Now tell me, madam, do you love your children?
This battle fares like to the morning’s war,
When dying clouds contend with growing light,
What time the shepherd,
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?Rhetorical Question
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Words, words, words.Epizeuxis
What is the matter,
Portia! What mean you? Wherefore rise you now?Hyperbaton & Quaesitio
It is not for your health thus to commit
Your weak condition to the raw cold morning.
And if it stand, as you yourself still do,
Within the eye of honor, be assured
In sooth I know not why I am so sad.
It wearies me, you say it wearies you.
NowHyperbaton is the winter of our discontentMetaphor
Made glorious summerMetaphor by this sonParonomasia of York,
The fingers of the powers above do tune
The harmony of this peace.Synecdoche and Metaphor The vision
Which I made known to Lucius ere the stroke
Of this yet scarce-cold battle at this instant
Is full accomplished.
Lo! She is one of this confederacy.
Now I perceive, they have conjoin’d all three
To fashion this false sport,
Admit no other way to save his life—
As I subscribe not that, nor any other—
O world, thy slippery turns! Friends now fast sworn,
Whose double bosoms seems to wear one heart,
You common cry of curs, Anaphorawhose breath I hate
SimileAs reek a’ th’ rotten fens,
Fourth Roman Citizen
You have been a scourge to her enemies, you have been a rod to her friends;
Hear me, for I will speak.
Must I give way and room to your rash choler?
Romans, countrymen, and lovers,Exordium hear me for my cause,
Kneel not, gentle Portia.
I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus.
And why should Caesar be a tyrant then?
Poor man, I know he would not be a wolf,
I know where I will wear this dagger then;
Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius.
Therein, ye gods,
You are dull, Casca; and those sparks of life
That should be in a Roman you do want,
Or else you use not.
That you do love me, I am nothing jealous;
What you would work me to,
Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home?
What tributaries follow him to Rome,
To grace in captive bonds his chariot-wheels?
But soft, behold! Lo where it comes again!
It spreads his arms.
I’ll cross it though it blast me.
Ha! Not for the wide world.
You kill me to deny it.
I know not. If they speak but truth of her,
These hands shall tear her; if they wrong her honor,
Hear me a little,
For I have only silent been so long,
Wherefore? Why, doth not every earthly thing
Cry shame upon her? Could she here deny
The story that is printed in her blood?—
Do not live,
Not know my voice! O time’s extremity,
Hast thou so crack’d and splitted my poor tongue
In seven short years,
Hear him but reason in divinity,
And all-admiring, with an inward wish
You would desire the King were made a prelate;
It is thyself, mine own self’s better part:
Mine eye’s clear eye, my dear heart’s dearer heart,Anaphora and Antanaclasis
The time was onceHyperbaton when thou unurged wouldst vowAnastrophe
That never words were music to thine ear,
Come weep with me, past hope, past cure, past help!Anaphora
My bounty is as boundless as the sea,Simili
My love as deep;Ellipsis the more I give to thee,
Lady, by yonder blessèd moon I vow,
That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops—
Signior Antonio, many a time and oftHendiadys
In the Rialto you have rated me
About my moneys and my usances.
Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you.
Little Helen, farewell. If I can remember
Therefore I pray you lead me to the caskets
To try my fortune. By this scimitar
That slew the Sophy and a Persian prince,