. Shakespeare's love story, 1580-1609. r uncertainty,Crowning the present, doubting of the rest ?Love is a babe; then might I not say so,To give full growth to that which still doth grow ? [4iJ SHAKESPEARE S LOVE STORY But now a shadow obscures thebeautiful dream, Annes consciencestirs. Her small Warwickshire world,as she knows but too well, will takemerely a prosaic and practical will wag disapprovingly, tongueswill sting with bitter words, some willfind in this matter food for mt ry jestand laughter. Hard as it is, Annesresolve is taken; she meets her lover,tenderly reminds him of
. Shakespeare's love story, 1580-1609. r uncertainty,Crowning the present, doubting of the rest ?Love is a babe; then might I not say so,To give full growth to that which still doth grow ? [4iJ SHAKESPEARE S LOVE STORY But now a shadow obscures thebeautiful dream, Annes consciencestirs. Her small Warwickshire world,as she knows but too well, will takemerely a prosaic and practical will wag disapprovingly, tongueswill sting with bitter words, some willfind in this matter food for mt ry jestand laughter. Hard as it is, Annesresolve is taken; she meets her lover,tenderly reminds him of the reasonswhich must and ought to separatethem, especially of their difference inyears. Sad is the parting in the oldgarden, but, the cruel ordeal over, withconscience appeased, Anne retires torest. But who shall wonder if themorning finds her at ihe old trystingplace, so full of tender memories?Surely, she may yet take this smallconsolation without blame. And therebehold! a fresh paper, the ink hardlyyet dry upon it: [42] ^#Tg^^^)2. SHAKESPEARE S LOVE STORY To me, fair friend, you never can be old,For as you were when first your eye I seems your beauty still. Three winters coldHave from the forests shook three summers pride: —Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn process of the seasons have I seenThree April perfumes in three hot Junes burnd,Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are yet doth beauty, like a from his figure and no pace perceived;So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived;For fear of which, hear this, thou age you were born was beautys summer dead. Thus boldly, thus resisting all denial,stifling all objections, pleading as mannever plead before, the young Shake-speare won his way. The joy of lov-ing has been great, but the joy of beingbeloved is even greater. His spirit istuned to finer issues; wild frolic andunseemly carousal delight no more. [45] Sh
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