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I am such a tender ass, if my hair do but tickle me, I must scratch.
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
Ass
Horse
Hair
Must
Tickle
Scratch
Scratches
Tender
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Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell. Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace, Yet Grace must still look so.
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Blow, blow, thou winter wind Thou art not so unkind, As man's ingratitude.
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We see which way the stream of time doth run.
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What is past is prologue.
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Time travels in divers paces with divers persons.
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A virtuous and a Christianlike conclusion-- To pray for them that have done scathe to us.
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So musical a discord, such sweet thunder.
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When workmen strive to do better than well, they do confound their skill in covetousness.
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Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun it shines everywhere.
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I have a kind soul that would give you thanks. And knows not how to do it but with tears.
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Thou art a soul in bliss but I am bound Upon a wheel of fire that mine own tears Do scald like molten lead.
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