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A Lover's Complaint
pubOne.info present you this new edition. From off a hill whose concave womb re-worded
10 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1609
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About the author
William Shakespeare
27.8k books47.1k followersWilliam Shakespeare was an English playwright, poet, and actor. He is widely regarded as the greatest writer in the English language and the world's pre-eminent dramatist. He is often called England's national poet and the "Bard of Avon" (or simply "the Bard"). His extant works, including collaborations, consist of some 39 plays, 154 sonnets, three long narrative poems, and a few other verses, some of uncertain authorship. His plays have been translated into every major living language and are performed more often than those of any other playwright. Shakespeare remains arguably the most influential writer in the English language, and his works continue to be studied and reinterpreted.
Shakespeare was born and raised in Stratford-upon-Avon, Warwickshire. At the age of 18, he married Anne Hathaway, with whom he had three children: Susanna, and twins Hamnet and Judith. Sometime between 1585 and 1592, he began a successful career in London as an actor, writer, and part-owner ("sharer") of a playing company called the Lord Chamberlain's Men, later known as the King's Men after the ascension of King James VI and I of Scotland to the English throne. At age 49 (around 1613), he appears to have retired to Stratford, where he died three years later. Few records of Shakespeare's private life survive; this has stimulated considerable speculation about such matters as his physical appearance, his sexuality, his religious beliefs, and even certain fringe theories as to whether the works attributed to him were written by others.
Shakespeare produced most of his known works between 1589 and 1613. His early plays were primarily comedies and histories and are regarded as some of the best works produced in these genres. He then wrote mainly tragedies until 1608, among them Hamlet, Romeo and Juliet, Othello, King Lear, and Macbeth, all considered to be among the finest works in the English language. In the last phase of his life, he wrote tragicomedies (also known as romances) and collaborated with other playwrights.
Many of Shakespeare's plays were published in editions of varying quality and accuracy during his lifetime. However, in 1623, John Heminge and Henry Condell, two fellow actors and friends of Shakespeare's, published a more definitive text known as the First Folio, a posthumous collected edition of Shakespeare's dramatic works that includes 36 of his plays. Its Preface was a prescient poem by Ben Jonson, a former rival of Shakespeare, that hailed Shakespeare with the now famous epithet: "not of an age, but for all time".
Shakespeare was born and raised in Stratford-upon-Avon, Warwickshire. At the age of 18, he married Anne Hathaway, with whom he had three children: Susanna, and twins Hamnet and Judith. Sometime between 1585 and 1592, he began a successful career in London as an actor, writer, and part-owner ("sharer") of a playing company called the Lord Chamberlain's Men, later known as the King's Men after the ascension of King James VI and I of Scotland to the English throne. At age 49 (around 1613), he appears to have retired to Stratford, where he died three years later. Few records of Shakespeare's private life survive; this has stimulated considerable speculation about such matters as his physical appearance, his sexuality, his religious beliefs, and even certain fringe theories as to whether the works attributed to him were written by others.
Shakespeare produced most of his known works between 1589 and 1613. His early plays were primarily comedies and histories and are regarded as some of the best works produced in these genres. He then wrote mainly tragedies until 1608, among them Hamlet, Romeo and Juliet, Othello, King Lear, and Macbeth, all considered to be among the finest works in the English language. In the last phase of his life, he wrote tragicomedies (also known as romances) and collaborated with other playwrights.
Many of Shakespeare's plays were published in editions of varying quality and accuracy during his lifetime. However, in 1623, John Heminge and Henry Condell, two fellow actors and friends of Shakespeare's, published a more definitive text known as the First Folio, a posthumous collected edition of Shakespeare's dramatic works that includes 36 of his plays. Its Preface was a prescient poem by Ben Jonson, a former rival of Shakespeare, that hailed Shakespeare with the now famous epithet: "not of an age, but for all time".
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 52 reviews
December 1, 2019
This is a plaintful story… Being plaintful means...being sorrowful… and being sorrowful means being this young lady of this poem.
The first known illustration to "A Lover's Complaint", from John Bell's 1774 edition of Shakespeare's works
But you know.. this sorrow of this young lady is quite beguiling!
A young woman is crying on the bank of a river. She is picking up ambers, crystals and braided jets from her basket and throwing them into the river one by one…Also, her letters written in blood she is throwing them into the flood.
An old man observes this. Consolation comes from him.
The old man wants to know… the motive of her woe!
She now begins the discourse of her complaint…an interlocution of her grief to the old man… a lover’s complaint.
'Father,' she says, 'though in me you behold
The injury of many a blasting hour,
Let it not tell your judgement I am old:
Not age, but sorrow, over me hath power.
I might as yet have been a spreading flower,
Fresh to myself, if I had self-applied
Love to myself, and to no love beside.
She then describes the youth of her lover, a skillful horse rider and so skillful in the speech that he could make the laugher weep and a weeper laugh.
'His browny locks did hang in crooked curls;
And every light occasion of the wind
Upon his lips their silken parcels hurls…..
and
Small show of man was yet upon his chin;
His phoenix down began but to appear,
Like unshorn velvet, on that termless skin…..
Her lover is a fetching character, so charming, so bewitching that women gave themselves to him, without even his wanting it. Many thought themselves as his mistress. This young lady knew about his past treacheries and she took an oath to keep herself away from him. But soon the desire overcame the reason. The lover asks pity for his past sufferings. She came near and the passion for love is so fiery that her vows got broken. She said that how a tear could melt a rocky heart.
O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies
In the small orb of one particular tear!
But with the inundation of the eyes
What rocky heart to water will not wear?
What breast so cold that is not warmed here?
O cleft effect! cold modesty, hot wrath,
Both fire from hence and chill extincture hath
This is considered a controversial title. The authorship of this work is disputed I learned. But it did not affect my reading experience. Some claim this work an undeserved composition from the Bard. Trash... I don't think it is so. I loved it. And it is not always necessary that a genius will always produce a great piece of art. he has every right to slip.
There is nothing nasty in it. Though an abrupt end is there. But that is what poetry is all about. The message was fully conveyed.
