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In sweet music is such art: killing care and grief of heart fall asleep, or hearing, die.
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
Music
Grief
Heart
Musician
Comfort
Sweet
Dies
Orpheus
Fall
Asleep
Art
Hearing
Care
Killing
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O heresy in fair, fit for these days, A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise.
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Bosom upon my counsel You'll find it wholesome.
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O my good lord, that comfort comes too late, 'Tis like a pardon after execution. That gentle physic, given in time, had cured me But now I am past all comforts here but prayers.
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Each present joy or sorrow seems the chief.
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At Christmas, I no more desire a rose.
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I do love nothing in the world so well as you- is not that strange?
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There's many a man hath more hair than wit.
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And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe. And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot And thereby hangs a tale.
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Though inclination be as sharp as will, My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent, And, like a man to double business bound, I stand in pause where I shall first begin, And both neglect.
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Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them.
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Truly the souls of men are full of dread: Ye cannot reason almost with a man That looks not heavily and full of fear.
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This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet
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Inconstancy falls off ere it begins.
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Blow, blow, thou winter wind Thou art not so unkind, As man's ingratitude.
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I have heard it said There is an art which in their piedness shares With great creating nature.
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A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!
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And the more pity that great folk should have count'nance in this world to drown or hang themselves more than their even-Christen.
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