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I am declined Into the vale of years.
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
Declined
Vapor
Years
Vale
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Use every man after his desert, and who should scape whipping?
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The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover, Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank, Conceives by idleness, and nothing teems But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burrs, Losing both beauty and utility.
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Blessed are the peacemakers on earth.
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What is aught but as 'tis valued?
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And why not death rather than living torment? To die is to be banish'd from myself And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her Is self from self: a deadly banishment!
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This fell sergeant, Death, Is strict in his arrest.
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I hate ingratitude more in a man than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness, or any taint of vice whose strong corruption inhabits our frail blood.
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Let them obey that knows not how to rule.
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For truth hath better deeds than words to grace it.
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Some say that ever 'gainst the season comes Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, The bird of dawning singeth all night long: And then, they say, no spirit can walk abroad The nights are wholesome then no planets strike, No fairy takes, nor wi
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Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy.
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Alas, how love can trifle with itself!
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The gloomy shade of death.
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Tis in ourselves that we are thus, or thus.
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Cordelia! stay a little. Ha! What is't thou say'st? Her voice was ever soft.
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Desire of having is the sin of covetousness.
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Is not birth, beauty, good shape, discourse, Manhood, learning, gentleness, virtue, youth, liberality, and such like, the spice and salt that season a man
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Therefore it is most expedient for the wise, if Don Worm (his conscience) find no impediment to the contrary, to be the trumpet of his own virtues, as I am to myself.
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Thou ominous and fearful owl of death.
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Let the sap of reason quench the fire of passion.
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