I think this poem is all about the temptation and inducement of a young age and is certainly a good read!
The first known illustration to "A Lover's Complaint", from John Bell's 1774 edition of Shakespeare's works
But you know.. this sorrow of this young lady is quite beguiling!
A young woman is crying on the bank of a river. She is picking up ambers, crystals and braided jets from her basket and throwing them into the river one by one…Also, her letters written in blood she is throwing them into the flood.
An old man observes this. Consolation comes from him.
The old man wants to know… the motive of her woe!
She now begins the discourse of her complaint…an interlocution of her grief to the old man… a lover’s complaint.
'Father,' she says, 'though in me you behold
The injury of many a blasting hour,
Let it not tell your judgement I am old:
Not age, but sorrow, over me hath power.
I might as yet have been a spreading flower,
Fresh to myself, if I had self-applied
Love to myself, and to no love beside.
She then describes the youth of her lover, a skillful horse rider and so skillful in the speech that he could make the laugher weep and a weeper laugh.
'His browny locks did hang in crooked curls;
And every light occasion of the wind
Upon his lips their silken parcels hurls…..
and
Small show of man was yet upon his chin;
His phoenix down began but to appear,
Like unshorn velvet, on that termless skin…..
Her lover is a fetching character, so charming, so bewitching that women gave themselves to him, without even his wanting it. Many thought themselves as his mistress. This young lady knew about his past treacheries and she took an oath to keep herself away from him. But soon the desire overcame the reason. The lover asks pity for his past sufferings. She came near and the passion for love is so fiery that her vows got broken. She said that how a tear could melt a rocky heart.
O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies
In the small orb of one particular tear!
But with the inundation of the eyes
What rocky heart to water will not wear?
What breast so cold that is not warmed here?
O cleft effect! cold modesty, hot wrath,
Both fire from hence and chill extincture hath
This is considered a controversial title. The authorship of this work is disputed I learned. But it did not affect my reading experience. Some claim this work an undeserved composition from the Bard. Trash... I don't think it is so. I loved it. And it is not always necessary that a genius will always produce a great piece of art. he has every right to slip.
There is nothing nasty in it. Though an abrupt end is there. But that is what poetry is all about. The message was fully conveyed.
I think this poem is all about the temptation and inducement of a young age and is certainly a good read!
August 11, 2020
This was nice and beautifully written. It was short, so I don't have too much to say other than I liked it ^.^
January 11, 2026
Clever and beautiful.
January 23, 2023
"Who, young and simple, would not be so lover'd?"
July 1, 2020
The poetry is OK. The story is... Well, you'll see.
A woman, prematurely ravaged by sadness, casts jewels and tears into the river. The narrator overhears her telling an old man her story.
A beautful young man whom everyone desired - and who'd taken full advantage of it - came to woo her. She was well aware of his past, and in fact he used his own unscrupulous history to seduce her, claiming that others had only themselves to blame for throwing themselves at him, but now - now, at last! - he felt love and was as desperate for her as others had been for him. One key example: a nun broke her own vows to seduce him. He offered her all the jewels and sonnets and other gifts women had bestowed upon him, and claimed that it would be unkind to all his other lovers (unloved by him) for her to reject him.
Reader, she slept with him. Did the leopard change his spots? Of course not. But even now, even now, distraught as she is, she thinks she'd probably do it again if given the chance.
A woman, prematurely ravaged by sadness, casts jewels and tears into the river. The narrator overhears her telling an old man her story.
A beautful young man whom everyone desired - and who'd taken full advantage of it - came to woo her. She was well aware of his past, and in fact he used his own unscrupulous history to seduce her, claiming that others had only themselves to blame for throwing themselves at him, but now - now, at last! - he felt love and was as desperate for her as others had been for him. One key example: a nun broke her own vows to seduce him. He offered her all the jewels and sonnets and other gifts women had bestowed upon him, and claimed that it would be unkind to all his other lovers (unloved by him) for her to reject him.
Reader, she slept with him. Did the leopard change his spots? Of course not. But even now, even now, distraught as she is, she thinks she'd probably do it again if given the chance.
Read
December 27, 2012I just found this resource too: http://www.shakespeareswords.com/A-Lo...
I read the poem twice while listening to the audio (I found this extremely helpful). I was surprised how approachable the poem is – theme and language-wise. I love the visual pictures he creates – I felt I could actually see the women next to the water…
Really like this thought:
“To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I ey’d,
Such seems your beauty still.”
Like the sonnets, I’d like to spend more time studying the work – but must press on.
V
I read the poem twice while listening to the audio (I found this extremely helpful). I was surprised how approachable the poem is – theme and language-wise. I love the visual pictures he creates – I felt I could actually see the women next to the water…
Really like this thought:
“To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I ey’d,
Such seems your beauty still.”
Like the sonnets, I’d like to spend more time studying the work – but must press on.
V
April 3, 2022
Potent and eternally relevant. Love is complicated.
October 21, 2019
"A Lovers Complaint"
By William Shakespeare
From off a hill whose concave womb reworded
A plaintful story from a sistering vale,
My spirits to attend this double voice accorded,
And down I laid to list the sad-tuned tale;
Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale,
Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain,
Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain.
Upon her head a platted hive of straw,
Which fortified her visage from the sun,
Whereon the thought might think sometime it saw
The carcass of beauty spent and done:
Time had not scythed all that youth begun,
Nor youth all quit; but, spite of heaven's fell rage,
Some beauty peep'd through lattice of sear'd age.
Oft did she heave her napkin to her eyne,
Which on it had conceited characters,
Laundering the silken figures in the brine
That season'd woe had pelleted in tears,
And often reading what contents it bears;
As often shrieking undistinguish'd woe,
In clamours of all size, both high and low.
Sometimes her levell'd eyes their carriage ride,
As they did battery to the spheres intend;
Sometime diverted their poor balls are tied
To the orbed earth; sometimes they do extend
Their view right on; anon their gazes lend
To every place at once, and, nowhere fix'd,
The mind and sight distractedly commix'd.
