William Shakespeare

He that is robb'd, not wanting what is stolen,
Let him not know it, and he's not robb'd at read more

He that is robb'd, not wanting what is stolen,
Let him not know it, and he's not robb'd at all.

But that your royal pleasure must be done,
This act is as an ancient tale new told,
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But that your royal pleasure must be done,
This act is as an ancient tale new told,
And in the last repeating troublesome,
Being urged at a time unreasonable.

Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow,
That I shall say good night till it be morrow.

Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow,
That I shall say good night till it be morrow.

Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset?
Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet?

Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset?
Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet?

Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing.
'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands;
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Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing.
'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands;
But he that filches from me my good name
Robs me of that which not enriches him
And makes me poor indeed.