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That god forbid, that made me first your slave, I should in thought control your times of pleasure, Or at your hand th' account of hours to crave, Being your vassal bound to stay your leisure.

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
Love
Hours
Bound
Times
Bounds
Hands
Accounts
Thought
Slave
Vassal
Firsts
Stay
Forbid
First
Control
Crave
Heart
Hand
Leisure
Made
Pleasure
Account

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Policy sits above conscience.
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Talking isn't doing. It is a kind of good deed to say well and yet words are not deeds.
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Good friend for Jesus sake forbeare, To digg the dust encloased heare! Blest be the man that spares thes stones, And curst be he that moves my bones.
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If it be aught toward the general good, Set honor in one eye and death i' th' other, And I will look on both indifferently For let the gods so speed me as I love The name of honor more than I fear death.
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Away, you trifler! Love! I love thee not, I care not for thee, Kate: this is no world To play with mammets and to tilt with lips: We must have bloody noses and cracked crowns.
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Past all shame, so past all truth.
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Thy tongue Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn'd, Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bower, With ravishing division, to her lute.
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O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!
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I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the twenty to follow mine own teaching.
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These are the forgeries of jealousy And never, since the middle summer's spring, Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead, By paved fountain or by rushy brook, Or in the beached margent of the sea, To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind, But with thy brawls thou hast disturbed our sport.
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Love's stories written in love's richest books. To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes.
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Live loath'd and long, Most smiling, smooth, detested parasites, Courteous destroyers, affable wolves, meek bears, You fools of fortune, trencher friends, time flies Cap and knee slaves, vapors, and minute jacks.
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Ay, is it not a language I speak?
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Suspicion shall be all stuck full of eyes.
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This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms, The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans, Liege of all loiterers and malcontents.
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Now, my masters, happy man be his dole, say I every man to his business.
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I have no way and therefore want no eyes I stumbled when I saw. Full oft 'tis seen our means secure us, and our mere defects prove our commodities.
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Confess yourself to heaven, Repent what's past, avoid what is to come, And do not spread the compost on the weeds To make them ranker.
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