William Shakespeare

(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616 / Warwickshire)

William Shakespeare Poems

41. Sonnet Xiii 5/21/2001
42. The Canakin Clink Pub Song (From 'Othello') 2/4/2015
43. Sonnet Cxxxiv 5/18/2001
44. Sonnet Lxxxix 5/21/2001
45. Sonnet Lxxx 5/21/2001
46. Sonnet Xvi 5/21/2001
47. Sonnet Xlvi 5/21/2001
48. Sonnets Liii: What Is Your Substance, Whereof Are You Made 1/1/2004
49. Sonnet Xxiii 5/21/2001
50. Sonnet Xxii 5/21/2001
51. Sonnet Lxxxi 5/21/2001
52. Sonnet Xxxix 5/21/2001
53. Sonnet Xiv 5/21/2001
54. Sonnet Lxxix 12/31/2002
55. Sonnet Lxx 12/31/2002
56. Sonnet Xcvi 5/21/2001
57. Sonnet Xxxiii 5/21/2001
58. Sonnet Xli 5/21/2001
59. Sonnet Cxxxix 5/18/2001
60. Sonnet 7: “lo In The Orient When The Gracious Light…” 3/30/2010
61. Sonnets Xix: Devouring Time, Blunt Thou The Lion's Paws 1/1/2004
62. Sonnet Lxxi 12/31/2002
63. Sonnet Xxxv 5/21/2001
64. Sonnet Cxxxiii 5/18/2001
65. Sonnets Xvi 1/4/2003
66. Sonnet Lv 5/21/2001
67. Sonnet Lxxxiii 5/21/2001
68. Sonnet Lvii 5/21/2001
69. Sonnet Liii 5/21/2001
70. Sonnets Xxxiii: Full Many A Glorious Morning Have I Seen 1/1/2004
71. Sonnet Lxxiii 12/31/2002
72. Sonnet Lxxvi 12/31/2002
73. Sonnet Lvi 5/21/2001
74. Sonnet Xlvii 5/21/2001
75. Sonnet Xciii 5/21/2001
76. Sonnet Lxxviii 5/21/2001
77. Sonnet Xlii 5/21/2001
78. Sonnet Xxvi 5/21/2001
79. Sonnet Lxxxv 5/21/2001
80. Now The Hungry Lion Roars 3/2/2015
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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