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Nay, had I pow'r, I should Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell, Uproar the universal peace, confound All unity on earth.
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
Sweet
Pow
Hell
Concord
Peace
Confound
Earth
Pour
Milk
Unity
Chaos
Universal
Uproar
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Take but degree away, untune that string, and hark, what discord follows!
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The means that heaven yields must be embraced, and not neglected else, if heaven would, and we will not heaven's offer, we refuse the proffered means of succor and redress.
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At once, good night- Stand not upon the order of your going, But go at once.
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This is the short and the long of it.
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How much an ill word may empoison liking!
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To be in love- where scorn is bought with groans, Coy looks with heart-sore sighs, one fading moment's mirth With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights If haply won, perhaps a hapless gain If lost, why then a grievous labour won However, but a folly bought with wit, Or else a wit by folly vanquished.
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Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off ... Do not for ever with thy vailed lids Seek for thy noble father in the dust.
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I stand for judgment: answer: shall I have it?
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See where she comes apparelled like the spring.
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Ring the alarum-bell! Blow, wind! come, wrack! At least we'll die with harness on our back.
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While thou livest keep a good tongue in thy head.
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'Tis not to make me jealous To say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company, Is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well Where virtue is, these are more virtuous.
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Let there be gall enough in thy ink, though thou write with a goose-pen, no matter.
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Tax not so bad a voice to slander music any more than once.
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For now I stand as one upon a rock environed with a wilderness of sea, who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave, expecting ever when some envious surge will in his brinish bowels swallow him.
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I am indeed not her fool, but her corrupter of words. (Act III, sc. I, 37-38)
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Get thee a good husband, and use him as he uses thee.
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