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Though Death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.
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
Ends
Woe
Mortal
Mortals
Though
Poor
Death
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Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.
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My love is strengthen'd, though more weak in seeming I love not less, though less the show appear: That love is merchandised whose rich esteeming The owner's tongue doth publish every where.
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Tis much when sceptres are in children's hands, But more when envy breeds unkind division: There comes the ruin, there begins confusion.
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But miserable most, to love unloved? This you should pity rather than despise
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The due of honor in no point omit.
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Let us be Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon
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Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
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You take my life when you do take the means whereby I live
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Holy, fair, and wise is she The heaven such grace did lend her, That she might admired be.
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Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine.
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I love a ballad but even too well if it be doleful matter merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing indeed and sung lamentably.
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Ay, Much is the force of heaven-bred poesy.
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What is thy sentence then but speechless death.
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The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together.
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Tell me where is fancy bred, Or in the heart, or in the head? How begot, how nourished? Reply, reply. It is engend'red in the eyes, With gazing fed, and fancy dies In the cradle where it lies.
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You great benefactors, sprinkle our society with thankfulness. For your own gifts, make yourselves praised.
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I hold him but a fool that will endanger His body for a girl that loves him not.
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My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that color.
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If music be the food of love, play on.
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Pray you now, forget and forgive.
William Shakespeare
