Quote

Away, you cut-purse rascal! you filthy bung, away! By this wine, I'll thrust my knife in your mouldy chaps, an you play the saucy cuttle with me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal! you basket-hilt stale juggler, you!

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
Away
Filthy
Rascals
Mouldy
Play
Knife
Chaps
Saucy
Thrust
Sassy
Juggler
Bottle
Basket
Knives
Purse
Hilt
Bottles
Baskets
Rascal
Wine
Purses
Jugglers
Cutting
Stale
Ale

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Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd words
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Come, Lady, die to live.
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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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O, while you live, tell truth, and shame the Devil!
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To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof little more than a little is by much too much.
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Silence is only commendable In a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendible.
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A fool's bolt is soon shot.
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Now old desire doth in his deathbed lie, And young affection gapes to be his heir That fair for which love groan'd for and would die, With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair.
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Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.
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Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania
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Though age from folly could not give me freedom, It does from childishness.
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Temptation: the fiend at my elbow.
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Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, A great-sized monster of ingratitudes: Those scraps are good deeds past, which are devour'd As fast as they are made, forgot as soon as done.
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O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!
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For grief is crowned with consolation.
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Preposterous ass, that never read so far to know the cause why music was ordain'd! Was it not to refresh the mind of man, after his studies or his usual pain?
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The will is infinite and the execution confin'd, the desire is boundless and the act a slave to limit.
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Look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under it.
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Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand,Blood and revenge are hammering in my head.
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