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[from Sonnets by William Shakespeare]

20

A womans face with nature's own hand painted,
Hast thou, the master mistress of my passion;
A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted
With shifting change, as is false womens fashion:
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling,
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth;
A man in hue all hues in his controlling,
Which steals men's eyes and womens souls amazeth.
And for a woman wert thou first created;
Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting,
And by addition me of thee defeated,
By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.
   But since she prick'd thee out for women's pleasure,

   Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure.

36

Let me confess that we two must be twain,
Although our undivided loves are one:
So shall those blots that do with me remain,
Without thy help, by me be borne alone.
In our two loves there is but one respect,
Though in our lives a separable spite,
Which though it alter not loves sole effect,
Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight
I may not ever-more acknowledge thee,
Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame,
Nor thou with public kindness honour me,
Unless thou take that honour from thy name:
   But do not so, I love thee in such sort,
   As thou being mine, mine is thy good report.

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Riddle 47 Twiddled a Little

A worm ate words. I thought that wonderfully

Strange—a miracle—when they told me a crawling

Insect had swallowed noble songs,

A nighttime thief had stolen writing

So famous, so weighty. But the prowler was foolish

Still, though its belly was full of thought.

---

From Middle English Lyrics, #51

I ne have joy, pleasauns, nor comfort,

In youre absens, my verrey hertes queen.

What other men think joy or disport,

To me it nis but anger or tene;

If that I laugh, it is but on the splene.

Thus make I a gladful sorry chere,

So noyth me the absens of my verrey lady dere.