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May never glorious sun reflex his beams Upon the country where you make abode! But darkness and the gloomy shade of death Environ you till mischief and despair Drive you to break your necks or hang yourselves.

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
May
Till
Abode
Country
Drive
Gloomy
Make
Despair
Beam
Never
Sun
Mischief
Darkness
Necks
Break
Shade
Reflex
Upon
Hang
Beams
Death
Glorious
Reflexes

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A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd, Quoted, and sign'd, to do a deed of shame.
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All offences come from the heart.
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As I love the name of honour more than I fear death.
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No metal can--no, not the hangman's axe--bear half the keenness of thy sharp envy.
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Now, God be praised, that to believing souls gives light in darkness, comfort in despair.
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I wish you all the joy that you can wish.
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The setting sun, and the music at the close, As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last, Writ in rememberance more than long things past.
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I cannot, nor I will not hold me still My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his will.
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Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks, but I thank you and sure, dear friends, my thanks are too dear a halfpenny.
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You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant But yet you draw not iron, for my heart Is true as steel: leave you your power to draw, And I shall have no power to follow you.
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Our content Is our best having.
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Obey thy parents, keep thy word justly swear not commit not with man's sworn spouse set not thy sweet heart on proud array. * * * Keep thy foot out of brothels, thy pen from lenders' books.
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When the age is in, the wit is out
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No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change.
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A beggar's book outworths a noble's blood.
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You peasant swain! You whoreson malt-horse drudge!
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Love's stories written in love's richest books. To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes.
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It hurts not the tongue to give fair words.
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I will speak daggers to her, but use none.
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