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How many a holy and obsequious tear hath dear religious love stolen from mine eye, as interest of the 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
Interest
Hath
Eye
Dear
Many
Mines
Love
Mine
Tears
Holy
Obsequious
Dead
Tear
Religious
Stolen
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I'll look to like if looking, liking move.
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Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
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Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo, The numbers of the feared.
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There is a time in the affairs of men, Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune.
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Give me to drink mandragora.
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Love is too young to know what conscience is.
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Two may keep counsel putting one away!
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God shall be my hope, my stay, my guide and lantern to my feet.
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A college of wit-crackers cannot flout me out of my humor. Dost thou think I care for a satire or an epigram?
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Now the melancholy God protect thee, and the tailor make thy garments of changeable taffeta, for thy mind is opal.
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Infirm of purpose! Give me the daggers: the sleeping and the dead are but as pictures: ‘tis the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil
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This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit, Which gives men stomach to digest his words With better appetite.
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Soft pity enters an iron gate.
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Death, a necessary end, will come when it will come
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Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw deep.
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He is the half part of a blessed man, Left to be finished by such as she And she a fair divided excellence, Whose fullness of perfection lies in him.
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Why should you think that I should woo in scorn? Scorn and derision never come in tears: Look, when I vow, I weep and vows so born, In their nativity all truth appears. How can these things in me seem scorn to you, Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true?
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He was ever precise in promise-keeping.
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The time is out of joint : O cursed spite, that ever I was born to set it right!
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To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.
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