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And thus I clothe my naked villainy With odd old ends stol'n out of holy writ And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.

William Shakespeare

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William Shakespeare
Age: 51 †
Born: 1564
Born: April 26
Died: 1616
Died: April 23
Actor
Dramaturge
Playwright
Poet
Stage Actor
Writer
Stratford-upon-Avon
Warwickshire
Shakespeare
The Bard
The Bard of Avon
William Shakspere
Swan of Avon
Bard of Avon
Shakespere
Shakespear
Shakspeare
Shackspeare
William Shake‐ſpeare
Ends
Writ
Seems
Odd
Play
Saint
Naked
Thus
Devil
Holy
Villainy
Seem
Clothe

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The earth, that is nature's mother, is her tomb.
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There was never yet fair woman but she made mouths in a glass.
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The fool multitude, that choose by show, not learning more than the fond eye doth teach.
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I have heard of your paintings too, well enough God has given you one face, and you make yourselves another: you jig, you amble, and you lisp, and nick-name God's creatures, and make your wantonness your ignorance. Go to, I'll no more on't it hath made me mad.
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But 'tis common proof, that lowliness is young ambition's ladder, whereto the climber-upward turns his face but when he once attains the upmost round, he then turns his back, looks in the clouds, scorning the vase defrees by which he did ascend.
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What's to come is still unsure: In delay there lies no plenty Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty, Youth's a stuff will not endure.
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For in my youth I never did apply Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood.
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He wears his faith but as the fashion of his hat.
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For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak With most miraculous organ.
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You are not worth another word, else I'd call you knave.
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If I be waspish, best beware my sting.
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Now the time is come, That France must veil her lofty-plumed crest, And let her head fall into England's lap.
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