Shakespeare

Diskutime tek 'Letërsia' filluar nga Diavolessa, 7 Nov 2002.

  1. Diavolessa

    Diavolessa Valoris scriptorum

    Shakespeare

    Shakspeare - Sonetti.

    You are my all the word, and I munst 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.
    Mark bow with my neglect I do dispense.
    You are so strongly in my purpose bred.
    That the words besides methinks are dead.
     
  2. Diabolis Dassaretis

    Diabolis Dassaretis Forumium praecox

    Re: Shakespeare

    Nga:
    SONNETS TO SUNDRY NOTES OF MUSIC

    by William Shakespeare

    III

    Kopetë time s'kullosin dot,
    Delet time s'ushqehen dot,
    Deshinjtë tim s'nxitojnë dot,
    Gjithçka është mbrapsh:
    Dashuria ka vdekur,
    Besnikësia shpërfillur,
    Zemra mohuar,
    Për këtë shkak.
    Të gjitha vallet time të gëzueshme të harruara gati,
    E gjithë dashuria e zonjës sime ka humbur, Zoti e di
    Ku besnikëria e saj fort në dashuri ishte ngulitur,
    Atje një jo ka zënë vend pa lëvizur.
    Një brengë pakuptim
    Gatoi gjithë humbjen time;
    O Fat mbyllur, e mallkuar, dredharakja zonjë!
    Tani unë vështroj,
    Paqëndryeshmëria
    Më shumë tek gratë se tek burrat rri.

    Në të zeza unë vajtoj,
    Gjithë dyshimet unë përçmoj,
    Banja e dashurisë më dëshpëron mua,
    Të rrosh në skllavëri:
    Zemra gjak kullon,
    Çdo ndihmë kërkon,
    (Oh, xhelati nxiton!)
    Përmbytur nga vreri.
    Fyelli im i bariut tingullit s'ja thotë,
    Këmbora e dashit të tredhur tringëllon si këmbanë për mort;
    Konja ime, të luajnë me të mësuar,
    Nuk lëviz fare, por duket e frikësuar;
    Me ofshama të thella,
    Përpiqet me qa,
    Me ulërima, të shohë hallin tim trishtuar.
    Sa ofshama që jehojnë
    Nga trualli i pazemër,
    Porsi njëmijë burra të mposhtur në përleshje të përgjakur!

    Burimet e kthjellta z'bulëzojnë dot,
    Zogjtë e ëmbël nuk këndojnë dot,
    Pemët e gjelbra nuk bëjnë dot
    Përpjetë; ato vdesin;
    Bagëtitë me lot në sy,
    Kopetë si të fjetura aty ,
    Shtojzavallat mbrapsh klithin të friksuara.
    Gjithë kënaqsitë që njohim ne fatkeqët barinj,
    Gjithë takimet tona të gëzueshme në lëndina,
    Gjithë zbavitja e mbrëmjes prej nesh firoi,
    Gjithë dashuria jonë humbi, për Dashurinë jetë ndërroi.
    Lamtumirë, vajzë e dashur,
    Si ti kurrë s'ka patur
    Për një kënaqsi të ëmbël, shkaktarin e gjithçkaje që më rënkon
    I shkreti Koridon
    Duhet të jetojë i vetmuar,
    Çdo ndihmë tjetër për të unë e shoh të munguar.
     
  3. Ofelia

    Ofelia Forumium praecox

    Re: Shakespeare

    paperina... gezon simpatine time (edhe pse nuk eshte e rendesishme mbase)...
    e adhuroj Shakespeare...
    Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all;
    What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?
    No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call;
    All mine was thine before thou hadst this more.
    Then if for my love thou my love receivest,
    I cannot blame thee for my love thou usest;
    But yet be blamed, if thou thyself deceivest
    By wilful taste of what thyself refusest.
    I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief,
    Although thou steal thee all my poverty;
    And yet, love knows, it is a greater grief
    To bear love's wrong than hate's known injury.
    Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,
    Kill me with spites; yet we must not be foes.

    Nuk e di por me kujton
    "Ketu s'do t'jem, do jem larguar..."
     
  4. Ema

    Ema Goddes

    Re: Shakespeare

    Me e famshmja:

    DOUbt the stars are fire,
    doubt the sun does move,
    doubt the truth to be a liar
    but never doubt taht I love The!
     
  5. Ema

    Ema Goddes

    Re: Shakespeare

    NGA OTELLO....

