;
And now the happy season once more fits
That lovesick Love by pleading may be blest;
For lovers say the heart hath treble wrong
When it is barred the aidance of the tongue.

Nay, do not think I flatter.
For what advancement may I hope from thee,
That no revenue read more

Nay, do not think I flatter.
For what advancement may I hope from thee,
That no revenue hast but thy good spirits
To feed and clothe thee? Why should the poor be flattered?
No, let the candied tongue like absurd pomp,
And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee
Where thrift may follow fawning.

Then let thy love be younger than thyself, Or thy affection cannot hold the bent. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. read more

Then let thy love be younger than thyself, Or thy affection cannot hold the bent. -Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 4.

This apoplexy, as I take it, is a kind of lethargy, an't please
your lordship, a kind of sleeping read more

This apoplexy, as I take it, is a kind of lethargy, an't please
your lordship, a kind of sleeping in the blood, a whoreson
tingling.