Episodes
Tuesday Feb 21, 2012
Sonnet One hundred and forty-nine by William Shakespeare
Tuesday Feb 21, 2012
Tuesday Feb 21, 2012
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Sonnet CXLIX
by William Shakespeare
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 lour'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 lovest, and I am blind.
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Sonnet 149
Tuesday Feb 21, 2012
Sonnet One hundred and forty-eight by William Shakespeare
Tuesday Feb 21, 2012
Tuesday Feb 21, 2012
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Sonnet CXLVIII
by William Shakespeare
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.
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Sonnet 148
Tuesday Feb 21, 2012
Sonnet One hundred and forty-seven by William Shakespeare
Tuesday Feb 21, 2012
Tuesday Feb 21, 2012
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Sonnet CXLVII
by William Shakespeare
My love is as a fever, longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease,
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
The 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 random 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.
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Sonnet 147
Tuesday Feb 21, 2012
Sonnet One hundred and forty-six by William Shakespeare
Tuesday Feb 21, 2012
Tuesday Feb 21, 2012
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Sonnet CXLVI
by William Shakespeare
Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,
Feeding these rebel powers 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.
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Sonnet 146
Tuesday Feb 21, 2012
Sonnet One hundred and forty-five by William Shakespeare
Tuesday Feb 21, 2012
Tuesday Feb 21, 2012
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Sonnet CXLV
by William Shakespeare
Those lips that Love's own hand did make
Breathed 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 used 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 saved my life, saying 'not you.'
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Sonnet 145
Tuesday Feb 21, 2012
Sonnet One hundred and forty-four by William Shakespeare
Tuesday Feb 21, 2012
Tuesday Feb 21, 2012
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Sonnet CXLIV
by William Shakespeare
Two loves I have of comfort and despair,
Which like two spirits do suggest me still:
The better angel is a man right fair,
The worser spirit a woman color'd ill.
To win me soon to hell, my female evil
Tempteth my better angel from my side,
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil,
Wooing his purity with her foul pride.
And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend
Suspect I may, but not directly tell;
But being both from me, both to each friend,
I guess one angel in another's hell:
Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt,
Till my bad angel fire my good one out.
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Sonnet 144
Tuesday Feb 21, 2012
Sonnet One hundred and forty-three by William Shakespeare
Tuesday Feb 21, 2012
Tuesday Feb 21, 2012
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Sonnet CXLIII
by William Shakespeare
Lo! As a careful housewife runs to catch
One of her feather'd creatures broke away,
Sets down her babe and makes an swift dispatch
In pursuit of the thing she would have stay,
Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase,
Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent
To follow that which flies before her face,
Not prizing her poor infant's discontent;
So runn'st thou after that which flies from thee,
Whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind;
But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me,
And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind:
So will I pray that thou mayst have thy 'Will,'
If thou turn back, and my loud crying still.
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Sonnet 143
Tuesday Feb 21, 2012
Sonnet One hundred and forty-two by William Shakespeare
Tuesday Feb 21, 2012
Tuesday Feb 21, 2012
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Sonnet CXLII
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Sonnet 142
Tuesday Feb 21, 2012
Sonnet One hundred and forty-one by William Shakespeare
Tuesday Feb 21, 2012
Tuesday Feb 21, 2012
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Sonnet CLXI
by William Shakespeare
In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes,
For they in thee a thousand errors note;
But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise,
Who in despite of view is pleased to dote;
Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune delighted,
Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone,
Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited
To any sensual feast with thee alone:
But my five wits nor my five senses can
Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee,
Who leaves unsway'd the likeness of a man,
Thy proud hearts slave and vassal wretch to be:
Only my plague thus far I count my gain,
That she that makes me sin awards me pain.
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Sonnet 141
Tuesday Feb 21, 2012
Sonnet One hundred and thirty-six by William Shakespeare
Tuesday Feb 21, 2012
Tuesday Feb 21, 2012
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Sonnet CXXXVI
by William Shakespeare
If thy soul cheque thee that I come so near,
Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy 'Will,'
And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there;
Thus far for love my love-suit, sweet, fulfil.
'Will' will fulfil the treasure of thy love,
Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one.
In things of great receipt with ease we prove
Among a number one is reckon'd none:
Then in the number let me pass untold,
Though in thy stores' account I one must be;
For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold
That nothing me, a something sweet to thee:
Make but my name thy love, and love that still,
And then thou lovest me, for my name is 'Will.'
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Sonnet 136