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DESPAIR

And now she beats her heart, whereat it groans,
That all the neighbor caves, as seeming troubled,
Make verbal repetition of her moans.
Passion upon passion deeply is redoubled:
     'Ay me!' she cries, and twenty times 'Woe, woe!'
     And twenty echoes twenty times cry so.

     ...Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe,
     And still the choir of echoes answer so.

Shakespeare, VENUS AND ADONIS

ECSTASY

Awake O north wind; and come thou south; blow
upon my garden that the spices thereof may flow out.
Let my beloved come into his garden, and eat
his pleasant fruits.

SONG OF SONGS

HATE

Hear, nature, hear...
Suspend thy purpose, if thou didst intend
To make this creature fruitful!
Into her womb convey sterility!
Dry up in her the organs of increase;
And from her derogate body never spring
A babe to honour her! If she must teem,
Create her child of spleen; that it may live,
And be a thwart disnatured torment to her!

Shakespeare, KING LEAR

LUST

Call it not Love, for Love to heaven is fled
Since sweating Lust on earth usurp'd his name;
Under whose simple semblance he hath fed
Upon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame;
     Which the hot tyrant stains and soon bereaves
     As caterpillars do the tender leaves.

Shakespeare, VENUS AND ADONIS

TERROR

Imagine her as one in dead of night
From forth dull sleep by dreadful fancy waking,
That thinks she hath beheld some ghastly sprite,
Whose grim aspect sets every joint a-shaking;
What terror 'tis! but she, in worser taking,
     From sleep disturbed, heedfully doth view
     The sight which makes supposed terror true.

Shakespeare, THE RAPE OF LUCRECE

JEALOUSY

This sour informer, this bate-breeding spy,
This canker that eats up Love's tender spring,
This carry-tale, dissentious Jealousy,
That sometimes true news, sometimes false doth bring,
Knocks at my heart, and whispers in my ear
That if I love thee, I thy death should fear.

Shakespeare, VENUS AND ADONIS

JOY

     For, lo, the winter is past, the ran is over and gone;
     The flowers appear on the earth: the time of the
singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle
is heard in our land;
     The fig tree putteth forth her green figs. and the
vines with the tender grape give a good smell.
Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.

SONG OF SONGS

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