A Lover's Complaint
FROM off a hill whose concave womb reworded
A plaintful story from a
sistering vale,
My spirits to attend this double voice accorded,
And down
I laid to list the sad-tuned tale;
Ere long espied a fickle maid full
pale,
Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain,
Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain.
Upon her head a platted hive of straw,
Which
fortified her visage from the sun,
Whereon the thought might think sometime
it saw
The carcass of beauty spent and done:
Time had not scythed all that
youth begun,
Nor youth all quit; but, spite of heaven's fell rage,
Some
beauty peep'd through lattice of sear'd age.
Oft did she heave her napkin
to her eyne,
Which on it had conceited characters,
Laundering the silken
figures in the brine
That season'd woe had pelleted in tears,
And often
reading what contents it bears;
As often shrieking undistinguish'd woe,
In
clamours of all size, both high and low.
Sometimes her levell'd eyes
their carriage ride,
As they did battery to the spheres intend;
Sometime
diverted their poor balls are tied
To the orbed earth; sometimes they do
extend
Their view right on; anon their gazes lend
To every place at once,
and, nowhere fix'd,
The mind and sight distractedly commix'd.
Her
hair, nor loose nor tied in formal plat,
Proclaim'd in her a careless hand of
pride
For some, untuck'd, descended her sheaved hat,
Hanging her pale and
pined cheek beside;
Some in her threaden fillet still did bide,
And true
to bondage would not break from thence,
Though slackly braided in loose
negligence.
A thousand favours from a maund she drew
Of amber,
crystal, and of beaded jet,
Which one by one she in a river threw,
Upon
whose weeping margent she was set;
Like usury, applying wet to wet,
Or
monarch's hands that let not bounty fall
Where want cries some, but where
excess begs all.
Of folded schedules had she many a one,
Which she perused, sigh'd, tore, and gave the flood;
Crack'd many a ring of posied gold
and bone
Bidding them find their sepulchres in mud;
Found yet moe letters
sadly penn'd in blood,
With sleided silk feat and affectedly
Enswathed,
and seal'd to curious secrecy.
These often bathed she in her fluxive
eyes,
And often kiss'd, and often 'gan to tear:
Cried 'O false blood, thou
register of lies,
What unapproved witness dost thou bear!
Ink would have
seem'd more black and damned here!'
This said, in top of rage the lines she
rents,
Big discontent so breaking their contents.
A reverend man that
grazed his cattle nigh--
Sometime a blusterer, that the ruffle knew
Of
court, of city, and had let go by
The swiftest hours, observed as they
flew--
Towards this afflicted fancy fastly drew,
And, privileged by age,
desires to know
In brief the grounds and motives of her woe.
So slides
he down upon his grained bat,
And comely-distant sits he by her side;
When
he again desires her, being sat,
Her grievance with his hearing to
divide:
If that from him there may be aught applied
Which may her
suffering ecstasy assuage,
'Tis promised in the charity of
age.
'Father,' she says, 'though in me you behold
The injury of many a
blasting hour,
Let it not tell your judgment I am old;
Not age, but
sorrow, over me hath power:
I might as yet have been a spreading
flower,
Fresh to myself, If I had self-applied
Love to myself and to no
love beside.
'But, woe is me! too early I attended
A youthful suit--it
was to gain my grace--
Of one by nature's outwards so commended,
That
maidens' eyes stuck over all his face:
Love lack'd a dwelling, and made him
her place;
And when in his fair parts she did abide,
She was new lodged
and newly deified.
'His browny locks did hang in crooked curls;
And
every light occasion of the wind
Upon his lips their silken parcels
hurls.
What's sweet to do, to do will aptly find:
Each eye that saw him
did enchant the mind,
For on his visage was in little drawn
What largeness
thinks in Paradise was sawn.
'Small show of man was yet upon his
chin;
His phoenix down began but to appear
Like unshorn velvet on that
termless skin
Whose bare out-bragg'd the web it seem'd to wear:
Yet show'd
his visage by that cost more dear;
And nice affections wavering stood in
doubt
If best were as it was, or best without.