Her hair, nor loose nor tied in formal plat,
Proclaim'd in her a careless hand of pride
For some, untuck'd, descended her sheaved hat,
Hanging her pale and pined cheek beside;
Some in her threaden fillet still did bide,
And true to bondage would not break from thence,
Though slackly braided in loose negligence.
A thousand favours from a maund she drew
Of amber, crystal, and of beaded jet,
Which one by one she in a river threw,
Upon whose weeping margent she was set;
Like usury, applying wet to wet,
Or monarch's hands that let not bounty fall
Where want cries some, but where excess begs all.
Of folded schedules had she many a one,
Which she perused, sigh'd, tore, and gave the flood;
Crack'd many a ring of posied gold and bone
Bidding them find their sepulchres in mud;
Found yet moe letters sadly penn'd in blood,
With sleided silk feat and affectedly
Enswathed, and seal'd to curious secrecy.
These often bathed she in her fluxive eyes,
And often kiss'd, and often 'gan to tear:
Cried 'O false blood, thou register of lies,
What unapproved witness dost thou bear!
Ink would have seem'd more black and damned here!'
This said, in top of rage the lines she rents,
Big discontent so breaking their contents.
A reverend man that grazed his cattle nigh--
Sometime a blusterer, that the ruffle knew
Of court, of city, and had let go by
The swiftest hours, observed as they flew--
Towards this afflicted fancy fastly drew,
And, privileged by age, desires to know
In brief the grounds and motives of her woe.
So slides he down upon his grained bat,
And comely-distant sits he by her side;
When he again desires her, being sat,
Her grievance with his hearing to divide:
If that from him there may be aught applied
Which may her suffering ecstasy assuage,
'Tis promised in the charity of age.
'Father,' she says, 'though in me you behold
The injury of many a blasting hour,
Let it not tell your judgment I am old;
Not age, but sorrow, over me hath power:
I might as yet have been a spreading flower,
Fresh to myself, If I had self-applied
Love to myself and to no love beside.
'But, woe is me! too early I attended
A youthful suit--it was to gain my grace--
Of one by nature's outwards so commended,
That maidens' eyes stuck over all his face:
Love lack'd a dwelling, and made him her place;
And when in his fair parts she did abide,
She was new lodged and newly deified.
'His browny locks did hang in crooked curls;
And every light occasion of the wind
Upon his lips their silken parcels hurls.
What's sweet to do, to do will aptly find:
Each eye that saw him did enchant the mind,
For on his visage was in little drawn
What largeness thinks in Paradise was sawn.
'Small show of man was yet upon his chin;
His phoenix down began but to appear
Like unshorn velvet on that termless skin
Whose bare out-bragg'd the web it seem'd to wear:
Yet show'd his visage by that cost more dear;
And nice affections wavering stood in doubt
If best were as it was, or best without.
'His qualities were beauteous as his form,
For maiden-tongued he was, and thereof free;
Yet, if men moved him, was he such a storm
As oft 'twixt May and April is to see,
When winds breathe sweet, untidy though they be.
His rudeness so with his authorized youth
Did livery falseness in a pride of truth.
'Well could he ride, and often men would say
'That horse his mettle from his rider takes:
Proud of subjection, noble by the sway,
What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop
he makes!'
And controversy hence a question takes,
Whether the horse by him became his deed,
Or he his manage by the well-doing steed.
'But quickly on this side the verdict went:
His real habitude gave life and grace
To appertainings and to ornament,
Accomplish'd in himself, not in his case:
All aids, themselves made fairer by their place,
Came for additions; yet their purposed trim
Pieced not his grace, but were all graced by him.
'So on the tip of his subduing tongue
All kinds of arguments and question deep,
All replication prompt, and reason strong,
For his advantage still did wake and sleep:
To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep,
He had the dialect and different skill,
Catching all passions in his craft of will:
'That he did in the general bosom reign
Of young, of old; and sexes both enchanted,
To dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain
In personal duty, following where he haunted:
Consents bewitch'd, ere he desire, have granted;
And dialogued for him what he would say,
Ask'd their own wills, and made their wills obey.
'Many there were that did his picture get,
To serve their eyes, and in it put their mind;
Like fools that in th' imagination set
The goodly objects which abroad they find
Of lands and mansions, theirs in thought assign'd;
And labouring in moe pleasures to bestow them
Than the true gouty landlord which doth owe them:
'So many have, that never touch'd his hand,
Sweetly supposed them mistress of his heart.
My woeful self, that did in freedom stand,
And was my own fee-simple, not in part,
What with his art in youth, and youth in art,
Threw my affections in his charmed power,
Reserved the stalk and gave him all my flower.
'Yet did I not, as some my equals did,
Demand of him, nor being desired yielded;
Finding myself in honour so forbid,
With safest distance I mine honour shielded:
Experience for me many bulwarks builded
Of proofs new-bleeding, which remain'd the foil
Of this false jewel, and his amorous spoil.
'But, ah, who ever shunn'd by precedent
The destined ill she must herself assay?
Or forced examples, 'gainst her own content,
To put the by-past perils in her way?
Counsel may stop awhile what will not stay;
For when we rage, advice is often seen
By blunting us to make our wits more keen.
'Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood,
That we must curb it upon others' proof;
To be forbod the sweets that seem so good,
For fear of harms that preach in our behoof.
O appetite, from judgment stand aloof!
The one a palate hath that needs will taste,
Though Reason weep, and cry, 'It is thy last.
'For further I could say 'This man's untrue,'
And knew the patterns of his foul beguiling;
Heard where his plants in others' orchards grew,
Saw how deceits were gilded in his smiling;
Knew vows were ever brokers to defiling;
Thought characters and words merely but art,
And bastards of his foul adulterate heart.
'And long upon these terms I held my city,
Till thus he gan besiege me: 'Gentle maid,
Have of my suffering youth some feeling pity,
And be not of my holy vows afraid:
That's to ye sworn to none was ever said;
For feasts of love I have been call'd unto,
Till now did ne'er invite, nor never woo.
