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.

A plague upon it when thieves cannot be true one to another!

A plague upon it when thieves cannot be true one to another!

We may outrun,
By violent swiftness, that which we run at,
And lose by over-running.

We may outrun,
By violent swiftness, that which we run at,
And lose by over-running.

Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain-tops.

Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain-tops.

E'en a crow o' th' same nest; not altogether so great as the
first in goodness, but greater a read more

E'en a crow o' th' same nest; not altogether so great as the
first in goodness, but greater a great deal in evil. He excels
his brother for a coward, yet his brother is reputed one of the
best that is. In a retreat he outruns any lackey; marry, in
coming on he has the cramp.