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Take her away for she hath lived too long, To fill the world with vicious qualities.
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
Take
Sassy
Long
Vicious
World
Hath
Qualities
Fill
Lived
Quality
Away
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A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd, Quoted, and sign'd, to do a deed of shame.
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The trust I have is in mine innocence, and therefore am I bold and resolute.
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What a deformed thief this fashion is.
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Can I go forward when my heart is here? Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out.
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I'll forbear And am fallen out with my more headier will To take the indisposed and sickly fit For the sound man.
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Report of fashions in proud Italy Whose manners still our tardy-apish nation Limps after in base imitation
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Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty.
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O, it is excellent To have a giant's strength but it is tyrannous To use it like a giant.
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Pardon, gentles all, the flat unraised spirits that have dared on this unworthy scaffold to bring forth so great an object.
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Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle I am no traitor's uncle, and that word grace In an ungracious mouth is but profane.
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Wine loved I deeply, dice dearly.
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Thieves for their robbery have authority When judges steal themselves.
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Two households, both alike in dignity In fair Verona, where we lay our scene From ancient grudge break to new mutiny Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life Whose misadventured piteous overthrows Do with their death bury their parents' strife.
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Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues.
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Thus weary of the world, away she hies, And yokes her silver doves by whose swift aid Their mistress mounted through the empty skies In her light chariot quickly is convey'd Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen Means to immure herself and not be seen.
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Say she rail why, I'll tell her plain She sings as sweetly as a nightingale. Say that she frown I'll say she looks as clear As morning roses newly wash'd with dew. Say she be mute and will not speak a word Then I'll commend her volubility, and say she uttereth piercing eloquence.
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This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven.
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The caterpillars of the commonwealth, Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away.
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As soon go kindle fire with snow, as seek to quench the fire of love with words.
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For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground, and tell sad stories of the death of kings... All murdered for within the hollow crown that rounds the mortal temples of a king, keeps Death his court... and with a little pin bores through his castle wall, and farewell king!
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