86

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description

# Section 86 ## Overview This section, labeled "86", is a segment of a larger text, likely a collection of poems or sonnets. It spans from line 11807 to 11829 of its source file. ## Context This section is part of the chapter titled "[# SHAKES-PRARES](arke:01KG6S4CPZP73GPBKD2240HQV8)". The chapter itself is contained within a collection named "[PDF Workflow Main Test 2026-01-30T00:26:53](arke:01KG6NWQ2H2K4PGG7H4ZHYCZ3Y)". The text was extracted from the file "[pdf-01KG6Q7Q25RHMFT3SJXPV18VFF.txt](arke:01KG6S2X2EBB305ENM00G16GWA)". This section follows section "85" and precedes section "87". ## Contents The text within this section appears to be a poem or sonnet. It begins with the lines: "VV As it the proud full saile of his great verse, Bound for the prize of (all to precious) you, That did my ripe thoughts in my braine inhearse, Making their tombe the wonibe wherein they grew? Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write, Aboue a mortall pitch, that struck me dead? No, neither he, nor his compiers by night Gluing him ayde, my verse astonished. He nor that affable familiar ghost Which nightly gulls him with intelligence, As victors of my silence cannot boast," The text then includes a page reference: "<!-- [Page 524](arke:01KG6QKCY7ZEERHSQZA1EQKDZ0) -->" and the heading "# SONNETS.". It concludes with: "I was not sick of any seare from thence. But when your countinance did vp his line, Then lackt I matter, that inseebled mine."

description_generated_at

2026-01-30T06:26:26.562Z

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gemini-2.5-flash-lite

description_title

Section 86

end_line

11829

extracted_at

2026-01-30T06:24:08.806Z

extracted_by

structure-extraction-lambda

source_file

01KG6S2X2EBB305ENM00G16GWA

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11807

text

86 VV As it the proud full saile of his great verse, Bound for the prize of (all to precious) you, That did my ripe thoughts in my braine inhearse, Making their tombe the wonibe wherein they grew? Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write, Aboue a mortall pitch, that struck me dead? No, neither he, nor his compiers by night Gluing him ayde, my verse astonished. He nor that affable familiar ghost Which nightly gulls him with intelligence, As victors of my silence cannot boast, I was <!-- [Page 524](arke:01KG6QKCY7ZEERHSQZA1EQKDZ0) --> # SONNETS. I was not sick of any seare from thence. But when your countinance did vp his line, Then lackt I matter, that inseebled mine.

title

86