    SCENE II. A bedchamber in the castle: DESDEMONA in bed asleep;
    a light burning.

    Enter OTHELLO

    OTHELLO
    It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul,--
    Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars!--
    It is the cause. Yet I'll not shed her blood;
    Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow,
    And smooth as monumental alabaster.
    Yet she must die, else she'll betray more men.
    Put out the light, and then put out the light:
    If I quench thee, thou flaming minister,
    I can again thy former light restore,
    Should I repent me: but once put out thy light,
    Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature,
    I know not where is that Promethean heat
    That can thy light relume. When I have pluck'd the rose,
    I cannot give it vital growth again.
    It must needs wither: I'll smell it on the tree.

    Kissing her

    Ah balmy breath, that dost almost persuade
    Justice to break her sword! One more, one more.
    Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee,
    And love thee after. One more, and this the last:
    So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep,
    But they are cruel tears: this sorrow's heavenly;
    It strikes where it doth love. She wakes.

    DESDEMONA
    Who's there? Othello?

    OTHELLO
    Ay. Desdemona.

    DESDEMONA
    Will you come to bed, my lord?

    OTHELLO
    Have you pray'd to-night, Desdemona?

    DESDEMONA
    Ay, my lord.

    OTHELLO
    If you bethink yourself of any crime
    Unreconciled as yet to heaven and grace,
    Solicit for it straight.

    DESDEMONA
    Alas, my lord, what do you mean by that?

    OTHELLO
    Well, do it, and be brief; I will walk by:
    I would not kill thy unprepared spirit;
    No; heaven forfend! I would not kill thy soul.

    DESDEMONA
    Talk you of killing?

    OTHELLO
    Ay, I do.

    DESDEMONA
    Then heaven
    Have mercy on me!

    OTHELLO
    Amen, with all my heart!

    DESDEMONA
    If you say so, I hope you will not kill me.

    OTHELLO
    Hum!

    DESDEMONA
    And yet I fear you; for you are fatal then
    When your eyes roll so: why I should fear I know not,
    Since guiltiness I know not; but yet I feel I fear.

    OTHELLO
    Think on thy sins.

    DESDEMONA
    They are loves I bear to you.

    OTHELLO
    Ay, and for that thou diest.

    DESDEMONA
    That death's unnatural that kills for loving.
    Alas, why gnaw you so your nether lip?
    Some bloody passion shakes your very frame:
    These are portents; but yet I hope, I hope,
    They do not point on me.

    OTHELLO
    Peace, and be still!

    DESDEMONA
    I will so. What's the matter?

    OTHELLO
    That handkerchief which I so loved and gave thee
    Thou gavest to Cassio.

    DESDEMONA
    No, by my life and soul!
    Send for the man, and ask him.

    OTHELLO
    Sweet soul, take heed,
    Take heed of perjury; thou art on thy deathbed.

    DESDEMONA
    Ay, but not yet to die.

    OTHELLO
    Yes, presently:
    Therefore confess thee freely of thy sin;
    For to deny each article with oath
    Cannot remove nor choke the strong conception
    That I do groan withal. Thou art to die.

    DESDEMONA
    Then Lord have mercy on me!

    OTHELLO
    I say, amen.

    DESDEMONA
    And have you mercy too! I never did
    Offend you in my life; never loved Cassio
    But with such general warranty of heaven
    As I might love: I never gave him token.

    OTHELLO
    By heaven, I saw my handkerchief in's hand.
    O perjured woman! thou dost stone my heart,
    And makest me call what I intend to do
    A murder, which I thought a sacrifice:
    I saw the handkerchief.

    DESDEMONA
    He found it then;
    I never gave it him: send for him hither;
    Let him confess a truth.

    OTHELLO
    He hath confess'd.

    DESDEMONA
    What, my lord?

    OTHELLO
    That he hath used thee.

    DESDEMONA
    How? unlawfully?

    OTHELLO
    Ay.

    DESDEMONA
    He will not say so.

    OTHELLO
    No, his mouth is stopp'd;
    Honest Iago hath ta'en order for't.

    DESDEMONA
    O! my fear interprets: what, is he dead?

    OTHELLO
    Had all his hairs been lives, my great revenge
    Had stomach for them all.

    DESDEMONA
    Alas! he is betray'd and I undone.

    OTHELLO
    Out, strumpet! weep'st thou for him to my face?

    DESDEMONA
    O, banish me, my lord, but kill me not!

    OTHELLO
    Down, strumpet!

