The little Love-god, lying once asleep, Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand, Whilst many nymphs that vow'd chaste life to keep Came tripping by, but in her maiden hand The fairest votary took up that fire, Which many legions of true hearts had warm'd, And so the general of hot desire Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarm'd. This brand she quenched in a cool well by, Which from Love's fire took heat perpetual, Growing a bath and healthful remedy For men diseas'd, but I, my mistress' thrall,     Came there for cure, and this by that I prove:     Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.

The little Love-god, lying once asleep, Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand, Whilst many nymphs that vow'd chaste life to keep Came tripping by, but in her maiden hand The fairest votary took up that fire, Which many legions of true hearts had warm'd, And so the general of hot desire Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarm'd. This brand she quenched in a cool well by, Which from Love's fire took heat perpetual, Growing a bath and healthful remedy For men diseas'd, but I, my mistress' thrall,     Came there for cure, and this by that I prove:     Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.

Sonnet 154

Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep; A maid of Dian's this advantage found, And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep In a cold valley-fountain of that ground; Which borrow'd from this holy fire of Love A dateless lively heat, still to endure, And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove Against strange maladies a sovereign cure. But at my mistress' eye Love's brand new fired, The boy for trial needs would touch my breast; I sick withal the help of bath desired, And thither hied, a sad distemper'd guest;     But found no cure: the bath for my help lies     Where Cupid got new fire—my mistress' eyes.

Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep; A maid of Dian's this advantage found, And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep In a cold valley-fountain of that ground; Which borrow'd from this holy fire of Love A dateless lively heat, still to endure, And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove Against strange maladies a sovereign cure. But at my mistress' eye Love's brand new fired, The boy for trial needs would touch my breast; I sick withal the help of bath desired, And thither hied, a sad distemper'd guest;     But found no cure: the bath for my help lies     Where Cupid got new fire—my mistress' eyes.

Sonnet 153

In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn, But thou art twice forsworn, to me love swearing; In act thy bed-vow broke, and new faith torn In vowing new hate after new love bearing. But why of two oaths' breach do I accuse thee, When I break twenty? I am perjur'd most, For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee, And all my honest faith in thee is lost; For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness, Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy, And to enlighten thee gave eyes to blindness, Or made them swear against the thing they see;     For I have sworn thee fair: more perjur'd eye,     To swear against the truth so foul a lie!

In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn, But thou art twice forsworn, to me love swearing; In act thy bed-vow broke, and new faith torn In vowing new hate after new love bearing. But why of two oaths' breach do I accuse thee, When I break twenty? I am perjur'd most, For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee, And all my honest faith in thee is lost; For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness, Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy, And to enlighten thee gave eyes to blindness, Or made them swear against the thing they see;     For I have sworn thee fair: more perjur'd eye,     To swear against the truth so foul a lie!

Sonnet 152

Love is too young to know what conscience is, Yet who knows not conscience is born of love? Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss, Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove: For thou betraying me, I do betray My nobler part to my gross body's treason; My soul doth tell my body that he may Triumph in love; flesh stays no farther reason, But rising at thy name doth point out thee As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride, He is contented thy poor drudge to be, To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side.     No want of conscience hold it that I call     Her "love" for whose dear love I rise and fall.

Love is too young to know what conscience is, Yet who knows not conscience is born of love? Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss, Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove: For thou betraying me, I do betray My nobler part to my gross body's treason; My soul doth tell my body that he may Triumph in love; flesh stays no farther reason, But rising at thy name doth point out thee As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride, He is contented thy poor drudge to be, To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side.     No want of conscience hold it that I call     Her "love" for whose dear love I rise and fall.

Sonnet 151

O, from what pow'r hast thou this pow'rful might With insufficiency my heart to sway, To make me give the lie to my true sight, And swear that brightness doth not grace the day? Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill, That in the very refuse of thy deeds There is such strength and warrantise of skill That in my mind thy worst all best exceeds? Who taught thee how to make me love thee more, The more I hear and see just cause of hate? O, though I love what others do abhor, With others thou shouldst not abhor my state.     If thy unworthiness rais'd love in me,     More worthy I to be belov'd of thee.

