William Shakespeare

(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616 / Warwickshire)

William Shakespeare Poems

41. Sonnets Xxv: Let Those Who Are In Favour With Their Stars 1/1/2004
42. Sonnet Lxxxviii 5/21/2001
43. Sonnet Xliv 5/21/2001
44. Sonnet Lxx 12/31/2002
45. Sonnets To The Sundry Notes Of Music 3/30/2010
46. Sonnet Lxxx 5/21/2001
47. Sonnet Lvii 5/21/2001
48. The Procreation Sonnets (1 - 17) 3/29/2010
49. Sonnet Xlviii 5/21/2001
50. Sonnets Xx 1/4/2003
51. Sonnet Lxxviii 5/21/2001
52. Sonnet Lxxxvii 5/21/2001
53. Sonnet Xxxiii 5/21/2001
54. Sonnet Lix 5/21/2001
55. Sonnet Xl 5/21/2001
56. Sonnet Vi 5/21/2001
57. Sonnets Xvi 1/4/2003
58. Sonnet Lv 5/21/2001
59. Sonnet Xvii 5/21/2001
60. Sonnet Xiii 5/21/2001
61. Sonnet Cxxxiv 5/18/2001
62. Sonnet Xii 5/21/2001
63. Sonnet Xlv 5/21/2001
64. Sonnet Xciii 5/21/2001
65. Sonnets X 1/4/2003
66. Sonnet Xlvi 5/21/2001
67. Sonnets Liii: What Is Your Substance, Whereof Are You Made 1/1/2004
68. Sonnet Xlii 5/21/2001
69. Sonnet Xxiii 5/21/2001
70. Sonnet Lxv 5/21/2001
71. Sonnet Xxii 5/21/2001
72. Sonnet Liii 5/21/2001
73. Sonnet Lxix 5/21/2001
74. Sonnet Lxxix 12/31/2002
75. Sonnet Iv: Unthrifty Loveliness, Why Dost Thou Spend 1/3/2003
76. Sonnets Vi 1/4/2003
77. Sonnets Xv 1/4/2003
78. Sonnet Xliii 5/21/2001
79. Sonnet Xcvi 5/21/2001
80. Sonnet Cxxxix 5/18/2001
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 Li

Thus can my love excuse the slow offence
Of my dull bearer when from thee I speed:
From where thou art why should I haste me thence?
Till I return, of posting is no need.
O, what excuse will my poor beast then find,
When swift extremity can seem but slow?
Then should I spur, though mounted on the wind;
In winged speed no motion shall I know:
Then can no horse with my desire keep pace;

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