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5th and later accent beauty beauty's breast Capell cheeks Collatine conceit conjectures corrected by Malone Cymb dead dear death doth early eds edition face fair fair lords false fault fear fire flower following eds foul gentle Gildon give grief hast hate hath heart heaven honour kiss later eds Lear lips live look love's Love's Labour's Lost Lover's Complaint Lucrece lust Macb Malone compares Malone quotes marjoram mistress never night Noble Kinsmen noun painted pale Passionate Pilgrim pity poem poet poison'd poor praise printed proud quarto quoth Rape of Lucrece rhyme Rich rival poet Schmidt Sewell Sextus Tarquinius Shakespeare Shakspere Shakspere's shalt shame Sonn Sonnets sorrow Steevens sweet Tarquin tears thee things thou art thought thyself Time's tongue true truth Venus and Adonis verse weep William Shakespeare words youth
Page 62 - And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight: Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, Which I new pay as if not paid before. But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, All losses are restored and sorrows end.
Page 56 - Shall I compare thee to a summer's day ?. Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough Winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date: Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm'd...
Page 111 - Past reason hated, as a swallow'd bait On purpose laid to make the taker mad; Mad in pursuit, and in possession so; Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme; A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe; Before, a joy proposed; behind, a dream. All this the world well knows; yet none knows well To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell. CXXX My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red than her lips...
Page 105 - Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove. O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Page 83 - That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
Page 60 - May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it, But that I hope some good conceit of thine In thy soul's thought, all naked, will bestow it; Till whatsoever star that guides my moving Points on me graciously with fair aspect And puts apparel on my tatter'd loving, To show me worthy of thy sweet respect: Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee; Till then not show my head where thou mayst prove me.
Page 73 - What is your substance, whereof are you made, That millions of strange shadows on you tend ? Since every one hath, every one, one shade, And you, but one, can every shadow lend. Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit Is poorly imitated after you; On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set, And you in Grecian tires are painted new: Speak of the spring and foison of the year, The one doth shadow of your beauty show.
Page 20 - DURING the first year that Mr. Wordsworth and I were neighbours, our conversations turned frequently on the two cardinal points of poetry, the power of exciting the sympathy of the reader by a faithful adherence to the truth of nature, and the power of giving the interest of novelty by the modifying colours of imagination.
Page 83 - In me thou seest the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west; Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. In me thou seest the glowing of such fire That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, As the death-bed whereon it must expire, Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by. This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong, To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
Page 48 - When forty winters shall besiege thy brow, And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field, Thy youth's proud livery, so gaz'd on now, Will be a tatter'd weed, of small worth held ; Then being ask'd where all thy beauty lies, Where all the treasure of thy lusty days, To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes, Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise. How much more praise rleserv'd thy beauty's use, If thou couldst answer ' This fair child of mine Shall sum my count and make my old excuse...