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The teeming Autumn big with rich increase, bearing the wanton burden of the prime like widowed wombs after their lords decease.
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
Burden
Widowed
Increase
Teeming
Rich
Lords
Lord
Wanton
Bigs
Bearing
Like
Womb
Autumn
Decease
Prime
Wombs
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Speak low, if you speak love.
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His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes: With every thing that pretty is, My lady sweet, arise.
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I would challenge you to a battle of wits, but I see you are unarmed!
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If fortune torments me, hope contents me.
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Can I go forward when my heart is here? Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out.
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Under the colour of commending him I have access my own love to prefer But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy, To be corrupted with my worthless gifts.
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Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, The seasons' difference, as the icy fang And churlish chiding of the winter's wind, Which, when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile.
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Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
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I will go wash And when my face is fair, you shall perceive Whether I blush or no.
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Come my spade. There is no ancient gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers, and grave-makers they hold up Adam's profession.
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Who alone suffers suffers most i' th' mind, Leaving free things and happy shows behind But then the mind much sufferance doth o'erskip When grief hath mates, and bearing fellowship.
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Beauty itself doth of itself persuade the eyes of men without an orator.
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So get the start of the majestic world And bear the palm alone.
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How every fool can play upon the word!
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Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death the memory be green.
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One fairer than my love? The all-seeing sun Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun.
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The world must be peopled!
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Thou art all the comfort, The Gods will diet me with.
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Truly thou art damned, like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side.
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And to the English court assemble now, From every region, apes of idleness!
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