'His qualities were
beauteous as his form,
For maiden-tongued he was, and thereof free;
Yet,
if men moved him, was he such a storm
As oft 'twixt May and April is to
see,
When winds breathe sweet, untidy though they be.
His rudeness so with
his authorized youth
Did livery falseness in a pride of truth.
'Well
could he ride, and often men would say
'That horse his mettle from his rider
takes:
Proud of subjection, noble by the sway,
What rounds, what bounds,
what course, what stop
he makes!'
And controversy hence a question
takes,
Whether the horse by him became his deed,
Or he his manage by the
well-doing steed.
'But quickly on this side the verdict went:
His real
habitude gave life and grace
To appertainings and to
ornament,
Accomplish'd in himself, not in his case:
All aids, themselves
made fairer by their place,
Came for additions; yet their purposed
trim
Pieced not his grace, but were all graced by him.
'So on the tip
of his subduing tongue
All kinds of arguments and question deep,
All
replication prompt, and reason strong,
For his advantage still did wake and
sleep:
To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep,
He had the dialect and
different skill,
Catching all passions in his craft of will:
'That he
did in the general bosom reign
Of young, of old; and sexes both
enchanted,
To dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain
In personal duty,
following where he haunted:
Consents bewitch'd, ere he desire, have
granted;
And dialogued for him what he would say,
Ask'd their own wills,
and made their wills obey.
'Many there were that did his picture
get,
To serve their eyes, and in it put their mind;
Like fools that in th'
imagination set
The goodly objects which abroad they find
Of lands and
mansions, theirs in thought assign'd;
And labouring in moe pleasures to
bestow them
Than the true gouty landlord which doth owe them:
'So many
have, that never touch'd his hand,
Sweetly supposed them mistress of his
heart.
My woeful self, that did in freedom stand,
And was my own
fee-simple, not in part,
What with his art in youth, and youth in
art,
Threw my affections in his charmed power,
Reserved the stalk and gave
him all my flower.
'Yet did I not, as some my equals did,
Demand of
him, nor being desired yielded;
Finding myself in honour so forbid,
With
safest distance I mine honour shielded:
Experience for me many bulwarks
builded
Of proofs new-bleeding, which remain'd the foil
Of this false
jewel, and his amorous spoil.
'But, ah, who ever shunn'd by
precedent
The destined ill she must herself assay?
Or forced examples,
'gainst her own content,
To put the by-past perils in her way?
Counsel may
stop awhile what will not stay;
For when we rage, advice is often seen
By
blunting us to make our wits more keen.
'Nor gives it satisfaction to our
blood,
That we must curb it upon others' proof;
To be forbod the sweets
that seem so good,
For fear of harms that preach in our behoof.
O
appetite, from judgment stand aloof!
The one a palate hath that needs will
taste,
Though Reason weep, and cry, 'It is thy last.'
'For further I
could say 'This man's untrue,'
And knew the patterns of his foul
beguiling;
Heard where his plants in others' orchards grew,
Saw how
deceits were gilded in his smiling;
Knew vows were ever brokers to
defiling;
Thought characters and words merely but art,
And bastards of his
foul adulterate heart.
'And long upon these terms I held my city,
Till
thus he gan besiege me: 'Gentle maid,
Have of my suffering youth some feeling
pity,
And be not of my holy vows afraid:
That's to ye sworn to none was
ever said;
For feasts of love I have been call'd unto,
Till now did ne'er
invite, nor never woo.
''All my offences that abroad you see
Are
errors of the blood, none of the mind;
Love made them not: with acture they
may be,
Where neither party is nor true nor kind:
They sought their shame that so their shame did find;
And so much less of shame in me remains,
By
how much of me their reproach contains.
''Among the many that mine eyes
have seen,
Not one whose flame my heart so much as warm'd,
Or my affection
put to the smallest teen,
Or any of my leisures ever charm'd:
Harm have I
done to them, but ne'er was harm'd;
Kept hearts in liveries, but mine own was
free,
And reign'd, commanding in his monarchy.