O, from what pow'r hast thou this pow'rful might With insufficiency my heart to sway, To make me give the lie to my true sight, And swear that brightness doth not grace the day? Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill, That in the very refuse of thy deeds There is such strength and warrantise of skill That in my mind thy worst all best exceeds? Who taught thee how to make me love thee more, The more I hear and see just cause of hate? O, though I love what others do abhor, With others thou shouldst not abhor my state.     If thy unworthiness rais'd love in me,     More worthy I to be belov'd of thee.

Sonnet 150

Canst thou, O cruel, say I love thee not, When I against myself with thee partake? Do I not think on thee when I forgot Am of myself, all tyrant for thy sake? Who hateth thee that I do call my friend? On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon? Nay, if thou low'r'st on me, do I not spend Revenge upon myself with present moan? What merit do I in myself respect, That is so proud thy service to despise, When all my best doth worship thy defect, Commanded by the motion of thine eyes?     But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind:     Those that can see thou lov'st, and I am blind.

Canst thou, O cruel, say I love thee not, When I against myself with thee partake? Do I not think on thee when I forgot Am of myself, all tyrant for thy sake? Who hateth thee that I do call my friend? On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon? Nay, if thou low'r'st on me, do I not spend Revenge upon myself with present moan? What merit do I in myself respect, That is so proud thy service to despise, When all my best doth worship thy defect, Commanded by the motion of thine eyes?     But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind:     Those that can see thou lov'st, and I am blind.

Sonnet 149

O me! What eyes hath Love put in my head, Which have no correspondence with true sight, Or if they have, where is my judgment fled, That censures falsely what they see aright? If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote, What means the world to say it is not so? If it be not, then love doth well denote Love's eye is not so true as all men's: no, How can it? O, how can Love's eye be true, That is so vex'd with watching and with tears? No marvel then though I mistake my view, The sun itself sees not till heaven clears.     O cunning Love, with tears thou keep'st me blind,     Lest eyes well seeing thy foul faults should find.

O me! What eyes hath Love put in my head, Which have no correspondence with true sight, Or if they have, where is my judgment fled, That censures falsely what they see aright? If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote, What means the world to say it is not so? If it be not, then love doth well denote Love's eye is not so true as all men's: no, How can it? O, how can Love's eye be true, That is so vex'd with watching and with tears? No marvel then though I mistake my view, The sun itself sees not till heaven clears.     O cunning Love, with tears thou keep'st me blind,     Lest eyes well seeing thy foul faults should find.

Sonnet 148

My love is as a fever, longing still For that which longer nurseth the disease, Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, Th' uncertain sickly appetite to please. My reason, the physician to my love, Angry that his prescriptions are not kept, Hath left me, and I desperate now approve Desire is death, which physic did except. Past cure I am, now reason is past care, And frantic mad with evermore unrest; My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's are, At randon from the truth vainly express'd;     For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,     Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

My love is as a fever, longing still For that which longer nurseth the disease, Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, Th' uncertain sickly appetite to please. My reason, the physician to my love, Angry that his prescriptions are not kept, Hath left me, and I desperate now approve Desire is death, which physic did except. Past cure I am, now reason is past care, And frantic mad with evermore unrest; My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's are, At randon from the truth vainly express'd;     For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,     Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

Sonnet 147

Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth, Feeding these rebel pow'rs that thee array, Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth, Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? Why so large cost, having so short a lease, Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? Shall worms, inheritors of this excess, Eat up thy charge? Is this thy body's end? Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, And let that pine to aggravate thy store; Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross; Within be fed, without be rich no more:     So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men,     And Death once dead, there's no more dying then.

Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth, Feeding these rebel pow'rs that thee array, Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth, Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? Why so large cost, having so short a lease, Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? Shall worms, inheritors of this excess, Eat up thy charge? Is this thy body's end? Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, And let that pine to aggravate thy store; Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross; Within be fed, without be rich no more:     So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men,     And Death once dead, there's no more dying then.

Sonnet 146

Those lips that Love's own hand did make Breath'd forth the sound that said  "I hate" To me that languish'd for her sake; But when she saw my woeful state, Straight in her heart did mercy come, Chiding that tongue that, ever sweet, Was us'd in giving gentle doom, And taught it thus anew to greet: "I hate" she alter'd with an end That follow'd it as gentle day Doth follow night, who like a fiend From heaven to hell is flown away:     'I hate' from hate away she threw,     And sav'd my life, saying "not you."

