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Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice Hath often stilled my brawling discontent.
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
Discontent
Hath
Comfort
Advice
Whose
Often
Comes
Brawling
Men
Stilled
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To weep is to make less the depth of grief.
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The fool multitude, that choose by show, not learning more than the fond eye doth teach.
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Farewell, fair cruelty.
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I will not trust you, I, Nor longer stay in your curst company. Your hands than mine are quicker for a fray, My legs are longer though, to run away.
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There should be hours for necessities, not for delights times to repair our nature with comforting repose, and not for us to waste these times.
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Your face is a book, where men may read strange matters.
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In brief, sir, study what you most affect.
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Ingratitude is monstrous.
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Then imitate the action of the tiger stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood.
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Where shall we three meet again in thunder, lightning, or in rain? When the hurlyburly 's done, when the battle 's lost and won
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Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting That would not let me sleep.
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Take no repulse, whatever she doth say For 'get you gone,' she doth not mean 'away.' Flatter and praise, commend, extol their graces Though ne'er so black, say they have angels' faces
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All thy vexations Were but my trials of thy love, and thou Hast strangely stood the test here, afore heaven, I ratify this my rich gift.
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But yet I'll make assurance double sure, and take a bond of fate: thou shalt not live.
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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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Not proud you have, but thankful that you have. Proud can I never be of what I hate, but thankful even for hate that is meant love.
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Tis in my memory lock'd, And you yourself shall keep the key of it.
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In delay there lies no plenty.
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Here is a rural fellow that will not be denied your Highness' presence: he brings you figs.
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Let's go hand in hand, not one before another.
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