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O most potential love! vow, bond, nor space,
And sweetens, in the suffering pangs it bears,
The aloes of all forces, shocks, and fears.
Love's counsellors should fill the bores of hearing,
Love is full of unbefitting strains;
All wanton as a child, skipping, and vain;
To every varied object in his glance.
Love is a smoke raised with a fume of sighs;
Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears:
I swear to thee, by Cupid's strongest bow;
By that which knitteth souls, and prospers loves;
He says, he loves my daughter:
I think so too; for never gazed the moon
As 'twere, my daughter's eyes: and, to be plain,
O, that I thought it could be in a woman,
Might be affronted with the match and weight
If ever (as that ever may be near)
*The other best.
Meet with an equal.
You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy,
Time, force, and death,
Do to this body what extremes you can;
But the strong base and building of my love
Drawing all things to it.
you leaden messengers,
That ride upon the violent speed of fire,
Fly with false aim; move the still-piercing air,
Leave you your power to draw,
And I shall have no power to follow you.
Sweet silent hours of marriage joys.
If music be the food of love, play on,
Love is like a child,
That longs for every thing that he can come by.
Tell this youth what 'tis to love.
It is to be all made of sighs and tears;
All made of passion, and all made of wishes;
All humbleness, all patience, and impatience,
More richer than my tongue.
I have done penance for contemning love;
With nightly tears, and daily heart-sore sighs;
Love hath chased sleep from my enthralled eyes,
And hath so humbled me, as, I confess,
There is no woe to his correction,†
Nor, to his service, no such joy on earth!
Now, no discourse, except it be of love;
Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep,
O brawling love! O loving hate!
O any thing, of nothing first create!
O heavy lightness! serious vanity!
Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health! Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!
I leave myself, my friends, and all for love.
Made me neglect my studies, lose my time,
† No misery that can be compared to the punishment inflicted by love.
The gifts, she looks from me, are pack'd and lock'd
But not deliver'd.
Let me but bear your love, I'll bear your cares.
Here comes the lady ;-O, so light a foot
O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou!
Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,
But falls into abatement and low price,
She bids you,
Upon the wanton rushes lay you down,
The long white filament which flies in the air. Value. Fantastical to the height. This expression is fine; intimating that the god of sleep would not only sit on his eyelids, but that he should sit crowned, that is, pleased and delighted.