''All my offences that abroad you see
Are errors of the blood, none of the mind;
Love made them not: with acture they may be,
Where neither party is nor true nor kind:
They sought their shame that so their shame did find;
And so much less of shame in me remains,
By how much of me their reproach contains.
''Among the many that mine eyes have seen,
Not one whose flame my heart so much as warm'd,
Or my affection put to the smallest teen,
Or any of my leisures ever charm'd:
Harm have I done to them, but ne'er was harm'd;
Kept hearts in liveries, but mine own was free,
And reign'd, commanding in his monarchy.
''Look here, what tributes wounded fancies sent me,
Of paled pearls and rubies red as blood;
Figuring that they their passions likewise lent me
Of grief and blushes, aptly understood
In bloodless white and the encrimson'd mood;
Effects of terror and dear modesty,
Encamp'd in hearts, but fighting outwardly.
''And, lo, behold these talents of their hair,
With twisted metal amorously impleach'd,
I have received from many a several fair,
Their kind acceptance weepingly beseech'd,
With the annexions of fair gems enrich'd,
And deep-brain'd sonnets that did amplify
Each stone's dear nature, worth, and quality.
''The diamond,--why, 'twas beautiful and hard,
Whereto his invised properties did tend;
The deep-green emerald, in whose fresh regard
Weak sights their sickly radiance do amend;
The heaven-hued sapphire and the opal blend
With objects manifold: each several stone,
With wit well blazon'd, smiled or made some moan.
''Lo, all these trophies of affections hot,
Of pensived and subdued desires the tender,
Nature hath charged me that I hoard them not,
But yield them up where I myself must render,
That is, to you, my origin and ender;
For these, of force, must your oblations be,
Since I their altar, you enpatron me.
''O, then, advance of yours that phraseless hand,
Whose white weighs down the airy scale of praise;
Take all these similes to your own command,
Hallow'd with sighs that burning lungs did raise;
What me your minister, for you obeys,
Works under you; and to your audit comes
Their distract parcels in combined sums.
''Lo, this device was sent me from a nun,
Or sister sanctified, of holiest note;
Which late her noble suit in court did shun,
Whose rarest havings made the blossoms dote;
For she was sought by spirits of richest coat,
But kept cold distance, and did thence remove,
To spend her living in eternal love.
''But, O my sweet, what labour is't to leave
The thing we have not, mastering what not strives,
Playing the place which did no form receive,
Playing patient sports in unconstrained gyves?
She that her fame so to herself contrives,
The scars of battle 'scapeth by the flight,
And makes her absence valiant, not her might.
''O, pardon me, in that my boast is true:
The accident which brought me to her eye
Upon the moment did her force subdue,
And now she would the caged cloister fly:
Religious love put out Religion's eye:
Not to be tempted, would she be immured,
And now, to tempt, all liberty procured.
''How mighty then you are, O, hear me tell!
The broken bosoms that to me belong
Have emptied all their fountains in my well,
And mine I pour your ocean all among:
I strong o'er them, and you o'er me being strong,
Must for your victory us all congest,
As compound love to physic your cold breast.
''My parts had power to charm a sacred nun,
Who, disciplined, ay, dieted in grace,
Believed her eyes when they to assail begun,
All vows and consecrations giving place:
O most potential love! vow, bond, nor space,
In thee hath neither sting, knot, nor confine,
For thou art all, and all things else are thine.
''When thou impressest, what are precepts worth
Of stale example? When thou wilt inflame,
How coldly those impediments stand forth
Of wealth, of filial fear, law, kindred, fame!
Love's arms are peace, 'gainst rule, 'gainst sense,
'gainst shame,
And sweetens, in the suffering pangs it bears,
The aloes of all forces, shocks, and fears.
''Now all these hearts that do on mine depend,
Feeling it break, with bleeding groans they pine;
And supplicant their sighs to you extend,
To leave the battery that you make 'gainst mine,
Lending soft audience to my sweet design,
And credent soul to that strong-bonded oath
That shall prefer and undertake my troth.
'This said, his watery eyes he did dismount,
Whose sights till then were levell'd on my face;
Each cheek a river running from a fount
With brinish current downward flow'd apace:
O, how the channel to the stream gave grace!
Who glazed with crystal gate the glowing roses
That flame through water which their hue encloses.
'O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies
In the small orb of one particular tear!
But with the inundation of the eyes
What rocky heart to water will not wear?
What breast so cold that is not warmed here?
O cleft effect! cold modesty, hot wrath,
Both fire from hence and chill extincture hath.
'For, lo, his passion, but an art of craft,
Even there resolved my reason into tears;
There my white stole of chastity I daff'd,
Shook off my sober guards and civil fears;
Appear to him, as he to me appears,
All melting; though our drops this difference bore,
His poison'd me, and mine did him restore.
'In him a plenitude of subtle matter,
Applied to cautels, all strange forms receives,
Of burning blushes, or of weeping water,
Or swooning paleness; and he takes and leaves,
In either's aptness, as it best deceives,
To blush at speeches rank to weep at woes,
Or to turn white and swoon at tragic shows.
'That not a heart which in his level came
Could 'scape the hail of his all-hurting aim,
Showing fair nature is both kind and tame;
And, veil'd in them, did win whom he would maim:
Against the thing he sought he would exclaim;
When he most burn'd in heart-wish'd luxury,
He preach'd pure maid, and praised cold chastity.
'Thus merely with the garment of a Grace
The naked and concealed fiend he cover'd;
That th' unexperient gave the tempter place,
Which like a cherubin above them hover'd.
Who, young and simple, would not be so lover'd?
Ay me! I fell; and yet do question make
What I should do again for such a sake.
'O, that infected moisture of his eye,
O, that false fire which in his cheek so glow'd,
O, that forced thunder from his heart did fly,
O, that sad breath his spongy lungs bestow'd,
O, all that borrow'd motion seeming owed,
Would yet again betray the fore-betray'd,
And new pervert a reconciled maid!'
