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Is this government of Britain's Isle, and this the royalty of Albion's King?

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
Kings
Government
Isle
Royalty
Britain
King

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O, wonder! How many goodly creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world, That has such people in't!
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But the strong base and building of my love is as the very centre of the earth, drawing all things to it.
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Ay me! for aught that I could ever read, Could ever hear by tale or history, The course of true love never did run smooth. But, either it was different in blood,- Or else it stood upon the choice of friends,- Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it.
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O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou has no name to be known by, let us call thee devil....O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains! that we should, with joy, pleasance revel and applause, transform ourselves into beasts!
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Ay, but hearken, sir though the chameleon Love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourished by my victuals, and would fain have meat.
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I had rather be a kitten and cry mew Than one of these same metre ballet-mongers.
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Foul deeds will rise, Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes.
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Let none presume To wear an undeserved dignity. O that estates, degrees, and offices Were not derived corruptly, and that clear honour Were purchased by the merit of the wearer!
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Death where is thy sting? Love, where is thy glory?
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Farewell, fair cruelty.
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They are hare-brain'd slaves.
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A right judgment draws us a profit from all things we see .
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O polished perturbation! golden care! That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide To many a watchful night.
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Make me a willow cabin at your gate, And call upon my soul within the house Write loyal cantons of contemned love And sing them loud even in the dead of night.
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Then was I as a tree whose boughs did bend with fruit but in one night, a storm or robbery, call it what you will, shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves, and left me bare to weather.
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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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Haste is needful in a desperate case.
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For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
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You have witchcraft in your lips, there is more eloquence in a sugar touch of them than in the tongues of the French council and they should sooner persuade Harry of England than a general petition of monarchs.
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For it falls out That what we have we prize not to the worth Whiles we enjoy it, but being lacked and lost, Why, then we rack the value, then we find The virtue that possession would not show us While it was ours.
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