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The little Love-god lying once asleep Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand, Whilst many nymphs that vow’d chaste life to keep Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand The fairest votary took up that fire Which many legions of true hearts had warm’d; And so the general of hot desire Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarm’d. This brand she quenched in a cool well by, Which from Love’s fire took heat perpetual, Growing a bath and healthful remedy For men diseased; but I, my mistress’ thrall, Came there for cure, and this by that I prove, Love’s fire heats water, water cools not love. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 154: The little Love-god lying once asleep appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep. A maid of Dian’s this advantage found, And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep In a cold valley-fountain of that ground, Which borrowed from this holy fire of love A dateless lively heat, still to endure, And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove Against strange maladies a sovereign cure. But at my mistress’ eye love’s brand new-fired, The boy for trial needs would touch my breast. I sick withal the help of bath desired, And thither hied, a sad distempered guest, But found no cure; the bath for my help lies Where Cupid got new fire—my mistress’ eye. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 153: Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

In loving thee thou know’st I am forsworn, But thou art twice forsworn, to me love swearing, In act thy bed-vow broke and new faith torn, In vowing new hate after new love bearing. But why of two oaths’ breach do I accuse thee, When I break twenty? I am perjured most, For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee, And all my honest faith in thee is lost. For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness, Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy, And to enlighten thee, gave eyes to blindness, Or made them swear against the thing they see: For I have sworn thee fair; more perjured eye, To swear against the truth so foul a lie. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 152: In loving thee thou know’st I am forsworn appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

Love is too young to know what conscience is, Yet who knows not conscience is born of love? Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss, Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove. For, thou betraying me, I do betray My nobler part to my gross body’s treason; My soul doth tell my body that he may Triumph in love; flesh stays no farther reason, But rising at thy name doth point out thee As his triumphant prize; proud of this pride, He is contented thy poor drudge to be, To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side. No want of conscience hold it that I call Her ‘love’ for whose dear love I rise and fall. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 151: Love is too young to know what conscience is appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

O, from what power hast thou this powerful might With insufficiency my heart to sway, To make me give the lie to my true sight, And swear that brightness doth not grace the day? Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill, That in the very refuse of thy deeds There is such strength and warrantize of skill That in my mind thy worst all best exceeds? Who taught thee how to make me love thee more, The more I hear and see just cause of hate? O, though I love what others do abhor, With others thou shouldst not abhor my state. If thy unworthiness raised love in me, More worthy I to be beloved of thee. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 150: O, from what power hast thou this powerful might appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

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 lov’st, and I am blind. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 149: Canst thou, O cruel, say I love thee not appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

O me! What eyes hath love put in my head, Which have no correspondence with true sight! Or if they have, where is my judgement 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 vexed 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. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 148: O me! What eyes hath love put in my head appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

My love is as a fever, longing still For that which longer nurseth the disease, Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, Th’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 expressed: For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, Who art as black as hell, as dark as night. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 147: My love is as a fever, longing still appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth, Feeding these rebel pow’rs 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 servants’ 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. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 146: Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

Those lips that Love’s own hand did make Breathed forth the sound that said “I hate” To me that languished 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 altered with an end That followed 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.” William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 145: Those lips that Love’s own hand did make appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

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. 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 turned fiend Suspect I may, yet 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. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 144: Two loves I have, of comfort and despair appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

Lo, as a careful housewife runs to catch One of her feathered creatures broke away, Sets down her babe and makes a 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. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 143: Lo, as a careful housewife runs to catch appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate, Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving. O but with mine compare thou thine own state, And thou shalt find it merits not reproving, Or if it do, not from those lips of thine, That have profaned their scarlet ornaments And sealed false bonds of love as oft as mine, Robbed others’ beds’ revénues of their rents. Be it lawful I love thee as thou lov’st those Whom thine eyes woo as mine impórtune thee; Root pity in thy heart, that when it grows, Thy pity may deserve to pitied be. If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide, By self-example mayst thou be denied. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 142: Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

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 unswayed the likeness of a man, Thy proud heart’s slave and vassal wretch to be. Only my plague thus far I count my gain, That she that makes me sin awards me pain. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 141: In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

