I have heard you say, Honor and policy, like unsevered friends, I' th' war do grow together. You are too absolute Though therein you can never be too noble, But when extremities speak. Keep then fair league and truce with thy true bed I live disdained, thou undishonorèd. For if we two be one, and thou play false, I do digest the poison of thy flesh, Being strumpeted by thy contagion. I am possessed with an adulterate blot My blood is mingled with the crime of lust.
#And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars skin#
How dearly would it touch thee to the quick, Shouldst thou but hear I were licentious, And that this body, consecrate to thee, By ruffian lust should be contaminate! Wouldst thou not spit at me, and spurn at me, And hurl the name of husband in my face, And tear the stained skin off my harlot-brow, And from my false hand cut the wedding-ring, And break it with a deep-divorcing vow? I know thou canst, and therefore see thou do it. Ah, do not tear away thyself from me! For know, my love, as easy mayst thou fall A drop of water in the breaking gulf, And take unmingled thence that drop again Without addition of diminishing, As take from me thyself and not me too. How comes it now, my husband, O, how comes it, That thou art then estrangèd from thyself? Thyself I call it, being strange to me, That, undividable, incorporate, Am better than thy dear self's better part. The time was once when thou unurged wouldst vow That never words were music to thine ear, That never object pleasing in thine eye, That never touch well welcome to thy hand, That never meat sweet-savored in thy taste, Unless I spake, or looked, or touched, or carved to thee. Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects I am not Adriana, nor thy wife. Wilt thou, Silvius?Īy, ay, Antipholus, look strange and frown. I'll write to him a very taunting letter, And thou shalt bear it. But that's all one omittance is no quittance. There be some women, Silvius, had they marked him In parcels as I did, would have gone near To fall in love with him but, for my part, I love him not nor hate him not and yet I have more cause to hate him than to love him For what had he to do to chide at me? He said mine eyes were black and my hair black And, now I am rememb'red, scorned at me. There was a pretty redness in his lip, A little riper and more lusty red Than that mixed in his cheek 'twas just the difference Betwixt the constant red and mingled damask. He is not very tall yet for his year's he's tall. The best thing in him Is his complexion and faster than his tongue Did make offense, his eye did heal it up. It is a pretty youth not very pretty But sure he's proud and yet his pride becomes him. But what care I for words? Yet words do well When he that speaks them pleases those that hear. Think not I love him, though I ask for him 'Tis but a peevish boy yet he talks well.
My dearest madam, Let not your hate encounter with my love, For loving where you do but if yourself, Whose agèd honor cites a virtuous youth, Did ever in so true a flame of liking, Wish chastely and love dearly, that your Dian Was both herself and Love, O, then give pity To her whose state is such that cannot choose But lend and give where she is sure to lose That seeks not to find that her search implies, But, riddle-like, lives sweetly where she dies. Thus, Indian-like, Religious in mine error, I adore The sun that looks upon his worshipper But knows of him no more. I know I love in vain, strive against hope Yet in this captious and intensible sieve I still pour in the waters of my love And lack not to lose still.
I follow him not By any token of presumptuous suit, Nor would I have him till I do deserve him Yet never know how that desert should be.
Be not offended, for it hurts not him That he is loved of me.
My friends were poor but honest so's my love. HELENA: I confess Here on my knee before high heaven and you, That before you, and next unto high heaven, I love your son.
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