William Shakespeare

Now, infidel, I have you on the hip!

Now, infidel, I have you on the hip!

Jesters do oft prove prophets

Jesters do oft prove prophets

Things won are done, joy's soul lies in the doing.

Things won are done, joy's soul lies in the doing.

O God! methinks it were a happy life
To be no better than a homely swain;
To read more

O God! methinks it were a happy life
To be no better than a homely swain;
To sit upon a hill, as I do now,
To carve out dials, quaintly, point by point,
Thereby to see the minutes, how they run--
How many makes the hour full complete,
How many hours brings about the day,
How many days will finish up the year,
How many years a mortal man may live;
When this is known, then to divide the times--
So many hours must I tend my flock,
So many hours must I take my rest,
So many hours must I contemplate,
So many hours must I sport myself;
So many days my ewes have been with young,
So many weeks ere the poor fools will ean,
So many months ere I shall shear the fleece.
So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years,
Passed over to the end they were created,
Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.
Ah, what a life were this!

Didst thou never hear That things ill got had ever bad success? And happy always was it for that son read more

Didst thou never hear That things ill got had ever bad success? And happy always was it for that son Whose father for his hoarding went to hell? -King Henry VI. Part III. Act ii. Sc. 2.