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Shakespeare quotes on beautyHow much more praise deserved thy beauty's use, If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse' Proving his beauty by succession thine For never-resting time leads Source: THE SONNETS Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place, With beauty's treasure ere it be self-killed O change thy thought, that I may change my mind, Shall hate be fairer lodged than gentle love? Be as thy presence is gracious and kind, Or to thy self at least kind-hearted prove, Make thee another self for love of me, That beauty still may live in thine or thee But I forbid thee one most heinous crime, O carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow, Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen, Him in thy course untainted do allow, For beauty's pattern to succeeding men 'Tis thee (my self) that for my self I praise, Painting my age with beauty of thy days For such a time do I now fortify Against confounding age's cruel knife, That he shall never cut from memory My sweet love's beauty, though my lover's life Before the golden tresses of the dead, The right of sepulchres, were shorn away, To live a second life on second head, Ere beauty's dead fleece made another gay In him those holy antique hours are seen, Without all ornament, it self and true, Making no summer of another's green, Robbing no old to dress his beauty new, And him as for a map doth Nature store, To show false Art what beauty was of yore 101 O truant Muse what shall be thy amends, For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed? Both truth and beauty on my love depends Make answer Muse, wilt thou not haply say, 'Truth needs no colour with his colour fixed, Beauty Source: THE SONNETS 104 To me fair friend you never can be old, For as you were when first your eye I eyed, Such seems your beauty still For fear of which, hear this thou age unbred, Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead 106 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 expressed, Even such a beauty as you master now Therefore my mistress' eyes are raven black, Her eyes so suited, and they mourners seem, At such who not born fair no beauty lack, Slandering creation with a false esteem, Yet so they mourn becoming of their woe, That every tongue says beauty should look so Alas, what danger will it be to us, Maids as we are, to travel forth so far! Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favour'd; for honesty coupled to beauty is to have honey a sauce to sugar Ay, truly; for the power of beauty will sooner transform honesty from what it is to a bawd than the force of honesty can translate beauty into his likeness Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not us that are squires of the night's body be called thieves of the day's beauty Her vine, the merry cheerer of the heart, Unpruned dies; her hedges even-pleach'd, Like prisoners wildly overgrown with hair, Put forth disorder'd twigs; her fallow leas The darnel, hemlock, and rank fumitory, Doth root upon, while that the coulter rusts That should deracinate such savagery; The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover, Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank, Conceives by idleness, and nothing teems But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs, Losing both beauty and utility In complete glory she reveal'd herself; And whereas I was black and swart before, With those clear rays which she infus'd on me That beauty am I bless'd with which you may see As plays the sun upon the glassy streams, Twinkling another counterfeited beam, So seems this gorgeous beauty to mine eyes Henry my lord is cold in great affairs, Too full of foolish pity; and Gloucester's show Beguiles him as the mournful crocodile With sorrow snares relenting passengers; Or as the snake, roll'd in a flow'ring bank, With shining checker'd slough, doth sting a child That for the beauty thinks it excellent [To BONA] And, gracious madam, in our king's behalf, I am commanded, with your leave and favour, Humbly to kiss your hand, and with my tongue To tell the passion of my sovereign's heart; Where fame, late ent'ring at his heedful ears, Hath plac'd thy beauty's image and thy virtue O, 'tis true; This night he makes a supper, and a great one, To many lords and ladies; there will be The beauty of this kingdom, I'll assure you The rich stream Of lords and ladies, having brought the Queen To a prepar'd place in the choir, fell of A distance from her, while her Grace sat down To rest awhile, some half an hour or so, In a rich chair of state, opposing freely The beauty of her person to the people O paradox! Black is the badge of hell, The hue of dungeons, and the school of night; And beauty's crest becomes the heavens well Thus wisdom wishes to appear most bright When it doth tax itself; as these black masks Proclaim an enshielded beauty ten times louder Than beauty could, display'd If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide, These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears, Sham'd their aspects with store of childish drops- These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear, No, when my father York and Edward wept To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made When black-fac'd Clifford shook his sword at him; Nor when thy warlike father, like a child, Told the sad story of my father's death, And twenty times made pause to sob and weep That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks Like trees bedash'd with rain-in that sad time My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear; And what these sorrows could not thence exhale Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping [He lays his breast open; she offers at it with his sword] Nay, do not pause; for I did kill King Henry- But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me Their lips were four red roses on a stalk, And in their summer beauty kiss'd each other Both by myself and many other friend; But he, his own affections' counsellor, Is to himself- I will not say how true- But to himself so secret and so close, So far from sounding and discovery, As is the bud bit with an envious worm Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air Or dedicate his beauty to the sun She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste; For beauty, starv'd with her severity, Cuts beauty off from all posterity Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night O, how may I Call this a lightning? O my love! my wife! Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty Thou grumblest and railest every hour on Achilles; and thou art as full of envy at his greatness as Cerberus is at Proserpina's beauty-ay, that thou bark'st at him If that this simple syllogism will serve, so; if it will not, what remedy? As there is no true cuckold but calamity, so beauty's a flower 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 Quotes for: Shakespeare Quotes
Source: Project Gutenburg Texts
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