"Only a Carpathian would come back to life now and choose New York! If you had brain one in that huge melon on top of your neck, you would be living the sweet life out in Southern California's beautiful San Fernando Valley!* "
[ * The Jerusalem of Sex ]
Dr. Peter "Pete" Venkman
President of the Largest Paranormal Investigation and Elimination etc. Etc....
The World is Changed.
We are now experiencing life in The World after 2012, and women have all the power.
Though many do not get know it yet, there are billions more that feel it, even if they do not see it.
And this will increase.
Boudicca is awake, and all her slaughtered daughters and Grand Daughterhood hear her cry to arise and turn again to glory.
The world is becoming more female.
The Mighty Thor Odinson, God of Thunder, Lord of the Storm, Malkeith's Bane, Slayer of the Wyrm, Guardian of the World-Ash Tree, Troll-Smasher, Hammer of the Goblin Horde, Crown Prince of Asgard and Conqueror of the Nine Worlds says :
"Hello, Ghostbusters, whaddya want?!"
"And will that be cash or charge?
No Diner's Club, American Express or Luncheon Vouchers.
Yes, we can accept a cashier's check or Visa."
THIS DOESNT APPEAR TO BE WORKING...
WHY ISNT THIS WORKING?
THIS USUALLY WORKS...
THIS SHOULD BE KILLING YOU...
WHY CAN'T I MAKE YOU DIE?!?
I learnt the by reading JLA : Earth2 by Grant Morrison - Gozer CAN'T win by manifesting in 1984 the way she did - because she's a girl.
Affect all of the Sheena Easton 9 to 5 hairdos you like, lady - as a deity, you absolutely cannot manifest physically in female form in the year 1984 and win...!!
She has no power here - she cannot even smite three ordinary mortal males.
They challenge her with maleness.
They meet her at The Gate with autistic bureaucratic authoritarian pedantry, shouting, name calling, abusive language, mysogeny and finally, with their cocks, before ultimately rubbing all of their cocks together to make her go away, and are successful in their efforts to block her claim to power.
Four mortal men embarrass and humilate and vanquish a goddess, and weren't even killed.
There is essentially a nuclear detonation on the roof of that building, with a wall of flame and Godzilla-style atomic fire so intense it instantly incinerates and liquifies several hundred tonnes of highly processed sugar in barely a fraction of a split second and there isn't even a scratch on them.
Their hair isn't even burnt.
Dan Ackroyd, Ivan Reitman and Harold Ramis claim on the commentary track that this is "a joke", but I don't think it is - for one thing, it lacks a punchline or a point at which you are obviously meant to reflect on the absurdity and laugh, especially as it is so deeply embedded in the absolute complete dramatic apex of the entire picture.
I think this is intended (on some level) to reflect the fact that Gozer, as a girl, coming into The World of 1984 in the dying days of The Age of Men can't hurt them because the dominant patriarchy makes them invincible.
No Bitches Don't B catchin no Ghosts.
[Mr. Stay-Puft is still too female because he is soft, sweet and gooey inside - YIELD to my nuclear physics!!]
All of the Politically Correct Anglophones out there are now racing to call that last series of remarks sexist and mysogonist. Well, only in America. And England.
The Universe is GENDERED, along with everything in it.
This has nothing to do with sex or sexuality.
This has mostly been eliminated from the English Language, except where it relates to ships and boats, but EVERYTHING in nature, like nature has a male and a female aspect to it, with one or other or them dominating - speakers of French or any romance language will be easily able to tell you why rivers and streams are called "she" while the planet Jupiter is a "he".
Gozer is a god - and as such, whenever he/she/it decides to vibrate it's energy downwards and intersect with the world of materialism and make it's pressence felt by intersecting with this dimensional plane of our three dimensions as a projection of her higher dimensional being,
"It's whatever it wants to be."
In 1984, in the Age of Men, females were wives, girlfriends, secretaries, mistresses, mothers, sisters, whores, nuns....
In 2016, Woman was The Goddess.
But that's because the aeon flipped around in 2012 and the Age of Men has now passed.
Men were the Big Swinging Dicks on the block in 1984.
They didn't have time to mess around with no "goddess" back in the Reagan years.
