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Under the greenwood tree, Who loves to lie with me And tune his merry note, Unto the sweet bird's throat Come hither, come hither, come hither. Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather.
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
Lying
Winter
Merry
Come
Notes
Tune
Loves
Unto
Bird
Tunes
Sweet
Note
Tree
Throat
Shall
Rough
Greenwood
Enemy
Weather
Hither
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There's villainous news abroad.
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Well, God give them wisdom that have it and those that are fools, let them use their talents.
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He is not great who is not greatly good.
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As full of spirit as the month of May, and as gorgeous as the sun in Midsummer.
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Now the melancholy of God protect thee, and the tailor make thy doublet of changable taffata, for thy mind is a very opal. I would have men of such constancy put to sea, that their business might be everything, and their intent everywhere, for that's it, that always makes a good voyage of nothing.
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Sit by my side, and let the world slip: we shall ne'er be younger.
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I will not be sworn but love may transform me to an oyster
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Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee. I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight? or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
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Time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, and let Time try.
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As a walled town is more worthier than a village, so is the forehead of a married man more honorable than the bare brow of a bachelor.
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The tempter or the tempted, who sins most? Ha! Not she: nor doth she tempt: but it is I That, lying by the violet in the sun, Do as the carrion does, not as the flower, Corrupt with virtuous season.
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Too nice, and yet too true!
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That which is now a horse, even with a thought The rack dislimms, and makes it indistinct As water is in water
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We do not keep the outward form of order, where there is deep disorder in the mind.
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Muster your wits stand in your own defence.
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Here's that which is too weak to be a sinner, honest water, which ne'er left man i' the mire.
William Shakespeare
But that the dread of something after death, The undiscover'd country from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of?
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Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more Or close the wall up with our English dead! In peace there's nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility: But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger.
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Youth to itself rebels, though none else near.
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Shall remain! Hear you this Triton of the minnows? Mark you His absolute 'shall'?
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