call me buttlove, and I’ll be new baptized…

In honour of Shakespeare’s birthday:

Anne Hathaway’s family cottage.

Shakespeare’s house. Surprise, it’s raining

Church of the Holy Trinity

Graveyard outside the church.

Main altar, and the giiiiigantic window above it.

Grave o’ the Bard.

My favourite window.

Ducks upon Avon!

And some of the lovely town of Stratford. The rainbow occurred just as I was leaving, after raining lightly all day.

Much Ado About Nothing

Beatrice: I wonder that you will still be talking, Signior Benedick:
nobody marks you.
Benedick: What, my dear Lady Disdain! are you yet living?
Beatrice: Is it possible disdain should die while she hath such meet food to
feed it as Signior Benedick? Courtesy itself must convert to
disdain, if you come in her presence.
Benedick: Then is courtesy a turncoat. But it is certain I am loved of all
ladies, only you excepted: and I would I could find in my heart
that I had not a hard heart; for, truly, I love none.
Beatrice: A dear happiness to women: they would else have been troubled with
a pernicious suitor. I thank God and my cold blood, I am of your
humour for that: I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man
swear he loves me.
Benedick: God keep your ladyship still in that mind! so some gentleman or
other shall ‘scape a predestinate scratched face.
Beatrice: Scratching could not make it worse, an ’twere such a face as yours
Benedick: Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher.
Beatrice: A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours.
Benedick: I would my horse had the speed of your tongue, and so good a continuer. But keep your way, i’ God’s name; I have done.
Beatrice: You always end with a jade’s trick: I know you of old.

And, because he’s a favourite, some Feste from Twelfth Night:

Cesario: Dost thou live by thy music, friend?
Feste: No, sir, I live by the church.
Cesario: Art thou a churchman?
Feste: No such matter, sir: I do live by the church; for I do live at my house, and my house doth stand by the church.

Feste: Good madonna, why mournest thou?
Olivia: Good fool, for my brother’s death.
Feste: I think his soul is in hell, madonna.
Olivia: I know his soul is in heaven, fool.
Feste: The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your brother’s soul being in heaven.

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