Be wise as thou art cruel: Do not press My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain, Lest sorrow lend me words, and words express The manner of my pity-wanting pain. If I might teach thee wit: Better it were, Though not to love, yet love to tell me so, As testy sick men, when their deaths be near, No news but health from their physicians know. For if I should despair I should grow mad, And in my madness might speak ill of thee; Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad, Mad sland’rers by mad ears believèd be. That I may not be so, nor thou belied, Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 140: Be wise as thou art cruel: Do not press appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

O call not me to justify the wrong That thy unkindness lays upon my heart; Wound me not with thine eye but with thy tongue; Use power with power and slay me not by art. Tell me thou lovest elsewhere, but in my sight, Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside. What need’st thou wound with cunning when thy might Is more than my o’er-press’d defense can bide? Let me excuse thee: ah, my love well knows Her pretty looks have been mine enemies, And therefore from my face she turns my foes That they elsewhere might dart their injuries. Yet do not so; but since I am near slain, Kill me outright with looks and rid my pain. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 139: O call not me to justify the wrong appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

When my love swears that she is made of truth, I do believe her though I know she lies, That she might think me some untutored youth, Unlearned in the world’s false subtleties. Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young, Although she knows my days are past the best, Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue, On both sides thus is simple truth suppressed. But wherefore says she not she is unjust? And wherefore say not I that I am old? O love’s best habit is in seeming trust, And age in love loves not to have years told. Therefore I lie with her, and she with me, And in our faults by lies we flattered be. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 138: When my love swears that she is made of truth appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

Thou blind fool Love, what dost thou to mine eyes, That they behold and see not what they see? They know what beauty is, see where it lies, Yet what the best is take the worst to be. If eyes, corrupt by over-partial looks, Be anchored in the bay where all men ride, Why of eyes’ falsehood hast thou forgèd hooks, Whereto the judgment of my heart is tied? Why should my heart think that a several plot Which my heart knows the wide world’s common place? Or mine eyes seeing this, say this is not, To put fair truth upon so foul a face? In things right true my heart and eyes have erred, And to this false plague are they now transferred. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 137: Thou blind fool Love, what dost thou to mine eyes appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

If thy soul check 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 reckoned none. Then in the number let me pass untold, Though in thy store’s 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 lov’st me, for my name is Will. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 136: If thy soul check thee that I come so near appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy Will, And Will to boot, and Will in overplus; More than enough am I that vex thee still, To thy sweet will making addition thus. Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious, Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine? Shall will in others seem right gracious, And in my will no fair acceptance shine? The sea, all water, yet receives rain still, And in abundance addeth to his store; So thou, being rich in Will, add to thy Will One will of mine to make thy large Will more. Let no unkind, no fair beseechers kill; Think all but one, and me in that one Will. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 135: Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy Will appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

So now I have confessed that he is thine, And I myself am mortgaged to thy will, Myself I’ll forfeit, so that other mine Thou wilt restore to be my comfort still: But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free, For thou art covetous, and he is kind; He learned but surety-like to write for me Under that bond that him as fast doth bind. The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take, Thou usurer that put’st forth all to use, And sue a friend came debtor for my sake, So him I lose through my unkind abuse. Him have I lost, thou hast both him and me; He pays the whole, and yet I am not free. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 134: So now I have confessed that he is thine appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan For that deep wound it gives my friend and me; Is’t not enough to torture me alone, But slave to slavery my sweet’st friend must be? Me from my self thy cruel eye hath taken, And my next self thou harder hast engrossed; Of him, my self, and thee I am forsaken, A torment thrice threefold thus to be crossed. Prison my heart in thy steel bosom’s ward, But then my friend’s heart let my poor heart bail; Whoe’er keeps me, let my heart be his guard; Thou canst not then use rigour in my jail. And yet thou wilt, for I being pent in thee, Perforce am thine, and all that is in me. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 133: Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me, Knowing thy heart torment me with disdain, Have put on black, and loving mourners be, Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain. And truly not the morning sun of heaven Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east, Nor that full star that ushers in the even Doth half that glory to the sober west As those two mourning eyes become thy face. O let it then as well beseem thy heart To mourn for me, since mourning doth thee grace, And suit thy pity like in every part. Then will I swear beauty herself is black, And all they foul that thy complexion lack. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 132: Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art, As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel; For well thou knowst, to my dear doting heart Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel. Yet in good faith some say, that thee behold, Thy face hath not the power to make love groan; To say they err, I dare not be so bold, Although I swear it to myself alone; And to be sure that is not false, I swear A thousand groans but thinking on thy face; One on another’s neck do witness bear Thy black is fairest in my judgment’s place. In nothing art thou black save in thy deeds, And thence this slander, as I think, proceeds. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 131: Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

