A Lover's Complaint
FROM
off
a
hill
whose
concave
womb
reworded
A
plaintful
story
from
a
sistering
vale,
My
spirits
to
attend
this
double
voice
accorded,
And
down
I
laid
to
list
the
sad-tuned
tale;
Ere
long
espied
a
fickle
maid
full
pale,
Tearing
of
papers,
breaking
rings
a-twain,
Storming
her
world
with
sorrow's
wind
and
rain.
Upon
her
head
a
platted
hive
of
straw,
Which
fortified
her
visage
from
the
sun,
Whereon
the
thought
might
think
sometime
it
saw
The
carcass
of
beauty
spent
and
done:
Time
had
not
scythed
all
that
youth
begun,
Nor
youth
all
quit;
but,
spite
of
heaven's
fell
rage,
Some
beauty
peep'd
through
lattice
of
sear'd
age.
Oft
did
she
heave
her
napkin
to
her
eyne,
Which
on
it
had
conceited
characters,
Laundering
the
silken
figures
in
the
brine
That
season'd
woe
had
pelleted
in
tears,
And
often
reading
what
contents
it
bears;
As
often
shrieking
undistinguish'd
woe,
In
clamours
of
all
size,
both
high
and
low.
Sometimes
her
levell'd
eyes
their
carriage
ride,
As
they
did
battery
to
the
spheres
intend;
Sometime
diverted
their
poor
balls
are
tied
To
the
orbed
earth;
sometimes
they
do
extend
Their
view
right
on;
anon
their
gazes
lend
To
every
place
at
once,
and,
nowhere
fix'd,
The
mind
and
sight
distractedly
commix'd.
Her
hair,
nor
loose
nor
tied
in
formal
plat,
Proclaim'd
in
her
a
careless
hand
of
pride
For
some,
untuck'd,
descended
her
sheaved
hat,
Hanging
her
pale
and
pined
cheek
beside;
Some
in
her
threaden
fillet
still
did
bide,
And
true
to
bondage
would
not
break
from
thence,
Though
slackly
braided
in
loose
negligence.
A
thousand
favours
from
a
maund
she
drew
Of
amber,
crystal,
and
of
beaded
jet,
Which
one
by
one
she
in
a
river
threw,
Upon
whose
weeping
margent
she
was
set;
Like
usury,
applying
wet
to
wet,
Or
monarch's
hands
that
let
not
bounty
fall
Where
want
cries
some,
but
where
excess
begs
all.
Of
folded
schedules
had
she
many
a
one,
Which
she
perused,
sigh'd,
tore,
and
gave
the
flood;
Crack'd
many
a
ring
of
posied
gold
and
bone
Bidding
them
find
their
sepulchres
in
mud;
Found
yet
moe
letters
sadly
penn'd
in
blood,
With
sleided
silk
feat
and
affectedly
Enswathed,
and
seal'd
to
curious
secrecy.
These
often
bathed
she
in
her
fluxive
eyes,
And
often
kiss'd,
and
often
'gan
to
tear:
Cried
'O
false
blood,
thou
register
of
lies,
What
unapproved
witness
dost
thou
bear!
Ink
would
have
seem'd
more
black
and
damned
here!'
This
said,
in
top
of
rage
the
lines
she
rents,
Big
discontent
so
breaking
their
contents.
A
reverend
man
that
grazed
his
cattle
nigh--
Sometime
a
blusterer,
that
the
ruffle
knew
Of
court,
of
city,
and
had
let
go
by
The
swiftest
hours,
observed
as
they
flew--
Towards
this
afflicted
fancy
fastly
drew,
And,
privileged
by
age,
desires
to
know
In
brief
the
grounds
and
motives
of
her
woe.
So
slides
he
down
upon
his
grained
bat,
And
comely-distant
sits
he
by
her
side;
When
he
again
desires
her,
being
sat,
Her
grievance
with
his
hearing
to
divide:
If
that
from
him
there
may
be
aught
applied
Which
may
her
suffering
ecstasy
assuage,
'Tis
promised
in
the
charity
of
age.
