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Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast, Ready with every nod to tumble down Into the fatal bowels of the deep.
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
Every
Tumble
Life
Bowels
Like
Drunken
Sailor
Fatal
Deep
Ready
Mast
Lives
Masts
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There is flattery in friendship.
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Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth, And thus do we of wisdom and of reach, With windlasses and with assays of bias, By indirections find directions out.
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Come what sorrow can, It cannot countervail the exchange of joy, That one short minute gives me in her sight
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O father Abram, what these Christians are, Whose own hard dealing teaches them suspect The thoughts of others!
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I loved Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers could not, with all their quantity of love, make up my sum.
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Sir, the year growing ancient, Not yet on summer's death nor on the birth Of trembling winter, the fairest flowers o' th' season Are our carnations and streaked gillyvors, Which some call nature's bastards.
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Right joyous are we to behold your face, Most worthy brother England fairly met!
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The due of honor in no point omit.
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So they loved as love in twain Had the essence but in one Two distinct, divisions none.
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Conceit, more rich in matter than in words, Brags of his substance, not of ornament: They are but beggars that can count their worth But my true love is grown to such excess, I cannot sum up half my sum of wealth.
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Slander, whose whisper over the world's diameter, as level as the cannon to its blank, transports its poisoned shot.
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Love and meekness, lord, Become a churchman better than ambition: Win straying souls with modesty again, Cast none away.
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Thou art the Mars of malcontents.
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But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on, Leaving no tract behind.
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Past and to come, seems best things present, worse.
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I have nothing Of woman in me now from head to foot I am marble-constant.
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My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent.
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Use every man after his desert, and who should scape whipping?
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Proper deformity shows not in the fiend So horrid as in woman.
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The small amount of foolery wise men have makes a great show.
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