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If you shall marry, You give away this hand, and this is mine You give away heaven's vows, and those are mine You give away myself, which is known mine For I by vow am so embodied yours That she which marries you must marry me-- Either both or none.

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
Hands
Mine
Give
None
Marries
Must
Shall
Vows
Giving
Either
Embodied
Hand
Matrimony
Known
Vow
Heaven
Marry
Away
Mines

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So we'll live, And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh at gilded butterflies.
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Why should you think that I should woo in scorn? Scorn and derision never come in tears: Look, when I vow, I weep and vows so born, In their nativity all truth appears. How can these things in me seem scorn to you, Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true?
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Winding up days with toil and nights with sleep.
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We see which way the stream of time doth run.
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Such an act That blurs the grace and blush of modesty Calls virtue hypocrite takes off the rose From the fair forehead of an innocent love, And sets a blister there makes marriage vows As false as dicers' oaths.
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In God's name cheerly on, courageous friends, To reap the harvest of perpetual peace By this one bloody trial of sharp war.
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How much salt water thrown away in waste/ To season love, that of it doth not taste.
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Have patience, and endure
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Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan For that deep wound it gives my friend and me Is't not enough to torture me alone, But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be?
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The devil knew what he did when he made men politic he crossed himself by it.
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Thou art a very ragged Wart.
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Better three hours too soon than a minute too late.
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I have been studying how I may compare This prison where I live unto the world And, for because the world is populous, And here is not a creature but myself, I cannot do it. Yet I'll hammer it out.
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The gates of monarchs Are arched so high that giants may jet through And keep their impious turbans on without Good morrow to the sun.
William Shakespeare
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I hold him but a fool that will endanger His body for a girl that loves him not.
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It is to be all made of fantasy, All made of passion and all made of wishes, All adoration, duty, and observance, All humbleness, all patience and impatience, All purity, all trial, all observance
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This sleep is sound indeed this is a sleep That from this golden rigol hath divorc'd So many English kings.
William Shakespeare
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So quick bright things come to confusion.
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There's not a note of mine that's worth the noting.
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Every true man's apparel fits your thief.
William Shakespeare