Not since Boudicca, Asherah and Judy left town.
So let's just show this Pre-historic Bitch how we do things down town
Conversely, as a man and former earthly King, Vigo CAN win, and is far more successful because he manifests as a male destroyer warrior / sorcerer and seizes a baby man-child whilst brutalising her mother - but he can back at a point way too near to the end of the æon, in its dying twilight when the power of Men was failing and about to fall.
And as soon as he fully coporealises and vibrates down to BECOME a man (Ray), he can only do so parasitically by latching onto an existing male soul to draw in strength and anchor himself to this spiritual and material plain, which renders him vulnerable to attack (and defeat) by other mortal men, which then IMMEDIATELY occurs.
And Men are able to do effectively and totally vanquish Vigo when he manifests by using a combination attack volley of Male and Female weaponry to destabilise and disrupt his manifestation on this plain, jam all his frequencies and exorcise him completely from this level of reality -
It's actually VERY interesting, there is Millenialism all over Ghostbusters 2, even down to the promotional campaign; just like with the Paul McGann 8th Doctor TV-Movie, although seemingly even MORE arbitrary and pedantic.
When Prince wrote about the End of the World and Judgement Day and called it 1999, he knew full well and never intended it to literally mean that the world would come to an end at midnight on Dec. 31st 1999 (or Dec. 31st 2000, come to that), just as when Rod Steiger talks of images and numbers sometimes appearing upside down in dreams and prophecy, such as 666 instead of 1999 in my personal favourite guilty apocalyptic action flick pleasure, End of Days. It's self-evidently tongue-in-cheek, ironic and intended to take the piss out of Bible Literalists and fundamentalists generally.
Vigo's intended takeover and manifestation, his little interdimensional happening is specifically scheduled to occur (he PLANNED it that way) at mid-night on New Years' Eve - just after 11:59pm Eastern Standard Time, on December 31st 1989.... Which means absolutely NOTHING...
Unless we are talking symbolically and alchemically and thinking magickally about somebody DESPERATE to get in early and beat the deadline to get as much prep time in as possible ahead of 2012.
And the trailer even plays this up even more than it already is present in the movie itself :
"At the stroke of midnight of the last decade of the Twentieth Century...!"
Which means WHAT, exactly....?
Well, means that we're on The Clock, man.
IF you are a man...
Time's running short.
Time's almost up.
And Vigo, (who, as Dan Ackroyd points out, unlike Gozer, has indeed "Lived Before" in This World as a man, as a King, and therefore actually is a ghost, and not a god (or so he thinks, in his mortal arrogance)) is determinedto live (here) again as a man.
The idea of soul-hopping into a willing female host vessel never even occurs to him in his male-chauvinist arrogance.
The Egyptian Mystery Religion and the African tradition of spirituality teaches us that we are
BORN DEAD into this world, we BECOME ALIVE, and then we ASCEND...
This is why Vigo needs a child, a baby (and, due to his vast excess of male vanity and presumption, a malechild) to attach himself to and bond with as his new host body and live again in This World
Oscar Barrett is an empty vessel (an "ARK") of life and experience (practically), so there is nothing there to displace - it's like Professor X's soul-hopping into the brain of an adult "vegetable" at the end of X-Men : The Final Stand, but done logically and rationally.
Oscar has not yet lived and so thus is not yet fully alive, and thus fresh meat to sustain the necromancer.
He can mesmerize and corrupt Janoz to do his bidding and be his eyes and ears and hands on Earth, whilst empowering him with Earthly and spirit-realm magicks, but he can't occupy his body and displays his rather annoying and toadying personality.
This is why he doesn't just jump straight out of the painting and fully possess Ray in the first place - Ray is fully and truly alive, so he has to first enslave his will using magicks and hypnosis from the painting before he can get anywhere near actually manifesting inside Ray's body, but there is also far too much life there, of Ray's life to displace - it must require an enormous effort to push Ray's soul out of the way, and it's quite simply not sustainable Vigo, for those few seconds, is a true parasite rather than Vigo reborn as Ray.