By William Shakespeare
From off a hill whose concave womb reworded
A plaintful story from a sistering vale,
My spirits to attend this double voice accorded,
And down I laid to list the sad-tuned tale;
Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale,
Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain,
Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain.
Upon her head a platted hive of straw,
Which fortified her visage from the sun,
Whereon the thought might think sometime it saw
The carcass of beauty spent and done:
Time had not scythed all that youth begun,
Nor youth all quit; but, spite of heaven's fell rage,
Some beauty peep'd through lattice of sear'd age.
Oft did she heave her napkin to her eyne,
Which on it had conceited characters,
Laundering the silken figures in the brine
That season'd woe had pelleted in tears,
And often reading what contents it bears;
As often shrieking undistinguish'd woe,
In clamours of all size, both high and low.
Sometimes her levell'd eyes their carriage ride,
As they did battery to the spheres intend;
Sometime diverted their poor balls are tied
To the orbed earth; sometimes they do extend
Their view right on; anon their gazes lend
To every place at once, and, nowhere fix'd,
The mind and sight distractedly commix'd.
Her hair, nor loose nor tied in formal plat,
Proclaim'd in her a careless hand of pride
For some, untuck'd, descended her sheaved hat,
Hanging her pale and pined cheek beside;
Some in her threaden fillet still did bide,
And true to bondage would not break from thence,
Though slackly braided in loose negligence.
A thousand favours from a maund she drew
Of amber, crystal, and of beaded jet,
Which one by one she in a river threw,
Upon whose weeping margent she was set;
Like usury, applying wet to wet,
Or monarch's hands that let not bounty fall
Where want cries some, but where excess begs all.
Of folded schedules had she many a one,
Which she perused, sigh'd, tore, and gave the flood;
Crack'd many a ring of posied gold and bone
Bidding them find their sepulchres in mud;
Found yet moe letters sadly penn'd in blood,
With sleided silk feat and affectedly
Enswathed, and seal'd to curious secrecy.
These often bathed she in her fluxive eyes,
And often kiss'd, and often 'gan to tear:
Cried 'O false blood, thou register of lies,
What unapproved witness dost thou bear!
Ink would have seem'd more black and damned here!'
This said, in top of rage the lines she rents,
Big discontent so breaking their contents.
A reverend man that grazed his cattle nigh--
Sometime a blusterer, that the ruffle knew
Of court, of city, and had let go by
The swiftest hours, observed as they flew--
Towards this afflicted fancy fastly drew,
And, privileged by age, desires to know
In brief the grounds and motives of her woe.
So slides he down upon his grained bat,
And comely-distant sits he by her side;
When he again desires her, being sat,
Her grievance with his hearing to divide:
If that from him there may be aught applied
Which may her suffering ecstasy assuage,
'Tis promised in the charity of age.
'Father,' she says, 'though in me you behold
The injury of many a blasting hour,
Let it not tell your judgment I am old;
Not age, but sorrow, over me hath power:
I might as yet have been a spreading flower,
Fresh to myself, If I had self-applied
Love to myself and to no love beside.
'But, woe is me! too early I attended
A youthful suit--it was to gain my grace--
Of one by nature's outwards so commended,
That maidens' eyes stuck over all his face:
Love lack'd a dwelling, and made him her place;
And when in his fair parts she did abide,
She was new lodged and newly deified.
'His browny locks did hang in crooked curls;
And every light occasion of the wind
Upon his lips their silken parcels hurls.
What's sweet to do, to do will aptly find:
Each eye that saw him did enchant the mind,
For on his visage was in little drawn
What largeness thinks in Paradise was sawn.
'Small show of man was yet upon his chin;
His phoenix down began but to appear
Like unshorn velvet on that termless skin
Whose bare out-bragg'd the web it seem'd to wear:
Yet show'd his visage by that cost more dear;
And nice affections wavering stood in doubt
If best were as it was, or best without.
'His qualities were beauteous as his form,
For maiden-tongued he was, and thereof free;
Yet, if men moved him, was he such a storm
As oft 'twixt May and April is to see,
When winds breathe sweet, untidy though they be.
His rudeness so with his authorized youth
Did livery falseness in a pride of truth.
'Well could he ride, and often men would say
'That horse his mettle from his rider takes:
Proud of subjection, noble by the sway,
What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop
he makes!'
And controversy hence a question takes,
Whether the horse by him became his deed,
Or he his manage by the well-doing steed.
'But quickly on this side the verdict went:
His real habitude gave life and grace
To appertainings and to ornament,
Accomplish'd in himself, not in his case:
All aids, themselves made fairer by their place,
Came for additions; yet their purposed trim
Pieced not his grace, but were all graced by him.
'So on the tip of his subduing tongue
All kinds of arguments and question deep,
All replication prompt, and reason strong,
For his advantage still did wake and sleep:
To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep,
He had the dialect and different skill,
Catching all passions in his craft of will:
'That he did in the general bosom reign
Of young, of old; and sexes both enchanted,
To dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain
In personal duty, following where he haunted:
Consents bewitch'd, ere he desire, have granted;
And dialogued for him what he would say,
Ask'd their own wills, and made their wills obey.
'Many there were that did his picture get,
To serve their eyes, and in it put their mind;
Like fools that in th' imagination set
The goodly objects which abroad they find
Of lands and mansions, theirs in thought assign'd;
And labouring in moe pleasures to bestow them
Than the true gouty landlord which doth owe them:
'So many have, that never touch'd his hand,
Sweetly supposed them mistress of his heart.
My woeful self, that did in freedom stand,
And was my own fee-simple, not in part,
What with his art in youth, and youth in art,
Threw my affections in his charmed power,
Reserved the stalk and gave him all my flower.
'Yet did I not, as some my equals did,
Demand of him, nor being desired yielded;
Finding myself in honour so forbid,
With safest distance I mine honour shielded:
Experience for me many bulwarks builded
Of proofs new-bleeding, which remain'd the foil
Of this false jewel, and his amorous spoil.
