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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.
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
Wish
Fancy
Dream
Cross
Love
Crosses
Tears
Customary
Dreams
Sighs
Thoughts
Sigh
Dies
Followers
Poor
Wishes
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Lechery, lechery still, wars and lechery: nothing else holds fashion.
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There is flattery in friendship.
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Did he so often lodge in open field, In winter's cold and summer's parching heat, To conquer France, his true inheritance?
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That affable familiar ghost Which nightly gulls him with intelligence.
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A woman is a dish for the gods, if the devil dress her not.
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I would give all of my fame for a pot of ale and safety.
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Teach not thy lip such scorn, for it was made For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.
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As I love the name of honour more than I fear death.
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A fool thinks himself to be wise, but a wise man knows himself to be a fool.
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He is dead and gone, lady, He is dead and gone At his head a grass-green turf, At his heels a stone.
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Now 'tis spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted Suffer them now and they'll o'ergrow the garden.
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My glass shall not persuade me I am old, So long as youth and thou are of one date But when in thee time's furrows I behold, Then look I death my days should expiate.
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Say she rail why, I'll tell her plain She sings as sweetly as a nightingale. Say that she frown I'll say she looks as clear As morning roses newly wash'd with dew. Say she be mute and will not speak a word Then I'll commend her volubility, and say she uttereth piercing eloquence.
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Lawyers Are: Perilous mouths.
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So many horrid Ghosts.
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Bid me run, and I will strive with things impossible.
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To kill, I grant, is sin's extremest gust But, in defence, by mercy, 'tis most just.
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It easeth some, though none it ever cured, to think their dolour others have endured.
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He is deformed, crooked, old and sere, Ill-faced, worse bodied, shapeless everywhere Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind Stigmatical in making, worse in mind.
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Come, seeling night, Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day, And with thy bloody and invisible hand Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond Which keeps me pale. Light thickens, and the crow Makes wing to th' rooky wood. Good things of day begin to droop and drowse, While night's black agents to their prey do rouse.
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