Wherein our Saviour’s birth is celebrated,
This bird of dawning singeth all night long;
And then, they say, no spirit dare stir abroad,
The nights are wholesome, then no planets strike,
No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,
So hallow’d and so gracious is the time.
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Sonnet Lxxxviii by William Shakespeare
When thou shalt be disposed to set me light,And place my merit in the eye of scorn,Upon thy side against myself I’ll fight,And prove thee virtuous, though thou art forsworn.With mine own weakness being best acquainted,Upon thy part I can set down a storyOf faults conceal’d, wherein I am attainted,That thou in losing me shalt…
What potions have I drunk of Siren tears,
Applying fears to hopes and hopes to fears,Still losing when I saw myself to win!What wretched errors hath my heart committed,Whilst it hath thought itself so blessed never!How have mine eyes out of their spheres been fittedIn the distraction of this madding fever!O benefit of ill! now I find trueThat better is by evil still…
Sonnet Xxxvii by William Shakespeare
As a decrepit father takes delightTo see his active child do deeds of youth,So I, made lame by fortune’s dearest spite,Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth.For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit,Or any of these all, or all, or more,Entitled in thy parts do crowned sit,I make my love engrafted to…
Sonnet Xlii by William Shakespeare
That thou hast her, it is not all my grief,And yet it may be said I loved her dearly;That she hath thee, is of my wailing chief,A loss in love that touches me more nearly.Loving offenders, thus I will excuse ye:Thou dost love her, because thou knowst I love her;And for my sake even so…
Full many a glorious morning have I seen
Kissing with golden face the meadows green,Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy;Anon permit the basest clouds to rideWith ugly rack on his celestial face,And from the forlorn world his visage hide,Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace.Even so my sun one early morn did shineWith all-triumphant splendour on my brow.But out, alack! He was but…
Sonnet Cxlv by William Shakespeare
Be wise as thou art cruel; do not pressMy tongue-tied patience with too much disdain;Lest sorrow lend me words and words expressThe manner of my pity-wanting pain.If I might teach thee wit, better it were,Though not to love, yet, love, to tell me so;As testy sick men, when their deaths be near,No news but health…