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

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Time be thine, And thy best graces spend it at thy will.
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Sir, the year growing ancient, Not yet on summer's death nor on the birth Of trembling winter, the fairest flowers o' th' season Are our carnations and streaked gillyvors, Which some call nature's bastards.
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Men are April when they woo, December when they wed.
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The labor we delight in physics [cures] pain.
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At Christmas, I no more desire a rose.
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Upon thy cheek I lay this zealous kiss, as seal to the indenture of my love.
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Dream in light years, challenge miles, walk step by step
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Which can say more than this rich praise, that you alone are you?
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If all the year were playing holidays To sport would be as tedious as to work.
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How far that little candle throws its beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.
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The sight of lovers feedeth those in love.
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Of all complexions the culled sovereignty Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek, Where several worthies make one dignity, Where nothing wants that want itself doth seek.
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Think'st thou I'd make a life of jealousy, To follow still the changes of the moon With fresh suspicions? No to be once in doubt Is once to be resolved.
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My cake is dough, but I'll in among the rest, Out of hope of all but my share of the feast.
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Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep.
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Use every man after his desert, and who should scape whipping?
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Tears harden lust, though marble wear with raining.
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I doubt not then but innocence shall makeFalse accusation blush, and tyrannyTremble at patience.
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