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How easy it is for the proper-false in woman's waxen hearts to set their forms!
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
Hearts
Woman
Easy
Form
Waxen
Heart
Unfaithfulness
Proper
False
Forms
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Let us kill all lawyers
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The jury passing on the prisoner's life may in the sworn twelve have a thief or two guiltier than him they try.
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Or are you like the painting of a sorrow, a face without a heart?
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When most I wink, then do my eyes best see
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What made me love thee? let that persuade thee, there's something extraordinary in thee
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Away, you cut-purse rascal! you filthy bung, away! By this wine, I'll thrust my knife in your mouldy chaps, an you play the saucy cuttle with me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal! you basket-hilt stale juggler, you!
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The sun with one eye vieweth all the world.
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My crown is called content, a crown that seldom kings enjoy.
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The man that hath no music in himself
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Fondling,' she saith, 'since I have hemm'd thee here Within the circuit of this ivory pale, I'll be a park, and thou shalt be my deer Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale: Graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry, Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.
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Thanks to men Of noble minds, is honorable meed.
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Taste your legs, sire: put them into motion.
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It may do good pride hath no other glass To show itself but pride, for supple knees Feed arrogance and are the proud man's fees.
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When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought.
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I see men's judgments are A parcel of their fortunes and things outward Do draw the inward quality after them, To suffer all alike.
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Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars That make ambition virtue! O, farewell! Farewell the neighing steed and the shrill trump, The spirit-stirring drum, th' ear-piercing fife, The royal banner, and all quality, Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war!
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They met so near with their lips that their breaths embraced together.
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The little dogs and all, Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart-see, they bark at me.
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I heard a bustling rumor like a fray, And the wind blows it from the Capitol.
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