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As an unperfect actor on the stage, Who with his fear is put beside his part, Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage, Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart; So I, for fear of trust, forget to say The perfect ceremony of love's rite, And in mine own love's strength seem to decay, O'ercharged with burthen of mine own love's might. O! let my looks be then the eloquence And dumb presagers of my speaking breast, Who plead for love, and look for recompense, More than that tongue that more hath more express'd.      O! learn to read what silent love hath writ:      To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.   Analysis Sonnet 23 is an apology for being unable to accurately express love in words, and a request for actions to be understood in their place. Having committed himself a bit more than he intended, Willy is now stuck...

PLAY Sonnet 23

As an unperfect actor on the stage, Who with his fear is put beside his part, Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage, Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart; So I, for fear of trust, forget to say The perfect ceremony of love's rite, And in mine own love's strength seem to decay, O'ercharged with burthen of mine own love's might. O! let my looks be then the eloquence And dumb presagers of my speaking breast, Who plead for love, and look for recompense, More than that tongue that more hath more express'd.      O! learn to read what silent love hath writ:      To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.   Analysis Sonnet 23 is an apology for being unable to accurately express love in words, and a request for actions to be understood in their place. Having committed himself a bit more than he intended, Willy is now stuck...

PLAY Sonnet 60

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end; Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Nativity, once in the main of light, Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd, Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth And delves the parallels in beauty's brow, Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow: And yet to times in hope, my verse shall stand Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.   Analysis Sonnet 60 is an exploration of mortality, with strong metaphors for and personifications of Time, and a belief in the immortality of words. Shakespeare compares the movement of...