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What's to come is still unsure: In delay there lies no plenty Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty, Youth's a stuff will not endure.
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
Stills
Twenties
Still
Kissing
Come
Endure
Unsure
Lies
Mistress
Youth
Delay
Sweet
Kiss
Lying
Twenty
Stuff
Plenty
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And nothing is, but what is not.
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Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo, The numbers of the feared.
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Bid me run, and I will strive with things impossible.
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LEONATO Neighbours, you are tedious. DOGBERRY It pleases your worship to say so, but we are the poor duke's officers but truly, for mine own part, if I were as tedious as a king, I could find it in my heart to bestow it all of your worship.
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What, man, defy the devil. Consider, he's an enemy to mankind.
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Let us not burden our remembrances with a heaviness that's gone.
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Virtue preserv'd from fell destruction's blast, Led on by heaven, and crown'd with joy at last.
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Here is a rural fellow that will not be denied your Highness' presence: he brings you figs.
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Why, thou deboshed fish thou...Wilt thou tell a monstrous lie, being but half a fish and half a monster?
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Do not for one repulse, forego the purpose That you resolved to effect.
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The iron tongue of Midnight hath told twelve lovers, to bed 'tis almost fairy time. I fear we shall outstep the coming morn as much as we this night over-watch'd.
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Ingratitude is monstrous.
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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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We few. We happy few. We band of brothers, for he today That sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother.
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He took the bride about the neck and kissed her lips with such a clamorous smack that at the parting all the church did echo.
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The sands are number'd that make up my life Here must I stay, and here my life must end.
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O comfort-killing night, image of hell, Dim register and notary of shame, Black stage for tragedies and murders fell, Vast sin-concealing chaos, nurse of blame!
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Diseases desperate grown By desperate appliances are relieved, Or not at all.
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Oh, that way madness lies let me shun that.
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He was met even now As mad as the vex'd sea singing aloud Crown'd with rank fumiter and furrow-weeds, With bur-docks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow In our sustaining corn.
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