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. I have seen roses damask’d, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks; And in some perfumes is there more delight Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know That music hath a far more pleasing sound; I grant I never saw a goddess go; My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground: And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 130: My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

The expense of spirit in a waste of shame Is lust in action: and till action, lust Is perjur’d, murderous, bloody, full of blame, Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust; Enjoy’d no sooner but despised straight; Past reason hunted; and no sooner had, Past reason hated, as a swallow’d bait, On purpose laid to make the taker mad: Mad in pursuit and in possession so; Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme; A bliss in proof,— and prov’d, a very woe; Before, a joy propos’d; behind a dream. All this the world well knows; yet none knows well To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 129: The expense of spirit in a waste of shame appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

How oft when thou, my music, music play’st, Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds With thy sweet fingers when thou gently sway’st The wiry concord that mine ear confounds, Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap, To kiss the tender inward of thy hand, Whilst my poor lips which should that harvest reap, At the wood’s boldness by thee blushing stand! To be so tickled, they would change their state And situation with those dancing chips, O’er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait, Making dead wood more bless’d than living lips. Since saucy jacks so happy are in this, Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 128: How oft when thou, my music, music play’st appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

In the old age black was not counted fair, Or if it were, it bore not beauty’s name; But now is black beauty’s successive heir, And beauty slandered with a bastard shame: For since each hand hath put on Nature’s power, Fairing the foul with art’s false borrowed face, Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy bower, But is profaned, if not lives in disgrace. Therefore my mistress’ eyes are raven black, Her eyes so suited, and they mourners seem At such who, not born fair, no beauty lack, Sland’ring creation with a false esteem: Yet so they mourn, becoming of their woe, That every tongue says beauty should look so. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 127: In the old age black was not counted fair appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power Dost hold Time’s fickle glass, his sickle, hour; Who hast by waning grown, and therein show’st Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow’st. If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack, As thou goest onwards, still will pluck thee back, She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill May time disgrace and wretched minutes kill. Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure! She may detain, but not still keep, her treasure: Her audit (though delayed) answered must be, And her quietus is to render thee. (        ) (        ) William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 126: O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

Were’t aught to me I bore the canopy, With my extern the outward honouring, Or laid great bases for eternity, Which proves more short than waste or ruining? Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour Lose all and more by paying too much rent For compound sweet; forgoing simple savour, Pitiful thrivers, in their gazing spent? No; let me be obsequious in thy heart, And take thou my oblation, poor but free, Which is not mix’d with seconds, knows no art, But mutual render, only me for thee. Hence, thou suborned informer! a true soul When most impeach’d, stands least in thy control. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 125: Were’t aught to me I bore the canopy appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

If my dear love were but the child of state, It might for Fortune’s bastard be unfather’d, As subject to Time’s love or Time’s hate, Weeds amoung weeds, or flowers with flowers gather’d. No, it was builded far from accident; It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls Under the blow of thralled discontent, Whereto th’inviting time our fashion calls: It fears not policy, that heretic, Which works on leases of short number’d hours, But all alone stands hugely politic, That it nor grows with heat, nor drowns with the showers. To this I witness call the fools of Time, Which die for goodness,who have lived for crime William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 124: If my dear love were but the child of state appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

No! Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change: Thy pyramids built up with newer might To me are nothing novel, nothing strange; They are but dressings of a former sight. Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire What thou dost foist upon us that is old, And rather make them born to our desire Than think that we before have heard them told. Thy registers and thee I both defy, Not wond’ring at the present nor the past, For thy records and what we see doth lie, Made more or less by thy continual haste. This I do vow and this shall ever be; I will be true, despite thy scythe and thee. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 123: No! Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain Full character’d with lasting memory, Which shall above that idle rank remain, Beyond all date; even to eternity: Or, at the least, so long as brain and heart Have faculty by nature to subsist; Till each to raz’d oblivion yield his part Of thee, thy record never can be miss’d. That poor retention could not so much hold, Nor need I tallies thy dear love to score; Therefore to give them from me was I bold, To trust those tables that receive thee more: To keep an adjunct to remember thee Were to import forgetfulness in me. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 122: Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

