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Behold the threaden sails, Borne with the invisible and creeping wind, Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd sea, Breasting the lofty surge
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
Huge
Sail
Furrow
Ships
Bottoms
Draw
Surge
Invisible
Creeping
Draws
Sails
Bottom
Borne
Sea
Behold
Wind
Lofty
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... I am At war 'twixt will and will not.
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Take no repulse, whatever she doth say For 'get you gone,' she doth not mean 'away.' Flatter and praise, commend, extol their graces Though ne'er so black, say they have angels' faces
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I durst not laugh for fear of opening my lips and receiving the bad air.
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When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.
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Shine out fair sun, till I have bought a glass, That I may see my shadow as I pass.
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The breaking of so great a thing should make A greater crack: the round world Should have shook lions into civil streets, And citizens to their dens.
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Suspicion shall be all stuck full of eyes.
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Sweet love! Sweet lines! Sweet life! Here is her hand, the agent of her heart Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn
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I would with such perfection govern, sir, T'excel the golden age.
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So foul and fair a day I have not seen.
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They have been at a great feast of languages, and stolen the scraps.
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That's a valiant flea that dares eat his breakfast on the lip of a lion.
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The crown o' the earth doth melt. My lord! O, wither'd is the garland of the war, The soldier's pole is fall'n: young boys and girls Are level now with men the odds is gone, And there is nothing left remarkable Beneath the visiting moon.
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My love is thine to teach teach it but how, And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn. Any hard lesson that may do thee good.
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No longer mourn for me when I am dead Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world that I am fled From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell.
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Like a man made after supper of a cheese-paring: when a' was naked, he was, for all the world, like a forked radish, with a head fantastically carved upon it with a knife.
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Base men being in love have then a nobility in their natures more than is native to them.
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The course of true love never did run smooth.
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That we would do We should do when we would, for this 'would' changes, And hath abatements and delays as many As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents, And then this 'should' is like a spendthrift sigh, That hurts by easing.
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