'But, ah, who ever shunn'd by precedent
The destined ill she must herself assay?
Or forced examples, 'gainst her own content,
To put the by-past perils in her way?
Counsel may stop awhile what will not stay;
For when we rage, advice is often seen
By blunting us to make our wits more keen.
'Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood,
That we must curb it upon others' proof;
To be forbod the sweets that seem so good,
For fear of harms that preach in our behoof.
O appetite, from judgment stand aloof!
The one a palate hath that needs will taste,
Though Reason weep, and cry, 'It is thy last.
'For further I could say 'This man's untrue,'
And knew the patterns of his foul beguiling;
Heard where his plants in others' orchards grew,
Saw how deceits were gilded in his smiling;
Knew vows were ever brokers to defiling;
Thought characters and words merely but art,
And bastards of his foul adulterate heart.
'And long upon these terms I held my city,
Till thus he gan besiege me: 'Gentle maid,
Have of my suffering youth some feeling pity,
And be not of my holy vows afraid:
That's to ye sworn to none was ever said;
For feasts of love I have been call'd unto,
Till now did ne'er invite, nor never woo.
''All my offences that abroad you see
Are errors of the blood, none of the mind;
Love made them not: with acture they may be,
Where neither party is nor true nor kind:
They sought their shame that so their shame did find;
And so much less of shame in me remains,
By how much of me their reproach contains.
''Among the many that mine eyes have seen,
Not one whose flame my heart so much as warm'd,
Or my affection put to the smallest teen,
Or any of my leisures ever charm'd:
Harm have I done to them, but ne'er was harm'd;
Kept hearts in liveries, but mine own was free,
And reign'd, commanding in his monarchy.
''Look here, what tributes wounded fancies sent me,
Of paled pearls and rubies red as blood;
Figuring that they their passions likewise lent me
Of grief and blushes, aptly understood
In bloodless white and the encrimson'd mood;
Effects of terror and dear modesty,
Encamp'd in hearts, but fighting outwardly.
''And, lo, behold these talents of their hair,
With twisted metal amorously impleach'd,
I have received from many a several fair,
Their kind acceptance weepingly beseech'd,
With the annexions of fair gems enrich'd,
And deep-brain'd sonnets that did amplify
Each stone's dear nature, worth, and quality.
''The diamond,--why, 'twas beautiful and hard,
Whereto his invised properties did tend;
The deep-green emerald, in whose fresh regard
Weak sights their sickly radiance do amend;
The heaven-hued sapphire and the opal blend
With objects manifold: each several stone,
With wit well blazon'd, smiled or made some moan.
''Lo, all these trophies of affections hot,
Of pensived and subdued desires the tender,
Nature hath charged me that I hoard them not,
But yield them up where I myself must render,
That is, to you, my origin and ender;
For these, of force, must your oblations be,
Since I their altar, you enpatron me.
''O, then, advance of yours that phraseless hand,
Whose white weighs down the airy scale of praise;
Take all these similes to your own command,
Hallow'd with sighs that burning lungs did raise;
What me your minister, for you obeys,
Works under you; and to your audit comes
Their distract parcels in combined sums.
''Lo, this device was sent me from a nun,
Or sister sanctified, of holiest note;
Which late her noble suit in court did shun,
Whose rarest havings made the blossoms dote;
For she was sought by spirits of richest coat,
But kept cold distance, and did thence remove,
To spend her living in eternal love.
''But, O my sweet, what labour is't to leave
The thing we have not, mastering what not strives,
Playing the place which did no form receive,
Playing patient sports in unconstrained gyves?
She that her fame so to herself contrives,
The scars of battle 'scapeth by the flight,
And makes her absence valiant, not her might.
''O, pardon me, in that my boast is true:
The accident which brought me to her eye
Upon the moment did her force subdue,
And now she would the caged cloister fly:
Religious love put out Religion's eye:
Not to be tempted, would she be immured,
And now, to tempt, all liberty procured.
''How mighty then you are, O, hear me tell!
The broken bosoms that to me belong
Have emptied all their fountains in my well,
And mine I pour your ocean all among:
I strong o'er them, and you o'er me being strong,
Must for your victory us all congest,
As compound love to physic your cold breast.
''My parts had power to charm a sacred nun,
Who, disciplined, ay, dieted in grace,
Believed her eyes when they to assail begun,
All vows and consecrations giving place:
O most potential love! vow, bond, nor space,
In thee hath neither sting, knot, nor confine,
For thou art all, and all things else are thine.
''When thou impressest, what are precepts worth
Of stale example? When thou wilt inflame,
How coldly those impediments stand forth
Of wealth, of filial fear, law, kindred, fame!
Love's arms are peace, 'gainst rule, 'gainst sense,
'gainst shame,
And sweetens, in the suffering pangs it bears,
The aloes of all forces, shocks, and fears.
''Now all these hearts that do on mine depend,
Feeling it break, with bleeding groans they pine;
And supplicant their sighs to you extend,
To leave the battery that you make 'gainst mine,
Lending soft audience to my sweet design,
And credent soul to that strong-bonded oath
That shall prefer and undertake my troth.
'This said, his watery eyes he did dismount,
Whose sights till then were levell'd on my face;
Each cheek a river running from a fount
With brinish current downward flow'd apace:
O, how the channel to the stream gave grace!
Who glazed with crystal gate the glowing roses
That flame through water which their hue encloses.
'O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies
In the small orb of one particular tear!
But with the inundation of the eyes
What rocky heart to water will not wear?
What breast so cold that is not warmed here?
O cleft effect! cold modesty, hot wrath,
Both fire from hence and chill extincture hath.
'For, lo, his passion, but an art of craft,
Even there resolved my reason into tears;
There my white stole of chastity I daff'd,
Shook off my sober guards and civil fears;
Appear to him, as he to me appears,
All melting; though our drops this difference bore,
His poison'd me, and mine did him restore.
'In him a plenitude of subtle matter,
Applied to cautels, all strange forms receives,
Of burning blushes, or of weeping water,
Or swooning paleness; and he takes and leaves,
In either's aptness, as it best deceives,
To blush at speeches rank to weep at woes,
Or to turn white and swoon at tragic shows.
