Susan Herbert´s cats (I)
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds that lour´d upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
me your ears;
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their
So let it be with Caesar.
She is my goods, my chattels, she is my house,
My household stuff, my field, my barn,
My horse, my ox, my ass, my anything.
(The taming of the shrew)
It is the green-ey´d monster which doth mock
The meat it feeds on.