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Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounce it to you, trippingly on the tongue but if you mouth it, as many of your players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines.
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
Lines
Towns
Crier
Speak
Tongue
Pronounce
Many
Pray
Whirlwind
Mouths
Spokes
Praying
Spoke
Speech
Town
Player
Mouth
Stage
Players
Lief
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Romeo: Courage, man the hurt cannot be much. Mercutio: No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door but 'tis enough, 'twill serve. Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man.
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O, she misused me past the endurance of a block.
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I have more care to stay than will to go.
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The silence often of pure innocence persuades when speaking fails.
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As you from crimes would pardon'd be, Let your indulgence set me free.
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Farewell, good Salisbury, and good luck go with thee!
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My glass shall not persuade me I am old, So long as youth and thou are of one date But when in thee time's furrows I behold, Then look I death my days should expiate.
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Fight to the last gasp.
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In nature's infinite book of secrecy A little I can read.
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Youth to itself rebels, though none else near.
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I will praise any man that will praise me.
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'Tis dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink but I tell you, my lord fool, out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety.
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Nature hath meal and bran, contempt and grace.
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Then was I as a tree whose boughs did bend with fruit but in one night, a storm or robbery, call it what you will, shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves, and left me bare to weather.
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Oh, that way madness lies let me shun that.
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Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art, As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel.
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Your lordship, though not clean past your youth, have yet some smack of age in you, some relish of the saltiness of time.
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Let us, like merchants, show our foulest wares, And think perchance they'll sell if not, The lustre of the better yet to show Shall show the better.
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The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices Make instruments to plague us.
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If by chance I talk a little wild, forgive me I had it from my father.
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