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Ring the alarum-bell! Blow, wind! come, wrack! At least we'll die with harness on our back.
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
Wind
Least
Harness
Dies
Bell
Back
Bells
Come
Ring
Rings
Blow
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You are an alchemist make gold of that.
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And his unkindness may defeat my life, But never taint my love.
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Dispute not with her: she is lunatic.
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It is silliness to live when to live is torment, and then have we a prescription to die when death is our physician.
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Nay, had I pow'r, I should Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell, Uproar the universal peace, confound All unity on earth.
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I thank God I am as honest as any man living that is an old man and no honester than I.
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Make less thy body hence, and more thy grace. Leave gormandizing.
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Our praises are our wages.
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Cold indeed, and labor lost: Then farewell heat, and welcome frost!
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Had it pleas'd heaven To try me with affliction * * * I should have found in some place of my soul A drop of patience.
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Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind.
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Fruits that blossom first will first be ripe.
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My love admits no qualifying dross
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Nimble thought can jump both sea and land.
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Love's heralds should be thoughts, Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams Driving back shadows over low'ring hills. Therefore do nimble-pinioned doves draw Love, And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.
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He does me double wrong That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue.
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With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls, for stony limits cannot hold love out
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Love, whose month is ever May, Spied a blossom passing fair, Playing in the wanton air: Through the velvet leaves the wind, All unseen can passage find That the lover, sick to death, Wish'd himself the heaven's breath.
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