    DESDEMONA
    Kill me to-morrow: let me live to-night!

    OTHELLO
    Nay, if you strive--

    DESDEMONA
    But half an hour!

    OTHELLO
    Being done, there is no pause.

    DESDEMONA
    But while I say one prayer!

    OTHELLO
    It is too late.

    He stifles her

    EMILIA
    [Within] My lord , my lord! what, ho! my lord, my lord!

    OTHELLO
    What noise is this? Not dead? not yet quite dead?
    I that am cruel am yet merciful;
    I would not have thee linger in thy pain: So, so.

    EMILIA
    [Within] What, ho! my lord, my lord!

    OTHELLO
    Who's there?

    EMILIA
    [Within] O, good my lord, I would speak a word with you!

    OTHELLO
    Yes: 'tis Emilia. By and by. She's dead.
    'Tis like she comes to speak of Cassio's death.--
    The noise was here. Ha! no more moving?
    Still as the grave. Shall she come in? were't good?--
    I think she stirs again:--no. What's best to do?
    If she come in, she'll sure speak to my wife:
    My wife! my wife! what wife? I have no wife.
    O insupportable! O heavy hour!
    Methinks it should be now a huge eclipse
    Of sun and moon, and that the affrighted globe
    Should yawn at alteration.

    EMILIA
    [Within] I do beseech you
    That I may speak with you, O, good my lord!

    OTHELLO
    I had forgot thee: O, come in, Emilia;
    Soft; by and by. Let me the curtains draw.
    Where art thou?

    Unlocks the door

    Enter EMILIA

    What's the matter with thee now?

    EMILIA
    O, my good lord, yonder's foul murders done!

    OTHELLO
    What, now?

    EMILIA
    But now, my lord.

    OTHELLO
    It is the very error of the moon;
    She comes more nearer earth than she was wont,
    And makes men mad.

    EMILIA
    Cassio, my lord, hath kill'd a young Venetian
    Call'd Roderigo.

    OTHELLO
    Roderigo kill'd!
    And Cassio kill'd!

    EMILIA
    No, Cassio is not kill'd.

    OTHELLO
    Not Cassio kill'd! then murder's out of tune,
    And sweet revenge grows harsh.

    DESDEMONA
    O, falsely, falsely murder'd!

    EMILIA
    Alas, what cry is that?

    OTHELLO
    That! what?

    EMILIA
    Out, and alas! that was my lady's voice.
    Help! help, ho! help! O lady, speak again!
    Sweet Desdemona! O sweet mistress, speak!

    DESDEMONA
    A guiltless death I die.

    EMILIA
    O, who hath done this deed?

    DESDEMONA
    Nobody; I myself. Farewell
    Commend me to my kind lord: O, farewell!

    Dies

    OTHELLO
    Why, how should she be murder'd?

    EMILIA
    Alas, who knows?

    OTHELLO
    You heard her say herself, it was not I.

    EMILIA
    She said so: I must needs report the truth.

    OTHELLO
    She's, like a liar, gone to burning hell:
    'Twas I that kill'd her.

    EMILIA
    O, the more angel she,
    And you the blacker devil!

    OTHELLO
    She turn'd to folly, and she was a whore.

    EMILIA
    Thou dost belie her, and thou art a devil.

    OTHELLO
    She was false as water.

    EMILIA
    Thou art rash as fire, to say
    That she was false: O, she was heavenly true!

    OTHELLO
    Cassio did top her; ask thy husband else.
    O, I were damn'd beneath all depth in hell,
    But that I did proceed upon just grounds
    To this extremity. Thy husband knew it all.

    EMILIA
    My husband!

    OTHELLO
    Thy husband.

    EMILIA
    That she was false to wedlock?

    OTHELLO
    Ay, with Cassio. Nay, had she been true,
    If heaven would make me such another world
    Of one entire and Perfect chrysolite,
    I'ld not have sold her for it.

    EMILIA
    My husband!

    OTHELLO
    Ay, 'twas he that told me first:
    An honest man he is, and hates the slime
    That sticks on filthy deeds.

    EMILIA
    My husband!

    OTHELLO
    What needs this iteration, woman? I say thy husband.

    EMILIA
    O mistress, villany hath made mocks with love,
    My husband say that she was false!

    OTHELLO
    He, woman;
    I say thy husband: dost understand the word?
    My friend, thy husband, honest, honest Iago.

