Reference > William Shakespeare > The Oxford Shakespeare > Index of First Lines
WS
William
Shakespeare
 
Index of First Lines
 
Accuse me thus: that I have scanted all
Against my love shall be, as I am now
Against that time, if ever that time come
Ah! wherefore with infection should he live
Alack! what poverty my Muse brings forth
Alas! ’tis true I have gone here and there
As a decrepit father takes delight
As an unperfect actor on the stage
As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow’st
As it fell upon a day
A woman’s face with Nature’s own hand painted

Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good
Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan
Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took
Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press
But be contented: when that fell arrest
But do thy worst to steal thyself away
But wherefore do not you a mightier way

Canst thou, O cruel! say I love thee not
Crabbed age and youth cannot live together
Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep

Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion’s paws
Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye

Even as the sun with purple-colour’d face

Fair is my love, but not so fair as fickle
Fair was the morn when the fair queen of love
Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing
For shame! deny that thou bear’st love to any
From fairest creatures we desire increase
From off a hill whose concave womb re-worded
From the besieged Ardea all in post
From you have I been absent in the spring
Full many a glorious morning have I seen

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

How can I then return in happy plight
How can my Muse want subject to invent
How careful was I when I took my way
How heavy do I journey on the way
How like a winter hath my absence been
How oft when thou, my music, music play’st
How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame

If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love?
If music and sweet poetry agree
If my dear love were but the child of state
If the dull substance of my flesh were thought
If there be nothing new, but that which is
If thou survive my well-contented day
If thy soul check thee that I come so near
I grant thou wert not married to my Muse
I never saw that you did painting need
In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes
In loving thee thou know’st I am forsworn
In the old age black was not counted fair
Is it for fear to wet a widow’s eye
Is it thy will thy image should keep open
It was a lording’s daughter, the fairest one of three

Let me confess that we two must be twain
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Let not my love be call’d idolatry
Let the bird of loudest lay
Let those who are in favour with their stars
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore
Like as, to make our appetites more keen
Live with me, and be my love
Lo, as a careful housewife runs to catch
Lo! in the orient when the gracious light
Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest
Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage
Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate
Love is too young to know what conscience is

Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war
Mine eye hath play’d the painter and hath stell’d
Music to hear, why hear’st thou music sadly?
My flocks feed not
My glass shall not persuade me I am old
My love is as a fever, longing still
My love is strengthen’d, though more weak in seeming
My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun
My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still

No longer mourn for me when I am dead
No more be griev’d at that which thou hast done
Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck
No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change
Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul

O! call not me to justify the wrong
O! for my sake do you with Fortune chide
O! from what power hast thou this powerful might
O! how I faint when I of you do write
O! how much more doth beauty beauteous seem
O! how thy worth with manners may I sing
O! lest the world should task you to recite
O me! what eyes hath Love put in my head
On a day, alack the day!
O! never say that I was false of heart
Or I shall live your epitaph to make\
Or whether doth my mind, being crown’d with you
O! that you were yourself; but, love you are
O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power
O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends

Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth

Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault
Scarce had the sun dried up the dewy morn
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea
Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind
Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye
So am I as the rich, whose blessed key
So are you to my thoughts as food to life
So is it not with me as with that Muse
Some glory in their birth, some in their skill
Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness
So, now I have confess’d that he is thine
So oft have I invok’d thee for my Muse
So shall I live, supposing thou art true
Sweet Cytherea, sitting by a brook
Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said
Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluck’d, soon vaded

Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all
That god forbid that made me first your slave
That thou art blam’d shall not be thy defect
That thou hast her, it is not all my grief
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
That you were once unkind befriends me now
The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
The forward violet thus did I chide
The little Love-god lying once asleep
Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now
Then let not winter’s ragged hand deface
The other two, slight air and purging fire
They that have power to hurt and will do none
Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me
Those hours, that with gentle work did frame
Those lines that I before have writ do lie
Those lips that Love’s own hand did make
Those parts of thee that the world’s eye doth view
Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits
Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art
Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes
Thus can my love excuse the slow offence
Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn
Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts
Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain
Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear
Tir’d with all these, for restful death I cry
Tis better to be vile than vile esteem’d
To me, fair friend, you never can be old
Two loves I have of comfort and despair
Two loves I have of comfort and despair

Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend

Venus, with young Adonis sitting by her

Was it the proud full sail of his great verse
Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed
Were ’t aught to me I bore the canopy
What is your substance, whereof are you made
What potions have I drunk of Siren tears
What ’s in the brain, that ink may character
Whenas thine eye hath chose the dame
When forty winters shall besiege thy brow
When I consider every thing that grows
When I do count the clock that tells the time
When I have seen by Time’s fell hand defac’d
When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes
When in the chronicle of wasted time
When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see
When my love swears that she is made of truth
When my love swears that she is made of truth
When thou shalt be dispos’d to set me light
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget’st so long
Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid
Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy Will
Who is it that says most? which can say more
Who will believe my verse in time to come
Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day
Why is my verse so barren of new pride

Your love and pity doth the impression fill



 
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