'Father,'
she
says,
'though
in
me
you
behold
The
injury
of
many
a
blasting
hour,
Let
it
not
tell
your
judgment
I
am
old;
Not
age,
but
sorrow,
over
me
hath
power:
I
might
as
yet
have
been
a
spreading
flower,
Fresh
to
myself,
If
I
had
self-applied
Love
to
myself
and
to
no
love
beside.
'But,
woe
is
me!
too
early
I
attended
A
youthful
suit--it
was
to
gain
my
grace--
Of
one
by
nature's
outwards
so
commended,
That
maidens'
eyes
stuck
over
all
his
face:
Love
lack'd
a
dwelling,
and
made
him
her
place;
And
when
in
his
fair
parts
she
did
abide,
She
was
new
lodged
and
newly
deified.
'His
browny
locks
did
hang
in
crooked
curls;
And
every
light
occasion
of
the
wind
Upon
his
lips
their
silken
parcels
hurls.
What's
sweet
to
do,
to
do
will
aptly
find:
Each
eye
that
saw
him
did
enchant
the
mind,
For
on
his
visage
was
in
little
drawn
What
largeness
thinks
in
Paradise
was
sawn.
'Small
show
of
man
was
yet
upon
his
chin;
His
phoenix
down
began
but
to
appear
Like
unshorn
velvet
on
that
termless
skin
Whose
bare
out-bragg'd
the
web
it
seem'd
to
wear:
Yet
show'd
his
visage
by
that
cost
more
dear;
And
nice
affections
wavering
stood
in
doubt
If
best
were
as
it
was,
or
best
without.
'His
qualities
were
beauteous
as
his
form,
For
maiden-tongued
he
was,
and
thereof
free;
Yet,
if
men
moved
him,
was
he
such
a
storm
As
oft
'twixt
May
and
April
is
to
see,
When
winds
breathe
sweet,
untidy
though
they
be.
His
rudeness
so
with
his
authorized
youth
Did
livery
falseness
in
a
pride
of
truth.
'Well
could
he
ride,
and
often
men
would
say
'That
horse
his
mettle
from
his
rider
takes:
Proud
of
subjection,
noble
by
the
sway,
What
rounds,
what
bounds,
what
course,
what
stop
he
makes!'
And
controversy
hence
a
question
takes,
Whether
the
horse
by
him
became
his
deed,
Or
he
his
manage
by
the
well-doing
steed.
'But
quickly
on
this
side
the
verdict
went:
His
real
habitude
gave
life
and
grace
To
appertainings
and
to
ornament,
Accomplish'd
in
himself,
not
in
his
case:
All
aids,
themselves
made
fairer
by
their
place,
Came
for
additions;
yet
their
purposed
trim
Pieced
not
his
grace,
but
were
all
graced
by
him.
'So
on
the
tip
of
his
subduing
tongue
All
kinds
of
arguments
and
question
deep,
All
replication
prompt,
and
reason
strong,
For
his
advantage
still
did
wake
and
sleep:
To
make
the
weeper
laugh,
the
laugher
weep,
He
had
the
dialect
and
different
skill,
Catching
all
passions
in
his
craft
of
will:
'That
he
did
in
the
general
bosom
reign
Of
young,
of
old;
and
sexes
both
enchanted,
To
dwell
with
him
in
thoughts,
or
to
remain
In
personal
duty,
following
where
he
haunted:
Consents
bewitch'd,
ere
he
desire,
have
granted;
And
dialogued
for
him
what
he
would
say,
Ask'd
their
own
wills,
and
made
their
wills
obey.
