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O my good lord, that comfort comes too late, 'Tis like a pardon after execution. That gentle physic, given in time, had cured me But now I am past all comforts here but prayers.
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
Comes
Pardon
Given
Prayers
Past
Execution
Good
Gentle
Time
Comfort
Like
Late
Physic
Prayer
Comforts
Lord
Cured
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Don't trust the person who has broken faith once.
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Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow.
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Lawn as white as driven snow Cyprus black as e'er was crow Gloves as sweet as damask roses.
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I'll privily away I love the people, But do not like to stage me to their eyes Though it do well, I do not relish well Their loud applause and aves vehement, Nor do I think the man of safe discretion That does not affect it.
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Still it cried ‘Sleep no more!’ to all the house: ‘Glamis hath murder’d sleep, and therefore Cawdor shall sleep no more,—Macbeth shall sleep no more!
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Have you not a moist eye, a dry hand, a yellow cheek, a white beard, a decreasing leg, an increasing belly? Is not your voice broken, your wind short, your chin double, your wit single, and every part about you blasted with antiquity?
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If you love an addle egg as well as you love an idle head, you would eat chickens i' th' shell.
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England is safe, if true within itself.
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Poise the cause in justice's equal scales, Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause prevails.
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Time and the hour run through the roughest day.
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So will I turn her virtue into pitch, And out of her own goodness make the net That shall enmesh them all.
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He does it with better grace, but I do it more natural.
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You see me here, you gods, a poor old man, As full of grief as age wretched in both.
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They are hare-brain'd slaves.
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Get thee a good husband, and use him as he uses thee.
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Base men being in love have then a nobility in their natures more than is native to them.
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Study is like the heaven's glorious sun, That will not be deep-searched with saucy looks: Small have continual plodders ever won, Save base authority from others' books.
William Shakespeare
Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator.
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I love him for his sake And yet I know him a notorious liar, Think him a great way fool, solely a coward Yet these fix'd evils sit so fit in him That they take place when virtue's steely bones Looks bleak i' th' cold wind withal, full oft we see Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly.
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See where she comes apparelled like the spring.
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