William Shakespeare

(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616 / Warwickshire)

Comments about William Shakespeare

  • troll face (12/7/2017 6:23:00 AM)

    boringgggggg ahhhhhhhhh

    4 person liked.
    5 person did not like.
  • bobbbbyyyy (12/7/2017 6:22:00 AM)

    this was an amazing article thank you

  • john cena (12/4/2017 5:39:00 PM)

    lol bad i hate it kys willi vfttcuctcrt

  • troll face (12/4/2017 5:38:00 PM)

    lol bad i hate it kys willi

  • john cena (12/4/2017 5:35:00 PM)

    boring af: /jbhjhbjnbhj n b hhbbhhbjbhjbhj hj

  • Pynthamil Pavendan (12/3/2017 8:35:00 AM)

    What a talent

  • mac stiles (11/28/2017 9:58:00 AM)

    he is one of the best people who lived in this world and I wished he was immoral always and everyone else too

  • Ashutosh (11/28/2017 4:16:00 AM)

    You are like a superpower to me.
    The world can't see and I don't want to show.
    I live parallely in two universe.
    The one I show
    The another we see.
    It may has shattered me into pieces
    But that is where I find my species.

  • aaron (11/27/2017 5:33:00 AM)

    i love this poet he is the best

  • Rubina (11/26/2017 11:59:00 PM)

    Really , William Shakespeare is national poet of England.

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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