Witches Chant (From Macbeth) by William Shakespeare

Round about the couldron go:

In the poisones entrails throw.

Toad,that under cold stone

Days and nights has thirty-one

Sweated venom sleeping got,

Boil thou first in the charmed pot.

Double,double toil and trouble;

Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

Fillet of a fenny snake,

In the cauldron boil and bake;

Eye of newt and toe of frog,

Wool of bat and tongue of dog,

Adder's fork and blindworm's sting,

Lizard's leg and howlet's wing.

For charm of powerful trouble,

Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.

Double,double toil and trouble;

Fire burn and couldron bubble.

Scale of dragon,tooth of wolf,

Witch's mummy, maw and gulf

Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark,

Root of hemlock digg'd in the dark,

Liver of blaspheming Jew;

Gall of goat; andslips of yew

silver'd in the moon's eclipse;

Nose of Turk, and Tartar's lips;

Finger of birth-strangled babe

Ditch-deliver'd by the drab,-

Make the gruel thick and slab:

Add thereto a tiger's chaudron,

For ingrediants of our cauldron.

Double,double toil and trouble,

Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

 Winter by William Shakespeare

When icicles hang by the wall

And Dick the shepherd blows his nail

And Tom bears logs into the hall,

And milk comes frozen home in pail,

When Blood is nipped and ways be foul,

Then nightly sings the staring owl,

Tu-who;

Tu-whit, tu-who: a merry note,

While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

When all aloud the wind doth blow,

And coughing drowns the parson's saw,

And birds sit brooding in the snow,

And Marian's nose looks red and raw

When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,

Then nightly sings the staring owl,

Tu-who;

Tu-whit, tu-who: a merry note,

While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

 William Shakespeare Epitaph by William Shakespeare

Good frend for Iesvs sake forebeare,

To digg the dvst encloased heare.

Bleste be Middle English the.svg man Middle English that.svg spares thes stones,

And cvrst be he Middle English that.svg moves my bones.

In modern spelling:

Good friend for Jesus sake forbear,

To dig the dust enclosed here.

Blessed be the man that spares these stones,

And cursed be he that moves my bones.

 Where The Bee Sucks (from The Tempest) by William
Shakespeare

WHERE the bee sucks, there suck I:

In a cowslip's bell I lie;

There I couch when owls do cry.

On the bat's back I do fly.

After summer merrily:

Merrily, merrily, shall I live now

Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.