''Look here, what
tributes wounded fancies sent me,
Of paled pearls and rubies red as
blood;
Figuring that they their passions likewise lent me
Of grief and
blushes, aptly understood
In bloodless white and the encrimson'd
mood;
Effects of terror and dear modesty,
Encamp'd in hearts, but fighting
outwardly.
''And, lo, behold these talents of their hair,
With twisted
metal amorously impleach'd,
I have received from many a several
fair,
Their kind acceptance weepingly beseech'd,
With the annexions of
fair gems enrich'd,
And deep-brain'd sonnets that did amplify
Each stone's
dear nature, worth, and quality.
''The diamond,--why, 'twas beautiful and
hard,
Whereto his invised properties did tend;
The deep-green emerald, in
whose fresh regard
Weak sights their sickly radiance do amend;
The
heaven-hued sapphire and the opal blend
With objects manifold: each several
stone,
With wit well blazon'd, smiled or made some moan.
''Lo, all
these trophies of affections hot,
Of pensived and subdued desires the
tender,
Nature hath charged me that I hoard them not,
But yield them up
where I myself must render,
That is, to you, my origin and ender;
For
these, of force, must your oblations be,
Since I their altar, you enpatron
me.
''O, then, advance of yours that phraseless hand,
Whose white
weighs down the airy scale of praise;
Take all these similes to your own
command,
Hallow'd with sighs that burning lungs did raise;
What me your
minister, for you obeys,
Works under you; and to your audit comes
Their
distract parcels in combined sums.
''Lo, this device was sent me from a
nun,
Or sister sanctified, of holiest note;
Which late her noble suit in
court did shun,
Whose rarest havings made the blossoms dote;
For she was
sought by spirits of richest coat,
But kept cold distance, and did thence
remove,
To spend her living in eternal love.
''But, O my sweet, what
labour is't to leave
The thing we have not, mastering what not
strives,
Playing the place which did no form receive,
Playing patient
sports in unconstrained gyves?
She that her fame so to herself
contrives,
The scars of battle 'scapeth by the flight,
And makes her
absence valiant, not her might.
''O, pardon me, in that my boast is
true:
The accident which brought me to her eye
Upon the moment did her
force subdue,
And now she would the caged cloister fly:
Religious love put
out Religion's eye:
Not to be tempted, would she be immured,
And now, to
tempt, all liberty procured.
''How mighty then you are, O, hear me
tell!
The broken bosoms that to me belong
Have emptied all their fountains
in my well,
And mine I pour your ocean all among:
I strong o'er them, and
you o'er me being strong,
Must for your victory us all congest,
As
compound love to physic your cold breast.
''My parts had power to charm a
sacred nun,
Who, disciplined, ay, dieted in grace,
Believed her eyes when
they to assail begun,
All vows and consecrations giving place:
O most
potential love! vow, bond, nor space,
In thee hath neither sting, knot, nor
confine,
For thou art all, and all things else are thine.
''When thou
impressest, what are precepts worth
Of stale example? When thou wilt
inflame,
How coldly those impediments stand forth
Of wealth, of filial
fear, law, kindred, fame!
Love's arms are peace, 'gainst rule, 'gainst
sense,
'gainst shame,
And sweetens, in the suffering pangs it
bears,
The aloes of all forces, shocks, and fears.
''Now all these
hearts that do on mine depend,
Feeling it break, with bleeding groans they
pine;
And supplicant their sighs to you extend,
To leave the battery that
you make 'gainst mine,
Lending soft audience to my sweet design,
And
credent soul to that strong-bonded oath
That shall prefer and undertake my
troth.'
'This said, his watery eyes he did dismount,
Whose sights till
then were levell'd on my face;
Each cheek a river running from a
fount
With brinish current downward flow'd apace:
O, how the channel to
the stream gave grace!
Who glazed with crystal gate the glowing roses
That
flame through water which their hue encloses.
'O father, what a hell of
witchcraft lies
In the small orb of one particular tear!
But with the
inundation of the eyes
What rocky heart to water will not wear?
What
breast so cold that is not warmed here?
O cleft effect! cold modesty, hot
wrath,
Both fire from hence and chill extincture hath.
