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The setting sun, and the music at the close, As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, Writ in rememberance more than long things past.
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
Past
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Music
Setting
Long
Sun
Things
Close
Taste
Writ
Sweet
Sweets
Lasts
Sweetest
Last
Sunset
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Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she. . . .
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Now my charms are all o'erthrown.
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My age is as a lusty winter, frosty but kindly.
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The poor world is almost six thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his own person, videlicet, in a love-cause.
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Lord, Lord, how subject we old men are to this vice of lying!
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What, can the devil speak true?
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He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the presentation of that he shoots his wit.
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For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds Lillies that fester smell far worse than weeds.
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Fight, gentlemen of England! fight, bold yeomen! Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head! Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood Amaze the welkin with your broken staves!
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Thy tongue Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn'd, Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bower, With ravishing division, to her lute.
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Ask God for temp'rance. That's th' appliance only Which your disease requires.
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