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I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start. The game's afoot Follow your spirit: and upon this charge, Cry — God for Harry! England and Saint George!
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
Upon
Saint
Greyhounds
Spirit
Cry
Afoot
Like
England
Straining
Follow
Breach
Game
Harry
Stand
Slips
Games
Charge
Start
George
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Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books, But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.
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I will keep where there is wit stirring, and leave the faction of fools.
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Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, Should without eyes see pathways to his will!
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Be bloody, bold, and resolute laugh to scorn the power of man.
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I am one, my liege, Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world Have so incensed that I am reckless what I do to spite the world.
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I stand for judgment: answer: shall I have it?
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Withal I did infer your lineaments, Being the right idea of your father, Both in your form and nobleness of mind Laid open all your victories in Scotland, Your discipline in war, wisdom in peace, Your bounty, virtue, fair humility Indeed, left nothing fitting for your purpose Untouch'd or slightly handled in discourse.
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As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods they kill us for their sport.
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Thou knowest, winter tames man, woman, and beast.
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Fair, kind, and true is all my argument, Fair, kind, and true varying to other words And in this change is my invention spent, Three themes in one, which wondrous scope affords.
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Examine well your blood.
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You'd be so lean, that blast of January Would blow you through and through. Now, my fair'st friend, I would I had some flowers o' the spring that might Become your time of day.
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If [God] send me no husband, for the which blessing I am at him upon my knees every morning and evening.
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it is not enough to speak, but to speak truee
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Tis the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil.
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Minutes, hours, days, months, and years, Pass'd over to the end they were created, Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. Ah, what a life were this!
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She is a woman, therefore to be won.
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A virtuous and a Christianlike conclusion-- To pray for them that have done scathe to us.
William Shakespeare
