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Come unto these yellow sands, And then take hands. Curtsied when you have and kissed The wild waves whist, Foot is featly here and there And, sweet sprites, the burden bear. Ariel's song, scene II, Act I
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
Sweet
Foot
Sprites
Feet
Sand
Whist
Song
Wild
Ariel
Hands
Wave
Sands
Come
Burden
Kissed
Take
Bear
Waves
Bears
Unto
Scene
Yellow
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Sometimes we are devils to ourselves When we will tempt the frailty of our powers, Presuming on their changeful potency.
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Being your slave what should I do but tend, Upon the hours, and times of your desire? I have no precious time at all to spend Nor services to do till you require.
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Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye Than twenty of their swords: look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity.
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Live loath'd and long, Most smiling, smooth, detested parasites, Courteous destroyers, affable wolves, meek bears, You fools of fortune, trencher friends, time flies Cap and knee slaves, vapors, and minute jacks.
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How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank Here we will sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears soft stillness, and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony
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The commonwealth of Athens is become a forest of beasts.
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Gold were as good as twenty orators.
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Ha. Against my will I am sent to bid you come into dinner. There's a double meaning in that. -Benedick (Much Ado)
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Base is the slave that pays.
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How can tyrants safely govern home, Unless abroad they purchase great alliance.
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Love goes toward love.
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If I may trust the flattering truth of sleep, My dreams presage some joyful news at hand. My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne, And all this day an unaccustomed spirit Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.
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To kill, I grant, is sin's extremest gust But, in defence, by mercy, 'tis most just.
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Like one Who having into truth, by telling of it, Made such a sinner of his memory, To credit his own lie.
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Why, then the world ’s mine oyster, Which I with sword will open.
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To beguile the time, look like the time. Bear welcome in your eye, your hand, your tongue.
William Shakespeare
I cannot do it without comp[u]ters.
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Like the lily That once was mistress of the field and flourished, I'll hang my head and perish.
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God send everyone their heart's desire!
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Your face, my thane, is as a book where men May read strange matters. To beguile the time, Look like the time bear welcome in your eye, Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under't.
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