'Many
there
were
that
did
his
picture
get,
To
serve
their
eyes,
and
in
it
put
their
mind;
Like
fools
that
in
th'
imagination
set
The
goodly
objects
which
abroad
they
find
Of
lands
and
mansions,
theirs
in
thought
assign'd;
And
labouring
in
moe
pleasures
to
bestow
them
Than
the
true
gouty
landlord
which
doth
owe
them:
'So
many
have,
that
never
touch'd
his
hand,
Sweetly
supposed
them
mistress
of
his
heart.
My
woeful
self,
that
did
in
freedom
stand,
And
was
my
own
fee-simple,
not
in
part,
What
with
his
art
in
youth,
and
youth
in
art,
Threw
my
affections
in
his
charmed
power,
Reserved
the
stalk
and
gave
him
all
my
flower.
'Yet
did
I
not,
as
some
my
equals
did,
Demand
of
him,
nor
being
desired
yielded;
Finding
myself
in
honour
so
forbid,
With
safest
distance
I
mine
honour
shielded:
Experience
for
me
many
bulwarks
builded
Of
proofs
new-bleeding,
which
remain'd
the
foil
Of
this
false
jewel,
and
his
amorous
spoil.
'But,
ah,
who
ever
shunn'd
by
precedent
The
destined
ill
she
must
herself
assay?
Or
forced
examples,
'gainst
her
own
content,
To
put
the
by-past
perils
in
her
way?
Counsel
may
stop
awhile
what
will
not
stay;
For
when
we
rage,
advice
is
often
seen
By
blunting
us
to
make
our
wits
more
keen.
'Nor
gives
it
satisfaction
to
our
blood,
That
we
must
curb
it
upon
others'
proof;
To
be
forbod
the
sweets
that
seem
so
good,
For
fear
of
harms
that
preach
in
our
behoof.
O
appetite,
from
judgment
stand
aloof!
The
one
a
palate
hath
that
needs
will
taste,
Though
Reason
weep,
and
cry,
'It
is
thy
last.'
'For
further
I
could
say
'This
man's
untrue,'
And
knew
the
patterns
of
his
foul
beguiling;
Heard
where
his
plants
in
others'
orchards
grew,
Saw
how
deceits
were
gilded
in
his
smiling;
Knew
vows
were
ever
brokers
to
defiling;
Thought
characters
and
words
merely
but
art,
And
bastards
of
his
foul
adulterate
heart.
'And
long
upon
these
terms
I
held
my
city,
Till
thus
he
gan
besiege
me:
'Gentle
maid,
Have
of
my
suffering
youth
some
feeling
pity,
And
be
not
of
my
holy
vows
afraid:
That's
to
ye
sworn
to
none
was
ever
said;
For
feasts
of
love
I
have
been
call'd
unto,
Till
now
did
ne'er
invite,
nor
never
woo.
''All
my
offences
that
abroad
you
see
Are
errors
of
the
blood,
none
of
the
mind;
Love
made
them
not:
with
acture
they
may
be,
Where
neither
party
is
nor
true
nor
kind:
They
sought
their
shame
that
so
their
shame
did
find;
And
so
much
less
of
shame
in
me
remains,
By
how
much
of
me
their
reproach
contains.
''Among
the
many
that
mine
eyes
have
seen,
Not
one
whose
flame
my
heart
so
much
as
warm'd,
Or
my
affection
put
to
the
smallest
teen,
Or
any
of
my
leisures
ever
charm'd:
Harm
have
I
done
to
them,
but
ne'er
was
harm'd;
Kept
hearts
in
liveries,
but
mine
own
was
free,
And
reign'd,
commanding
in
his
monarchy.
''Look
here,
what
tributes
wounded
fancies
sent
me,
Of
paled
pearls
and
rubies
red
as
blood;
Figuring
that
they
their
passions
likewise
lent
me
Of
grief
and
blushes,
aptly
understood
In
bloodless
white
and
the
encrimson'd
mood;
Effects
of
terror
and
dear
modesty,
Encamp'd
in
hearts,
but
fighting
outwardly.
