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O polished perturbation! golden care! That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide To many a watchful night.
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
Open
Ports
Keep
Watchful
Slumber
Night
Insomnia
Care
Polished
Many
Port
Golden
Wide
Perturbation
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He kills her in her own humor.
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If I lose my honor, I lose myself: better I were not yours Than yours so branchless.
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Your face, my thane, is as a book where men May read strange matters. To beguile the time, Look like the time bear welcome in your eye, Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under't.
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My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears, Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores Of will and judgment.
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Dirty days hath September April June and November From January up to May The rain it raineth every day All the rest have thirty-one Without a blessed gleam of sun And if any of them had two-and-thirty They'd be just as wet and twice as dirty. April hath put a spirit of youth in everything.
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There is a world elsewhere.
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If is a custom, More honor'd in the breach than the observance.
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O constancy, be strong upon my side, Set a huge mountain 'tween my heart and tongue! I have a man's mind, but a woman's might.
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Equality of two domestic powers Breeds scrupulous faction.
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Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light
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Love moderately long love doth so too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
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For I can raise no money by vile means. By heaven, I had rather coin my heart, And drop my blood for drachmas
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Thy tongue Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn'd, Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bower, With ravishing division, to her lute.
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To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder, In the most terrible and nimble stroke Of quick, cross lightning.
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Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy: This wide and universal theatre Presents more woeful pageants than the scene Wherein we play in.
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