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Takara (takara_ttoadlet) wrote,
@ 2003-12-16 18:45:00
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    OK some random excerpts from some Shakespearean sonnets, and plays and stuff... i am really really feeling the mood for some Shakespeare... *grins from ear to ear* wooooooosh

    "O, no! thy love, though much, is not so great:
    It is my love that keeps mine eye awake;
    Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat,
    To play the watchman ever for thy sake:"


    "No longer mourn for me when I am dead
    Then you shall hear the surly sullen bell
    Give warning to the world that I am fled
    From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell:
    Nay, if you read this line, remember not
    The hand that writ it; for I love you so
    That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot
    If thinking on me then should make you woe.
    O, if, I say, you look upon this verse
    When I perhaps compounded am with clay,
    Do not so much as my poor name rehearse.
    But let your love even with my life decay,
    Lest the wise world should look into your moan
    And mock you with me after I am gone."


    "So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse
    And found such fair assistance in my verse
    As every alien pen hath got my use
    And under thee their poesy disperse.
    Thine eyes that taught the dumb on high to sing
    And heavy ignorance aloft to fly
    Have added feathers to the learned's wing
    And given grace a double majesty.
    Yet be most proud of that which I compile,
    Whose influence is thine and born of thee:
    In others' works thou dost but mend the style,
    And arts with thy sweet graces graced be;
    But thou art all my art and dost advance
    As high as learning my rude ignorance."



    Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all;
    What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?
    No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call;
    All mine was thine before thou hadst this more.
    Then if for my love thou my love receivest,
    I cannot blame thee for my love thou usest;
    But yet be blamed, if thou thyself deceivest
    By wilful taste of what thyself refusest.
    I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief,
    Although thou steal thee all my poverty;
    And yet, love knows, it is a greater grief
    To bear love's wrong than hate's known injury.
    Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,
    Kill me with spites; yet we must not be foes.


    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;
    And every fair from fair sometime declines,
    By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
    But thy eternal summer shall not fade
    Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
    Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
    When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
    So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
    So long lives this and this gives life to thee.


    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.
    Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
    Within his bending sickle's compass come:
    Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
    But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
    If this be error and upon me proved,
    I never writ, nor no man ever loved.


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