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I am not in the giving vein today.
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
Giving
Vein
Veins
Charity
Today
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They may seize On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand And steal immortal blessing from her lips, Who, even in pure and vestal modesty, Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin.
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Up and down, up and down I will lead them up and down I am feared in field in town Goblin, lead them up and down
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Unquiet meals make ill digestions.
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Mine honor is my life, both grow in one. Take honor from me, and my life is done. Then, dear my liege, mine honor let me try In that I live, and for that I will die.
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Lay aside life-harming heaviness, And entertain a cheerful disposition.
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O, grief hath changed me since you saw me last, And careful hours with Time's deformed hand Have written strange defeatures in my face. But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice?
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Before thee stands this fair Hesperides, With golden fruit, but dangerous to be touched For death-like dragons here affright thee hard.
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I humbly do beseech of your pardon, For too much loving you
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Pleasure and action make the hours seem short.
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I am a great eater of beef, and I believe that does harm to my wit.
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Sin, that amends, is but patched with virtue.
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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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I would challenge you to a battle of wits, but I see you are unarmed!
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For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds Lillies that fester smell far worse than weeds.
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These violent delights have violent ends And in their triump die, like fire and powder Which, as they kiss, consume
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She's gone. I am abused, and my relief must be to loathe her.
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All impediments in fancy's course Are motives of more fancy.
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How long a time lies in one little word?
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This day I breathed first: time is come round, And where I did begin there shall I end My life is run his compass.
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A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us His dew falls everywhere.
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