Relationships and Family

And dare love that, and say so too, And forget the He and She.

But he who loveliness within Hath found, all outward loathes, For he who color loves, and skin, Loves but their oldest clothes.

And swear No where Lives a woman true, and fair.

Though she were true, when you met her, And last, till you write your letter, Yet she Will be False, ere I come, to two, or three.

My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears, And true plain hearts do in the faces rest, Where can we find two better hemispheres Without sharp North, without declining West?

I wonder by my troth, what thou, and I Did, till we lov’d? were we not wean’d till then But suck’d on country pleasures, childishly? Or snorted we in the seven sleepers’ den?

And now good morrow to our waking souls, Which watch not one another out of fear; For love, all love of other sights controls, And makes one little room, an everywhere. Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone, Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown, Let us possess one world, each hath one, and is one.

If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me; I had it from my father.

Ferdinand: … Here’s my hand. Miranda: And mine, with my heart in’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.