'For, lo, his
passion, but an art of craft,
Even there resolved my reason into
tears;
There my white stole of chastity I daff'd,
Shook off my sober
guards and civil fears;
Appear to him, as he to me appears,
All melting;
though our drops this difference bore,
His poison'd me, and mine did him
restore.
'In him a plenitude of subtle matter,
Applied to cautels, all
strange forms receives,
Of burning blushes, or of weeping water,
Or
swooning paleness; and he takes and leaves,
In either's aptness, as it best
deceives,
To blush at speeches rank to weep at woes,
Or to turn white and
swoon at tragic shows.
'That not a heart which in his level came
Could
'scape the hail of his all-hurting aim,
Showing fair nature is both kind and
tame;
And, veil'd in them, did win whom he would maim:
Against the thing
he sought he would exclaim;
When he most burn'd in heart-wish'd luxury,
He
preach'd pure maid, and praised cold chastity.
'Thus merely with the
garment of a Grace
The naked and concealed fiend he cover'd;
That th'
unexperient gave the tempter place,
Which like a cherubin above them
hover'd.
Who, young and simple, would not be so lover'd?
Ay me! I fell;
and yet do question make
What I should do again for such a sake.
'O,
that infected moisture of his eye,
O, that false fire which in his cheek so
glow'd,
O, that forced thunder from his heart did fly,
O, that sad breath
his spongy lungs bestow'd,
O, all that borrow'd motion seeming owed,
Would
yet again betray the fore-betray'd,
And new pervert a reconciled maid!'
A fairy Song
Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over
pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire!
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter
than the moon's sphere;
And I serve the Fairy Queen,
To dew her orbs upon
the green;
The cowslips tall her pensioners be;
In their gold coats spots
you see;
Those be rubies, fairy favours;
In those freckles live their
savours;
I must go seek some dewdrops here,
And hang a pearl in every
cowslip's ear.
Aubade
HARK! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And Phoebus 'gins arise,
His steeds to water at those springs
On chaliced flowers that lies;
And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes:
With everything that pretty bin,
My lady sweet, arise!
Arise, arise!
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poet/William_Shakespeare
FROM off a hill whose concave womb reworded
A plaintful story from a
sistering vale,
My spirits to attend this double voice accorded,
And down
I laid to list the sad-tuned tale;
Ere long espied a fickle maid full
pale,
Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain,
Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain.
Upon her head a platted hive of straw,
Which
fortified her visage from the sun,
Whereon the thought might think sometime
it saw
The carcass of beauty spent and done:
Time had not scythed all that
youth begun,
Nor youth all quit; but, spite of heaven's fell rage,
Some
beauty peep'd through lattice of sear'd age.
Oft did she heave her napkin
to her eyne,
Which on it had conceited characters,
Laundering the silken
figures in the brine
That season'd woe had pelleted in tears,
And often
reading what contents it bears;
As often shrieking undistinguish'd woe,
In
clamours of all size, both high and low.
Sometimes her levell'd eyes
their carriage ride,
As they did battery to the spheres intend;
Sometime
diverted their poor balls are tied
To the orbed earth; sometimes they do
extend
Their view right on; anon their gazes lend
To every place at once,
and, nowhere fix'd,
The mind and sight distractedly commix'd.
Her
hair, nor loose nor tied in formal plat,
Proclaim'd in her a careless hand of
pride
For some, untuck'd, descended her sheaved hat,
Hanging her pale and
pined cheek beside;
Some in her threaden fillet still did bide,
And true
to bondage would not break from thence,
Though slackly braided in loose
negligence.
A thousand favours from a maund she drew
Of amber,
crystal, and of beaded jet,
Which one by one she in a river threw,
Upon
whose weeping margent she was set;
Like usury, applying wet to wet,
Or
monarch's hands that let not bounty fall
Where want cries some, but where
excess begs all.
Of folded schedules had she many a one,
Which she perused, sigh'd, tore, and gave the flood;
Crack'd many a ring of posied gold
and bone
Bidding them find their sepulchres in mud;
Found yet moe letters
sadly penn'd in blood,
With sleided silk feat and affectedly
Enswathed,
and seal'd to curious secrecy.
