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for my grief's so great That no supporter but the huge firm earth Can hold it up: here I and sorrows sit Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it. (Constance, from King John, Act III, scene 1)
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
Earth
John
Come
King
Constance
Great
Grief
Throne
Kings
Sorrows
Sorrow
Thrones
Scene
Supporter
Hold
Bows
Huge
Firm
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Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on.
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Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing.
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You will never age for me, nor fade, nor die.
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O mischief, thou art swift to enter in the thoughts of desperate men!
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... And death unloads thee.
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Get thee glass eyes, and like a scurvy politician, seem to see the things thou dost not.
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You are not worth the dust which the rude wind Blows in your face.
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Bounty, being free itself, thinks all others so.
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Sin, that amends, is but patched with virtue.
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How sometimes nature will betray its folly, Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime To harder bosoms!
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Words are easy, like the wind Faithful friends are hard to find.
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Go to you bosom: Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know.
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A woman would run through fire and water for such a kind heart.
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As he was valiant, I honour him. But as he was ambitious, I slew him.
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I know a lady in Venice would have walked barefoot to Palestine for a touch of his nether lip
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What a piece of work is a man
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My father's wit, and my mother's tongue, assist me!
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