William Shakespeare

When daisies pied and violets blue, And lady-smocks all silver-white, And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue Do paint the meadows with delight, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men; for thus sings he, Cuckoo! Cuckoo, cuckoo!-O word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear!, Spring and Winter -I-

A Fairy Song
A Lovers Complaint
Accuse me thus: that I have scanted all
Against my love shall be, as I am now
Against that time, if ever that time come
Ah, wherefore with infection should he live
Alack what poverty my Muse brings forth
Alas tis true I have gone here and there
All the Worlds a Stage
As a decrepit father takes delight
As an unperfect actor on the stage
Aubade
A woman's face with Nature's own hand painted
Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan
Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took
Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press
Blow Blow Thou Winter Wind
Bridal Song
But be contented when that fell arrest
But do thy worst to steal thy self away
But wherefore do not you a mightier way
Canst thou, O cruel, say I love thee not
Carpe Diem
Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep
Devouring Time blunt thou the lion's paws
Dirge of the Three Queens
Fairy Land-I-
Fairy Land-II-
Fairy Land-III-
Fairy Land-IV-
Fairy Land-V-
Fear No More
Farewell! Thou art too dear for my possessing
For shame deny that thou bearst love to any
from Venus and Adonis
From fairest creatures we desire increase
From you have I been absent in the spring
Full many a glorious morning have I seen
Hark! Hark! The Lark
How can I then return in happy plight
How can my muse want subject to invent
How careful was I, when I took my way
How heavy do I journey on the way
How like a winter hath my absence been
How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st
How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame
If my dear love were but the child of state
If the dull substance of my flesh were thought
If there be nothing new, but that which is
If thou survive my well-contented day
If thy soul check thee that I come so near
I grant thou wert not married to my Muse
I never saw that you did painting need
In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes
In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn
In the old age black was not counted fair
Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye
Is it thy will thy image should keep open
It was a Lover and his Lass
Juliet's Soliloquy
Let me confess that we two must be twain
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Let not my love be called idolatry
Let those who are in favour with their stars
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore
Like as to make our appetite more keen
Lo, as a careful huswife runs to catch
Lo, in the orient when the gracious light
Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest
Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage
Love
Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate
Love is too young to know what conscience is
Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war
Mine eye hath played the painter and hath stelled
Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?
My glass shall not persuade me I am old
My love is as a fever, longing still
My love is strengthened though more weak in seeming
My mistress eyes are nothing like the sun
My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still
No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change
No longer mourn for me when I am dead
No more be grieved at that which thou hast done
Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck
Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
Not mine own fears nor the prophetic soul
O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide
O, from what power hast thou this powerful might
O, how I faint when I of you do write
O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem
O, how thy worth with manners may I sing
O, lest the world should task you to recite
O, me! what eyes hath love put in my head
O, never say that I was false of heart
Or I shall live your epitaph to make
Orpheus with his Lute Made Trees
Or whether doth my mind, being crowned with you
O, that you were your self! But, love, you are
O, thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power
O, truant Muse what shall be thy amends
Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth
Say that thou didnt forsake me for some fault
Shall I compare thee to a summers day?
Sigh No More
Silvia
Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind
Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea
Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye
So are you to my thoughts as food to life
So is it not with me as with that muse
Some glory in their birth, some in their skill
Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness
So, now I have confessed that he is thine
So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse
So shall I live, supposing thou art true
Spring and Winter -I-
Spring and Winter -II-
Sweet and Twenty
Sweet love, renew thy force! Be it not said
Take, O take those lips away
Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all
That god forbid, that made me first your slave
That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect
That thou hast her, it is not all my grief
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
That you were once unkind befriends me now
The Blossom
The Phoenix and the Turtle
The Quality of Mercy
The forward violet thus did I chide
The little love god lying once asleep
Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now
Then let not winter's ragged hand deface
The other two, slight air and purging fire
Th' expense of spirit in a waste of shame
They that have power to hurt and will do none
Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me,
Those hours, that with gentle work did frame
Those lines that I before have writ do lie
Those lips that Love's own hand did make
Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view
Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits
Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art
Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes
Thus can my love excuse the slow offence
Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn
Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain
Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear
Tired with all these, for restful death I cry
'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed
To me fair friend you never can be old
Two loves I have, of comfort and despair
Under the Greenwood Tree
Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
Venus and Adonis
Winter
Was it the proud full sail of his great verse
Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed
Were't aught to me I bore the canopy,
What is your substance, whereof are you made
What potions have I drunk of Siren tears
Whats in the brain that ink may character
When I consider every thing that grows
When I do count the clock that tells the time
When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced
When forty winters shall besiege thy brow
When, in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes
When in the chronicle of wasted time
When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see
When my love swears that she is made of truth
When that I was and a little tiny boy
When thou shalt be disposed to set me light
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
Where art thou Muse that thou forgetst so long
Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid
Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy will
Who is it that says most, which can say more
Who will believe my verse in time to come
Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day
Why is my verse so barren of new pride?
Your love and pity doth th' impression fill


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