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O that a lady, of one man refused, Should of another therefore be abused!
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
Men
Abused
Refused
Rejection
Lady
Abuse
Therefore
Another
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Our rash faults Make trivial price of serious thing we have, Not knowing them until we know their grave.
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Set honour in one eye and death i' the other, And I will look on both indifferently.
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O faithless coward! O dishonest wretch! Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice?
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Don't judge a man's conscience by looking at his face cause he may have a bad heart.
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Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with honesty?
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This music crept by me upon the waters, Allaying both their fury and my passion With its sweet air: thence I have follow’d it.
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Thrift, thrift, Horatio! The funeral bak'd meats did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables.
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You are an alchemist make gold of that.
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Thus weary of the world, away she hies, And yokes her silver doves by whose swift aid Their mistress mounted through the empty skies In her light chariot quickly is convey'd Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen Means to immure herself and not be seen.
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Honest plain words best pierce the ear of grief.
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Who would be so mocked with glory, or to live But in a dream of friendship, To have his pomp and all what state compounds But only painted, like his varnished friends?
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Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy.
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Twas a clever quibble. Here, a garment for it.
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So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.
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Come unto these yellow sands, And then take hands. Curtsied when you have and kissed The wild waves whist, Foot is featly here and there And, sweet sprites, the burden bear. Ariel's song, scene II, Act I
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Thine eyes I love, and they as pitying me, Knowing thy heart torment me with disdain, Have put on black, and loving mourners be, Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain.
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Thou whoreson zed! thou unnecessary letter!
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