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It may do good pride hath no other glass To show itself but pride, for supple knees Feed arrogance and are the proud man's fees.
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
May
Feed
Good
Glass
Men
Knees
Glasses
Pride
Supple
Proud
Fees
Show
Arrogance
Shows
Hath
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All surfeit is the father of much fast.
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But virtue never will be mov'd, Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven.
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Last scene of all that ends this strange, eventful history, is second childishness and mere oblivion. I am sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
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When griping grief the heart doth wound, and doleful dumps the mind opresses, then music, with her silver sound, with speedy help doth lend redress.
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He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the presentation of that he shoots his wit.
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Pardon's the word to all.
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I had rather eleven died nobly for their country than one voluptuously surfeit out of action.
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What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.
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For this relief, much thanks
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The will is deaf and hears no heedful friends.
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A woman impudent and mannish grown Is not more loath'd than an effeminate man.
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And how his audit stands who knows, save Heaven?
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Help, master, help! here's a fish hangs in the net, like a poor man's right in the law 'twill hardly come out.
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Be still prepared for death: and death or life shall thereby be the sweeter.
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The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet.
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Virtue's office never breaks men's troth.
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This we prescribe, though no physician Deep malice makes too deep incision Forget, forgive conclude and be agreed Our doctors say this is no month to bleed.
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I am sure care's an enemy to life.
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Lord, I could not endure a husband with a beard on his face! I had rather lie in the woolen.
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So shaken as we are, so wan with care, Find we a time for frighted peace to pant And breathe short-winded accents of new broils To be commenced in stronds afar remote.
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