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The venom clamours of a jealous woman poison more deadly than a mad dog's tooth.
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
Woman
Tooth
Deadly
Jealousy
Jealous
Poison
Mad
Teeth
Clamour
Dog
Venom
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Thus have I, Wall, my part discharged so And, being done, thus Wall away doth go.
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To move wild laughter in the throat of death? It cannot be it is impossible: Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.
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I will make a Star-chamber matter of it.
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That island of England breeds very valiant creatures their mastiffs are of unmatchable courage.
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The latter end of a fray, and the beginning of a feast, Fits a dull fighter, and a keen guest.
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O, a kiss Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge! Now, by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss I carried from thee, dear, and my true lip Hath virgined it e'er since.
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Tis safter to be that which we destroy Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.
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Nay, do not think I flatter. For what advancement may I hope from thee, That no revenue hast but thy good spirits To feed and clothe thee? Why should the poor be flattered?
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The thorny point Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show Of smooth civility yet am I inland bred And know some nurture.
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Love hath made thee a tame snake
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Rashly, And praised be rashness for it--let us know, Our indiscretion sometime serves us well When our deep plots do pall, and that should learn us There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will
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Hanging and wiving goes by destiny.
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Sigh no more ladies, sigh no more, men were deceivers ever
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When the sun shines let foolish gnats make sport, But creep in crannies when he hides his beams.
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What soilders whey-face? The English for so please you. Take thy face hence.
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Fair, kind, and true is all my argument, Fair, kind, and true varying to other words And in this change is my invention spent, Three themes in one, which wondrous scope affords.
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Give me my sin again.
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There's no trust, No faith, no honesty in men all perjured, All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.
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I would fain die a dry death.
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Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war!
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