The Complete Works of William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare (book suggestions TXT) 📖

Myself to see the issue.

PAULINA. There’s time enough for that,

Lest they desire upon this push to trouble Your joys with like relation. Go together, You precious winners all; your exultation Partake to every one. I, an old turtle, Will wing me to some wither’d bough, and there My mate, that’s never to be found again, Lament till I am lost.

LEONTES. O peace, Paulina!

Thou shouldst a husband take by my consent, As I by thine a wife. This is a match, And made between’s by vows. Thou hast found mine; But how, is to be question’d; for I saw her, As I thought, dead; and have, in vain, said many A prayer upon her grave. I’ll not seek far-For him, I partly know his mind-to find thee An honourable husband. Come, Camillo, And take her by the hand whose worth and honesty Is richly noted, and here justified

By us, a pair of kings. Let’s from this place.

What! look upon my brother. Both your pardons, That e’er I put between your holy looks My ill suspicion. This your son-in-law, And son unto the King, whom heavens directing, Is troth-plight to your daughter. Good Paulina, Lead us from hence where we may leisurely Each one demand and answer to his part Perform’d in this wide gap of time since first We were dissever’d. Hastily lead away. Exeunt THE END

 

<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM

SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS

PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE

WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE

DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS

PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED

COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY

SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>

 

1609

 

A LOVER’S COMPLAINT

 

by William Shakespeare

 

From off a hill whose concave womb reworded A plaintful story from a sist’ring vale, My spirits t’attend this double voice accorded, And down I laid to list the sad-tuned tale, Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale, Tearing of papers, breaking rings atwain, Storming her world with sorrow’s wind and rain.

 

Upon her head a platted hive of straw,

Which fortified her visage from the sun, Whereon the thought might think sometime it saw The carcase of a beauty spent and done.

Time had not scythed all that youth begun, Nor youth all quit, but spite of heaven’s fell rage Some beauty peeped through lattice of seared age.

 

Oft did she heave her napkin to her eyne, Which on it had conceited characters,

Laund’ring the silken figures in the brine That seasoned woe had pelleted in tears, And often reading what contents it bears; As often shrieking undistinguished woe, In clamours of all size, both high and low.

 

Sometimes her levelled eyes their carriage ride, As they did batt’ry to the spheres intend; Sometime diverted their poor balls are tied To th’ orbed earth; sometimes they do extend Their view right on; anon their gazes lend To every place at once, and nowhere fixed, The mind and sight distractedly commixed.

 

Her hair, nor loose nor tied in formal plat, Proclaimed in her a careless hand of pride; For some, untucked, descended her sheaved hat, Hanging her pale and pined cheek beside; Some in her threaden fillet still did bide, And, true to bondage, would not break from thence, Though slackly braided in loose negligence.

 

A thousand favours from a maund she drew Of amber, crystal, and of beaded jet,

Which one by one she in a river threw,

Upon whose weeping margent she was set; Like usury applying wet to wet,

Or monarchs’ hands that lets not bounty fall Where want cries some, but where excess begs all.

 

Of folded schedules had she many a one, Which she perused, sighed, tore, and gave the flood; Cracked many a ring of posied gold and bone, Bidding them find their sepulchres in mud; Found yet moe letters sadly penned in blood, With sleided silk feat and affectedly

Enswathed and sealed to curious secrecy.

 

These often bathed she in her fluxive eyes, And often kissed, and often ‘gan to tear; Cried, ‘O false blood, thou register of lies, What unapproved witness dost thou bear!

Ink would have seemed more black and damned here!

This said, in top of rage the lines she rents, Big discontents so breaking their contents.

 

A reverend man that grazed his cattle nigh, Sometime a blusterer that the ruffle knew Of court, of city, and had let go by

The swiftest hours observed as they flew, Towards this afflicted fancy fastly drew; And, privileged by age, desires to know In brief the grounds and motives of her woe.

 

So slides he down upon his grained bat, And comely distant sits he by her side; When he again desires her, being sat,

Her grievance with his hearing to divide.

If that from him there may be aught applied Which may her suffering ecstasy assuage, ‘Tis promised in the charity of age.

 

‘Father,’ she says, ‘though in me you behold The injury of many a blasting hour,

Let it not tell your judgement I am old: Not age, but sorrow, over me hath power.

I might as yet have been a spreading flower, Fresh to myself, if I had self-applied

Love to myself, and to no love beside.

 

‘But woe is me! too early I attended

A youthful suit-it was to gain my grace-O, one by nature’s outwards so commended That maidens’ eyes stuck over all his face.

Love lacked a dwelling and made him her place; And when in his fair parts she did abide, She was new lodged and newly deified.

 

‘His browny locks did hang in crooked curls; And every light occasion of the wind

Upon his lips their silken parcels hurls.

