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That in the captains but a choleric word Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy.
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
Flats
Soldier
Word
Swearing
Blasphemy
Captains
Flat
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We must follow, not force Providence.
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I must to the barber's, monsieur, for methinks I am marvellous hairy about the face.
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The horn, the horn, the lusty horn Is not a thing to laugh to scorn.
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Shall I never see a bachelor of three score again?
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The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose. An evil soul producing holy witness Is like a villain with a smiling cheek, A goodly apple rotten at the heart. O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!
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A lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing.
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I will instruct my sorrows to be proud for grief is proud, and makes his owner stoop.
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A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross.
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You have too much respect upon the world They lose it that do buy it with much care
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There is a river in Macedon, and there is moreover a river in Monmouth. It is called Wye at Monmouth, but it is out of my prains what is the name of the other river but 'tis all one, 'tis alike as my fingers is to my fingers, and there is salmons in both.
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See first that the design is wise and just: that ascertained, pursue it resolutely do not for one repulse forego the purpose that you resolved to effect.
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I have heard of your paintings too, well enough God has given you one face, and you make yourselves another: you jig, you amble, and you lisp, and nick-name God's creatures, and make your wantonness your ignorance. Go to, I'll no more on't it hath made me mad.
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Love moderately long love doth so too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
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And what art thou, thou idol Ceremony? What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers?
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It is thyself, mine own self's better part Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart My food, my fortune, and my sweet hope's aim, My sole earth's heaven, and my heaven's claim.
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O! Let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven keep me in temper I would not be mad!
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Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy.
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We may outrun By violent swiftness And lose by over-running.
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Away, you mouldy rogue, away!
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A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd, Quoted, and sign'd, to do a deed of shame.
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