    EMILIA
    If he say so, may his pernicious soul
    Rot half a grain a day! he lies to the heart:
    She was too fond of her most filthy bargain.

    OTHELLO
    Ha!

    EMILIA
    Do thy worst:
    This deed of thine is no more worthy heaven
    Than thou wast worthy her.

    OTHELLO
    Peace, you were best.

    EMILIA
    Thou hast not half that power to do me harm
    As I have to be hurt. O gull! O dolt!
    As ignorant as dirt! thou hast done a deed--
    I care not for thy sword; I'll make thee known,
    Though I lost twenty lives.--Help! help, ho! help!
    The Moor hath kill'd my mistress! Murder! murder!

    Enter MONTANO, GRATIANO, IAGO, and others

    MONTANO
    What is the matter? How now, general!

    EMILIA
    O, are you come, Iago? you have done well,
    That men must lay their murders on your neck.

    GRATIANO
    What is the matter?

    EMILIA
    Disprove this villain, if thou be'st a man:
    He says thou told'st him that his wife was false:
    I know thou didst not, thou'rt not such a villain:
    Speak, for my heart is full.

    IAGO
    I told him what I thought, and told no more
    Than what he found himself was apt and true.

    EMILIA
    But did you ever tell him she was false?

    IAGO
    I did.

    EMILIA
    You told a lie, an odious, damned lie;
    Upon my soul, a lie, a wicked lie.
    She false with Cassio!--did you say with Cassio?

    IAGO
    With Cassio, mistress. Go to, charm your tongue.

    EMILIA
    I will not charm my tongue; I am bound to speak:
    My mistress here lies murder'd in her bed,--

    All
    O heavens forfend!

    EMILIA
    And your reports have set the murder on.

    OTHELLO
    Nay, stare not, masters: it is true, indeed.

    GRATIANO
    'Tis a strange truth.

    MONTANO
    O monstrous act!

    EMILIA
    Villany, villany, villany!
    I think upon't, I think: I smell't: O villany!--
    I thought so then:--I'll kill myself for grief:--
    O villany, villany!

    IAGO
    What, are you mad? I charge you, get you home.

    EMILIA
    Good gentlemen, let me have leave to speak:
    'Tis proper I obey him, but not now.
    Perchance, Iago, I will ne'er go home.

    OTHELLO
    O! O! O!

    He falls on the bed

    EMILIA
    Nay, lay thee down and roar;
    For thou hast kill'd the sweetest innocent
    That e'er did lift up eye.

    OTHELLO
    [Rising] O, she was foul!
    I scarce did know you, uncle: there lies your niece,
    Whose breath, indeed, these hands have newly stopp'd:
    I know this act shows horrible and grim.

    GRATIANO
    Poor Desdemona! I am glad thy father's dead:
    Thy match was mortal to him, and pure grief
    Shore his old thread in twain: did he live now,
    This sight would make him do a desperate turn,
    Yea, curse his better angel from his side,
    And fall to reprobation.

    OTHELLO
    'Tis pitiful; but yet Iago knows
    That she with Cassio hath the act of shame
    A thousand times committed; Cassio confess'd it:
    And she did gratify his amorous works
    With that recognizance and pledge of love
    Which I first gave her; I saw it in his hand:
    It was a handkerchief, an antique token
    My father gave my mother.

    EMILIA
    O heaven! O heavenly powers!

    IAGO
    Come, hold your peace.

    EMILIA
    'Twill out, 'twill out: I peace!
    No, I will speak as liberal as the north:
    Let heaven and men and devils, let them all,
    All, all, cry shame against me, yet I'll speak.

    IAGO
    Be wise, and get you home.

    EMILIA
    I will not.

    IAGO offers to stab EMILIA

    GRATIANO
    Fie!
    Your sword upon a woman?

    EMILIA
    O thou dull Moor! that handkerchief thou speak'st of
    I found by fortune and did give my husband;
    For often, with a solemn earnestness,
    More than indeed belong'd to such a trifle,
    He begg'd of me to steal it.

    IAGO
    Villanous whore!

    EMILIA
    She give it Cassio! no, alas! I found it,
    And I did give't my husband.

    IAGO
    Filth, thou liest!

    EMILIA
    By heaven, I do not, I do not, gentlemen.
    O murderous coxcomb! what should such a fool
    Do with so good a woman?

    OTHELLO
    Are there no stones in heaven
    But what serve for the thunder?--Precious villain!

