William Shakespeare

(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616 / Warwickshire)

William Shakespeare Poems

1. Sonnet Xxiv 5/21/2001
2. Sonnet Xxxvii 5/21/2001
3. The Procreation Sonnets (1 - 17) 3/29/2010
4. Sonnet Xii 5/21/2001
5. Sonnet Xi 5/21/2001
6. Sonnet Lxiii 5/21/2001
7. Sonnet Lxii 5/21/2001
8. From The Rape Of Lucrece 4/17/2015
9. Sonnet Xiv 5/21/2001
10. Some Say That Ever ‘Gainst That Season Comes (Hamlet, Act I, Scene I) 6/3/2015
11. Speech: "Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears" 10/22/2015
12. Sonnet Xcv 5/21/2001
13. Sonnet Lxxxviii 5/21/2001
14. Sonnet Xc 5/21/2001
15. Sonnet Xxxi 5/21/2001
16. Sonnets Xiv 1/4/2003
17. Sonnet Lvi 5/21/2001
18. Sonnet Lix 5/21/2001
19. Sonnet Xcviii 5/21/2001
20. Sonnet Lxxxvii 5/21/2001
21. The Passionate Pilgrim 3/29/2010
22. Sonnets Vi 1/4/2003
23. Sonnets Xv 1/4/2003
24. Where The Bee Sucks (from The Tempest) 6/10/2015
25. The Rival Poet Sonnets (78 - 86) 3/29/2010
26. Sonnet Xiii 5/21/2001
27. Sonnets X 1/4/2003
28. Sonnet Lvii 5/21/2001
29. Sonnet X 5/21/2001
30. Sonnet Xci 5/21/2001
31. Song of the Witches: "Double, double toil and trouble" 11/20/2015
32. Sonnet Xxxiii 5/21/2001
33. Sonnet Xxvii 5/21/2001
34. Sonnet Xxxix 5/21/2001
35. Sonnets Iv 1/4/2003
36. Sonnet Lxxi 12/31/2002
37. Sonnet Xcix 5/21/2001
38. William Shakespeare Epitaph 10/20/2015
39. Sonnet Xxxvi 5/21/2001
40. Sonnets Iii 1/4/2003
Best Poem of William Shakespeare

All The World's A Stage

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in ...

Read the full of All The World's A Stage

Sonnet Cviii

What's in the brain that ink may character
Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit?
What's new to speak, what new to register,
That may express my love or thy dear merit?
Nothing, sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine,
I must, each day say o'er the very same,
Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine,
Even as when first I hallow'd thy fair name.
So that eternal love in love's fresh case

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