Lawful as eating.
The Winter's Tale
(1610–11) act 5, sc. 3, l. 109
The Passionate Pilgrim
(attribution doubtful)
679
Crabbed age and youth cannot live together:
Youth is full of pleasance, age is full of care.
The Passionate Pilgrim
(1599) no. 12
680
Age, I do abhor thee, youth, I do adore thee.
The Passionate Pilgrim
(1599) no. 12
The Rape of Lucrece
681
Beauty itself doth of itself persuade
The eyes of men without an orator.
The Rape of Lucrece
(1594) l. 29
682
And now this pale swan in her watery nest
Begins the sad dirge of her certain ending.
The Rape of Lucrece
(1594) l. 1611
Sonnets
683
To the onlie begetter of these insuing sonnets, Mr. W. H.
also attributed to Thomas Thorpe, the publisher
Sonnets
(1609) dedication
684
From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty's rose might never die.
Sonnet 1
685
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.
Sonnet 18
686
But thy eternal summer shall not fade.
Sonnet 18
687
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least.
Sonnet 29
688
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.
Sonnet 29
689
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past.
Sonnet 30
690
Full many a glorious morning have I seen
Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye.
Sonnet 33
691
Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme.
Sonnet 55
692
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end.
Sonnet 60
693
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
Sonnet 73
694
So all my best is dressing old words new,
Spending again what is already spent.
Sonnet 76
695
Time's thievish progress to eternity.
Sonnet 77
696
Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing.
Sonnet 87
697
Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter,
In sleep a king, but, waking, no such matter.
Sonnet 87
698
Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.
Sonnet 94
699
When in the chronicle of wasted time
I see descriptions of the fairest wights.
Sonnet 106
700
For we, which now behold these present days,
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.
Sonnet 106
701
Alas! 'tis true I have gone here and there,
And made myself a motley to the view,
Sonnet 110
702
My nature is subdued
To what it works in, like the dyer's hand.
Sonnet 111
703
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds.
Sonnet 116
704
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error, and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
Sonnet 116
705
The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
Is lust in action.
Sonnet 129
706
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red:
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
Sonnet 130
707
Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy
Will
,
And
Will
to boot, and
Will
in over-plus.
Sonnet 135
708
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, coloured ill.
Sonnet 144
709
For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.
Sonnet 147
Venus and Adonis
710
Love is a spirit all compact of fire,
Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire.
Venus and Adonis
(1593) l. 145
711
Love comforteth like sunshine after rain.
Venus and Adonis
(1593) l. 799
712
For he being dead, with him is beauty slain,
And, beauty dead, black chaos comes again.
Venus and Adonis
(1593) l. 1019
713
Item, I give unto my wife my second best bed, with the furniture.
will, 1616; E. K. Chambers
William Shakespeare
(1930) vol. 2
714
Good friend, for Jesu's sake forbear
To dig the dust enclosed here.
Blest be the man that spares these stones,
And curst be he that moves my bones.
insciption on his grave, Stratford upon Avon, probably composed by himself