"Within so small a time, my woman's heart / Grossly grew captive to his honey words / And proved the subject of mine own soul's curse."
— Shakespeare, William (1564-1616)
Work Title
Date
1597
Metaphor
"Within so small a time, my woman's heart / Grossly grew captive to his honey words / And proved the subject of mine own soul's curse."
Metaphor in Context
LADY ANNE
No? Why? When he that is my husband now
Came to me as I followed Henry's corpse,
When scarce the blood was well washed from his hands,
Which issued from my other angel husband
And that dear saint which then I weeping followed --
O when, I say, I looked on Richard's face,
This was my wish: "Be thou", quoth I, "accursed
For making me, so young, so old a widow,
And when thou wedd'st, let sorrow haunt thy bed;
And be thy wife -- if any be so mad --
More miserable made by the life of thee
Than thou hast made me by my dear lord's death."
Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again,
Within so small a time, my woman's heart
Grossly grew captive to his honey words
And proved the subject of mine own soul's curse,
Which hitherto hath held mine eyes from rest --
For never yet one hour in his bed
Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep,
But with his timorous dreams was still awaked.
Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick,
And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me.
(IV.i.65-86)
No? Why? When he that is my husband now
Came to me as I followed Henry's corpse,
When scarce the blood was well washed from his hands,
Which issued from my other angel husband
And that dear saint which then I weeping followed --
O when, I say, I looked on Richard's face,
This was my wish: "Be thou", quoth I, "accursed
For making me, so young, so old a widow,
And when thou wedd'st, let sorrow haunt thy bed;
And be thy wife -- if any be so mad --
More miserable made by the life of thee
Than thou hast made me by my dear lord's death."
Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again,
Within so small a time, my woman's heart
Grossly grew captive to his honey words
And proved the subject of mine own soul's curse,
Which hitherto hath held mine eyes from rest --
For never yet one hour in his bed
Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep,
But with his timorous dreams was still awaked.
Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick,
And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me.
(IV.i.65-86)
Categories
Provenance
HDIS
Citation
Shakespeare, William. The Complete Works. Oxford Shakespeare. Electronic Edition for the IBM PC. Stanley Wells and Gary Taylor, Editor.
Date of Entry
08/07/2003
