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The iron tongue of Midnight hath told twelve lovers, to bed 'tis almost fairy time. I fear we shall outstep the coming morn as much as we this night over-watch'd.
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
Fear
Bed
Night
Lovers
Morn
Much
Watches
Midnight
Time
Watch
Hath
Coming
Twelve
Told
Iron
Shall
Fairy
Almost
Tongue
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Stones have been known to move and trees to speak.
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Poor Desdemona! I am glad thy father's dead. Thy match was mortal to him, and pure grief Shore his old thread in twain.
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To take arms against a sea of troubles.
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I do know when the blood burns, how prodigal the soul lends the tongue vows.
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My crown is in my heart, not on my head.
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For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak With most miraculous organ.
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Like Patience gazing on kings' graves, and smiling Extremity out of act.
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Foul whisperings are abroad
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France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits the tread of a man's foot.
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A flock of blessings light upon thy back
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I'll be damned for never a king's son in Christendom.
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I think thy horse will sooner con an oration than thou learn a prayer without book.
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Who wooed in haste, and means to wed at leisure.
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So every bondman in his own hand bears The power to cancel his captivity.
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If it be honor in your wars to seem The same you are not,--which, for your best ends, You adopt your policy--how is it less or worse, That it shall hold companionship in peace With honour, as in war: since that to both It stands in like request?
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In nature's infinite book of secrecy A little I can read.
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Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars That make ambition virtue! O, farewell! Farewell the neighing steed and the shrill trump, The spirit-stirring drum, th' ear-piercing fife, The royal banner, and all quality, Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war!
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Mine eyes smell onions: I shall weep anon.
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