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Like the lily That once was mistress of the field and flourished, I'll hang my head and perish.
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
Like
Lily
Lilies
Perish
Mistress
Hang
Field
Fields
Head
Flourished
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And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!
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A very little thief of occasion will rob you of a great deal of patience.
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I have seen better faces in my time Than stands on any shoulder that I see Before me at this instant.
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Through tattered clothes great vices do appear Robes and furred gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold and the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks. Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw does pierce it.
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How strange or odd some'er I bear myself, As I perchance hereafter shall think meet To put an antic disposition on.
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Graze on my lips and if those hills be dry, stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.
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Our wills and fates do so contrary run, That our devices still are overthrown Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own.
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Who can control his fate?
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Virtue preserv'd from fell destruction's blast, Led on by heaven, and crown'd with joy at last.
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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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The little dogs and all, Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart-see, they bark at me.
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true apothecary thy drugs art quick
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My cake is dough, but I'll in among the rest, Out of hope of all but my share of the feast.
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That god forbid, that made me first your slave, I should in thought control your times of pleasure, Or at your hand th' account of hours to crave, Being your vassal bound to stay your leisure.
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Never play with the feelings of others, because you may win the game but the risk is that you will surely lose the person for life time
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Men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love.
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Tired with all these for restful death I cry, As to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimmed in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn.
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Love moderately long love doth so too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.
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Hope is a lover's staff walk hence with that And manage it against despairing thoughts.
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How easy it is for the proper-false in woman's waxen hearts to set their forms!
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