Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me. The brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man, is not able to invent anything that tends to laughter, more than I invent, or is invented on me: I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other... The Plays and Poems of William Shakspeare - Page 23 by William Shakespeare - 1821 Full view -
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