Bacon and Shakspere: Proof that William Shakspere Could Not Write. The Sonnets Written by Francis Bacon to the Earl of Essex and His Bride, A.D. 1590; Bacon Identified as the Concealed Poet Ignoto, A.D. 1589-1600

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Brentano Bros., 1886 - 48 pages
 

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Page 25 - And I will make thee beds of roses, And a thousand fragrant posies : A cap of flowers, and a kirtle, Embroider"d all with leaves of myrtle.
Page 16 - O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide, The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, That did not better for my life provide Than public means which public manners breeds. Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, And almost thence my nature is subdued To what it works in, like the dyer's hand...
Page 24 - Everything did banish moan, Save the nightingale alone: She, poor bird, as all forlorn, Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn, And there sung the dolefull'st ditty, That to hear it was great pity. 'Fie, fie, fie...
Page 16 - tis true I have gone here and there And made myself a motley to the view, Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear, Made old offences of affections new.
Page 11 - Which though it alter not love's sole effect, Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight. I may not evermore acknowledge thee, Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame, Nor thou with public kindness honour me, Unless thou take that honour from thy name: But do not so; I love thee in such sort As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report.
Page 27 - If all the world and love were young, And truth in every shepherd's tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee and be thy Love.
Page 26 - With coral clasps and amber studs : And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me and be my Love.
Page 7 - To me, fair friend, you never can be old, For as you were when first your eye I eyed, Such seems your beauty still. Three winters' cold Have from the forests shook three summers...
Page 15 - Yes, trust them not: for there is an upstart crow beautified with our feathers, that with his tiger's heart, wrapt in a player's hide, supposes he is as well able to bombast out a blank verse as the best of you; and being an absolute Johannes factotum, is in his own conceit the only Shake-scene in a country.
Page 24 - Fie, fie, fie! now would she cry; Teru, teru! by and by: That to hear her so complain Scarce I could from tears refrain ; For her griefs so lively shown Made me think upon mine own. Ah ! thought I, thou...

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