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Cobbe Portrait of William Shakespeare
Tag Archives: sonnet
“We look back at Shakespeare and regret our absence from him because it seems an absence from reality.”
Conclusion to The Play’s The Thing Part Two By Dennis Abrams ———————————- Honestly, I can’t believe it’s over. For two and half years, We’ve been reading and talking and thinking about Shakespeare. And to help bring this to a close, … Continue reading
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Tagged A Midsummer Night's Dream, All's Well That Ends Well, Antony and Cleopatra, As You Like It, Comedy, Coriolanus, Cymbeline, drama, Falstaff, Hamlet, Henry IV, Henry IV Part I, Henry IV Part II, Henry V, Henry VI Parts One Two and Three, Henry VIII, Julius Caesar, king henry iv, King John, King Lear, language, Love's Labour's Lost, Macbeth, Measure for Measure, Much Ado About Nothing, Othello, Pericles, Prince Hal, problem play, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Richard II, Richard III, Romeo and Juliet, Shakespeare, sonnet, The Comedy of Error, The Merchant of Venice, The Merry Wives of Windsor, The Taming of the Shrew, The Tempest, The Two Gentlemen of Verona, The Two Noble Kinsmen, The Winter's Tale, Timon of Athens, titus andronicus, tragedy, Troilus and Cressidas, Twelfh Night, Victor Hugo, William Shakespeare, writing
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“My love is as a fever, longing still/For that which longer nurseth the disease…”
Shakespeare Sonnet #147 My love is as a fever, longing still For that which longer nurseth the disease, Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, The uncertain sickly appetite to please. My reason, the physician to my love, Angry … Continue reading
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Tagged autobiographical nature, disease, Elizabethan sonnet, fever, John Donne, language, literature, love, Notice Shakespeare, Shakespeare, shakespeare sonnet, Shakespeare Sonnet 147, sonnet, Sonnet 147, The Dark Lady, venereal disease, William Shakespeare, writing
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“So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men,/And, Death once dead, there’s no more dying then.”
Shakespeare Sonnet #146 Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth, [Why feed’st] these rebel powers that thee array? Why dost thou pine within, and suffer dearth, Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? Why so large cost, having so … Continue reading
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Tagged death, language, literature, Poor soul, Shakespeare, Shakespeare Sonnet 146, sonnet, Sonnet 146, William Shakespeare, writing
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“Two loves I have of comfort and despair,/Which like two spirits do suggest me still…”
Shakespeare Sonnet #144 SONNET 144 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 colour’d ill. To win me soon … Continue reading
“Lo! as a careful housewife runs to catch/One of her feather’d creatures broke away,…”
Shakespeare Sonnet #143 Lo! as a careful housewife runs to catch One of her feather’d creatures broke away, Sets down her babe and makes an swift dispatch In pursuit of the thing she would have stay, Whilst her neglected child … Continue reading
“In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes,/For they in thee a thousand errors note;”
Shakespeare Sonnet #141 SONNET 141 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 … Continue reading
“Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press/My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain;”
Shakespeare Sonnet #140 SONNET 140 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 … Continue reading
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Tagged disdain, language, literature, patience, Shakespeare, Shakespeare Sonnet #140, sonnet, Sonnet #140, William Shakespeare, writing
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“O call me not to justify the wrong/That thy unkindness lays upon my heart.”
Shakespeare Sonnet #139 SONNET 139 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. … Continue reading
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Tagged eyes, glance, jealousy, justify, language, literature, love, Shakespeare, Shakespeare Sonnet 139, sonnet, Sonnet 139, William Shakespeare, writing
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When my love swears that she is made of truth I do believe her,/though I know she lies…”
Shakespeare Sonnet #138 SONNET 138 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 untutor’d youth, Unlearned in the world’s false subtleties. Thus vainly … Continue reading
The Play's The Thing 