'That not a heart which in his level came
Could 'scape the hail of his all-hurting aim,
Showing fair nature is both kind and tame;
And, veil'd in them, did win whom he would maim:
Against the thing he sought he would exclaim;
When he most burn'd in heart-wish'd luxury,
He preach'd pure maid, and praised cold chastity.
'Thus merely with the garment of a Grace
The naked and concealed fiend he cover'd;
That th' unexperient gave the tempter place,
Which like a cherubin above them hover'd.
Who, young and simple, would not be so lover'd?
Ay me! I fell; and yet do question make
What I should do again for such a sake.
'O, that infected moisture of his eye,
O, that false fire which in his cheek so glow'd,
O, that forced thunder from his heart did fly,
O, that sad breath his spongy lungs bestow'd,
O, all that borrow'd motion seeming owed,
Would yet again betray the fore-betray'd,
And new pervert a reconciled maid!'
May 1, 2021
I'll be nice and give it 4 stars instead of 3.5 stars. This was surprisingly short compared to the previous poems I've read. What the woman has experienced, I guess many of us women can relate to today!
November 20, 2022
O, how the channel to the stream gave grace!
Who glazed with crystal gate the glowing roses
That flame through water which their hue encloses.
though our drops this difference bore,
His poison'd me, and mine did him restore.
Who glazed with crystal gate the glowing roses
That flame through water which their hue encloses.
though our drops this difference bore,
His poison'd me, and mine did him restore.
March 12, 2025
The language killed me
September 29, 2022
Skimmed; didn’t bother reading in whole. Considering that the whole point of the poem is a girl giving herself to a man and concluding (though in tears over his abandoning her) by saying she’d do it again... no thanks.
November 14, 2016
Poema que se lee en 20 minutos. Espléndido. No tiene mucha prensa, pero es hermoso de leer acompañado de los Sonetos.
December 14, 2024
A Lover's Complaint is a short narrative poem written to accompany William Shakespeare's collection of sonnets, as was the typical convention at the time. Such a poem was supposed to be about a dissatisfied lover, and it was supposed to be pithy and clever without distracting from the poetry collection itself. Shakespeare (or whomever was impersonating him) followed all of these instructions to the letter, and the result is a poem that's somewhat well-written and mildly entertaining, but not particularly special.
The language of a Lover's Complaint is generally pretty, but certainly not in comparison to the best of his Sonnets. Especially at this point of the Bard's career, his work starts to vary pretty widely in quality: Coriolanus is fantastic while Pericles is not so good, and some of the sonnets are masterpieces while others are frankly rather poor. This poem feels closer to the latter than the former, although there are a couple clever lines and the plot twist at the end is a nice touch.
This poem's writing also feels a little un-Shakespearean at some points, and makes use of some words that the playwright typically did not. This has led to some speculation about whether or not Shakespeare even wrote the poem at all, or if it was a ploy by publisher Thomas Thorpe to correspond to his pilfered copies of the Sonnets. For my part, I thought this poem sounded like Shakespeare, just not a particularly vivid or unique version of himself. It reminded me of Venus and Adonis, one of the Bard's earlier narrative poems, but with a less developed plot and slightly less clever language.
On the whole, I didn't dislike A Lover's Complaint but neither did I particularly like it. It's still an objectively good poem, and the end was pretty nicely done, but it's certainly rather forgettable. Compared to the rest of Shakespeare's catalogue, therefore, I would give this poem a C+. And I would recommend it to anyone who's reading the Sonnets (you might as well, right?) or dedicated Shakespeare fans, but probably nobody else.
The language of a Lover's Complaint is generally pretty, but certainly not in comparison to the best of his Sonnets. Especially at this point of the Bard's career, his work starts to vary pretty widely in quality: Coriolanus is fantastic while Pericles is not so good, and some of the sonnets are masterpieces while others are frankly rather poor. This poem feels closer to the latter than the former, although there are a couple clever lines and the plot twist at the end is a nice touch.
This poem's writing also feels a little un-Shakespearean at some points, and makes use of some words that the playwright typically did not. This has led to some speculation about whether or not Shakespeare even wrote the poem at all, or if it was a ploy by publisher Thomas Thorpe to correspond to his pilfered copies of the Sonnets. For my part, I thought this poem sounded like Shakespeare, just not a particularly vivid or unique version of himself. It reminded me of Venus and Adonis, one of the Bard's earlier narrative poems, but with a less developed plot and slightly less clever language.
On the whole, I didn't dislike A Lover's Complaint but neither did I particularly like it. It's still an objectively good poem, and the end was pretty nicely done, but it's certainly rather forgettable. Compared to the rest of Shakespeare's catalogue, therefore, I would give this poem a C+. And I would recommend it to anyone who's reading the Sonnets (you might as well, right?) or dedicated Shakespeare fans, but probably nobody else.
August 1, 2021
This poem was originally appended to the end of the Sonnets, though I read it on its own. Overall I enjoyed it, decent poetry and very easy to read. Perhaps a little too easy to read though, to be honest. It wasn't that moving, which I feel all poetry should be in some way, and it wasn't as clever as I would expect from Shakespeare either. The shortness of it meant it was quick and enjoyable to read, but I think it really needed a bit more length in order to have a bit more substance. I also saw, following on from the Sonnets, perhaps a hint of Shakespeare's interest in men in the way he describes the youth which lead the speaker away. I gather that writing from a female perspective was a thing in Elizabethan poetry, but considering how other work I don't think it's unreasonable to suggest the descriptions, though perhaps not the actual story of the poem itself, were lifted from Shakespeare's romantic interest in men.
