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.
William ShakespeareBut whate'er I am, nor I nor any man that but man is, With nothing shall be pleased 'til he be eased With being nothing.
William ShakespeareMurder most foul, as in the best it it; But this most foul, strange, and unnatural.
William ShakespeareWe cannot fight for love, as men may do; we shou'd be woo'd, and were not made to woo
William Shakespeare