When I would pray and think, I think and pray
When I would pray and think, I think and prayChiasmus
To several subjects. Heaven hath my empty words,Transferred Epithet
Whilst my invention, hearing not my tongue,Synecdoche
Anchors on Isabel.Metaphor
Blood, thou art blood.
Let’s write “good angel” on the devil’s horn
God in my mouth,Synecdoche
As if I did but only chew His name,Metaphor
And in my heart the strong and swelling evil
Of my conception.Synecdoche The state whereon I studied
Is, like a good thing being often read,
Grown sere and tedious. SimileYea, my gravity,
Wherein—let no man hear me—I take pride,
Could I with boot change for an idle plume
Which the air beats for vain.Metaphor O place, O form,
MetaphorHow often dost thou with thy case, thy habit,Apostrophe
Wrench awe from fools, and tie the wiser souls
To thy false seeming! Blood, thou art blood.Apostrophe
Let’s write “good angel” on the devil’s horn.
’Tis not the devil’s crest. Knock within. How now, who’s there?
One Isabel, a sister, desires access to you.
Teach her the way. Servant exits. O heavens,
Why does my blood thus muster to my heart,Synecdoche
Making both it unable for itself
And dispossessing all my other parts
Of necessary fitness?
So play the foolish throngs with one that swoons,
Come all to help him, and so stop the air
By which he should revive. AnalogyAnd even so
The general subject to a well-wished king
Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness
Crowd to his presence, where their untaught love
Must needs appear offense.Analogy