Anastrophe

How oft, when thou, my music, music play’stAnastrophe, Antanaclasis, Epizeuxis & Metaphor
Upon that blessèd wood whose motion sounds
With thy sweet fingers when thou gently sway’st
The wiry concord that mine ear confounds,Anastrophe & Synecdoche
Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap
To kiss the tender inward of thy hand,
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Enter the Prologue in armor.

In Troy there lies the scene.Hyperbaton From isles of Greece
The princes orgulousAnastrophe, their high blood chafed,
Have to the port of Athens sent their shipsHyperbaton
Fraught with the ministers and instruments
Of cruel war. Sixty and nine,
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 Saturninus and his followers at one door, and
 Bassianus and his followers at another door, with
 other Romans, Drums, and Trumpets.
Saturninus
Noble patricians, patrons of my right,
Defend the justice of my cause with arms.
And countrymen, my loving followers,
Plead my successive title with your swords.
I am his firstborn son that was the last
That wore the imperial diadem of Rome.
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NowHyperbaton is the winter of our discontentMetaphor
Made glorious summerMetaphor by this son of York,Paronomasia
And all the clouds that louredMetaphor upon our houseMetonymy
In the deep bosom of the ocean MetaphorburiedHyperbaton & Ellipsis.
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Duke
Of government the properties to unfold
Would seem in me t’ affect speech and discourse,
Since I am put to know that your own science
Exceeds, in that, the lists of all advice
My strength can give you.Hyperbaton

For you must know, we have with special soul
Elected him our absence to supply,
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First Gentleman
You do not meet a man but frowns. Our bloods
No more obey the heavens than our courtiers’
Still seem as does the King’s.Ellipsis
Second Gentleman
But what’s the matter?

Howsoe’er ’tis strange,
Or that the negligence may well be laughed at,
Yet is it true,
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Bishop Of Canterbury
The King is full of grace and fair regard.
Bishop Of Ely
And a true lover of the holy Church.
Bishop of Canterbury
The courses of his youth promised it not.
The breath no sooner left his father’s body
But that his wildness, mortified in him,
Seemed to die too.
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Horatio
What, has this thing appeared again tonight?
Barnardo
I have seen nothing.
Marcellus
Horatio says ’tis but our fantasy
And will not let belief take hold of him
Touching this dreaded sight twice seen of us.

Before my God, I might not this believe
Without the sensible and true avouch
Of mine own eyes.
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Duke
Angelo,
There is a kind of character in thy life,
That to th’ observer doth thy history
AlliterationFully unfoldHyperbaton. Thyself and thy belongings
Are not thine own so properAnastrophe as to waste
Thyself upon thy virtues, they on thee.
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Buckingham
This butcher’s cur is venomed-mouthed, and I
Have not the power to muzzle him; therefore best
Not wake him in his slumber. A beggar’s book
Outworths a noble’s blood.Metaphors

Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot
That it do singe yourself.

Norfolk
What,
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