William Shakespeare
William Shakespeare
William Shakespeare – 23 April 1616) was an English poet, playwright, and actor, widely regarded as the greatest writer in the English language and the world's pre-eminent dramatist. He is often called England's national poet, and the "Bard of Avon". His extant works, including collaborations, consist of approximately 38 plays, 154 sonnets, two long narrative poems, and a few other verses, some of uncertain authorship. His plays have been translated into every major living language and are performed more often than...
NationalityEnglish
ProfessionPlaywright
Date of Birth23 April 1564
Dead shepherd, now I find thy saw of might. Whoever lov'd that lov'd not at first sight.
Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes hard.
What ugly sights of death within mine eyes!
Die for adultery! No: The wren goes to't, and the small gilded fly does lecher in my sight
Have I thought long to see this morning’s face, And doth it give me such a sight as this?
Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope’s ear, Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear. So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. The measure done, I’ll watch her place of stand, And, touching hers, make blessèd my rude hand. Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.
Out of my sight! Thou dost infect mine eyes.
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible to feelings as to sight?
Oh, I have passed a miserable night, so full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams!
How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds makes ill deeds done!
Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee. I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight? or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
Come what sorrow can, It cannot countervail the exchange of joy, That one short minute gives me in her sight
The sight of lovers feedeth those in love.
Truth will come to sight; murder cannot be hid long.