    He runs at IAGO IAGO, from behind, stabs EMILIA, and exit

    GRATIANO
    The woman falls; sure, he hath kill'd his wife.

    EMILIA
    Ay, ay: O, lay me by my mistress' side.

    GRATIANO
    He's gone, but his wife's kill'd.

    MONTANO
    'Tis a notorious villain. Take you this weapon,
    Which I have here recover'd from the Moor:
    Come, guard the door without; let him not pass,
    But kill him rather. I'll after that same villain,
    For 'tis a damned slave.

    Exeunt MONTANO and GRATIANO

    OTHELLO
    I am not valiant neither,
    But ever puny whipster gets my sword:
    But why should honour outlive honesty?
    Let it go all.

    EMILIA
    What did thy song bode, lady?
    Hark, canst thou hear me? I will play the swan.
    And die in music.

    Singing

    Willow, willow, willow,--
    Moor, she was chaste; she loved thee, cruel Moor;
    So come my soul to bliss, as I speak true;
    So speaking as I think, I die, I die.

    Dies

    OTHELLO
    I have another weapon in this chamber;
    It is a sword of Spain, the ice-brook's temper:--
    O, here it is. Uncle, I must come forth.

    GRATIANO
    [Within] If thou attempt it, it will cost thee dear:
    Thou hast no weapon, and perforce must suffer.

    OTHELLO
    Look in upon me then and speak with me,
    Or, naked as I am, I will assault thee.

    Re-enter GRATIANO

    GRATIANO
    What is the matter?

    OTHELLO
    Behold, I have a weapon;
    A better never did itself sustain
    Upon a soldier's thigh: I have seen the day,
    That, with this little arm and this good sword,
    I have made my way through more impediments
    Than twenty times your stop: but, O vain boast!
    Who can control his fate? 'tis not so now.
    Be not afraid, though you do see me weapon'd;
    Here is my journey's end, here is my butt,
    And very sea-mark of my utmost sail.
    Do you go back dismay'd? 'tis a lost fear;
    Man but a rush against Othello's breast,
    And he retires. Where should Othello go?
    Now, how dost thou look now? O ill-starr'd wench!
    Pale as thy smock! when we shall meet at compt,
    This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven,
    And fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my girl!
    Even like thy chastity. O cursed slave!
    Whip me, ye devils,
    From the possession of this heavenly sight!
    Blow me about in winds! roast me in sulphur!
    Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire!
    O Desdemona! Desdemona! dead!
    Oh! Oh! Oh!

    Enter LODOVICO. MONTANO, CASSIO carried in a chair, and Officers with IAGO, prisoner

    LODOVICO
    Where is this rash and most unfortunate man?

    OTHELLO
    That's he that was Othello: here I am.

    LODOVICO
    Where is that viper? bring the villain forth.

    OTHELLO
    I look down towards his feet; but that's a fable.
    If that thou best a devil, I cannot kill thee.

    Wounds IAGO

    LODOVICO
    Wrench his sword from him.

    IAGO
    I bleed, sir; but not kill'd.

    OTHELLO
    I am not sorry neither: I'ld have thee live;
    For, in my sense, 'tis happiness to die.

    LODOVICO
    O thou Othello, thou wert once so good,
    Fall'n in the practise of a damned slave,
    What shall be said to thee?

    OTHELLO
    Why, any thing:
    An honourable murderer, if you will;
    For nought I did in hate, but all in honour.

    LODOVICO
    This wretch hath part confess'd his villany:
    Did you and he consent in Cassio's death?

    OTHELLO
    Ay.

    CASSIO
    Dear general, I never gave you cause.

    OTHELLO
    I do believe it, and I ask your pardon.
    Will you, I pray, demand that demi-devil
    Why he hath thus ensnared my soul and body?

    IAGO
    Demand me nothing: what you know, you know:
    From this time forth I never will speak word.

    LODOVICO
    What, not to pray?

    GRATIANO
    Torments will ope your lips.

    OTHELLO
    Well, thou dost best.

    LODOVICO
    Sir, you shall understand what hath befall'n,
    Which, as I think, you know not. Here is a letter
    Found in the pocket of the slain Roderigo;
    And here another: the one of them imports
    The death of Cassio to be undertook
    By Roderigo.

    OTHELLO
    O villain!

    CASSIO
    Most heathenish and most gross!

    LODOVICO
    Now here's another discontented paper,
    Found in his pocket too; and this, it seems,
    Roderigo meant to have sent this damned villain;
    But that belike Iago in the interim
    Came in and satisfied him.

