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William Shakespeare (1564-1616) -an English writer of plays ,one of the most famous ever. Among the most famous of his plays are the tragedies of Romeo and Juliet, Julius Caesar, Hamlet, Othello, King Lear, the comedies of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, The Merchant of Venice, and the historical plays Richard ııı and Henry V. He also wrote some very good poetry, especially the Sonnets, and worked as an actor at the Globe Theatre in London.
SONNET 130 My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red than her lips' red; If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. I have seen roses damask'd, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks; And in some perfumes is there more delight Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know That music hath a far more pleasing sound; I grant I never saw a goddess go; My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground: And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare.
Byron was born in London on the 22 of January, 1788 in an old aristocratic family. His mother came from a rich Scottish family. His father was a poor army officer spent his wife’s money. Scotland became his motherland. He loved its beautiful nature, the rocky coast mountains of the country. His love of his country was reflected in many of his poems.
Adieu, adieu my native shore Fades over the waters blue, The night - winds sigh, the breakers roar And shrieks the wild sea - mew. Yon sun that sets upon the sea We follow in his flight Farewell awhile to him and thee My native Land-Good Night A few short hours and he will rise То give the Morrow birth And I shall hail the main and skies, But not my Mother Earth. Deserted is my own good Hall, Its hearth is desolate, Wild weeds are gathering on the wall, My dog howls at the gate.
O, my luve's like a red, red rose, That's newly sprung in June: O, my luve's like the melodie, That's sweetly play'd in tune. II. As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I: And I will luve thee still, my dear, 'Till a' the seas gang dry. III. 'Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi' the sun: I will luve thee still, my dear, While the sands o' life shall run. IV. And fare thee weel, my only luve! And fare thee weel a-while! And I will come again, my luve, Tho' it were ten thousand mile.
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