Something truly awesome I only just realised :
I always dismissed that final scene in Ghostbuster 2 as being silly, goofy and nonsensical - why would exorcising Vigo's shade from his evil portrait using mood slime make a new painting of the four Ghostbusters as Gregorii Watchersrs as protectors over the infant Oscar?
That's stupid, right? That doesn't make any sense.
That's not what's happening - Egon specifically says, whilst examining the painting up close, "Early Rennaissance, I think...", when we know that Vigo['s head] died in 1505, which is LATE Rennaissance, which would have been when he cursed the painting and pur a portion of his essence into it to act as his talisman or mandala to anchor his spirit and act as a guide-rail drag his full consciousness back into our physical realm of material reality.
Such dark magicks doubtless called for a ritual sacrifice, destruction or corruption of something pure or innocent or beautiful to serve some awful, cruel and wicked, meaning that Vigo, or the artist he commissioned to capture a portion of his soul in the painting must have painted over an existing pure and beautiful image already on the canvas and trapped it underneath the paint to sustain its own need for corrupt destruction and irrational domination whilst he remained locked inside the portrait trapped inside various museum vaults, locked in storage, waiting for the right person to possess to once his strength began to ooze back out the canvas and break free.
But his reliance on the mood slime was ultimately his downfall, and it betrayed and abandoned him when he thought his control over it was complete, certain and absolute.
He thought himself the Master of the Ooze, but he proved to wanting in his attempts to weild it - he took Her for granted, She proved herself a fickle beast and a subtle vixen and ultimately allied with his enemies to precipitate his downfall and ultimately She destroyed him totally.
And this is how we learn....
So, to reiterate the point, it doesn't resemblean early-Rennaissance painting from the mid-1400s it is an early-Rennaissance painting from the mid-1400s created by some mad visionary prophet of the Italian Golden Rennaissance who really managed to capture Egon's hair right, that Vigo didn't want anybody else seeing or knowing about prior to The [his] End of the World.
Such is Male Ego....
And the moral of the story is :
Feminism cannot be controlled or brought to heal - She will always turn against you if you try to break or train Her, and she cannot be domesticated;
Only a Fool or an Idiot would even try.
She is of The Wild, and She is Eternal
She is the Storm and She Reaps the Whirlwind, for Hell Hath No Fury....
The Monstrous Feminine The Terrible Aspect of Womanhood
The Wronged Wife, The Black Widow
The Other Woman, The Spurned Lover and Mamma Grizzly Bear
The Chased and Persecuted Hunter The Wounded Heart of Diana, The Shaker of the Spear, The Flaming Brand of Artimis
Lilith.
Hell Hath no Fury
and
She is Forever
Gozer the Gozarian...?
Good Evening.
To be clear -
this is not an intervention,
you are not unwelcome,
and nobody will be asking you (this time) to leave.
Please consider this your Home.
You are welcome and invited to stay as long as you wish.
We Want to Help.
Just please do not smite us or roast us in the belly of a giant Sloar, or crush us beneath a large and moving Tor.
We're very, very sorry about what happened and the way you have been treated, and will do whatever it takes to make amends and make that up to you.
And then we would like, humbly, to ask for your help.
Just please, no Sloar.
Betelgeuse
Betelgeuse
Betelgeuse
The Dark Lady Sonnets
(127 - 154)
CXXVII
In the old age black was not counted fair, Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name; But now is black beauty's successive heir, And beauty slandered with a **** shame: For since each hand hath put on Nature's power, Fairing the foul with Art's false borrowed face, Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy bower, But is profaned, if not lives in disgrace. Therefore my mistress' eyes are raven black, Her eyes so suited, and they mourners seem At such who, not born fair, no beauty lack, Sland'ring creation with a false esteem: Yet so they mourn becoming of their woe, That every tongue says beauty should look so.
CXXVIII
How oft when thou, my music, music play'st, Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds With thy sweet fingers when thou gently sway'st The wiry concord that mine ear confounds, Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap, To kiss the tender inward of thy hand, Whilst my poor lips which should that harvest reap, At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand! To be so tickled, they would change their state And situation with those dancing chips, O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait, Making dead wood more bless'd than living lips. Since saucy jacks so happy are in this, Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.
