Relationships and Family

For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

When my love swears that she is made of truth, I do believe her, though I know she lies.

Two loves I have of comfort and despair, Which like two spirits do suggest me still.

And ruin’d love, when it is built anew, Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater.

That is my home of love: if I have rang’d, Like him that travels, I return again.

O! never say that I was false of heart, Though absence seem’d my flame to qualify.

In sleep a king, but, waking, no such matter.

Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing, And like enough thou know’st thy estimate.

Against that time when thou shalt strangely pass, And scarcely greet me with that sun, thine eye, When love, converted from the thing it was, Shall reasons find of settled gravity.

As she would catch another Antony In her strong toil of grace.

Dost thou not see my baby at my breast, That sucks the nurse asleep?

I am dying, Egypt, dying; only I here importune death awhile, until Of many thousand kisses the poor last I lay upon thy lips.

But I will be A bridegroom in my death, and run into ’t As to a lover’s bed.

I found you as a morsel, cold upon Dead Caesar’s trencher.

Eternity was in our lips and eyes, Bliss in our brows bent.

You shall see in him The triple pillar of the world transform’d Into a strumpet’s fool.

And be these juggling fiends no more believ’d, That palter with us in a double sense; That keep the word of promise to our ear And break it to our hope.

Had I but died an hour before this chance I had liv’d a blessed time; for, from this instant, There’s nothing serious in mortality, All is but toys; renown and grace is dead, The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees Is left this vault to brag of.

I have given suck, and know How tender ’tis to love the babe that milks me: I would, while it was smiling in my face, Have pluck’d my nipple from his boneless gums, And dash’d the brains out, had I so sworn as you Have done to this.

Duncan: This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself Unto our gentle senses. Banquo: This guest of summer, The temple-haunting martlet, does approve By his lov’d mansionry that the heaven’s breath Smells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze, Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird Hath made his pendent bed and procreant cradle: Where they most breed and haunt, I have observ’d The air is delicate.

There’s no art To find the mind’s construction in the face: He was a gentleman on whom I built An absolute trust.

And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, The instruments of darkness tell us truths, Win us with honest trifles, to betray ’s In deepest consequence.

O! the fierce wretchedness that glory brings us.

That sir which serves and seeks for gain, And follows but for form, Will pack when it begins to rain, And leave thee in the storm.