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O, grief hath changed me since you saw me last, And careful hours with Time's deformed hand Have written strange defeatures in my face. But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice?
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
Voice
Hand
Dost
Tell
Since
Hath
Hands
Written
Thou
Time
Face
Careful
Hours
Grief
Lasts
Saws
Last
Strange
Faces
Changed
Deformed
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Ten masts make not the altitude Which thou hast perpendicularly fell. Thy life's a miracle.
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O madam, my old heart is cracked, it's cracked!
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Because it is a customary cross, As die to love as thoughts, and dreams, and sighs, Wishes, and tears, poor fancy's followers.
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I will be free, even to the uttermost, as I please, in words.
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I understand thy kisses, and thou mine, And that's a feeling disputation.
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Tis much when sceptres are in children's hands, But more when envy breeds unkind division: There comes the ruin, there begins confusion.
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Through tattered clothes great vices do appear Robes and furred gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold and the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks. Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw does pierce it.
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A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king, and eat of the fish that hath fed of that worm
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We are advertis'd by our loving friends.
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How now, wit! Whither wander you?
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Unless the old adage must be verified, That beggars mounted, run their horse to death.
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Thrice is he arm'd that hath his quarrel just, And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel, Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.
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For we, which now behold these present days, Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.
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All love's pleasure shall not match its woe.
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Thus may poor fools Belive false teachers.
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Heaven is above all yet there sits a judge, That no king can corrupt.
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You must confine yourself within the modest limits of order.
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Let us, like merchants, show our foulest wares, And think perchance they'll sell if not, The lustre of the better yet to show Shall show the better.
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Hasty marriage seldom proveth well.
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You are thought here to the most senseless and fit man for the job.
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