''And,
lo,
behold
these
talents
of
their
hair,
With
twisted
metal
amorously
impleach'd,
I
have
received
from
many
a
several
fair,
Their
kind
acceptance
weepingly
beseech'd,
With
the
annexions
of
fair
gems
enrich'd,
And
deep-brain'd
sonnets
that
did
amplify
Each
stone's
dear
nature,
worth,
and
quality.
''The
diamond,--why,
'twas
beautiful
and
hard,
Whereto
his
invised
properties
did
tend;
The
deep-green
emerald,
in
whose
fresh
regard
Weak
sights
their
sickly
radiance
do
amend;
The
heaven-hued
sapphire
and
the
opal
blend
With
objects
manifold:
each
several
stone,
With
wit
well
blazon'd,
smiled
or
made
some
moan.
''Lo,
all
these
trophies
of
affections
hot,
Of
pensived
and
subdued
desires
the
tender,
Nature
hath
charged
me
that
I
hoard
them
not,
But
yield
them
up
where
I
myself
must
render,
That
is,
to
you,
my
origin
and
ender;
For
these,
of
force,
must
your
oblations
be,
Since
I
their
altar,
you
enpatron
me.
''O,
then,
advance
of
yours
that
phraseless
hand,
Whose
white
weighs
down
the
airy
scale
of
praise;
Take
all
these
similes
to
your
own
command,
Hallow'd
with
sighs
that
burning
lungs
did
raise;
What
me
your
minister,
for
you
obeys,
Works
under
you;
and
to
your
audit
comes
Their
distract
parcels
in
combined
sums.
''Lo,
this
device
was
sent
me
from
a
nun,
Or
sister
sanctified,
of
holiest
note;
Which
late
her
noble
suit
in
court
did
shun,
Whose
rarest
havings
made
the
blossoms
dote;
For
she
was
sought
by
spirits
of
richest
coat,
But
kept
cold
distance,
and
did
thence
remove,
To
spend
her
living
in
eternal
love.
''But,
O
my
sweet,
what
labour
is't
to
leave
The
thing
we
have
not,
mastering
what
not
strives,
Playing
the
place
which
did
no
form
receive,
Playing
patient
sports
in
unconstrained
gyves?
She
that
her
fame
so
to
herself
contrives,
The
scars
of
battle
'scapeth
by
the
flight,
And
makes
her
absence
valiant,
not
her
might.
''O,
pardon
me,
in
that
my
boast
is
true:
The
accident
which
brought
me
to
her
eye
Upon
the
moment
did
her
force
subdue,
And
now
she
would
the
caged
cloister
fly:
Religious
love
put
out
Religion's
eye:
Not
to
be
tempted,
would
she
be
immured,
And
now,
to
tempt,
all
liberty
procured.
''How
mighty
then
you
are,
O,
hear
me
tell!
The
broken
bosoms
that
to
me
belong
Have
emptied
all
their
fountains
in
my
well,
And
mine
I
pour
your
ocean
all
among:
I
strong
o'er
them,
and
you
o'er
me
being
strong,
Must
for
your
victory
us
all
congest,
As
compound
love
to
physic
your
cold
breast.
''My
parts
had
power
to
charm
a
sacred
nun,
Who,
disciplined,
ay,
dieted
in
grace,
Believed
her
eyes
when
they
to
assail
begun,
All
vows
and
consecrations
giving
place:
O
most
potential
love!
vow,
bond,
nor
space,
In
thee
hath
neither
sting,
knot,
nor
confine,
For
thou
art
all,
and
all
things
else
are
thine.
''When
thou
impressest,
what
are
precepts
worth
Of
stale
example?
When
thou
wilt
inflame,
How
coldly
those
impediments
stand
forth
Of
wealth,
of
filial
fear,
law,
kindred,
fame!
Love's
arms
are
peace,
'gainst
rule,
'gainst
sense,
'gainst
shame,
And
sweetens,
in
the
suffering
pangs
it
bears,
The
aloes
of
all
forces,
shocks,
and
fears.
