William Shakespeare

Where every something, being blent together turns to a wild of nothing.

Where every something, being blent together turns to a wild of nothing.

I charge thee, Satan, housed within this man,
To yield possession to my holy prayers,
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I charge thee, Satan, housed within this man,
To yield possession to my holy prayers,
And to thy state of darkness hie thee straight.
I conjure thee by all the saints in heaven.

'Ay,' quoth my uncle Gloucester,
'Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace.'
And since, methinks, read more

'Ay,' quoth my uncle Gloucester,
'Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace.'
And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast,
Because sweet flow'rs are slow and weeds make haste.

One sorrow never comes but brings an heir,
That may succeed as his inheritor.

One sorrow never comes but brings an heir,
That may succeed as his inheritor.

For 'tis the sport to have the enginer
Hoist with his own petar, and 't shall go hard
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For 'tis the sport to have the enginer
Hoist with his own petar, and 't shall go hard
But I will delve one yard below their mines
And blow them at the moon.