William Shakespeare Quote
RICHARD, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER:Why then I do but dream on sovereignty,Like one that stands upon a promontoryAnd spies a far-off shore where he would tread,Wishing his foot were equal with his eye,And chides the sea that sunders him from thence,Saying, he'll lade it dry to have his way:So do I wish the crown, being so far off,And so I chide the means that keeps me from it,And so, I say, I'll cut the causes off,Flattering me with impossibilities,My eye's too quick, my hear o'erweens too much,Unless my hand and strength could equal them.Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard;What other pleasure can the world afford?I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap,And deck my body in gay ornaments,And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks.O miserable thought! and more unlikelyThan to accomplish twenty golden crowns!Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb;And for I should not deal in her soft laws,She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe,To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub,To make an envious mountain on my back,Where sits deformity to mock my body;To shape my legs of an unequal size,To disproportion me in every part,Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelpThat carries no impression like the dam.And am I then a man to be belov'd?O monstrous fault, to harbor such a thought!Then since this earth affords no joy to meBut to command, to check, to o'erbear suchAs are of better person than myself,I'll make my heaven to dream upon the crown,And whiles I live, t' account this world but hell,Until my misshap'd trunk that bears this headBe round impaled with a glorious crown.And yet I know not how to get the crown,For many lives stand between me and home;And I - like one lost in a thorny wood,That rents the thorns, and is rent with the thorns,Seeking a way, and straying from the way,Not knowing how to find the open air,But toiling desperately to find it out - Torment myself to catch the English crown;And from that torment I will free myself,Or hew my way out with a bloody axe.Why, I can smile, and murther whiles I smile,And cry Content to that which grieves my heart,And wet my cheeks with artificial tears,And frame my face to all occasions.I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall,I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk,I'll play the orator as well as Nestor,Deceive more slily than Ulysses could,And like a Simon, take another Troy.I can add colors to the chameleon,Change shapes with Proteus for advantages,And set the murtherous Machevil to school.Can I do this, and cannot get a crown?Tut, were it farther off, I'll pluck it down.
RICHARD, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER:Why then I do but dream on sovereignty,Like one that stands upon a promontoryAnd spies a far-off shore where he would tread,Wishing his foot were equal with his eye,And chides the sea that sunders him from thence,Saying, he'll lade it dry to have his way:So do I wish the crown, being so far off,And so I chide the means that keeps me from it,And so, I say, I'll cut the causes off,Flattering me with impossibilities,My eye's too quick, my hear o'erweens too much,Unless my hand and strength could equal them.Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard;What other pleasure can the world afford?I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap,And deck my body in gay ornaments,And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks.O miserable thought! and more unlikelyThan to accomplish twenty golden crowns!Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb;And for I should not deal in her soft laws,She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe,To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub,To make an envious mountain on my back,Where sits deformity to mock my body;To shape my legs of an unequal size,To disproportion me in every part,Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelpThat carries no impression like the dam.And am I then a man to be belov'd?O monstrous fault, to harbor such a thought!Then since this earth affords no joy to meBut to command, to check, to o'erbear suchAs are of better person than myself,I'll make my heaven to dream upon the crown,And whiles I live, t' account this world but hell,Until my misshap'd trunk that bears this headBe round impaled with a glorious crown.And yet I know not how to get the crown,For many lives stand between me and home;And I - like one lost in a thorny wood,That rents the thorns, and is rent with the thorns,Seeking a way, and straying from the way,Not knowing how to find the open air,But toiling desperately to find it out - Torment myself to catch the English crown;And from that torment I will free myself,Or hew my way out with a bloody axe.Why, I can smile, and murther whiles I smile,And cry Content to that which grieves my heart,And wet my cheeks with artificial tears,And frame my face to all occasions.I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall,I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk,I'll play the orator as well as Nestor,Deceive more slily than Ulysses could,And like a Simon, take another Troy.I can add colors to the chameleon,Change shapes with Proteus for advantages,And set the murtherous Machevil to school.Can I do this, and cannot get a crown?Tut, were it farther off, I'll pluck it down.
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About William Shakespeare
Shakespeare was born and raised in Stratford-upon-Avon, Warwickshire. At the age of 18, he married Anne Hathaway, with whom he had three children: Susanna, and twins Hamnet and Judith. Sometime between 1585 and 1592 he began a successful career in London as an actor, writer, and part-owner ("sharer") of a playing company called the Lord Chamberlain's Men, later known as the King's Men after the ascension of King James VI of Scotland to the English throne. At age 49 (around 1613) he appears to have retired to Stratford, where he died three years later. Few records of Shakespeare's private life survive; this has stimulated considerable speculation about such matters as his physical appearance, his sexuality, his religious beliefs and even certain fringe theories as to whether the works attributed to him were written by others.
Shakespeare produced most of his known works between 1589 and 1613. His early plays were primarily comedies and histories and are regarded as some of the best works produced in these genres. He then wrote mainly tragedies until 1608, among them Hamlet, Othello, King Lear and Macbeth, all considered to be among the finest works in English. In the last phase of his life he wrote tragicomedies (also known as romances) such as The Winter's Tale and The Tempest, and collaborated with other playwrights.
Many of Shakespeare's plays were published in editions of varying quality and accuracy during his lifetime. However, in 1623 John Heminges and Henry Condell, two fellow actors and friends of Shakespeare's, published a more definitive text known as the First Folio, a posthumous collected edition of Shakespeare's dramatic works that includes 36 of his plays. Its Preface includes a prescient poem by Ben Jonson, a former rival of Shakespeare, who hailed Shakespeare with the now famous epithet: "not of an age, but for all time".