Maxioms by William Shakespeare
And wer't not madness then
To make the fox surveyor of the fold.
And wer't not madness then
To make the fox surveyor of the fold.
Death my lord,
Their clothes are after such a pagan cut to 't
That sure th' have read more
Death my lord,
Their clothes are after such a pagan cut to 't
That sure th' have worn out Christendom.
That were to blow at fire in hope to quench it;
For who digs hills because they do aspire
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That were to blow at fire in hope to quench it;
For who digs hills because they do aspire
Throws down one mountain to cast up a higher.
Whence is that knocking?
How is't with me, when every noise appals me?
Whence is that knocking?
How is't with me, when every noise appals me?
