I carried from thee, dear; my true lip
Hath virgin’d it e'er since.

28_V.3. 319

Should we be taking leave As long a term as yet we have to live, The loathness to depart would grow. 31-i.2.

320

She would hang on him,
As if increase of appetite had grown
By what it fed on.

36-i.2.

321
How all the other passions fleet to air,
As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embraced despair,
And shudd'ring fear, and green-eyed jealousy.
O love, be moderate, allay thy ecstasy,
In measure rain thy joy, scant this excess;
I feel too much thy blessing, make it less,
For fear I surfeit!

9-iii. 2.
322
Take, oh, take those lips away,

That so sweetly were forsworn;
And those eyes, the break of day,

Lights that do mislead the morn:
But my kisses bring again,
Seals of love, but seal'd in vain. 5-iv. 1.

323

A lover's pinch, Which hurts, and is desired.

30-V. 2. 324

If ever thou shalt love,
In the sweet pangs of it remember me:
For, such as I am, all true lovers are;
Unstaid and skittish in all motions else,
Save, in the constant image of the creature
That is beloved.

4-ii. 4. 325

I will wind thee in my arms.
So doth the woodbine, the sweet honeysuckle,

U

Gently entwist,—the female ivy so
Enrings the barky fingers of the elm. 7-iv. I.

326

A loss of her, That, like a jewel, has hung twenty years, About his neck, yet never lost her lustre. 25-i.2.

327 A love, that makes breath poor, and speech unable.

34-i. 1.

328 You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings, And soar with them above a common bound. ... I am too sore empierced with his shaft, To soar with his light feathers; and so bound, I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe: Under love's heavy burden do I sink. 35-i. 4.

329 Love goes toward love, as school-boys from their

books; But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.

35—ii.2.

330
This weak impress of love is as a figure
Trenched in ice; which with an hour's heat
Dissolves to water, and doth lose his form.

2-iii. 2. 331

I would have thee gone;
And yet no farther than a wanton's bird,
That lets it hop a little from her hand,
Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,
And with a silk thread plucks it back again,
So loving-jealous of his liberty.

35ii. 2.

x

332 So holy, and so perfect is my love, And I'in such a poverty of grace,

That I shall think it a most plenteous crop
To glean the broken ears after the man
That the main harvest reaps: loose now and then
A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon. 10–iii. 5.

333
Our separation so abides, and flies,
That thou, residing here, go'st yet with me,
And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee.

30-i.3. 334

Where injury of chance Puts back leave-taking, justles roughly by All time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips Of all rejoindure, forcibly prevents Our lock'd embrasures, strangles our dear vows Even in the birth of our own labouring breath: We two, that with so many thousand sighs Did buy each other, must poorly sell ourselves With the rude brevity and discharge of one. Injurious time now, with a robber's haste, Crams his rich thievery up, he knows not how: As many farewells as be stars in heaven, With distinct breath and consign'd' kisses to them, He fumbles up into a loose adieu; And scants us with a single famish'd kiss, Distasted with the salt of broken' tears. 26-iv. 4.

335

Friends condemn'd, Embrace, and kiss, and take ten thousand leaves, Loather a hundred times to part than die. 22—iii. 2,

336
I did not take my leave of him, but had
Most pretty things to say: ere I could tell him,
How I would think on him, at certain hours,
Such thoughts, and such;

Or have charged him
At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight,

To encounter me with orisons, for then
I am in heaven for him;b or ere I could
Give him that parting kiss, which I had set
Betwixt two charming words, comes in my father,
And, like the tyrannous breathing of the north,
Shakes all our buds from growing.

31-i. 4.

337 What! keep a week away? seven days and nights ? Eight score eight hours ? and lovers' absent hours, More tedious than the dial eight score times? O weary reckoning!

37-iii. 4. 338

O, for a falconer's voice, To lure this tassel-gentle back again! Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud; Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies, And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine With repetition of my Romeo's name. 35- i. 2.

339 Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will!

35_i. 1.

340 Lovers, and madmen, have such seething brains, Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend More than cool reason ever comprehends. 7-v.1.

341 The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, Are of imagination all compact: One sees more devils than vast hell can hold; That is, the madman: the lover, all as frantic, Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt: The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to

heaven; And, as imagination bodies forth

The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation, and a name.
Such tricks hath strong imagination;
That, if it would but apprehend some joy,
It comprehends some bringer of that joy;
Or, in the night, imagining some fear,
How easy is a bush supposed a bear ? 7-v.1.

342
How wayward is this foolish love,
That, like a testy babe, will scratch the nurse,
And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod ! 2-i.2.

343 But love, first learned in a lady's eyes, Lives not alone immured in the brain; But with the motion of all elements, Courses as swift as thought in every power; And gives to every power a double power, Above their functions and their offices. It adds a precious seeing to the eye ; A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind; A lover's ear will hear the lowest sound, When the suspicious head of theft is stopp'd; Love's feeling is more soft and sensible, Than are the tender horns of cockledd snails; Love's tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste: For valour is not love a Hercules, Still climbing trees in the Hesperides ? Subtle as sphinx; as sweet, and musical, As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair ; And, when love speaks, the voice of all the gods Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony. Never durst poet touch a pen to write, Until his ink were temper'd with love's sighs. 0, then his lines would ravish savage ears, And plant in tyrants mild humility. 8-iv. 3.

344

Why, what would you? ... Make me a willow cabin at your gate,