William Shakespeare

Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks. Rage, blow,
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drenched read more

Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks. Rage, blow,
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drenched our steeples, downed the cocks.

Would the cook were o' my mind!

Would the cook were o' my mind!

That is the way to lay the city flat,
To bring the roof to the foundation,
And read more

That is the way to lay the city flat,
To bring the roof to the foundation,
And bury all, which yet distinctly ranges,
In heaps and piles of ruin.

Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp'd,
Doth burn the heart to cinders, where it is.

Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp'd,
Doth burn the heart to cinders, where it is.

I would fain die a dry death. -The Tempest. Act i. Sc. 1.

I would fain die a dry death. -The Tempest. Act i. Sc. 1.