It was a beauty that I saw,—
So pure, so perfect, as the frame
Of all the universe were lame
To that one figure, could I draw,
Or give least line of it a law:
A skein of silk without a knot!
A fair march made without a halt!
A curious...
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From “As You Like It,” Act III. Sc. 5.
THINK not I love him, though I ask for him;
’T is but a peevish boy:—yet he talks well;—
But what care I for words?—yet words do well,
When he that speaks them pleases those that hear.
But, sure, he ’s proud; and yet...
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O, Do not wanton with those eyes,
Lest I be sick with seeing;
Nor cast them down, but let them rise,
Lest shame destroy their being.
O, be not angry with those fires,
For then their threats will kill me;
Nor look too kind on my desires,...
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From “The Merchant of Venice,” Act III. Sc. 2.
TELL me where is fancy bred,
Or in the heart, or in the head?
How begot, how nourishèd?
Reply, reply.
It is engendered in the eyes,
With gazing fed; and fancy dies
In the cradle where it...
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Love is a sickness full of woes,
All remedies refusing;
A plant that most with cutting grows,
Most barren with best using.
Why so?
More we enjoy it, more it dies;
If not enjoyed, it sighing cries
Heigh-ho!
...
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Ah! what is love? It is a pretty thing,
As sweet unto a shepherd as a king,
And sweeter too;
For kings have cares that wait upon a crown,
And cares can make the sweetest face to frown:
Ah then, ah then,
If country loves such sweet...
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From “Hero and Leander”
IT lies not in our power to love or hate,
For will in us is over-ruled by fate.
When two are stript long e’er the course begin,
We wish that one should lose, the other win;
And one especially do we affect
Of two gold ingots...
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From “Love’s Labor ’s Lost,” Act IV. Sc. 3.
KING.—But what of this? are we not all in love?
BIRON.—Nothing so sure; and thereby all forsworn.
KING.—Then leave this chat; and, good Biron, now prove
Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn.
DUMAIN.—...
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Muses, that sing Love’s sensual empirie,
And lovers kindling your enragèd fires
At Cupid’s bonfires burning in the eye,
Blown with the empty breath of vain desires;
You, that prefer the painted cabinet
Before the wealthy jewels it doth store ye,
...
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Because I breathe not love to everie one,
Nor do not use set colors for to weare,
Nor nourish special locks of vowèd haire,
Nor give each speech a full point of a groane,—
The courtlie nymphs, acquainted with the moane
Of them who on their lips Love’...
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