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The horn, the horn, the lusty horn Is not a thing to laugh to scorn.
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
Laughing
Thing
Lusty
Horn
Horns
Scorn
Laughter
Laugh
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I care not, a man can die but once we owe God and death.
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Love is a spirit all compact of fire.
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The mightier man, the mightier is the thing That makes him honored or begets him hate For greatest scandal waits on greatest state.
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Come, Let's have one other gaudy night. Call to me All my sad captains. Fill our bowls once more. Let's mock the midnight bell.
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He's truly valiant that can wisely suffer The worst that man can breathe, and make his wrongs His outsides, to wear them like his raiment, carelessly, And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart, To bring it into danger.
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Come unto these yellow sands, And then take hands. Curtsied when you have and kissed The wild waves whist, Foot is featly here and there And, sweet sprites, the burden bear. Ariel's song, scene II, Act I
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I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow, than a man swear he loves me.
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Frailty, thy name is woman!
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There are a sort of men, whose visages Do cream and mantle, like a standing pond And do a willful stillness entertain, With purpose to be dressed in an opinion Of wisdom, gravity profound conceit As who should say, I am sir Oracle, And when I ope my lips, let no dog bark!
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Therefore another prologue must tell he is not a lion
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Who is it can read a woman?
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Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground.
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ROMEO to BALTHASAR But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry In what I further shall intend to do, By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint And strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs: The time and my intents are savage-wild, More fierce and more inexorable far Than empty tigers or the roaring sea.
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Now, neighbor confines, purge you of your scum! Have you a ruffian that will swear, drink, dance, revel the night, rob, murder, and commit the oldest sins the newest kind of ways?
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And when I am forgotten, as I shall be, And asleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me must be heard of, say, I taught thee.
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The patient must minister to himself
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Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds.
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Ay, but hearken, sir though the chameleon Love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourished by my victuals, and would fain have meat.
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I have thought some of Nature's journeymen had made men and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably.
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