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Company, villainous company, hath been the spoil of me.
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
Hath
Company
Villainous
Spoil
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Old Time the clock-setter.
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I am your wife if you will marry me. If not, I'll die your maid. To be your fellow You may deny me, but I'll be your servant Whether you will or no.
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Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, That sees into the bottom of my grief?
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Refrain to-night And that shall lend a kind of easiness To the next abstinence, the next more easy For use almost can change the stamp of nature, And either master the devil or throw him out With wondrous potency.
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I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me thus.
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Where is Polonius? HAMLET In heaven. Send hither to see. If your messenger find him not there, seek him i' th' other place yourself. But if indeed you find him not within this month, you shall nose him as you go up the stairs into the lobby.
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Nature does require her time of preservation, which perforce, I her frail son amongst my brethren mortal, must give my attendance to.
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My dull brain was wrought with things forgotten.
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By Heaven, my soul is purg'd from grudging hate And with my hand I seal my true heart's love
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O England! Model to thy inward greatness, like little body with a might heart.
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Women being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the walls.
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Look on beauty, and you shall see 'tis purchased by the weight.
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My rage is gone, And I am struck with sorrow. Take him up. Help, three o' th' chiefest soldiers I'll be one. Beat thou the drum, that it speaks mournfully, Trail your steel spikes. Though in this city he Hath widowed and unchilded many a one, Which to this hour bewail the injury, Yet he shall have a noble memory. Assist.
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I can again thy former light restore, Should I repent me: but once put out thy light, Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature, I know not where is that Promethean heat That can thy light relume.
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The will of man is by his reason sway'd.
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Wise men ne'er sit and wail their woes, but presently prevent the ways to wail.
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Now, good digestion wait on appetite, and health on both!
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It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.
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My love is thaw'd Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire, bears no impression of the thing it was
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To take arms against a sea of troubles.
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