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So will I turn her virtue into pitch, And out of her own goodness make the net That shall enmesh them all.
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
Make
Desdemona
Pitch
Goodness
Turn
Virtue
Shall
Turns
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Plenty and peace breed cowards hardness ever of hardiness is mother.
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Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week? Or sell eternity to get a toy? For one grape who will the vine destroy?
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I prithee gentle friend, Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passions, sway In this uncivil and unjust extent Against thy peace.
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Of all complexions the culled sovereignty Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek, Where several worthies make one dignity, Where nothing wants that want itself doth seek.
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That which hath made them drunk hath made me bold What hath quenched them hath given me fire.
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Thine eyes I love, and they as pitying me, Knowing thy heart torment me with disdain, Have put on black, and loving mourners be, Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain.
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Pardon, gentles all, the flat unraised spirits that have dared on this unworthy scaffold to bring forth so great an object.
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Swift as shadow, short as any dream
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I can counterfeit the deep tragedian Speak and look back, and pry on every side, Tremble and start, at wagging of a straw, Intending deep suspicion.
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If the boy have not a woman's gift To rain a shower of commanded tears, An onion will do well for such a shift.
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Ideas are the very coinage of your brain.
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A poor thing, perhaps, but my own.
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Neither a borrower nor a lender be.
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Base is the slave that pays.
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Vice repeated is like the wandering wind, blows dust in others' eyes to spread itself.
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