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Nothing teems But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs, Losing both beauty and utility.
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
Utility
Hateful
Rough
Losing
Beauty
Teems
Nothing
Thistles
Clovers
Docks
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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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On Rumor's tongue continual slanders ride.
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Nothing can come of nothing.
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Wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men?
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And either victory, or else a grave.
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How slow This old moon wanes! she lingers my desires, Like to a stepdame, or a dowager, Long withering out a young man's revenue.
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Is this a vision? Is this a dream? Do I sleep?
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Poor wretches that depend On greatness' favor, dream as I have done Wake, and find nothing.
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Never shame to hear what you have nobly done
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He's a soldier and for one to say a soldier lies, is stabbing.
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Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot that it do singe yourself.
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Take physic, pomp Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel, That thou mayst shake the superflux to them And show the heavens more just.
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Such antics do not amount to a man.
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For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground And tell sad stories of the death of kings.
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Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date . . .
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