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If ever thou shalt love, In the sweet pangs of it remember me For such as I am all true lovers are, Unstaid and skittish in all motions else Save in the constant image of the creature That is beloved.
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
Else
Beloved
True
Thou
Skittish
Remember
Lovers
Pangs
Ever
Image
Motions
Love
Save
Constancy
Constant
Shalt
Creatures
Creature
Sweet
Devotion
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Out of my sight! Thou dost infect mine eyes.
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Behold the threaden sails, Borne with the invisible and creeping wind, Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd sea, Breasting the lofty surge
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Sin will pluck on sin.
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Take her away for she hath lived too long, To fill the world with vicious qualities.
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Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord, That would reduce these bloody days again And make poor England weep in streams of blood! Let them not live to taste this land's increase That would with treason wound this fair land's peace! Now civil wounds are stopped, peace lives again: That she may long live here, God say amen!
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My father compounded with my mother under the Dragon's tail, and my nativity was under Ursa Major, so that it follows, I am roughand lecherous. Tut, I should have been that I am, had the maidenliest star in the firmament twinkled on my bastardizing.
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I am not merry, but I do beguile the thing I am by seeming otherwise.
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Small to greater matters must give way.
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Titus Andronicus, my lord the Emperor Sends thee this word, that, if thou love thy sons, Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus, Or any one of you, chop off your hand And send it to the King: he for the same Will send thee hither both thy sons alive, And that shall be the ransom for their fault.
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Boundless intemperance In nature is a tyranny. It hath been Th' untimely emptying of the happy throne And fall of many kings.
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If music be the food of love, play on.
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Prosperity's the very bond of love.
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As chaste as is the bud ere it be blown.
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Tell me, daughter Juliet, How stands your dispositions to be married It is an honor that I dream not of
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Conscience is but a word that cowards use, devised at first to keep the strong in awe
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I have heard of your paintings too, well enough God has given you one face, and you make yourselves another.
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If it be aught toward the general good, Set honor in one eye and death i' th' other, And I will look on both indifferently For let the gods so speed me as I love The name of honor more than I fear death.
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The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch, which hurts and is desired.
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If it be a sin to covet honor, I am the most offending soul.
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Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.
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