‘Tis better to be vile than vile esteem’d, When not to be receives reproach of being; And the just pleasure lost, which is so deem’d Not by our feeling, but by others’ seeing: For why should others’ false adulterate eyes Give salutation to my sportive blood? Or on my frailties why are frailer spies, Which in their wills count bad what I think good? No, I am that I am, and they that level At my abuses reckon up their own: I may be straight though they themselves be bevel; By their rank thoughts, my deeds must not be shown; Unless this general evil they maintain, All men are bad and in their badness reign. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 121: ‘Tis better to be vile than vile esteem’d appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

That you were once unkind befriends me now, And for that sorrow, which I then did feel, Needs must I under my transgression bow, Unless my nerves were brass or hammer’d steel. For if you were by my unkindness shaken, As I by yours, you’ve pass’d a hell of time; And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken To weigh how once I suffer’d in your crime. O, that our night of woe might have remember’d My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits, And soon to you, as you to me, then tender’d The humble salve which wounded bosoms fits! But that your trespass now becomes a fee; Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 120: That you were once unkind befriends me now appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

What potions have I drunk of Siren tears, Distill’d from limbecks foul as hell within, Applying fears to hopes and hopes to fears, Still losing when I saw myself to win! What wretched errors hath my heart committed, Whilst it hath thought itself so blessed never! How have mine eyes out of their spheres been fitted, In the distraction of this madding fever, O benefit of ill, now I find true, That better is by evil still made better, And ruin’d love, when it is built anew, Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater, So I return rebuked to my content, And gain by ill thrice more than I have spent. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 119: What potions have I drunk of Siren tears appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

Like as, to make our appetites more keen, With eager compounds we our palate urge, As, to prevent our maladies unseen, We sicken to shun sickness when we purge; Even so, being full or your ne’er-cloying sweetness, To bitter sauces did I frame my feeding; And, sick of welfare, found a kind of meetness To be diseas’d, ere that there was true needing. Thus policy in love, to anticipate The ills that were not, grew to faults assur’d, And brought to medicine a healthful state, Which, rank of goodness, would by ill be cur’d; But thence I learn, and find the lesson true, Drugs poison him that so fell sick of you. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 118: Like as, to make our appetites more keen appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

Accuse me thus: that I have scanted all, Wherein I should your great deserts repay, Forgot upon your dearest love to call, Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day; That I have frequent been with unknown minds, And given to time your own dear-purchas’d right; That I have hoisted sail to all the winds Which should transport me farthest from your sight. Book both my wilfulness and errors down, And on just proof surmise, accumulate; Bring me within the level of your frown, But shoot not at me in your waken’d hate; Since my appeal says I did strive to prove The constancy and virtue of your love. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 117: Accuse me thus: that I have scanted all appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove: O no! It is an ever-fixèd mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken. Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle’s compass come: 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. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 116: Let me not to the marriage of true minds appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

Those lines that I before have writ do lie, Even those that said I could not love you dearer: Yet then my judgment knew no reason why My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer. But reckoning Time, whose million’d accidents Creep in ‘twixt vows, and change decrees of kings, Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp’st intents, Divert strong minds to the course of altering things; Alas! why, fearing of Time’s tyranny, Might I not then say, ‘Now I love you best,’ When I was certain o’er incertainty, Crowning the present, doubting of the rest? Love is a babe, then might I not say so, To give full growth to that which still doth grow? William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 115: Those lines that I before have writ do lie appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

Or whether doth my mind, being crowned with you, Drink up the monarch’s plague, this flattery? Or whether shall I say, mine eye saith true, And that your love taught it this alchemy, To make of monsters and things indigest Such cherubins as your sweet self resemble, Creating every bad a perfect best, As fast as objects to his beams assemble? O! ’tis the first, ’tis flattery in my seeing, And my great mind most kingly drinks it up: Mine eye well knows what with his gust is ‘greeing, And to his palate doth prepare the cup: If it be poisoned, ’tis the lesser sin That mine eye loves it and doth first begin. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 114: Or whether doth my mind, being crowned with you appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind; And that which governs me to go about Doth part his function and is partly blind, Seems seeing, but effectually is out; For it no form delivers to the heart Of bird, of flower, or shape which it doth latch: Of his quick objects hath the mind no part, Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch; For if it see the rud’st or gentlest sight, The most sweet favour or deformed’st creature, The mountain or the sea, the day or night, The crow, or dove, it shapes them to your feature. Incapable of more, replete with you, My most true mind thus maketh mine eye untrue. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 113: Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

