William Shakespeare

My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind:
So flewed, so sanded, and their heads are hung
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My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind:
So flewed, so sanded, and their heads are hung
With ears that sweep away the morning dew;
Crook-kneed, and dewlapped like Thessalian bulls;
Slow in pursuit, but matched in mouth like bells,
Each under each.

My grief lies all within, And these external manners of lament Are merely shadows to the unseen grief That swells read more

My grief lies all within, And these external manners of lament Are merely shadows to the unseen grief That swells with silence in the tortured soul

The fox barks not when he would steal the lamb.

The fox barks not when he would steal the lamb.

He that keeps nor crust nor crumb,
Weary of all shall want some.

He that keeps nor crust nor crumb,
Weary of all shall want some.

Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me From mine own library with volumes that I prize above my dukedom. read more

Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me From mine own library with volumes that I prize above my dukedom. -The Tempest. Act i. Sc. 2.