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Lord Bacon told Sir Edward Coke when he was boasting, The less you speak of your greatness, the more shall I think of it.
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
Lord
Bacon
Less
Edward
Speak
Coke
Think
Boast
Thinking
Modesty
Greatness
Told
Shall
Boasting
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Glendower: I can call the spirits from the vasty deep. Hotspur: Why, so can I, or so can any man But will they come, when you do call for them?
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Now I am past all comforts here, but prayer.
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Cowards die many times before their deaths The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it will come.
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Tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies are our gardens to the which our wills are gardeners.
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Study is like the heaven's glorious sun, That will not be deep-searched with saucy looks: Small have continual plodders ever won, Save base authority from others' books.
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Though justice be thy plea consider this, that in the course of justice none of us should see salvation.
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Full fathom five thy father lies Of his bones are coral made Those are pearls that were his eyes Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: Ding-dong. Hark! now I hear them — Ding-dong, bell.
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They have been grand-jurymen since before Noah was a sailor
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Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes.
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England is safe, if true within itself.
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Covering discretion with a coat of folly.
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Hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig.
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Dream on, dream on, of bloody deeds and death.
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GLOUCESTER: Yet so much is my poverty of spirit, So mighty and so many my defects, As I had rather hide me from my greatness, Being a bark to brook no mighty sea, Than in my greatness covet to be hid, And in the vapour of my glory smother'd. But God be thanked. . . .
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How wayward is this foolish love that, like a testy babe, will scratch the nurse and presently, all humble, kiss the rod.
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For who so firm that cannot be seduced?
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And worse I may be yet: the worst is not So long as we can say 'This is the worst.
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O King, believe not this hard-hearted man!
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