What’s sweet to do, to do will aptly find: Each eye that saw him did enchant the mind; For on his visage was in little drawn

What largeness thinks in Paradise was sawn.

 

‘Small show of man was yet upon his chin; His phoenix down began but to appear,

Like unshorn velvet, on that termless skin, Whose bare out-bragged the web it seemed to wear: Yet showed his visage by that cost more dear; And nice affections wavering stood in doubt If best were as it was, or best without.

 

‘His qualities were beauteous as his form, For maiden-tongued he was, and thereof free; Yet if men moved him, was he such a storm As oft ‘twixt May and April is to see,

When winds breathe sweet, unruly though they be.

His rudeness so with his authorized youth Did livery falseness in a pride of truth.

 

‘Well could he ride, and often men would say, “That horse his mettle from his rider takes: Proud of subjection, noble by the sway, What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop he makes!”

And controversy hence a question takes

Whether the horse by him became his deed, Or he his manage by th’ well-doing steed.

 

‘But quickly on this side the verdict went: His real habitude gave life and grace

To appertainings and to ornament,

Accomplished in himself, not in his case, All aids, themselves made fairer by their place, Came for additions; yet their purposed trim Pierced not his grace, but were all graced by him.

 

‘So on the tip of his subduing tongue

All kind of arguments and question deep, All replication prompt, and reason strong, For his advantage still did wake and sleep.

To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep, He had the dialect and different skill, Catching all passions in his craft of will, ‘That he did in the general bosom reign Of young, of old, and sexes both enchanted, To dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain In personal duty, following where he haunted.

Consents bewitched, ere he desire, have granted, And dialogued for him what he would say, Asked their own wills, and made their wills obey.

 

‘Many there were that did his picture get, To serve their eyes, and in it put their mind; Like fools that in th’ imagination set

The goodly objects which abroad they find Of lands and mansions, theirs in thought assigned; And labouring in moe pleasures to bestow them Than the true gouty landlord which doth owe them.

 

‘So many have, that never touched his hand, Sweetly supposed them mistress of his heart.

My woeful self, that did in freedom stand, And was my own fee-simple, not in part, What with his art in youth, and youth in art, Threw my affections in his charmed power Reserved the stalk and gave him all my flower.

 

‘Yet did I not, as some my equals did,

Demand of him, nor being desired yielded; Finding myself in honour so forbid,

With safest distance I mine honour shielded.

Experience for me many bulwarks builded Of proofs new-bleeding, which remained the foil Of this false jewel, and his amorous spoil.

 

‘But ah, who ever shunned by precedent

The destined ill she must herself assay?

Or forced examples, ‘gainst her own content, To put the by-past perils in her way?

Counsel may stop awhile what will not stay; For when we rage, advice is often seen

By blunting us to make our wills more keen.

 

‘Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood That we must curb it upon others’ proof, To be forbod the sweets that seems so good For fear of harms that preach in our behoof.

O appetite, from judgement stand aloof!

The one a palate hath that needs will taste, Though Reason weep, and cry it is thy last.

 

‘For further I could say this man’s untrue, And knew the patterns of his foul beguiling; Heard where his plants in others’ orchards grew; Saw how deceits were gilded in his smiling; Knew vows were ever brokers to defiling; Thought characters and words merely but art, And bastards of his foul adulterate heart.

 

‘And long upon these terms I held my city, Till thus he ‘gan besiege me: “Gentle maid, Have of my suffering youth some feeling pity, And be not of my holy vows afraid.

That’s to ye sworn to none was ever said; For feasts of love I have been called unto, Till now did ne’er invite nor never woo.

 

‘“All my offences that abroad you see

Are errors of the blood, none of the mind; Love made them not; with acture they may be, Where neither party is nor true nor kind.

They sought their shame that so their shame did find; And so much less of shame in me remains By how much of me their reproach contains.

 

‘“Among the many that mine eyes have seen, Not one whose flame my heart so much as warmed, Or my affection put to th’ smallest teen, Or any of my leisures ever charmed.

Harm have I done to them, but ne’er was harmed; Kept hearts in liveries, but mine own was free, And reigned commanding in his monarchy.

 

‘“Look here what tributes wounded fancies sent me, Of paled pearls and rubies red as blood; Figuring that they their passions likewise lent me Of grief and blushes, aptly understood

In bloodless white and the encrimsoned mood-Effects of terror and dear modesty,

Encamped in hearts, but fighting outwardly.

 

‘“And, lo, behold these talents of their hair, With twisted metal amorously empleached, I have receiv’d from many a several fair, Their kind acceptance weepingly beseeched, With the annexions of fair gems enriched, And deep-brained sonnets that did amplify Each stone’s dear nature, worth, and quality.

 

‘“The diamond? why, ‘twas beautiful and hard, Whereto his invised properties did tend; The deep-green em’rald, in whose fresh regard Weak sights their sickly