''Now
all
these
hearts
that
do
on
mine
depend,
Feeling
it
break,
with
bleeding
groans
they
pine;
And
supplicant
their
sighs
to
you
extend,
To
leave
the
battery
that
you
make
'gainst
mine,
Lending
soft
audience
to
my
sweet
design,
And
credent
soul
to
that
strong-bonded
oath
That
shall
prefer
and
undertake
my
troth.'
'This
said,
his
watery
eyes
he
did
dismount,
Whose
sights
till
then
were
levell'd
on
my
face;
Each
cheek
a
river
running
from
a
fount
With
brinish
current
downward
flow'd
apace:
O,
how
the
channel
to
the
stream
gave
grace!
Who
glazed
with
crystal
gate
the
glowing
roses
That
flame
through
water
which
their
hue
encloses.
'O
father,
what
a
hell
of
witchcraft
lies
In
the
small
orb
of
one
particular
tear!
But
with
the
inundation
of
the
eyes
What
rocky
heart
to
water
will
not
wear?
What
breast
so
cold
that
is
not
warmed
here?
O
cleft
effect!
cold
modesty,
hot
wrath,
Both
fire
from
hence
and
chill
extincture
hath.
'For,
lo,
his
passion,
but
an
art
of
craft,
Even
there
resolved
my
reason
into
tears;
There
my
white
stole
of
chastity
I
daff'd,
Shook
off
my
sober
guards
and
civil
fears;
Appear
to
him,
as
he
to
me
appears,
All
melting;
though
our
drops
this
difference
bore,
His
poison'd
me,
and
mine
did
him
restore.
'In
him
a
plenitude
of
subtle
matter,
Applied
to
cautels,
all
strange
forms
receives,
Of
burning
blushes,
or
of
weeping
water,
Or
swooning
paleness;
and
he
takes
and
leaves,
In
either's
aptness,
as
it
best
deceives,
To
blush
at
speeches
rank
to
weep
at
woes,
Or
to
turn
white
and
swoon
at
tragic
shows.
'That
not
a
heart
which
in
his
level
came
Could
'scape
the
hail
of
his
all-hurting
aim,
Showing
fair
nature
is
both
kind
and
tame;
And,
veil'd
in
them,
did
win
whom
he
would
maim:
Against
the
thing
he
sought
he
would
exclaim;
When
he
most
burn'd
in
heart-wish'd
luxury,
He
preach'd
pure
maid,
and
praised
cold
chastity.
'Thus
merely
with
the
garment
of
a
Grace
The
naked
and
concealed
fiend
he
cover'd;
That
th'
unexperient
gave
the
tempter
place,
Which
like
a
cherubin
above
them
hover'd.
Who,
young
and
simple,
would
not
be
so
lover'd?
Ay
me!
I
fell;
and
yet
do
question
make
What
I
should
do
again
for
such
a
sake.
'O,
that
infected
moisture
of
his
eye,
O,
that
false
fire
which
in
his
cheek
so
glow'd,
O,
that
forced
thunder
from
his
heart
did
fly,
O,
that
sad
breath
his
spongy
lungs
bestow'd,
O,
all
that
borrow'd
motion
seeming
owed,
Would
yet
again
betray
the
fore-betray'd,
And
new
pervert
a
reconciled
maid!'
William Shakespeare
William Shakespeare was born in April 1564 in Stratford-upon-Avon, England. He is one of the world's most highly esteemed writers, and is thought to be the most quoted author in history, second only to the Bible. His plays and poems have been studied, analyzed, read, and loved for centuries. Little is known about William Shakespeare's childhood or education, but scholars agree that he likely attended the King's New School. He was working as an actor and playwright in London by the year 1592, and was also a managing partner in the acting company the Lord Chamberlain's Men. After James I was crowned king in 1603, the theater company's name was changed to the King's Men, and it grew to be quite popular.