    OTHELLO
    O the pernicious caitiff!
    How came you, Cassio, by that handkerchief
    That was my wife's?

    CASSIO
    I found it in my chamber:
    And he himself confess'd but even now
    That there he dropp'd it for a special purpose
    Which wrought to his desire.

    OTHELLO
    O fool! fool! fool!

    CASSIO
    There is besides in Roderigo's letter,
    How he upbraids Iago, that he made him
    Brave me upon the watch; whereon it came
    That I was cast: and even but now he spake,
    After long seeming dead, Iago hurt him,
    Iago set him on.

    LODOVICO
    You must forsake this room, and go with us:
    Your power and your command is taken off,
    And Cassio rules in Cyprus. For this slave,
    If there be any cunning cruelty
    That can torment him much and hold him long,
    It shall be his. You shall close prisoner rest,
    Till that the nature of your fault be known
    To the Venetian state. Come, bring him away.

    OTHELLO
    Soft you; a word or two before you go.
    I have done the state some service, and they know't.
    No more of that. I pray you, in your letters,
    When you shall these unlucky deeds relate,
    Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate,
    Nor set down aught in malice: then must you speak
    Of one that loved not wisely but too well;
    Of one not easily jealous, but being wrought
    Perplex'd in the extreme; of one whose hand,
    Like the base Indian, threw a pearl away
    Richer than all his tribe; of one whose subdued eyes,
    Albeit unused to the melting mood,
    Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees
    Their medicinal gum. Set you down this;
    And say besides, that in Aleppo once,
    Where a malignant and a turban'd Turk
    Beat a Venetian and traduced the state,
    I took by the throat the circumcised dog,
    And smote him, thus.

    Stabs himself

    LODOVICO
    O bloody period!

    GRATIANO
    All that's spoke is marr'd.

    OTHELLO
    I kiss'd thee ere I kill'd thee: no way but this;
    Killing myself, to die upon a kiss.

    Falls on the bed, and dies

    CASSIO
    This did I fear, but thought he had no weapon;
    For he was great of heart.

    LODOVICO
    [To IAGO] O Spartan dog,
    More fell than anguish, hunger, or the sea!
    Look on the tragic loading of this bed;
    This is thy work: the object poisons sight;
    Let it be hid. Gratiano, keep the house,
    And seize upon the fortunes of the Moor,
    For they succeed on you. To you, lord governor,
    Remains the censure of this hellish villain;
    The time, the place, the torture: O, enforce it!
    Myself will straight aboard: and to the state
    This heavy act with heavy heart relate.

    Exeunt
     
  6. Ema

    Ema Goddes

    Re: Shakespeare

    “Venus, with young Adonis sitting by her”


    VENUS, with young Adonis sitting by her
    Under a myrtle shade, began to woo him:
    She told the youngling how god Mars did try her,
    And as he fell to her, so fell she to him.
    ‘Even thus,’ quoth she, ‘the war-like god embrac’d me,’ 5
    And then she clipp’d Adonis in her arms;
    ‘Even thus,’ quoth she, ‘the war-like god unlac’d me,’
    As if the boy should use like loving charms.
    ‘Even thus,’ quoth she, ‘he seized on my lips,’
    And with her lips on his did act the seizure; 10
    And as she fetched breath, away he skips,
    And would not take her meaning nor her pleasure.
    Ah! that I had my lady at this bay,
    To kiss and clip me till I run away.
     
  7. Ema

    Ema Goddes

    Re: Shakespeare

    “Good night, good rest. Ah! neither be my share”


    GOOD night, good rest. Ah! neither be my share:
    She bade good night that kept my rest away;
    And daff’d me to a cabin hang’d with care,
    To descant on the doubts of my decay.
    ‘Farewell,’ quoth she, ‘and come again to-morrow:’ 5
    Fare well I could not, for I supp’d with sorrow.

    Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile,
    In scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether:
    ’T may be, she joy’d to jest at my exile,
    ’T may be, again to make me wander thither: 10
    ‘Wander,’ a word for shadows like myself,
    As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf.

    Lord! how mine eyes throw gazes to the east;
    My heart doth charge the watch; the morning rise
    Doth cite each moving sense from idle rest. 15
    Not daring trust the office of mine eyes,
    While Philomela sits and sings, I sit and mark,
    And wish her lays were tuned like the lark;

    For she doth welcome daylight with her ditty,
    And drives away dark dismal-dreaming night: 20
    The night so pack’d, I post unto my pretty;
    Heart hath his hope, and eyes their wished sight;
    Sorrow chang’d to solace, solace mix’d with sorrow;
    For why, she sigh’d and bade me come to-morrow.

