The tempest | ||
SCENE V.
Before Prospero's cell.Enter FERDINAND.
To be a prisoner where I love,
Is but a double tie, a link of fortune,
Join'd to the chain of love; but not to see her,
And yet to be so near her, there's the hardship:
But her fair form lives always in my mind.
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To what my eyes admir'd before,
I add a thousand graces more,
And fancy blows into a flame,
The spark that from her beauty came:
The object thus improv'd by thought,
By my own image I am caught;
Pygmalion so, with fatal art,
Polish'd the form that stung his heart.
I add a thousand graces more,
And fancy blows into a flame,
The spark that from her beauty came:
The object thus improv'd by thought,
By my own image I am caught;
Pygmalion so, with fatal art,
Polish'd the form that stung his heart.
The tempest | ||