Those lips that Love's own hand did make Breath'd forth the sound that said  "I hate" To me that languish'd for her sake; But when she saw my woeful state, Straight in her heart did mercy come, Chiding that tongue that, ever sweet, Was us'd in giving gentle doom, And taught it thus anew to greet: "I hate" she alter'd with an end That follow'd it as gentle day Doth follow night, who like a fiend From heaven to hell is flown away:     'I hate' from hate away she threw,     And sav'd my life, saying "not you."

Sonnet 145

Shakespeare Sundays with Chop Bard, is a practical, and enthusiastic exploration of William Shakespeare’s work. Each episode will take on a single subject taken from his words, lines, poetry, themes, or resources, in order to better understand them, and find out what use can be made of them.

I’ve been working my way through the Complete Works of William Shakespeare in a year with a group on Facebook. And I’ve been doing OK with keeping up on the reading schedule but I fell off entirely when it came time to the sonnets.
Enter the Shakespeare Sundays podcast! Listening to the initial reading, the complete breakdown and analysis, the context with the other sonnets and the reading with all that interpretation applied has made the sonnets come alive in unexpected ways. Ehren is delightful to listen to while I cross stitch or take a walk. Thank you for the incredible work!

A helpful delight!

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Shakespeare Sundays with Chop Bard

How can I then return in happy plight That am debarr'd the benefit of rest? When day's oppression is not eas'd by night, But day by night and night by day oppress'd; And each (though enemies to either's reign) Do in consent shake hands to torture me, The one by toil, the other to complain How far I toil, still farther off from thee. I tell the day, to please him, thou art bright, And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven; So flatter I the swart-complexion'd night, When sparkling stars twire not thou gild'st th' even:      But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer,      And night doth nightly make grief's length seem stronger.

How can I then return in happy plight That am debarr'd the benefit of rest? When day's oppression is not eas'd by night, But day by night and night by day oppress'd; And each (though enemies to either's reign) Do in consent shake hands to torture me, The one by toil, the other to complain How far I toil, still farther off from thee. I tell the day, to please him, thou art bright, And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven; So flatter I the swart-complexion'd night, When sparkling stars twire not thou gild'st th' even:      But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer,      And night doth nightly make grief's length seem stronger.

Sonnet 28

When in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featur'd like him, like him with friends possess'd, Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state (Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate,     For thy sweet love rememb'red such wealth brings,     That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

When in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featur'd like him, like him with friends possess'd, Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state (Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate,     For thy sweet love rememb'red such wealth brings,     That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

Sonnet 29

Beatrice — Much Ado About Nothing— Act IV scene 1

Beatrice — Much Ado About Nothing— Act IV scene 1

I Would Eat His Heart

An introduction to Shakespeare's sonnets, in preparation for the next 154 episodes.

An introduction to Shakespeare's sonnets, in preparation for the next 154 episodes.

The Sonnets 

That god forbid that made me first your slave I should in thought control your times of pleasure, Or at your hand th' account of hours to crave, Being your vassal bound to stay your leisure. O, let me suffer (being at your beck) Th' imprison'd absence of your liberty, And patience, tame to sufferance, bide each check, Without accusing you of injury. Be where you list, your charter is so strong, That you yourself may privilege your time To what you will, to you it doth belong Your self to pardon of self-doing crime.     I am to wait, though waiting so be hell,     Not blame your pleasure, be it ill or well.

That god forbid that made me first your slave I should in thought control your times of pleasure, Or at your hand th' account of hours to crave, Being your vassal bound to stay your leisure. O, let me suffer (being at your beck) Th' imprison'd absence of your liberty, And patience, tame to sufferance, bide each check, Without accusing you of injury. Be where you list, your charter is so strong, That you yourself may privilege your time To what you will, to you it doth belong Your self to pardon of self-doing crime.     I am to wait, though waiting so be hell,     Not blame your pleasure, be it ill or well.

Sonnet 58

Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck, And yet methinks I have astronomy, But not to tell of good or evil luck, Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons’ quality; Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell, ’Pointing to each his thunder, rain, and wind, Or say with princes if it shall go well By oft predict that I in heaven find. But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive, And, constant stars, in them I read such art As truth and beauty shall together thrive If from thyself to store thou wouldst convert;     Or else of thee this I prognosticate,     Thy end is truth’s and beauty’s doom and date.

Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck, And yet methinks I have astronomy, But not to tell of good or evil luck, Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons’ quality; Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell, ’Pointing to each his thunder, rain, and wind, Or say with princes if it shall go well By oft predict that I in heaven find. But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive, And, constant stars, in them I read such art As truth and beauty shall together thrive If from thyself to store thou wouldst convert;     Or else of thee this I prognosticate,     Thy end is truth’s and beauty’s doom and date.

Sonnet 14

A woman’s face with Nature’s own hand painted Hast thou, the master mistress of my passion; A woman’s gentle heart but not acquainted With shifting change as is false women’s fashion; An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling, Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth; A man in hue all hues in his controlling, Which steals men’s eyes and women’s souls amazeth. And for a woman wert thou first created, Till Nature as she wrought thee fell a-doting, And by addition me of thee defeated, By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.     But since she prick’d thee out for women’s pleasure,     Mine be thy love, and thy love’s use their treasure.

A woman’s face with Nature’s own hand painted Hast thou, the master mistress of my passion; A woman’s gentle heart but not acquainted With shifting change as is false women’s fashion; An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling, Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth; A man in hue all hues in his controlling, Which steals men’s eyes and women’s souls amazeth. And for a woman wert thou first created, Till Nature as she wrought thee fell a-doting, And by addition me of thee defeated, By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.     But since she prick’d thee out for women’s pleasure,     Mine be thy love, and thy love’s use their treasure.

Sonnet 20

That thou hast her, it is not all my grief, And yet it may be said I lov'd her dearly; That she hath thee is of my wailing chief, A loss in love that touches me more nearly. Loving offenders, thus I will excuse ye: Thou dost love her because thou know'st I love her, And for my sake even so doth she abuse me, Suff'ring my friend for my sake to approve her. If I lose thee, my loss is my love's gain, And losing her, my friend hath found that loss; Both find each other, and I lose both twain, And both for my sake lay on me this cross.     But here's the joy, my friend and I are one;     Sweet flattery! Then she loves but me alone.

That thou hast her, it is not all my grief, And yet it may be said I lov'd her dearly; That she hath thee is of my wailing chief, A loss in love that touches me more nearly. Loving offenders, thus I will excuse ye: Thou dost love her because thou know'st I love her, And for my sake even so doth she abuse me, Suff'ring my friend for my sake to approve her. If I lose thee, my loss is my love's gain, And losing her, my friend hath found that loss; Both find each other, and I lose both twain, And both for my sake lay on me this cross.     But here's the joy, my friend and I are one;     Sweet flattery! Then she loves but me alone.

Sonnet 42

A special holiday message from Sir John Falstaff. (from The Second Part of Henry IV – Act IV scene 3)

A special holiday message from Sir John Falstaff. (from The Second Part of Henry IV – Act IV scene 3)

Excellent Endeavor Of Drinking

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 ow’st, Nor shall Death brag thou wand’rest in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st.     So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,     So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

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 ow’st, Nor shall Death brag thou wand’rest in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st.     So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,     So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Sonnet 18

When I consider every thing that grows Holds in perfection but a little moment; That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows Whereon the stars in secret influence comment; When I perceive that men as plants increase, Cheered and check’d even by the self-same sky, Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease, And wear their brave state out of memory: Then the conceit of this inconstant stay Sets you most rich in youth before my sight, Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay To change your day of youth to sullied night,     And all in war with Time for love of you,     As he takes from you, I ingraft you new.

When I consider every thing that grows Holds in perfection but a little moment; That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows Whereon the stars in secret influence comment; When I perceive that men as plants increase, Cheered and check’d even by the self-same sky, Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease, And wear their brave state out of memory: Then the conceit of this inconstant stay Sets you most rich in youth before my sight, Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay To change your day of youth to sullied night,     And all in war with Time for love of you,     As he takes from you, I ingraft you new.

Sonnet 15

Sir John Falstaff – The Merry Wives of Windsor – Act III scene 5

Sir John Falstaff – The Merry Wives of Windsor – Act III scene 5

Thrown In The Thames

Like as the waves make towards the pibbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end, Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Nativity, once in the main of light, Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd, Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth, And delves the parallels in beauty's brow, Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow:     And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand,     Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.

