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When beauty boasted blushes, in despite
Virtue would stain that o'er with silver white.

But beauty, in that white intituled,

From Venus' doves doth challenge that fair field;
Then virtue claims from beauty beauty's red,
Which virtue gave the golden age to gild

Their silver cheeks, and call'd it then their shield;
Teaching them thus to use it in the fight,-

When shame assail'd, the red should fence the white.


Time, whose million'd accidents


Creep in 'twixt vows, and change decrees of kings,
Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp'st intents,
Divert strong minds to the course of altering things.


When I do count the clock that tells the time,
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night;
When I behold the violet past prime,


And sable curls, all silver'd o'er with white;
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves,
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd,
And summer's green all girded up in sheaves,
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard:
Then of thy beauty do I question make,
That thou among the wastes of time must go,
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake,
And die as fast as they see others grow.



Which are the children of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy;
Which is as thin of substance as the air;

And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes
Even now the frozen bosom of the north,
And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence,
Turning his face to the dew-dropping south.



35-i. 4.

The dream's here still even when I wake, it is
Without me, as within me; not imagined, felt.

31-iv. 2.


If I may trust the flattering eye of sleep,
My dreams presage some joyful news at hand;
My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne;
And, all this day, an unaccustom'd spirit
Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.
I dreamt, my lady came and found me dead;
(Strange dream! that gives a dead man leave to

And breathed such life with kisses in my lips,
That I revived, and was an emperor.

Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess'd,

When but love's shadows are so rich in joy!


I dream'd, there was an emperor Antony;
O, such another sleep, that I might see
But such another man!

35-v. 1.

30-v. 2.

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Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleave* of care,
The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,
Chief nourisher in life's feast.


'Tis her breathing that

15-ii. 2.

Perfumes the chamber thus: The flame o' the taper
Bows toward her; and would under-peep her lids,
To see the enclosed lights, now canopied

Under these windows: White and azure, laced
With blue of heaven's own tinct.t

On her left breast

A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops

I' the bottom of a cowslip.

31-ii. 2.

*Sleave, is unwrought silk. 'Ravell'd sleave of care,'-the brain. ti. e. The white skin laced with blue veins.


Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber :
Thou hast no figures,* nor no fantasies,

Which busy care draws in the brains of men;
Therefore thou sleep'st so sound.


Downy sleep, death's counterfeit.


29-ii. 1.

15-ii. 3.

O monstrous beast! how like a swine he lies!
Grim Death! how foul and loathsome is thine image!


12-Induction, 1.

To bed, to bed: Sleep kill those pretty eyes,
And give as soft attachment to thy senses,
As infants, empty of all thought!


26-iv. 2.

As fast lock'd up in sleep, as guiltless labour
When it lies starklyf in the traveller's bones.

Sleep, gentle sleep,


5-iv. 2.

Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down,
And steep my senses in forgetfulness?

Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs,
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,

And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber;
Than in the perfumed chambers of the great,
Under the canopies of costly state,

And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody?
O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile
In loathsome beds; and leav'st the kingly couch,
A watch-case, or a common 'larum bell?
Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast
Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains
In cradle of the rude imperious surge;
And in the visitation of the winds,
Who take the ruffian billows by the top,

* Shapes created by the imagination.

† Stiffly.

Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
With deaf'ning clamours on the slippery clouds,
That, with the hurly,* death itself awakes?
Canst thou, O partial sleep! give thy repose
To the wet sea-boy, in an hour so rude;
And, in the calmest and most stillest night,
With all appliances and means to boot,
Deny it to a king?


19-iii. 1.

O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her!
And be her sense but as a monument,

Thus in a chapel lying!

31-ii. 2.


See the life as lively mock'd, as ever
Still sleep mock'd death.

13-v. 3.

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I wish mine eyes

Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts: I find,

They are inclined to do so.

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Do not omit the heavy offer of it:

It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth,

It is a comforter.


The lion, dying, thrusteth forth his paw,

1-ii. 1.

And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage

To be o'erpower'd.


17-v. 1.

The life of all his blood

Is touch'd corruptibly; and his pure brain

(Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling-house)

Doth, by the idle comments that it makes,

Foretell the ending of mortality.

* Noise.

16-v. 7.


O vanity of sickness! fierce extremes,
In their continuance, will not feel themselves.
Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts,
Leaves them insensible; and his siege is now
Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds
With many legions of strange fantasies;

Which, in their throng and press to that last hold,
Confound themselves.


16-v. 7.

Thou art come to set mine eye:

The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd;
And all the shrouds wherewith my life should sail,
Are turned to one thread, one little hair:
My heart hath one poor string to stay it by,
Which holds but till thy news be uttered:
And then all this thou seest, is but a clod,
And module of confounded royalty.


16-v. 7.

Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high;
Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward here to die.

17-v. 5.


If I must die,

I will encounter darkness as a bride,

And hug it in mine arms.

5-iii. 1.


Like the lily,

That once was mistress of the field, and flourish'd,
I'll hang my head and perish.

25-iii. 1.



Being an ugly monster,

"Tis strange, he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds, Sweet words: or hath more ministers than we That draw his knives i' the war.

* Model.

31-v. 3.

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