To me that languish’d for her sake;
But when she saw my woeful state,
Straight in her heart did mercy come,
Chiding that tongue that ever sweet
Was used in giving gentle doom,
And taught it thus anew to greet:
‘I hate’ she alter’d with an end,
That follow’d it as gentle day
Doth follow night, who like a fiend
From heaven to hell is flown away;
‘I hate’ from hate away she threw,
And saved my life, saying ‘not you.’
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Those parts of thee that the world’s eye doth view
All tongues, the voice of souls, give thee that due,Utt’ring bare truth, even so as foes commend.Thy outward thus with outward praise is crowned,But those same tongues that give thee so thine ownIn other accents do this praise confoundBy seeing farther than the eye hath shown.They look into the beauty of thy mind,And that, in…
When that I was and a little tiny boy,
A foolish thing was but a toy,For the rain it raineth every day.But when I came to man’s estate,With hey, ho, . . .‘Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gateFor the rain, . . .But when I came, alas! to wive,With hey, ho, . . .By swaggering could I never thrive,For the rain, ….
From fairest creatures we desire increase,
But as the riper should by time decease,His tender heir might bear his memory;But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes,Feed’st thy light’s flame with self-substantial fuel,Making a famine where abundance lies,Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.Thou that art now the world’s fresh ornament,And only herald to the gaudy spring,Within thine own…
Fear no more the heat o’ the sun;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages;Golden lads and girls all must,As chimney sweepers come to dust.Fear no more the frown of the great,Thou art past the tyrant’s stroke:Care no more to clothe and eat;To thee the reed is as the oak:The sceptre, learning, physic, mustAll follow this, and come…
Thus can my love excuse the slow offence
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;Therefore desire…
Marcellus to Horatio and Bernardo, after seeing the Ghost,
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.
To me that languish’d for her sake:
But when she saw my woeful state,
Straight in her heart did mercy come.
Chiding that tongue, that ever sweet
Was used in giving gentle doom:
And taught it thus anew to greet:
‘I hate’ she alter’d with an end
That follow’d it as gentle day
Doth follow night, who like a fiend
From heaven to hell is flown away.
‘I hate’ from hate away she threw,
And sav’d my life, saying ‘not you’
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Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,
And needy nothing trimmed in jollity,And purest faith unhappily forsworn,And gilded honour shamefully misplaced,And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,And strength by limping sway disablèdAnd art made tongue-tied by authority,And folly doctor-like controlling skill,And simple truth miscalled simplicity,And captive good attending captain ill.Tired with all these, from these would I be gone,Save that…
To Be, Or Not To Be by William Shakespeare
To be, or not to be: that is the question:Whether tis nobler in the mind to sufferThe slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;No more; and by a sleep to say we endThe heart-ache and the thousand natural shocksThat flesh…
Sonnet 19: Devouring Time Blunt Thou The Lion’s Paws by William Shakespeare
Devouring Time blunt thou the lion’s paws,And make the earth devour her own sweet brood,Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger’s jaws,And burn the long-lived phoenix, in her blood,Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleet’st,And do whate’er thou wilt swift-footed TimeTo the wide world and all her fading sweets.But I forbid thee one…
Sonnet Cx by William Shakespeare
Alas, ’tis true I have gone here and thereAnd made myself a motley to the view,Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear,Made old offences of affections new;Most true it is that I have look’d on truthAskance and strangely: but, by all above,These blenches gave my heart another youth,And worse essays proved thee…
Sonnet Xciii by William Shakespeare
So shall I live, supposing thou art true,Like a deceived husband; so love’s faceMay still seem love to me, though alter’d new;Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place:For there can live no hatred in thine eye,Therefore in that I cannot know thy change.In many’s looks the false heart’s historyIs writ in moods and…
I.
I do believe her, though I know she lies,That she might think me some untutor’d youth,Unskilful in the world’s false forgeries,Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,Although I know my years be past the best,I smiling credit her false-speaking tongue,Outfacing faults in love with love’s ill rest.But wherefore says my love that she is…
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To me that languished for her sake;
But when she saw my woeful state,
Straight in her heart did mercy come,
Chiding that tongue that ever sweet
Was used in giving gentle doom,
And taught it thus anew to greet:
‘I hate’ she altered with an end,
That followed it as gentle day
Doth follow night, who like a fiend
From heaven to hell is flown away.
‘I hate’ from hate away she threw,
And saved my life, saying ‘not you.’
Similar Posts
Was it the proud full sail of his great verse,
That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse,Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew?Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to writeAbove a mortal pitch, that struck me dead?No, neither he, nor his compeers by nightGiving him aid, my verse astonished.He, nor that affable familiar ghostWhich nightly gulls him with intelligenceAs victors of…
Sonnet 76: Why Is My Verse So Barren Of New Pride? by William Shakespeare
Why is my verse so barren of new pride?So far from variation or quick change?Why with the time do I not glance asideTo new-found methods, and to compounds strange?Why write I still all one, ever the same,And keep invention in a noted weed,That every word doth almost tell my name,Showing their birth and where they…
I.
I do believe her, though I know she lies,That she might think me some untutor’d youth,Unskilful in the world’s false forgeries,Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,Although I know my years be past the best,I smiling credit her false-speaking tongue,Outfacing faults in love with love’s ill rest.But wherefore says my love that she is…
The forward violet thus did I chide:
If not from my love’s breath? The purple prideWhich on thy soft check for complexion dwellsIn my love’s veins thou hast too grossly dyed.’The lily I condemnèd for thy hand,And buds of marjoram had stol’n thy hair;The roses fearfully on thorns did stand,One blushing shame, another white despair;A third, nor red, nor white, had stol’n…
For shame! deny that thou bear’st love to any,
Grant, if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many,But that thou none lovest is most evident;For thou art so possess’d with murderous hateThat ‘gainst thyself thou stick’st not to conspire.Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinateWhich to repair should be thy chief desire.O, change thy thought, that I may change my mind!Shall hate be fairer lodged…
Sonnet Lxxxv by William Shakespeare
My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still,While comments of your praise, richly compiled,Reserve their character with golden quillAnd precious phrase by all the Muses filed.I think good thoughts whilst other write good words,And like unletter’d clerk still cry ‘Amen’To every hymn that able spirit affordsIn polish’d form of well-refined pen.Hearing you praised, I say…