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Let's all cry peace, freedom, and liberty!

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
Cry
Liberty
Freedom
Peace

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Keep time! How sour sweet music is when time is broke and no proportion kept! So is it in the music of men's lives. I wasted time and now doth time waste me.
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My long sickness Of health and living now begins to mend, And nothing brings me all things.
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Fight to the last gasp.
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I will be master of what is mine own: She is my goods, my chattels she is my house, My household stuff, my field, my barn, My horse, my ox, my ass, my any thing.
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O, call back yesterday, bid time return
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The dullness of the fool is the whetstone of the wits.
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He that is thy friend indeed, He will help thee in thy need: If thou sorrow, he will weep If thou wake, he cannot sleep: Thus of every grief in heart He with thee does bear a part. These are certain signs to know Faithful friend from flattering foe.
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The clamorous owl that nightly hoots and wonders At our quaint spirits.
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And will he not come again? And will he not come again? No, no, he is dead. Go to thy deathbed. He never will come again.
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Our holy lives must win a new world's crown.
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His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth.
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The man that hath no music in himself
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Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord, That would reduce these bloody days again And make poor England weep in streams of blood! Let them not live to taste this land's increase That would with treason wound this fair land's peace! Now civil wounds are stopped, peace lives again: That she may long live here, God say amen!
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I am giddy, expectation whirls me round. The imaginary relish is so sweet That it enchants my sense.
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They lie deadly that tell you have good faces.
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Let those that play your clowns speak no more than is set down for them.
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Have I thought long to see this morning’s face, And doth it give me such a sight as this?
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The let-alone lies not in your good will.
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I will chide no breather in the world but myself, against whom I know most faults.
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If thou dost love, proclaim it faithfully.
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