William Shakespeare

With devotion's visage,
And pious action, we do sugar o'er
The devil himself.

With devotion's visage,
And pious action, we do sugar o'er
The devil himself.

He makes a July's day short as December,
And with his varying childness cures in me
Thoughts read more

He makes a July's day short as December,
And with his varying childness cures in me
Thoughts that would thick my blood.

This night I hold an old accustomed feast,
Whereto I have invited many a guest,
Such as read more

This night I hold an old accustomed feast,
Whereto I have invited many a guest,
Such as I love; and you among the store,
One more, most welcome, makes my number more.

Hark, hark, the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And Phoebus gins arise,
His steeds to water at read more

Hark, hark, the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And Phoebus gins arise,
His steeds to water at those springs
On chaliced flowers that lies;
And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes.
With every thing that pretty is,
My lady sweet, arise,
Arise, arise!

Yet gold all is not that doth golden seem.

Yet gold all is not that doth golden seem.