Properties
- end_line
- 12747
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T06:24:48.293Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 12640
- text
- To kiffe the tender inward of thy hand,
Whilft my poore lips which should that harueft reape,
At the woods bouldnes by thee bluffing ftand.
To be fo tikkled they would change their ftare,
And fituation with thofe dancing chips,
Ore whome their fingers walke with gentle gate,
Making dead wood more bleft then liuing lips,
Since faufie lackes fo happy are in this,
Giue them their fingers, me thy lips to kiffe.
129
The expence of Spirit in a wafte of fhame
Is luft in action, and till action, luft
Is periurd, murdrous, blouddy full of blame,
Sauage, extreame, rude, cruell, not to truft,
Inioyd no fooner but difpifed ftraighr,
Paft reafon hunted, and no sooner had
Paft reafon hated as a fwollowed bayr,
On purpose layd to make the taker mad.
Made In purfut and in poffeffion fo,
Had, hauing, and in queft, to haue extreame,
A bliffe in proofe and proud and very wo,
Before a joy propofd behind a dreame,
All this the world well knowes yet none knowes well,
To fhun the heaven that leads men to this hell.
My
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# SONNEYS.
## 130
MY Miftres eyes are nothing like the Sunne,
Currall is farre more red, then her lips red,
If snow be white why then her briefts are dun:
If haires be wiers, black wiers grow on her head:
I haue feene Rofes damaskt, red and white,
But no fuch Rofes fee I in her checkes,
And in fome perfumes is there more delight,
Then in the breath that from my Miftres reekes.
I loue to heare her fpeake, yet well I know,
That Muficke hath a farre more pleasing found:
I graunt I neuer faw a goddeffe goe,
My Miftres when thee walkes treads on the ground.
And yet by heauen I thinke my loue as rare,
As any fhe bch'd with falfe compare.
## 131
THou art as tiranous, fo as thou art,
As thofe whofe beauties proudly make them cruell;
For well thou know'ft to my deare doting hart
Thou art the fairest and most precious Jewell.
Yet in good faith fome fay that thee behold,
Thy face hath not the power to make loue grone;
To fay they erre, I dare not be fo bold,
Although I fweare it to my felfe alone.
And to be fure that is not falfe I fweare
A thousand grones but thinking on thy face,
One on anothers necke do witneffe beare
Thy blacke is fairest in my judgements place.
In nothing art thou blacke faue in thy deeds,
And thence this flaunder as I thinke proceeds.
## 132
THine eies I loue, and they as pittying me,
Knowing thy heart torment me with disdaine,
Haue put on black, and louing mourners bee,
Looking with pretty ruth vpon my pains.
And
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# SHAKES-PEAKS
And truly not the morning Sun of Heaven
Better becomes the gray cheeks of th' East,
Nor that full Starre that vishers in the Eauen
Doth halfe that glory to the sober West
As thofe two morning eyes become thy face:
O let it then as well befeeme thy heart
To mourne for me fince mourning doth thee grace.
And fute thy pitty like in euery part.
Then will I fweare beauty her felfe is blacke,
And all they foule that thy complexion lacke.
133
B Eftrew that heart that makes my heart to groane
For that deepe wound it giues my friend and me;
I'ft not enough to torture me alone,
But flaue to flauey my fweet'ft friend muft be,
Me from my felfe thy cruell eye hath taken,
And my next felfe thou harder haft ingroffed,
Of him, my felfe, and thee I am forfaken,
A torment thrice three-fold thus to be croffed:
Prifon my heart in thy fteele bofomes warde,
But then my friends heart let my poore heart bale,
Who ere keepes me, let my heart be his garde,
Thou canft not then vfe rigor in my laile,
And yet thou wilt, for I being pent in thee,
Perforce am thine and all that is in me.
134
- title
- Chunk 3