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I am one, sir, that comes to tell you your daughter and the Moor are now making the beast with two backs.(IAGO,ActI,SceneI)
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
Backs
Beast
Daughter
Making
Comes
Tell
Iago
Two
Moor
Moors
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love is blind and lovers cannot see the pretty follies that themselves commit
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Faith, stay here this night they will surely do us no harm you saw they speak us fair, give us gold methinks they are such a gentle nation that, but for the mountain of mad flesh that claims marriage of me, could find in my heart to stay here still and turn witch.
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Lady, you are the cruel'st she alive If you will lead these graces to the grave And leave the world no copy.
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Sometimes when we are labeled, when we are branded our brand becomes our calling.
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Good wine is a good familiar creature if it be well used.
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A great cause of the night is lack of the sun.
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Most dear actors, eat no onions nor garlic, for we are to utter sweet breath.
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Let husbands know Their wives have sense like them. They see, and smell, And have their palates both for sweet and sour, As husbands have.
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You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!
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Bounty, being free itself, thinks all others so.
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These cardinals trifle with me I abhor This dilatory sloth and tricks of Rome.
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Oh, that way madness lies let me shun that.
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The fashion of the world is to avoid cost, and you encounter it.
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For in that sleep of death what dreams may come.
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Ingratitude is monstrous.
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I have heard it said There is an art which in their piedness shares With great creating nature.
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Though music oft hath such a charm to make bad good, and good provoke to harm.
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If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not As to thy friends for when did friendship take A breed for barren metal of his friend?
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Free from gross passion or of mirth or anger
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My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain. Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree Murder, stern murder in the dir'st degree, Throng to the bar, crying all, 'Guilty!, guilty!
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