Analise Mullen

Good Lord Boyet, my beauty, though but mean, Needs not the painted flourish of your praise. Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye, Not uttered by base sale of chapmen’s tongues

Well, say I am. Why should proud summer boast Before the birds have any cause to sing? Why should I joy in any abortive birth?

Study is like the heaven’s glorious sun,

Necessity will make us all forsworn Three thousand times within this three years’ space;

Love’s tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste. For valor, is not love a Hercules, Still climbing trees in the Hesperides? Subtle as Sphinx, as sweet and musical As bright Apollo’s lute strung with his hair. And when love speaks, the voice of all the gods Make heaven drowsy with the harmony. Never durst poet touch a pen to write Until his ink... See more

God bless my ladies, are they all in love, That every one her own hath garnishèd With such bedecking ornaments of praise?

And I forsooth in love! I that have been love’s whip

Item, If any man be seen to talk with a woman within the term of three years, he shall endure such public shame as the rest of the court can possible devise.