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With fairest flowers,
Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele,
I'll sweeten thy sad grave: Thou shalt not lack
Dost thou come here to whine?
To out-face me with leaping in her grave?
Zounds, shew me what thou 'It do:
Woul't drink up Nile ? eat a crocodile ?
What dangerous action, stood it next to death,
I would out-stare the sternest eyes that look,
To win thee, lady.
Alack! there lies more peril in thine eye,
Than twenty of their swords; look thou but sweet,
And I am proof against their enmity.
Your beauty was the cause of that effect;
So I might live one hour in your sweet bosom.
Were I crown'd the most imperial monarch,
That ever made eye swerve; had force and knowledge, More than was ever man's,—I would not prize them, Without her love.
Had she been true,
If heaven would make me such another world
Of one entire and perfect chrysolite,
Except I be by Silvia in the night,
Might I but through my prison once a day
For several virtues
Have I lik'd several women; never any
What? I love! I sue! I seek a wife!
I pray you do not fall in love with me,
I cannot love him:
Wherefore do you follow her,
I care not for her, I;
I hold him but a fool, that will endanger
His body for a girl that loves him not.
For now my love is thaw'd;
Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire,
Bears no impression of the thing it was.
The time was once, when thou unurg'd would'st vow That never words were music to thine ear,
That never object pleasing in thine eye,
That never touch well-welcome to thy hand,
That never meat sweet-savour'd in thy taste,
Unless I spake, or look'd, or touch'd, or carv'd to thee.
Doubt thou the stars are fire;
Doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar ;
But never doubt, I love.
Perdition catch my soul,
and when I love thee not,
I lov'd Ophelia; forty thousand brothers
O my soul's joy!
If after every tempest came such calmness,
May the winds blow till they have waken'd death.
Come what sorrow can,
It cannot countervail the exchange of joy
These things to hear,
Would Desdemona seriously incline:
But still the house affairs would draw her thence;
Which ever as she could with haste dispatch,
She lov'd me for the dangers I had past;
I saw Othello's visage in his mind;
He seem'd to find his way without his eyes;
And, he repulsed, (a short tale to make,)
For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour,
So loving to my mother,
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven
I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again;
And thy fair virtue's force perforce doth move me,
This my mean task would be
As heavy to me, as odious; but
The mistress, which I serve, quickens what's dead, And makes my labours pleasures: O, she is
Ten times more gentle, than her father's crabbed, And he's composed of harshness.
Beshrew your eyes,
They have o'er-looked me, and divided me;
One half of me is yours, the other half yours,—
And so all yours.
Lovers, and madmen, have such seething brains, Such sharp fantasies, that apprehend
More than cool reason ever comprehends.
Such as I am, all true lovers are;
Unstaid and skittish in all motions else,
Save, in the constant image of the creature