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
Tis much when sceptres are in children's hands, But more when envy breeds unkind division: There comes the ruin, there begins confusion.
Lords, I protest my soul is full of woe That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow. Come, mourn with me for what I do lament, And put sullen black incontinent. I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land To wash this blood off from my guilty hand. March sadly after. Grace my mournings here In weeping after this untimely bier.
Set we forward; let A Roman and a British ensign wave Friendly together. So through Lud's town march, And in the temple of the great Jupiter Our peace we'll ratify, seal it with feasts. Set on there! Never was a war did cease, Ere bloody hands were washed, with such a peace.
A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd, Quoted, and sign'd, to do a deed of shame.
The language I have learnt these forty years, My native English, now I must forgo; And now my tongue's use is to me no more Than an unstringed viol or a harp, Or like a cunning instrument cased up Or, being open, put into his hands That knows no touch to tune the harmony.
Against self-slaughter There is a prohibition so divine That cravens my weak hand.
If you shall marry, You give away this hand, and this is mine; You give away heaven's vows, and those are mine; You give away myself, which is known mine; For I by vow am so embodied yours That she which marries you must marry me-- Either both or none.
The fragrance of the rose lingers on the hand that casts it
Will Fortune never come with both hands full, But write her fair words still in foulest terms?
The hand of little employment hath the daintier sense.
All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand! Oh, oh, oh!
I'll follow thee and make a heaven of hell, To die upon the hand I love so well
Ere I could make thee open thy white hand, and clap thyself my love; then didst thou utter, I am your's for ever!
Out, damned spot! out, I say!