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Say, what abridgement have you for this evening? What masque, what music? How shall we beguile The lazy time if not with some delight?
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
Time
Beguile
Dancer
Lazy
Evening
Delight
Dancing
Shall
Music
Masque
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Where the greater malady is fixed, The lesser is scarce felt.
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This day's black fate on more days doth depend This but begins the woe, others must end.
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To be in love, where scorn is bought with groans coy looks, with heart-sore sighs one fading moment's mirth
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Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine.
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Love goes toward love.
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Give me that man that is not passion's slave, and I will wear him in my heart's core, in my heart of heart, as I do thee.
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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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Who is here so vile that will not love his country?
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In me thou see'st the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. -Sonnet 73
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Hereafter, in a better world than this, I shall desire more love and knowledge of you
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Soft pity enters an iron gate.
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Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it Without a prompter.
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Highly fed and lowly taught.
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Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, And therefore I forbid my tears: But yet It is our trick nature her custom holds, Let shame say what it will: when these are gone, The woman will be out. — Adieu, my lord! I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze, But that this folly drowns it.
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Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle.
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Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, more than any man in all Venice. His reasons are as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff: you shall seek all day ere you find them, and when you have them, they are not worth the search.
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My love is deep the more I give to thee, the more I have, both are infinite.
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The very firstlings of my heart shall be The firstlings of my hand.
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Remember thee! Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat In this distracted globe.
William Shakespeare
Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.
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