Did he so often lodge in open field, In winter's cold and summer's parching heat, To conquer France, his true inheritance?
William ShakespeareGnarling sorrow hath less power to bite The man that mocks at it and sets it light.
William ShakespeareDid he so often lodge in open field, In winter's cold and summer's parching heat, To conquer France, his true inheritance?
William ShakespeareGnarling sorrow hath less power to bite The man that mocks at it and sets it light.
William Shakespeare