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Death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!
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
Romeo
Death
Take
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Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.
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GLOUCESTER: Yet so much is my poverty of spirit, So mighty and so many my defects, As I had rather hide me from my greatness, Being a bark to brook no mighty sea, Than in my greatness covet to be hid, And in the vapour of my glory smother'd. But God be thanked. . . .
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Policy sits above conscience.
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Let every man be master of his time.
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By that sin fell the angels.
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There's her cousin, an she were not possessed with a fury, exceeds her as much in beauty as the first of May doth the last of December.
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But shall we wear these glories for a day? Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them?
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Her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love
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Good wine is a good familiar creature if it be well used.
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I hold it cowardice To rest mistrustful where a noble heart Hath pawned an open hand in sign of love.
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My hands are of your color, but I shame to wear a heart so white.
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The world is grown so bad, That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch.
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Thus can the demigod Authority Make us pay down for our offense by weight The words of heaven on whom it will, it will, On whom it will not, so: yet still 'tis just.
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The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils.
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Come now, what masques, what dances shall we have To wear away this long age of three hours Between our after-supper and bedtime?
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And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.
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If ever thou be'st bound in thy scarf and beaten, thou shalt find what it is to be proud of thy bondage.
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Brevity is the soul of wit.
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Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground.
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