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
That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once: how the knave jowls it to the ground, as if it were Cain's jaw-bone, that did the first murder! It might be the pate of a politician, which this ass now o'er-reaches; one that would circumvent God, might it not?
Look on beauty, and you shall see 'tis purchased by the weight; which therein works a miracle in Nature, making them lightest that wear most of it: so are those crisped snaky golden locks which make such wanton gambols with the wind upon supposed fairness, often known to be the dowry of a second head, the skull that bred them in the sepulchre.
Chain me with roaring bears; Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house, O'er-covered quite with dead men's rattling bones, With reeky shanks and yellow chapless skulls; Or bid me go into a new-made grave, And hide me with a dead man in his shroud; Things that, to hear them told, have made me tremble; And I will do it without Fear or Doubt, To live an unstain'd Wife of my sweet Love.
What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted! Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just, and he but naked, though locked up in steel, whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.
The purest treasure mortal times afford, is spotless reputation; that away, men are but gilded loam or painted clay.
The rude sea grew civil at her song,And certain stars shot madly from their spheresTo hear the sea-maid's music.
The robb'd that smiles steals something from the thief: He robs himself that spends a bootless grief
The robb'd that smiles, steals something from the thief
The seasons alter: hoary-headed frostsFall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose.
The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on.
...the spring, the summer,The chilling autumn, angry winter, changeTheir wonted liveries; and the mazed worldBy their increase, now knows not which is which.
The spirit that I have seen May be the devil: and the devil hath power To assume a pleasing shape
Is there no way for men to be, but womenMust be half-workers?
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:Follow your spirit; and upon this chargeCry "God for Harry! England and Saint George!