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Weep not, sweet queen, for trickling tears are vain.
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
Vain
Tears
Sweet
Trickling
Weep
Queen
Queens
More quotes by William Shakespeare
Come, go with us, speak fair you may salve so, Not what is dangerous present, but the los Of what is past.
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Beauty lives with kindness.
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What must be shall be.
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Go, write it in a martial hand be curst and brief it is no matter how witty, so it be eloquent and fun of invention: taunt him with the licence of ink: if thou thou'st him some thrice, it shall not be amiss and as many lies as will lie in thy shee.
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Who could refrain that had a heart to love and in that heart courage to make love known?
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I am not in the giving vein today.
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Wisely, I say, I am a bachelor.
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Many that are not mad have, sure, more lack of reason.
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I am now of all humors that have showed themselves humors since the old days of goodman Adam to the pupil age of this present twelve o'clock at midnight.
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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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Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, That not your trespass but my madness speaks.
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A fool, a fool! I met a fool i' th' forest, A motley fool! a miserable world! As I do live by food, I met a fool Who laid him down and basked him in the sun And railed on Lady Fortune in good terms, In good set terms, and yet a motley fool.
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Death where is thy sting? Love, where is thy glory?
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I had rather be a Kitten, and cry mew, Than one of these same Meeter Ballad-mongers: I had rather heare a Brazen Candlestick turn'd, Or a dry Wheele grate on the Axle-tree, And that would set my teeth nothing an edge, Nothing so much, as mincing Poetrie.
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So full of artless jealousy is guilt, It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.
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The will is infinite and the execution confin'd, the desire is boundless and the act a slave to limit.
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And worse I may be yet: the worst is not So long as we can say 'This is the worst.
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There was a star danced, and under that was I born.
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Security is the chief enemy of mortals.
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Write till your ink be dry, and with your tears Moist it again, and frame some feeling line That may discover such integrity.
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