These often bathed she in her fluxive
eyes,
And often kiss'd, and often 'gan to tear:
Cried 'O false blood, thou
register of lies,
What unapproved witness dost thou bear!
Ink would have
seem'd more black and damned here!'
This said, in top of rage the lines she
rents,
Big discontent so breaking their contents.
A reverend man that
grazed his cattle nigh--
Sometime a blusterer, that the ruffle knew
Of
court, of city, and had let go by
The swiftest hours, observed as they
flew--
Towards this afflicted fancy fastly drew,
And, privileged by age,
desires to know
In brief the grounds and motives of her woe.
So slides
he down upon his grained bat,
And comely-distant sits he by her side;
When
he again desires her, being sat,
Her grievance with his hearing to
divide:
If that from him there may be aught applied
Which may her
suffering ecstasy assuage,
'Tis promised in the charity of
age.
'Father,' she says, 'though in me you behold
The injury of many a
blasting hour,
Let it not tell your judgment I am old;
Not age, but
sorrow, over me hath power:
I might as yet have been a spreading
flower,
Fresh to myself, If I had self-applied
Love to myself and to no
love beside.
'But, woe is me! too early I attended
A youthful suit--it
was to gain my grace--
Of one by nature's outwards so commended,
That
maidens' eyes stuck over all his face:
Love lack'd a dwelling, and made him
her place;
And when in his fair parts she did abide,
She was new lodged
and newly deified.
'His browny locks did hang in crooked curls;
And
every light occasion of the wind
Upon his lips their silken parcels
hurls.
What's sweet to do, to do will aptly find:
Each eye that saw him
did enchant the mind,
For on his visage was in little drawn
What largeness
thinks in Paradise was sawn.
'Small show of man was yet upon his
chin;
His phoenix down began but to appear
Like unshorn velvet on that
termless skin
Whose bare out-bragg'd the web it seem'd to wear:
Yet show'd
his visage by that cost more dear;
And nice affections wavering stood in
doubt
If best were as it was, or best without.
'His qualities were
beauteous as his form,
For maiden-tongued he was, and thereof free;
Yet,
if men moved him, was he such a storm
As oft 'twixt May and April is to
see,
When winds breathe sweet, untidy though they be.
His rudeness so with
his authorized youth
Did livery falseness in a pride of truth.
'Well
could he ride, and often men would say
'That horse his mettle from his rider
takes:
Proud of subjection, noble by the sway,
What rounds, what bounds,
what course, what stop
he makes!'
And controversy hence a question
takes,
Whether the horse by him became his deed,
Or he his manage by the
well-doing steed.
'But quickly on this side the verdict went:
His real
habitude gave life and grace
To appertainings and to
ornament,
Accomplish'd in himself, not in his case:
All aids, themselves
made fairer by their place,
Came for additions; yet their purposed
trim
Pieced not his grace, but were all graced by him.
'So on the tip
of his subduing tongue
All kinds of arguments and question deep,
All
replication prompt, and reason strong,
For his advantage still did wake and
sleep:
To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep,
He had the dialect and
different skill,
Catching all passions in his craft of will:
'That he
did in the general bosom reign
Of young, of old; and sexes both
enchanted,
To dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain
In personal duty,
following where he haunted:
Consents bewitch'd, ere he desire, have
granted;
And dialogued for him what he would say,
Ask'd their own wills,
and made their wills obey.
'Many there were that did his picture
get,
To serve their eyes, and in it put their mind;
Like fools that in th'
imagination set
The goodly objects which abroad they find
Of lands and
mansions, theirs in thought assign'd;
And labouring in moe pleasures to
bestow them
Than the true gouty landlord which doth owe them:
'So many
have, that never touch'd his hand,
Sweetly supposed them mistress of his
heart.
My woeful self, that did in freedom stand,
And was my own
fee-simple, not in part,
What with his art in youth, and youth in
art,
Threw my affections in his charmed power,
Reserved the stalk and gave
him all my flower.
