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If all the year were playing holidays To sport would be as tedious as to work.
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
Sport
Playing
Sports
Year
Falstaff
Work
Holidays
Years
Tedious
Would
Memorable
Holiday
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A poor thing, perhaps, but my own.
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After life's fitful fever he sleeps well. Treason has done his worst. Nor steel nor poison, malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing can touch him further.
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Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides: Who cover faults, at last shame them derides.
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The sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness.
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I will do anything, Nerissa, ere I'll be married to a sponge.
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Thou weigh'st thy words before thou givest them breath.
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O, beware, my lord, of jealousy It is the green-ey'd monster, which doth mock The meat it feeds on.
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The people are the city.
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Thou lump of foul deformity!
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A goodly portly man, i' faith, and a corpulent of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage and, as I think, his age some fifty, or, by'r Lady, inclining to threescore and now I remember me, his name is Falstaff.
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Listen to many, speak to a few.
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Every why has a wherefore.
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I am ill at these numbers.
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Let him smell his way to Dover!
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Say she rail why, I'll tell her plain She sings as sweetly as a nightingale. Say that she frown I'll say she looks as clear As morning roses newly wash'd with dew. Say she be mute and will not speak a word Then I'll commend her volubility, and say she uttereth piercing eloquence.
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Yon grey lines That fret the clouds are messengers of day.
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O comfort-killing night, image of hell, Dim register and notary of shame, Black stage for tragedies and murders fell, Vast sin-concealing chaos, nurse of blame!
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