July 2, 2020
Eine junge Frau sitzt heulend am Fluss, zerrupft Leserbrief und versenkt Geschenke. Ein alter Hirte kommt vorbei und sie klagt ihm ihr Leid. Erst ergeht sie sich viele Strophen lang in Beschreibungen des sexy womanizers, von dem sie wusste, dass er überall uneheliche Kinder hinterlässt. Dann gibt sie das halbe Gericht über wieder, wie er sie belabert. Er schenkt ihr Dinge, die er von anderen Gelebte bekommen hat (da hätte ich ihn schon rausgeschmissen), dann protzt er, dass sich sogar eine Nonne in ihn verliebt hat (so ein egozentrischer Arsch, spätestens hier hätte ich ihn rausgeschmissen). Sie lässt sich weichkochen und endet wie die anderen Ex. Und sie ist sogar so hormongeflashed, dass sie den Drecksack sogar zurücknehmen würde.
Hormongeflashte Dummchen, die auf Schönlinge reinfallen sterben nie aus.
Mein Mitleid hält sich in Grenzen.
Hormongeflashte Dummchen, die auf Schönlinge reinfallen sterben nie aus.
Mein Mitleid hält sich in Grenzen.
May 27, 2021
I went out of my comfort zone and read this poem. This is a narrative poem (a form of poetry that tells a story, often making voices of narrators and characters as well) written by Shakespeare.
It’s fairly a small read compared to other poems.
It begins with a description of a young woman weeping at the edge of a river , into which she throws torn-up letter, rings and other tokens of love. An old man observes this and wanting to know more , she then narrates the grief to the old man… a lover’s complaint
I think I’ll listen to the audiobook for this as I want to explore more of this poem rather than just one time read.
It’s fairly a small read compared to other poems.
It begins with a description of a young woman weeping at the edge of a river , into which she throws torn-up letter, rings and other tokens of love. An old man observes this and wanting to know more , she then narrates the grief to the old man… a lover’s complaint
I think I’ll listen to the audiobook for this as I want to explore more of this poem rather than just one time read.
June 25, 2024
FULL REVIEW ON MY WEBSITE
https://thebookcornerchronicles.com/2...
The writing style here was very good and beautiful to be honest.
This one was short so there isn’t much to say about it.
To poetry here was okay but the plot was worse. Because it was the generic plot of William Shakespeare about love, grief and death was really fast gets depressing if you ask me.
This poem is fun, enjoyable and interesting to read but still there was something missing in it at least for me.
https://thebookcornerchronicles.com/2...
The writing style here was very good and beautiful to be honest.
This one was short so there isn’t much to say about it.
To poetry here was okay but the plot was worse. Because it was the generic plot of William Shakespeare about love, grief and death was really fast gets depressing if you ask me.
This poem is fun, enjoyable and interesting to read but still there was something missing in it at least for me.
December 21, 2024
A short poem with a timeless theme: a man love bombs an innocent, receptive woman with words, gifts and affection, and when he has his way with her, he abandons her to leave her distraught and lost.
It has an interesting 7 line stanza and rhyme form, so it never feels like the "da-dum-da-dum-da-dum-da-dum-da-dum" of iambic pentameter, but written around the same time as the sonnets, it feels like it has much of the same downsides of those when they don't quite work - obtuse, long-winded and over-extended.
It has an interesting 7 line stanza and rhyme form, so it never feels like the "da-dum-da-dum-da-dum-da-dum-da-dum" of iambic pentameter, but written around the same time as the sonnets, it feels like it has much of the same downsides of those when they don't quite work - obtuse, long-winded and over-extended.
January 9, 2024
A narrative poem which was included as an appendix to the original edition of the sonnets, published by Thomas Thorpe in 1609. The poem consists of forty-seven seven-line stanzas. No one wants to be ill used no matter what time period we live in and this was one way to complain.. I read the poem while listening to an Audible version of the work. Very enjoyable and worth the time.
January 1, 2026
"From off a hill whose concave womb reworded
A plaintful story from a sistering vale,
My spirits to attend this double voice accorded,
And down I laid to list the sad-tuned tale;
Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale,
Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain,
Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain."
A plaintful story from a sistering vale,
My spirits to attend this double voice accorded,
And down I laid to list the sad-tuned tale;
Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale,
Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain,
Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain."
September 19, 2019
Beautiful
The woes of a woman, who is betrayed by her lover, are beautifully described in this poem. It's heartbreaking to see how she still finds her emotions invested in the same person.
The woes of a woman, who is betrayed by her lover, are beautifully described in this poem. It's heartbreaking to see how she still finds her emotions invested in the same person.
July 8, 2020
Curious thing I got from researching is that this is written in rhyme royal (ABABBCC).
This poem tells of a young woman heart broken because of a lover who has abandoned her, and him being deceptive.
The style is very classic and it is just very elegantly written.
This poem tells of a young woman heart broken because of a lover who has abandoned her, and him being deceptive.
The style is very classic and it is just very elegantly written.
June 13, 2024
Although its authorship is disputed, it has the same rhyming scheme as 'Rape of Lucrece'. This short poem is about a woman who can be seen crying over her lover who seduced her and tarnished her dignity and then left.
January 10, 2025
Despite the initial barrier of its old English verse, this poem rewards patient readers with timeless insights into human nature and the complex dynamics of desire.
It stands as a testament to Shakespeare's ability to capture the nuances of human psychology, particularly in matters of the heart.
It stands as a testament to Shakespeare's ability to capture the nuances of human psychology, particularly in matters of the heart.
June 7, 2018
This is mundane Shakespeare at best
June 11, 2018
Quick. Observant
I chose this rating for the fact it's w.Shakespeare. beauty in a tragic metamorphosis. Descriptive words. Quick. And plane mode was ready
I chose this rating for the fact it's w.Shakespeare. beauty in a tragic metamorphosis. Descriptive words. Quick. And plane mode was ready
June 5, 2019
Not sure what the girl was complaining about or who was even saying what, but I’m under the impression that it was more about the man still being hung up on a nun he loved once.
July 1, 2019
A young woman tells how her lover pursued, seduced, and then abandoned her, but admits that she would fall for the young man's false charms again.
June 23, 2021
A narrative poem that tells the story of a woman who was seduced and then abandoned by a lover. The woman comes to the conclusion that she would fall for the same trick again.
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