'Yet did I not, as some my equals did,
Demand of
him, nor being desired yielded;
Finding myself in honour so forbid,
With
safest distance I mine honour shielded:
Experience for me many bulwarks
builded
Of proofs new-bleeding, which remain'd the foil
Of this false
jewel, and his amorous spoil.
'But, ah, who ever shunn'd by
precedent
The destined ill she must herself assay?
Or forced examples,
'gainst her own content,
To put the by-past perils in her way?
Counsel may
stop awhile what will not stay;
For when we rage, advice is often seen
By
blunting us to make our wits more keen.
'Nor gives it satisfaction to our
blood,
That we must curb it upon others' proof;
To be forbod the sweets
that seem so good,
For fear of harms that preach in our behoof.
O
appetite, from judgment stand aloof!
The one a palate hath that needs will
taste,
Though Reason weep, and cry, 'It is thy last.'
'For further I
could say 'This man's untrue,'
And knew the patterns of his foul
beguiling;
Heard where his plants in others' orchards grew,
Saw how
deceits were gilded in his smiling;
Knew vows were ever brokers to
defiling;
Thought characters and words merely but art,
And bastards of his
foul adulterate heart.
'And long upon these terms I held my city,
Till
thus he gan besiege me: 'Gentle maid,
Have of my suffering youth some feeling
pity,
And be not of my holy vows afraid:
That's to ye sworn to none was
ever said;
For feasts of love I have been call'd unto,
Till now did ne'er
invite, nor never woo.
''All my offences that abroad you see
Are
errors of the blood, none of the mind;
Love made them not: with acture they
may be,
Where neither party is nor true nor kind:
They sought their shame that so their shame did find;
And so much less of shame in me remains,
By
how much of me their reproach contains.
''Among the many that mine eyes
have seen,
Not one whose flame my heart so much as warm'd,
Or my affection
put to the smallest teen,
Or any of my leisures ever charm'd:
Harm have I
done to them, but ne'er was harm'd;
Kept hearts in liveries, but mine own was
free,
And reign'd, commanding in his monarchy.
''Look here, what
tributes wounded fancies sent me,
Of paled pearls and rubies red as
blood;
Figuring that they their passions likewise lent me
Of grief and
blushes, aptly understood
In bloodless white and the encrimson'd
mood;
Effects of terror and dear modesty,
Encamp'd in hearts, but fighting
outwardly.
''And, lo, behold these talents of their hair,
With twisted
metal amorously impleach'd,
I have received from many a several
fair,
Their kind acceptance weepingly beseech'd,
With the annexions of
fair gems enrich'd,
And deep-brain'd sonnets that did amplify
Each stone's
dear nature, worth, and quality.
''The diamond,--why, 'twas beautiful and
hard,
Whereto his invised properties did tend;
The deep-green emerald, in
whose fresh regard
Weak sights their sickly radiance do amend;
The
heaven-hued sapphire and the opal blend
With objects manifold: each several
stone,
With wit well blazon'd, smiled or made some moan.
''Lo, all
these trophies of affections hot,
Of pensived and subdued desires the
tender,
Nature hath charged me that I hoard them not,
But yield them up
where I myself must render,
That is, to you, my origin and ender;
For
these, of force, must your oblations be,
Since I their altar, you enpatron
me.
''O, then, advance of yours that phraseless hand,
Whose white
weighs down the airy scale of praise;
Take all these similes to your own
command,
Hallow'd with sighs that burning lungs did raise;
What me your
minister, for you obeys,
Works under you; and to your audit comes
Their
distract parcels in combined sums.
''Lo, this device was sent me from a
nun,
Or sister sanctified, of holiest note;
Which late her noble suit in
court did shun,
Whose rarest havings made the blossoms dote;
For she was
sought by spirits of richest coat,
But kept cold distance, and did thence
remove,
To spend her living in eternal love.
''But, O my sweet, what
labour is't to leave
The thing we have not, mastering what not
strives,
Playing the place which did no form receive,
Playing patient
sports in unconstrained gyves?
She that her fame so to herself
contrives,
The scars of battle 'scapeth by the flight,
And makes her
absence valiant, not her might.
