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addressed appears attack beauty believe blood body breath bright called cast Chapman character compared connection Cressida critics dark dear death dedication desire doth doubt earth evidently eyes face fact fair fear figure fire force give given grace groups hand hath heart heaven Homer honour ignorance indicates issue lady later learning light lines lives look Love's Labor's Lost mean mind mistress Muse nature never Night passage patron peace peare period plainly play poem poet poet's praise probably prove publication published reason refers reveal rich rival satire says scorn sense sequence Shadow Shakes Shakespeare shine shown Sonnets soul Southampton spirit suggested sweet thee theory things thou thought touch true verse virtue whole worth write written
Seite 22 - My mistress eyes are nothing like the sun ; Coral is far more red than her lips' red ; If snow be white why then her breasts are dun ; If hairs be wires, black wires grow on h'er head. I have seen roses...
Seite 59 - When in the chronicle of wasted time I see descriptions of the fairest wights, And beauty making beautiful old rhyme, In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights, Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best, Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, I see their antique pen would have expressed Even such a beauty as you master now.
Seite 51 - THE love I dedicate to your Lordship is without end; whereof this pamphlet, without beginning, is but a superfluous moiety. The warrant I have of your honourable disposition, not the worth of my untutored lines, makes it assured of acceptance. What I have done is yours, what I have to do is yours ; being part in all I have, devoted yours.
Seite 156 - Was it the proud full sail of his great verse, Bound for the prize of all too precious you, 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 write Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead ? No, neither he, nor his compeers by night Giving him aid, my verse astonished.
Seite 60 - And the sad augurs mock their own presage ; Incertainties now crown themselves assured And peace proclaims olives of endless age. Now with the drops of this most balmy time My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes, Since, spite of him, I '11 live in this poor rhyme, "While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes : And thou in this shalt find thy monument, When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent CVIII.
Seite 89 - Subtle as sphinx ; as sweet, and musical, As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair, And, when love speaks, the voice of all the gods Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony. Never durst poet touch a pen to write, Until his ink were temper'd with love's sighs ; O, then his lines would ravish savage ears, And plant in tyrants mild humility.
Seite 131 - The other turns to a mirth-moving jest, Which his fair tongue, conceit's expositor, Delivers in such apt and gracious words That aged ears play truant at his tales And younger hearings are quite ravished ; So sweet and voluble is his discourse.
Seite 83 - Th' endeavour of this present breath may buy That honour, which shall bate his scythe's keen edge, And make us heirs of all eternity. Therefore, brave conquerors ! — for so you are, That war against your own affections, And the huge army of the world's desires...