    Were I with her, the night would post too soon; 25
    But now are minutes added to the hours;
    To spite me now, each minute seems a moon;
    Yet not for me, shine sun to succour flowers!
    Pack night, peep day; good day, of night now borrow:
    Short, night, to-night, and length thyself to-morrow.
     
  8. Ema

    Ema Goddes

    Re: Shakespeare

    The Passionate Pilgrim, V.

    “If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love?”


    IF love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love?
    O! never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow’d:
    Though to myself forsworn, to thee I ’ll constant prove;
    Those thoughts, to me like oaks, to thee like osiers bow’d.
    Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes, 5
    Where all those pleasures live that art can comprehend.
    If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice;
    Well learned is that tongue that well can thee commend;
    All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder;
    Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire: 10
    Thine eye Jove’s lightning seems, thy voice his dreadful thunder,
    Which, not to anger bent, is music and sweet fire,
    Celestial as thou art, O! do not love that wrong,
    To sing heaven’s praise with such an earthly tongue.
     
  9. Ema

    Ema Goddes

    Re: Shakespeare

    The Passionate Pilgrim, I.

    “When my love swears that she is made of truth”


    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,
    Unskilful in the world’s false forgeries.
    Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young, 5
    Although I know my years be past the best,
    I smiling credit her false-speaking tongue,
    Outfacing faults in love with love’s ill rest.
    But wherefore says my love that she is young?
    And wherefore say not I that I am old? 10
    O! love’s best habit is a soothing tongue,
    And age, in love, loves not to have years told.
    Therefore I ’ll lie with love, and love with me,
    Since that our faults in love thus smother’d be.
     
  10. Ema

    Ema Goddes

    Re: Shakespeare

    The Passionate Pilgrim, X.

    “Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluck’d, soon vaded”


    SWEET rose, fair flower, untimely pluck’d, soon vaded,
    Pluck’d in the bud, and vaded in the spring!
    Bright orient pearl, alack! too timely shaded;
    Fair creature, kill’d too soon by death’s sharp sting!
    Like a green plum that hangs upon a tree, 5
    And falls, through wind, before the fall should be.

    I weep for thee, and yet no cause I have;
    For why thou left’st me nothing in thy will:
    And yet thou left’st me more than I did crave;
    For why I craved nothing of thee still: 10
    O yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee,
    Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me.
     
  11. Ema

    Ema Goddes

    Re: Shakespeare

    Sonnet II.

    “When forty winters shall besiege thy brow”


    WHEN forty winters shall besiege thy brow
    And dig deep trenches in thy beauty’s field,
    Thy youth’s proud livery, so gaz’d on now,
    Will be a tatter’d weed, of small worth held:
    Then being ask’d, where all thy beauty lies, 5
    Where all the treasure of thy lusty days,
    To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes,
    Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise.
    How much more praise deserv’d thy beauty’s use,
    If thou couldst answer ‘This fair child of mine 10
    Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,’
    Proving his beauty by succession thine!
    This were to be new made when thou art old,
    And see thy blood warm when thou feel’st it cold.
     
  12. Ema

    Ema Goddes

    Re: Shakespeare

    Sonnet XL.

    “Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all”


    TAKE all my loves, my love, yea, take them all
    What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?
    No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call;
    All mine was thine before thou hadst this more.
    Then, if for my love thou my love receivest, 5
    I cannot blame thee for my love thou usest;
    But yet be blam’d, if thou thyself deceivest
    By wilful taste of what thyself refusest.
    I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief,
    Although thou steal thee all my poverty; 10
    And yet, love knows it is a greater grief
    To bear love’s wrong than hate’s known injury.
    Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,
    Kill me with spites; yet we must not be foes.
     
  13. Ema

    Ema Goddes

    Re: Shakespeare

    Sonnet LVI.

    “Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said”


    SWEET love, renew thy force; be it not said
    Thy edge should blunter be than appetite,
    Which but to-day by feeding is allay’d,
    To-morrow sharpen’d in his former might:
    So, love, be thou; although to-day thou fill 5
    Thy hungry eyes, even till they wink with fulness,
    To-morrow see again, and do not kill
    The spirit of love with a perpetual dulness.
    Let this sad interim like the ocean be
    Which parts the shore, where two contracted new 10
    Come daily to the banks, that, when they see
    Return of love, more bless’d may be the view;
    Or call it winter, which, being full of care,
    Makes summer’s welcome thrice more wish’d, more rare.
     
