Author: Nik (81.198.70.---)
Date: 01-20-06 13:58
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Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate,
Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving:
O! but with mine compare thou thine own state,
And thou shalt find it merits not reproving;
Or, if it do, not from those lips of thine,
That have profan\'d their scarlet ornaments
And seal\'d false bonds of love as oft as mine,
Robb\'d others\' beds\' revenues of their rents.
Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lov\'st those
Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee:
Root pity in thy heart, that, when it grows,
Thy pity may deserve to pitied be.
If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide,
By self-example mayst thou be denied!
Lo, as a careful housewife runs to catch
One of her feather\'d creatures broke away,
Sets down her babe, and makes all swift dispatch
In pursuit of the thing she would have stay;
Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase,
Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent
To follow that which flies before her face,
Not prizing her poor infant\'s discontent;
So runn\'st thou after that which flies from thee,
Whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind;
But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me,
And play the mother\'s part, kiss me, be kind;
So will I pray that thou mayst have thy \'Will,\'
If thou turn back and my loud crying still.
I tell you what really turns my toes up: love scenes with 68-year-old men
and actresses young enough to be their granddaughter.
Those lines that I before have writ do lie,
Even those that said I could not love you dearer:
Yet then my judgment knew no reason why
My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer.
But reckoning Time, whose million\'d accidents
Creep in \'twixt vows, and change decrees of kings,
Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp\'st intents,
Divert strong minds to the course of altering things;
Alas! why fearing of Time\'s tyranny,
Might I not then say, \'Now I love you best,\'
When I was certain o\'er incertainty,
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?
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth\'s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love\'s not Time\'s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle\'s compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me prov\'d,
I never writ, nor no man ever lov\'d.
The release of atom power has changed everything except our way of
thinking...the solution to this problem lies in the heart of mankind. If
only I had known, I should have become a watchmaker. --Albert Einstein