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Here is a rural fellow that will not be denied your Highness' presence: he brings you figs.
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
Denied
Fellow
Fellows
Cooking
Presence
Highness
Brings
Figs
Food
Rural
Culinary
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Say, thou art mine and ever, My love, as it begins, shall so persevere
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She says I am not fair, that I lack manners She calls me proud, and that she could not love me, Were man as rare as Phoenix.
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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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He that commends me to mine own content Commends me to the thing I cannot get.
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Vile worm, thou wast o'erlook'd even in thy birth.
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The benediction of these covering heavens Fall on their heads like dew, for they are worthy To inlay heaven with stars.
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We cannot all be masters, nor all masters Cannot be truly followed.
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There lives within the very flame of love A kind of wick or snuff that will abate it.
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This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit, Which gives men stomach to digest his words With better appetite.
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You wear out a good wholesome forenoon in hearing a cause between an orange wife and a fosset-seller.
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Our praises are our wages.
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At Christmas, I no more desire a rose.
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Take her away for she hath lived too long, To fill the world with vicious qualities.
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By the apostle Paul, shadows tonight Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers.
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Good reasons must of force give place to better.
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This is the very coinage of your brain: this bodiless creation ecstasy.
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I always thought it was both impious and unnatural that such immanity and bloody strife should reign among professors of one faith.
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They say, the tongues of dying men Enforce attention, like deep harmony Where words are scarce, they're seldom spent in vain For they breathe truth, that breathe their words in pain.
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Now I am past all comforts here, but prayer.
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Adversity makes strange bedfellows.
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