''O, pardon me, in that my boast is
true:
The accident which brought me to her eye
Upon the moment did her
force subdue,
And now she would the caged cloister fly:
Religious love put
out Religion's eye:
Not to be tempted, would she be immured,
And now, to
tempt, all liberty procured.
''How mighty then you are, O, hear me
tell!
The broken bosoms that to me belong
Have emptied all their fountains
in my well,
And mine I pour your ocean all among:
I strong o'er them, and
you o'er me being strong,
Must for your victory us all congest,
As
compound love to physic your cold breast.
''My parts had power to charm a
sacred nun,
Who, disciplined, ay, dieted in grace,
Believed her eyes when
they to assail begun,
All vows and consecrations giving place:
O most
potential love! vow, bond, nor space,
In thee hath neither sting, knot, nor
confine,
For thou art all, and all things else are thine.
''When thou
impressest, what are precepts worth
Of stale example? When thou wilt
inflame,
How coldly those impediments stand forth
Of wealth, of filial
fear, law, kindred, fame!
Love's arms are peace, 'gainst rule, 'gainst
sense,
'gainst shame,
And sweetens, in the suffering pangs it
bears,
The aloes of all forces, shocks, and fears.
''Now all these
hearts that do on mine depend,
Feeling it break, with bleeding groans they
pine;
And supplicant their sighs to you extend,
To leave the battery that
you make 'gainst mine,
Lending soft audience to my sweet design,
And
credent soul to that strong-bonded oath
That shall prefer and undertake my
troth.'
'This said, his watery eyes he did dismount,
Whose sights till
then were levell'd on my face;
Each cheek a river running from a
fount
With brinish current downward flow'd apace:
O, how the channel to
the stream gave grace!
Who glazed with crystal gate the glowing roses
That
flame through water which their hue encloses.
'O father, what a hell of
witchcraft lies
In the small orb of one particular tear!
But with the
inundation of the eyes
What rocky heart to water will not wear?
What
breast so cold that is not warmed here?
O cleft effect! cold modesty, hot
wrath,
Both fire from hence and chill extincture hath.
'For, lo, his
passion, but an art of craft,
Even there resolved my reason into
tears;
There my white stole of chastity I daff'd,
Shook off my sober
guards and civil fears;
Appear to him, as he to me appears,
All melting;
though our drops this difference bore,
His poison'd me, and mine did him
restore.
'In him a plenitude of subtle matter,
Applied to cautels, all
strange forms receives,
Of burning blushes, or of weeping water,
Or
swooning paleness; and he takes and leaves,
In either's aptness, as it best
deceives,
To blush at speeches rank to weep at woes,
Or to turn white and
swoon at tragic shows.
'That not a heart which in his level came
Could
'scape the hail of his all-hurting aim,
Showing fair nature is both kind and
tame;
And, veil'd in them, did win whom he would maim:
Against the thing
he sought he would exclaim;
When he most burn'd in heart-wish'd luxury,
He
preach'd pure maid, and praised cold chastity.
'Thus merely with the
garment of a Grace
The naked and concealed fiend he cover'd;
That th'
unexperient gave the tempter place,
Which like a cherubin above them
hover'd.
Who, young and simple, would not be so lover'd?
Ay me! I fell;
and yet do question make
What I should do again for such a sake.
'O,
that infected moisture of his eye,
O, that false fire which in his cheek so
glow'd,
O, that forced thunder from his heart did fly,
O, that sad breath
his spongy lungs bestow'd,
O, all that borrow'd motion seeming owed,
Would
yet again betray the fore-betray'd,
And new pervert a reconciled maid!'
A fairy Song
Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over
pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire!
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter
than the moon's sphere;
And I serve the Fairy Queen,
To dew her orbs upon
the green;
The cowslips tall her pensioners be;
In their gold coats spots
you see;
Those be rubies, fairy favours;
In those freckles live their
savours;
I must go seek some dewdrops here,
And hang a pearl in every
cowslip's ear.
Aubade
HARK! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And Phoebus 'gins arise,
His steeds to water at those springs
On chaliced flowers that lies;
And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes:
With everything that pretty bin,
My lady sweet, arise!
Arise, arise!
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poet/William_Shakespeare