William Shakespeare

(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616 / Warwickshire)

William Shakespeare Poems

1. Sonnet Xl 5/21/2001
2. Sonnet Xiii 5/21/2001
3. From The Rape Of Lucrece 4/17/2015
4. Sonnet Lxi 5/21/2001
5. Sonnet Cxxxv 5/18/2001
6. Sonnet Lxxxvi 5/21/2001
7. Sonnet Lxxvi 12/31/2002
8. Sonnet Cxxxiii 5/18/2001
9. Sonnet Xlviii 5/21/2001
10. Sonnet Xci 5/21/2001
11. Sonnet Xli 5/21/2001
12. Sonnet Cxxxii 5/18/2001
13. Sonnet Xcix 5/21/2001
14. Sonnet Lv 5/21/2001
15. Sonnet Xi 5/21/2001
16. Sonnet Xxiii 5/21/2001
17. Sonnet Xcv 5/21/2001
18. Sonnet Iv: Unthrifty Loveliness, Why Dost Thou Spend 1/3/2003
19. Sonnet Xlvi 5/21/2001
20. Sonnet Lxxxviii 5/21/2001
21. Sonnets Xi 1/4/2003
22. Sonnet Xlii 5/21/2001
23. Sonnet Lvi 5/21/2001
24. Sonnet V: Those Hours, That With Gentle Work Did Frame 1/3/2003
25. Sonnet Xx 12/31/2002
26. Sonnet Xlix 5/21/2001
27. Sonnet Lix 5/21/2001
28. Sonnet Xcviii 5/21/2001
29. Sonnet Xii 5/21/2001
30. Sonnet Liii 5/21/2001
31. Sonnet Xliv 5/21/2001
32. Sonnets Xv 1/4/2003
33. Sonnet Xciii 5/21/2001
34. Sonnet Xliii 5/21/2001
35. Sonnets X 1/4/2003
36. Sonnet Xcii 5/21/2001
37. The Procreation Sonnets (1 - 17) 3/29/2010
38. Sonnets Xiii 1/4/2003
39. Sonnet Xcvi 5/21/2001
40. The Canakin Clink Pub Song (From 'Othello') 2/4/2015
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 Ci

O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends
For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed?
Both truth and beauty on my love depends;
So dost thou too, and therein dignified.
Make answer, Muse: wilt thou not haply say
'Truth needs no colour, with his colour fix'd;
Beauty no pencil, beauty's truth to lay;
But best is best, if never intermix'd?'
Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb?

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