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All lovers swear more performance than they are able, and yet reserve an ability that they never perform vowing more than the perfection of ten, and discharging less than the tenth part of one.

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
Lovers
Tenth
Perfection
Reserve
Ability
Reserves
Less
Swear
Part
Perform
Able
Performance
Never
Performances
Vowing
Love
Ten
Discharging

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If it be you that stirs these daughters' hearts Against their father, fool me not so much To bear it tamely touch me with noble anger, And let not women's weapons, water drops, Stain my man's cheeks.
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And nothing is, but what is not.
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A scar nobly got is a good livery of honor.
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I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start. The game's afoot Follow your spirit: and upon this charge, Cry — God for Harry! England and Saint George!
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You have too much respect upon the world They lose it that do buy it with much care
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With this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature. for anything so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature.
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Say, thou art mine and ever, My love, as it begins, shall so persevere
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'Sblood, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried neat's tongue, you bull's pizzle, you stock-fish! O for breath to utter what is like thee! you tailor's-yard, you sheath, you bowcase you vile standing-tuck!
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O, beware, my lord, of jealousy It is the green-ey'd monster, which doth mock The meat it feeds on.
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Words to deeds cold breath gives.
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When once our grace we have forgot, Nothing goes right.
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Let none presume To wear an undeserved dignity.
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By being seldom seen, I could not stir But like a comet I was wondered at.
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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.
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O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible, As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a steeple.
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Let the sap of reason quench the fire of passion.
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I sat upon a promontory, And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin's back, Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath, That the rude sea grew civil at her song And certain stars shot madly from their spheres, To hear the sea-maid's music.
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Keep thy foot out of brothels, thy hand out of plackets, thy pen from lender's books, and defy the foul fiend.
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