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Should the poor be flattered? No let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp, and crook the pregnant hinges of the knee where thrift may follow fawning.

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
Knees
Lick
Absurd
Crooks
Tongue
Hinges
Follow
Thrift
Poor
Flattered
May
Knee
Fawning
Flattery
Crook
Pregnant
Pomp

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What's past and what's to come is strew'd with husks And formless ruin of oblivion.
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He doth nothing but talk of his horses.
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O madam, my old heart is cracked, it's cracked!
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Love thyself last, cherish those hearts that hate thee Corruption wins not more than honesty.
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I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions?
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Look on beauty, And you shall see 'tis purchased by the weight, Which therein works a miracle in nature, Making them lightest that wear most of it.
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In jest, there is truth.
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Nay, do not think I flatter. For what advancement may I hope from thee, That no revenue hast but thy good spirits To feed and clothe thee? Why should the poor be flattered?
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Nice customs curtsy to great kings.
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One half of me is yours, the other half is yours, Mine own, I would say but if mine, then yours, And so all yours.
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What infinite heart's-ease Must kings neglect that private men enjoy! And what have kings that privates have not too, Save ceremony, save general ceremony?
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If [God] send me no husband, for the which blessing I am at him upon my knees every morning and evening.
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All that glisters is not gold Often have you heard that told.
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This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-Paradise.
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The clock upbraids me with the waste of time.
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Delivers in such apt and gracious words that aged ears play truant at his tales And younger hearings are quite ravished So sweet and voluble is his discourse.
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Things base and vile, holding no quantity, Love can transpose to form and dignity. Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind. Nor hath Love's mind of any judgment taste Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste.
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O, then I see Queen Mab hath been with you. . . . She is the fairies’ midwife, and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate stone On the forefinger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomi Athwart men’s noses as they lie asleep.
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I have heard of your paintings too, well enough God has given you one face, and you make yourselves another: you jig, you amble, and you lisp, and nick-name God's creatures, and make your wantonness your ignorance. Go to, I'll no more on't it hath made me mad.
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