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But clay and clay differs in dignity, Whose dust is both alike.
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
Differs
Clay
Alike
Dust
Dignity
Whose
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By being seldom seen, I could not stir But like a comet I was wondered at.
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Policy sits above conscience.
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Yet this my comfort: when your words are done, My woes end likewise with the evening sun.
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Hang there like fruit, my soul, Till the tree die!
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Time is the king of men.
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One half of me is yours, the other half is yours, Mine own, I would say but if mine, then yours, And so all yours.
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I am not in the giving vein today.
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For she had eyes and chose me.
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Spirits are not finely touched But to fine issues.
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And writers say, as the most forward bud Is eaten by the canker ere it blow, Even so by love the young and tender wit Is turn'd to folly, blasting in the bud, Losing his verdure even in the prime, And all the fair effects of future hopes.
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So many horrid Ghosts.
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Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth.
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Constant you are, But yet a woman and for secrecy, No lady closer for I well believe Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know.
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Who wooed in haste, and means to wed at leisure.
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Thou art a very ragged Wart.
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Let us our lives, our souls, Our debts, our careful wives, Our children, and our sins, lay on the King!
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Conscience is a thousand swords.
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All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand! Oh, oh, oh!
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Twas a clever quibble. Here, a garment for it.
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Against self-slaughter There is a prohibition so divine That cravens my weak hand.
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