William Shakespeare

Not that I have the power to clutch my hand
When his fair angels would salute by palm,
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Not that I have the power to clutch my hand
When his fair angels would salute by palm,
But for my hand, as unattempted yet,
Like a poor beggar, raileth on the rich.
Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail
And say there is no sin but to be rich;
And being rich, my virtue then shall be
To say there is no vice but beggary.

The sense of death is most in apprehension,
And the poor beetle that we tread upon
In read more

The sense of death is most in apprehension,
And the poor beetle that we tread upon
In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great
As when a giant dies.

(Macbeth:) Here's our chief guest.
(Lady Macbeth:) If he had been forgotten,
It had been as a read more

(Macbeth:) Here's our chief guest.
(Lady Macbeth:) If he had been forgotten,
It had been as a gap in our great feast,
And all-thing unbecoming.

From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim,
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From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim,
Hath put a spirit of youth in everything,
That heavy Saturn laughed and leapt with him;
Yet nor the lays of birds, not the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odor and in hue,
Could make me any summer's story tell,
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew:
Nor did I wonder at the lily's white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
Yet seemed it winter still, and you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play.

The most senseless and fit man. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iii. Sc. 3.

The most senseless and fit man. -Much Ado about Nothing. Act iii. Sc. 3.