  14. Ema

    Ema Goddes

    Re: Shakespeare

    Sonnet LVII.

    “Being your slave, what should I do but tend”


    BEING your slave, what should I do but tend
    Upon the hours and times of your desire?
    I have no precious time at all to spend,
    Nor services to do, till you require.
    Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour, 5
    Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
    Nor think the bitterness of absence sour
    When you have bid your servant once adieu;
    Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
    Where you may be, or your affairs suppose, 10
    But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought,
    Save, where you are how happy you make those.
    So true a fool is love that in your will,
    Though you do anything, he thinks no ill.
     
  15. Ema

    Ema Goddes

    Re: Shakespeare

    Sonnet XCVIII.

    “From you have I been absent in the spring”


    FROM you have I been absent in the spring
    When proud-pied April, dress’d in all his trim,
    Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing,
    That heavy Saturn laugh’d and leap’d with him.
    Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell 5
    Of different flowers in odour and in hue,
    Could make me any summer’s story tell,
    Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew:
    Nor did I wonder at the lily’s white,
    Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose; 10
    They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
    Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
    Yet seem’d it winter still, and you away,
    As with your shadow I with these did play.
     
  16. Ema

    Ema Goddes

    Re: Shakespeare

    Sonnet CXIII.

    “Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind”


    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 5
    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, 10
    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 untrue.
     
  17. Ema

    Ema Goddes

    Re: Shakespeare

    Sonnet CXXXIX.

    “O! call not me to justify the wrong”


    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, 5
    Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside:
    What need’st thou wound with cunning, when thy might
    Is more than my o’erpress’d defence can bide?
    Let me excuse thee: ah! my love well knows
    Her pretty looks have been my enemies; 10
    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.
     
  18. Ema

    Ema Goddes

    Re: Shakespeare

    Sonnet CLIII.

    “Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep”


    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 borrow’d from this holy fire of Love 5
    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; 10
    I, sick withal, the help of bath desired,
    And thither hied, a sad distemper’d guest,
    But found no cure: the bath for my help lies
    Where Cupid got new fire, my mistress’ eyes.
     
  19. Ema

    Ema Goddes

    Re: Shakespeare

    Sonnets to Sundry Notes of Music, V.

    “Live with me, and be my love”


    LIVE with me, and be my love,
    And we will all the pleasures prove
    That hills and valleys, dales and fields,
    And all the craggy mountains yields.

    There will we sit upon the rocks, 5
    And see the shepherds feed their flocks,
    By shallow rivers, by whose falls
    Melodious birds sing madrigals.

    There will I make thee a bed of roses,
    With a thousand fragrant posies, 10
    A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
    Embroider’d all with leaves of myrtle.

    A belt of straw and ivy buds,
    With coral clasps and amber studs;
    And if these pleasures may thee move, 15
    Then live with me and be my love.

    LOVE’S ANSWER

    If that the world and love were young,
    And truth in every shepherd’s tongue,
    These pretty pleasures might me move,
    To live with thee and be thy love.
     
  20. Diabolis Dassaretis

    Diabolis Dassaretis Forumium praecox

    Re: Shakespeare

    The Passionate Pilgrim botuar filimisht 20 sonetet e para në 1599. Një botim i dytë i ka humbur. Në botimin e tretë 1612, ka shtesa nga i pari të marra nga Thomas Heywood Troia Britanica (1609) autori i mërzitur, i mërzitur dhe Shekspiri për piracinë që botuesit e kishin bërë.
    Prej atij çasti është një listë e gjatë me vargjet e atyre 20 soneteve që ju përkasin të tjerëve. Nga ato që kam lexuar vetë:
    Vargjet: Live with me, ande be my love
    ... etj
    janë të Marlowe botuar England's Helicon (1600) të shoqëruara me përgjigjen "The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd" që i takojnë Sir Walter Raleigh.
    që mund të gjenden tek ndonjë antologji e poezisë angleze.
    E historia e Shekspirit ka dhe një të vetme poemë tjetër A Lover's Complaint për të cilën siç thonë kritikët "there are only a few reasons for assingning."
    Gjithsesi në do të kem gjithmonë dy mundësi do të zgjedh Shekspirin.
     

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