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Foul fiend of France and hag of all despite, Encompassed with thy lustful paramours, Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age And twit with cowardice a man half dead?
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
Becomes
Taunting
Age
Valiant
Half
Foul
Twit
Men
Cowardice
Taunt
France
Twits
Despite
Encompassed
Thee
Lustful
Dead
Fiend
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My heart laments that virtue cannot live Out of the teeth of emulation.
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Like a red morn that ever yet betokened, Wreck to the seaman, tempest to the field, Sorrow to the shepherds, woe unto the birds, Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds.
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so full of shapes is fancy
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The liquid drops of tears that you have shed Shall come again, transform'd to orient pearl, Advantaging their loan with interest Of ten times double gain of happiness.
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Time travels in divers paces with divers persons. I'll tell you who Time ambles withal, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal, and who he stands still withal.
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And thus I clothe my naked villainy With odd old ends stol'n out of holy writ And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.
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Is it not strange that desire should so many years outlive performance?
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I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.
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O, let my books be then the eloquence and dumb presages of my speaking breast.
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For what is wedlock forced but a hell, An age of discord and continual strife? Whereas the contrary bringeth bliss, And is a pattern of celestial peace.
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If we are mark'd to die, we are enow To do our country loss and if to live, The fewer men, the greater share of honour. God's will! I pray thee wish not one man more.
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Let us our lives, our souls, Our debts, our careful wives, Our children, and our sins, lay on the King!
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War is no strife To the dark house and the detested wife.
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You peasant swain! You whoreson malt-horse drudge!
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Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel But do not dull thy palm with entertainment Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade.
William Shakespeare
Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor for 'tis the mind that makes the body rich
William Shakespeare
If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumber'd here While these visions did appear.
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For the success, Although particular, shall give a scantling Of good or bad unto the general And in such indexes, although small pricks To their subsequent volumes, there is seen The baby figure of the giant mass Of things to come at large.
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Manhood is melted into courtesies, valor into compliment, and men are only turned into tongue, and trim ones, too.
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a young woman in love always looks like patience on a monument smiling at grief
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