Your love and pity doth the impression fill, Which vulgar scandal stamped upon my brow; For what care I who calls me well or ill, So you o’er-green my bad, my good allow? You are my all-the-world, and I must strive To know my shames and praises from your tongue; None else to me, nor I to none alive, That my steeled sense or changes right or wrong. In so profound abysm I throw all care Of others’ voices, that my adder’s sense To critic and to flatterer stopped are. Mark how with my neglect I do dispense: You are so strongly in my purpose bred, That all the world besides methinks y’are dead. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 112: Your love and pity doth the impression fill appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

O! for my sake do you with Fortune chide, The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, That did not better for my life provide Than public means which public manners breeds. Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, And almost thence my nature is subdued To what it works in, like the dyer’s hand: Pity me, then, and wish I were renewed; Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink Potions of eisell ‘gainst my strong infection; No bitterness that I will bitter think, Nor double penance, to correct correction. Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye, Even that your pity is enough to cure me. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 111: O! for my sake do you with Fortune chide appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

Alas! ’tis true, I have gone here and there, And made my self a motley to the view, Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear, Made old offences of affections new; Most true it is, that I have looked on truth Askance and strangely; but, by all above, These blenches gave my heart another youth, And worse essays proved thee my best of love. Now all is done, have what shall have no end: Mine appetite I never more will grind On newer proof, to try an older friend, A god in love, to whom I am confined. Then give me welcome, next my heaven the best, Even to thy pure and most most loving breast. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 110: Alas! ’tis true, I have gone here and there appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

O! never say that I was false of heart, Though absence seem’d my flame to qualify, As easy might I from my self depart As from my soul which in thy breast doth lie: That is my home of love: if I have ranged, Like him that travels, I return again; Just to the time, not with the time exchanged, So that myself bring water for my stain. Never believe though in my nature reigned, All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, That it could so preposterously be stained, To leave for nothing all thy sum of good; For nothing this wide universe I call, Save thou, my rose, in it thou art my all. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 109: O! never say that I was false of heart appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

What’s in the brain that ink may character, Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit? What’s new to speak, what now to register, That may express my love, or thy dear merit? Nothing, sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine, I must each day say o’er the very same; Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine, Even as when first I hallowed thy fair name. So that eternal love in love’s fresh case, Weighs not the dust and injury of age, Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place, But makes antiquity for aye his page; Finding the first conceit of love there bred, Where time and outward form would show it dead. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 108: What’s in the brain that ink may character appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul Of the wide world dreaming on things to come, Can yet the lease of my true love control, Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom. The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured, And the sad augurs mock their own presage; Incertainties now crown themselves assured, And peace proclaims olives of endless age. Now with the drops of this most balmy time, My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes, Since, spite of him, I’ll live in this poor rhyme, While he insults o’er dull and speechless tribes: And thou in this shalt find thy monument, When tyrants’ crests and tombs of brass are spent. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 107: Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

When in the chronicle of wasted time I see descriptions of the fairest wights, And beauty making beautiful old rhyme, In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights, Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty’s best, Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, I see their antique pen would have express’d Even such a beauty as you master now. So all their praises are but prophecies Of this our time, all you prefiguring; And for they looked but with divining eyes, They had not skill enough your worth to sing: For we, which now behold these present days, Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 106: When in the chronicle of wasted time appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.

Let not my love be called idolatry, Nor my beloved as an idol show, Since all alike my songs and praises be To one, of one, still such, and ever so. Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind, Still constant in a wondrous excellence; Therefore my verse to constancy confined, One thing expressing, leaves out difference. Fair, kind, and true, is all my argument, Fair, kind, and true, varying to other words; And in this change is my invention spent, Three themes in one, which wondrous scope affords. Fair, kind, and true, have often lived alone, Which three till now, never kept seat in one. William Shakespeare Presenters Mark Chatterley Thierry Heles The post Sonnet 105: Let not my love be called idolatry appeared first on In Ear Entertainment.