Then I will kiss your lips, Kate.
Les dames et demoiselles,
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.
Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
Towards Phoebus’ lodging. Such a wagoner
As Phaëton would whip you to the west
And bring in cloudy night immediately.
Andronicus, stain notHyperbaton thy tomb with blood.
Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods?
Why then you must. But hear thee, Gratiano,
Thou art too wild, too rude and bold of voice—
Parts that become thee happily enough,
Mislike me not for my complexion,Alliteration and Hyperbaton
The shadowed livery of the burnished sun,
By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is aweary of this great world.
You would be,
You look not well, Signior Antonio.
You have too much respect upon the world.
They lose it that do buy it with much care.
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.
Admit no other way to save his life—
As I subscribe not that, nor any other—
At what hour tomorrow
Shall I attend your Lordship?
At any time ’fore noon.
You common cry of curs, Anaphorawhose breath I hate
SimileAs reek a’ th’ rotten fens,
What’s the matter, you dissentious rogues,
That rubbing the poor itch of your opinion
Make yourselves scabsMetaphor?…
But Cassius is no more. O setting sun,
As in thy red rays thou dost sink tonight,
So in his red blood Cassius’ day is set!
There is a tide in the affairs of men,
Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
O Cassius, you are yokèd with a lambMetaphor
That carries anger as the flint bears fire,
Friends, Romans, countrymenExordium, lend me your ears!Synecdoche
I come to bury Caesar,
I doubt not of your wisdom.
Let each man render me his bloody hand.
First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you;
Boy! Lucius! Fast asleep? It is no matter,
Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber.Alliteration & Metaphor
Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies,
But what of Cicero? Shall we sound him?
I think he will stand very strong with us.
They are the faction. O Conspiracy,
Sham’st thou to show thy dang’rous brow by night,
When evils are most free?
Since Cassius first did whet me against Caesar,
I have not slept.
Between the acting of a dreadful thing
And the first motion,
It must be by his death; and for my part,
I know no personal cause to spurn at him,
And why should Caesar be a tyrant then?
Poor man, I know he would not be a wolf,
That you do love me, I am nothing jealous;
What you would work me to,
Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world
Like a ColossusSimile, and we petty men
Walk under his huge legs,
Let us sit and mock the good housewife Fortune
from her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be
If I profane with my unworthiest hand
This holy shrineMetaphor,
When sorrows come, they come not single spies,
But in battalionsMetaphors & Hyperbole.
It was the lark, the herald of the morn,
No nightingale. Look, love, what envious streaks
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east.
How many thousands of my poorest subjects
Are at this hour asleep! O sleep, O gentle sleep,
Nature’s soft nurseMetaphor,
It was about to speak when the cock crew.
And then it started like a guilty thing
Upon a fearful summons.
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,
Much deserved on his part, and equally
remembered by Don Pedro. He hath borne himself
beyond the promise of his age,
Not know my voice! O time’s extremity,
Hast thou so crack’d and splitted my poor tongue
In seven short years,
Ho, now you strike like the blind man. ‘Twas the boy that stole your meat, and you’ll beat the post.
A glooming peace this morning with it brings,Metaphor & Hyperbaton
The sun, for sorrow,
Accurs’d, unhappy, wretched, hateful day!Check This
Most miserable hour that e’er time saw
In lasting labor of his pilgrimage!
O serpent heart, hid with a flow’ring face!Paradox
Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave?
These violent delights have violent ends,
And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,
Which as they kiss consume.
The earth that’s nature’s mother is her tomb;
What is her burying grave, that is her womb;Paradox & Personification
And from her womb children of divers kind
We sucking on her natural bosom find:Metaphor & Personification
Many for many virtues excellent,
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Lady, by yonder blessèd moon I vow,
That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops—
Two households, both alike in dignity,
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudgeParenthesis break to new mutiny,
The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill togetherMetaphor: our virtues would be proud,
There can be no kernel in this light nutMetaphor; the soul of this man is his clothes.
O that this too too solid flesh would melt,
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew!
Or that the Everlasting had not fix’d
His canon ’gainst self-slaughter!
In nature’s infinite book of secrecyMetaphor
A little I can readHyperbaton.
There’s nothing ill can dwell in such a templeMetaphor.
If the ill spirit have so fair a houseMetaphor,
Assume a virtue, if you have it not.
That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat
Of habits evilAnastrophe,
Friendship is constant in all other things
Save in the office and affairs of love.Hendiadys
Therefore all hearts in love use their own tongues.