Like as the waves make towards the pibbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end, Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Nativity, once in the main of light, Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd, Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth, And delves the parallels in beauty's brow, Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow:     And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand,     Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.

Sonnet 60

Ghost of Hamlet's Father – Hamlet – Act I scene 5

Ghost of Hamlet's Father – Hamlet – Act I scene 5

The Ghost

The other two, slight air and purging fire, Are both with thee, where ever I abide; The first my thought, the other my desire, These present-absent with swift motion slide. For when these quicker elements are gone In tender embassy of love to thee, My life being made of four, with two alone Sinks down to death, oppress'd with melancholy; Until live's composition be recured By those swift messengers return'd from thee, Who even but now come back again, assured Of thy fair health, recounting it to me.     This told, I joy, but then no longer glad,     I send them back again and straight grow sad.

The other two, slight air and purging fire, Are both with thee, where ever I abide; The first my thought, the other my desire, These present-absent with swift motion slide. For when these quicker elements are gone In tender embassy of love to thee, My life being made of four, with two alone Sinks down to death, oppress'd with melancholy; Until live's composition be recured By those swift messengers return'd from thee, Who even but now come back again, assured Of thy fair health, recounting it to me.     This told, I joy, but then no longer glad,     I send them back again and straight grow sad.

Sonnet 45

Angelo – Measure For Measure – Act II scene 4 Featuring: Alex Hall

Angelo – Measure For Measure – Act II scene 4 <a href="http://www.alexhall.org/" rel="noopener nofollow" target="_blank">Featuring: Alex Hall</a>

Who Will Believe You?

Isabella – Measure For Measure – Act II scene 4 Featuring: Shannon R. Davis

Isabella – Measure For Measure – Act II scene 4 <a href="http://www.shannonrdavis.com/" rel="noopener nofollow" target="_blank">Featuring: Shannon R. Davis</a>

Who Will Believe Me?

Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war, How to divide the conquest of thy sight: Mine eye my heart thy picture's sight would bar, My heart mine eye the freedom of that right. My heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie (A closet never pierc'd with crystal eyes), But the defendant doth that plea deny, And says in him thy fair appearance lies. To 'cide this title is impanelled A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart, And by their verdict is determined The clear eye's moiety and the dear heart's part—     As thus: mine eye's due is thy outward part,     And my heart's right thy inward love of heart.    Shakespeare Legal Documents 

Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war, How to divide the conquest of thy sight: Mine eye my heart thy picture's sight would bar, My heart mine eye the freedom of that right. My heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie (A closet never pierc'd with crystal eyes), But the defendant doth that plea deny, And says in him thy fair appearance lies. To 'cide this title is impanelled A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart, And by their verdict is determined The clear eye's moiety and the dear heart's part—     As thus: mine eye's due is thy outward part,     And my heart's right thy inward love of heart. <ul> <li><a href="https://shakespearedocumented.folger.edu/exhibition/family-legal-property-records/legal-and-financial" rel="noopener nofollow" target="_blank">Shakespeare Legal Documents</a></li> </ul>

Sonnet 46

Let those who are in favor with their stars Of public honor and proud titles boast, Whilst I whom fortune of such triumph bars Unlook'd for joy in that I honor most. Great princes' favorites their fair leaves spread But as the marigold at the sun's eye, And in themselves their pride lies buried, For at a frown they in their glory die. The painful warrior famoused for worth, After a thousand victories once foil'd, Is from the book of honor rased quite, And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd.      Then happy I that love and am beloved      Where I may not remove, nor be removed.

Let those who are in favor with their stars Of public honor and proud titles boast, Whilst I whom fortune of such triumph bars Unlook'd for joy in that I honor most. Great princes' favorites their fair leaves spread But as the marigold at the sun's eye, And in themselves their pride lies buried, For at a frown they in their glory die. The painful warrior famoused for worth, After a thousand victories once foil'd, Is from the book of honor rased quite, And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd.      Then happy I that love and am beloved      Where I may not remove, nor be removed.

Sonnet 25

Shakespeare in the Park, Essex Rebellion, and Astor Place Riots.

Shakespeare in the Park, Essex Rebellion, and Astor Place Riots.

Controversy

What is this?
1 quote, 3 ideas & 1 question from a carefully curated podcast episode.
Every Monday & Wednesday.

Want a 3rd insight and episode every week? Email me at curation@owltail.com.

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