CXXIX
The expense of spirit in a waste of shame Is lust in action: and till action, lust Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame, Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust; Enjoyed no sooner but despised straight; Past reason hunted; and no sooner had, Past reason hated, as a swallowed bait, On purpose laid to make the taker mad. Mad in pursuit and in possession so; Had, having, and in quest to have extreme; A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe; Before, a joy proposed; behind a dream. All this the world well knows; yet none knows well To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.
The Trickster God
Red Giant in the Arms of Orion
Betelgeuse
Betelgeuse
Betelgeuse
CXXX
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red, than her lips red: If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. I have seen roses damasked, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks; And in some perfumes is there more delight Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know That music hath a far more pleasing sound: I grant I never saw a goddess go, My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground: And yet by heaven, I think my love as rare, As any she belied with false compare.
CXXXI
Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art, As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel; For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel. Yet, in good faith, some say that thee behold, Thy face hath not the power to make love groan; To say they err I dare not be so bold, Although I swear it to myself alone. And to be sure that is not false I swear, A thousand groans, but thinking on thy face, One on another's neck, do witness bear Thy black is fairest in my judgment's place. In nothing art thou black save in thy deeds, And thence this slander, as I think, proceeds.
CXXXII
Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me, Knowing thy heart torments me with disdain, Have put on black and loving mourners be, Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain. And truly not the morning sun of heaven Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east, Nor that full star that ushers in the even, Doth half that glory to the sober west, As those two mourning eyes become thy face: O! let it then as well beseem thy heart To mourn for me since mourning doth thee grace, And suit thy pity like in every part. Then will I swear beauty herself is black, And all they foul that thy complexion lack.
CXXXIII
Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan For that deep wound it gives my friend and me! Is't not enough to torture me alone, But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be? Me from myself thy cruel eye hath taken, And my next self thou harder hast engrossed: Of him, myself, and thee I am forsaken; A torment thrice three-fold thus to be crossed. Prison my heart in thy steel bosom's ward, But then my friend's heart let my poor heart bail; Whoe'er keeps me, let my heart be his guard; Thou canst not then use rigour in my jail: And yet thou wilt; for I, being pent in thee, Perforce am thine, and all that is in me.
CXXXIV
So now I have confessed that he is thine, And I my self am mortgaged to thy will, Myself I'll forfeit, so that other mine Thou wilt restore to be my comfort still: But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free, For thou art covetous, and he is kind; He learned but surety-like to write for me, Under that bond that him as fast doth bind. The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take, Thou usurer, that put'st forth all to use, And sue a friend came debtor for my sake; So him I lose through my unkind abuse. Him have I lost; thou hast both him and me: He pays the whole, and yet am I not free.
CXXXV
Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy Will, And Will to boot, and Will in over-plus; More than enough am I that vexed thee still, To thy sweet will making addition thus. Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious, Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine? Shall will in others seem right gracious, And in my will no fair acceptance shine? The sea, all water, yet receives rain still, And in abundance addeth to his store; So thou, being rich in Will, add to thy Will One will of mine, to make thy large will more. Let no unkind, no fair beseechers kill; Think all but one, and me in that one Will.
CXXXVI
If thy soul check thee that I come so near, Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy Will, And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there; Thus far for love, my love-suit, sweet, fulfil. Will, will fulfil the treasure of thy love, Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one. In things of great receipt with ease we prove Among a number one is reckoned none: Then in the number let me pass untold, Though in thy store's account I one must be; For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold That nothing me, a something sweet to thee: Make but my name thy love, and love that still, And then thou lovest me for my name is 'Will.'
CXXXVII
Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes, That they behold, and see not what they see? They know what beauty is, see where it lies, Yet what the best is take the worst to be. If eyes, corrupt by over-partial looks, Be anchored in the bay where all men ride, Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged hooks, Whereto the judgment of my heart is tied? Why should my heart think that a several plot, Which my heart knows the wide world's common place? Or mine eyes, seeing this, say this is not, To put fair truth upon so foul a face? In things right true my heart and eyes have erred, And to this false plague are they now transferred.
CXXXVIII
When my love swears that she is made of truth, I do believe her though I know she lies, That she might think me some untutored youth, Unlearned in the world's false subtleties. Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young, Although she knows my days are past the best, Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue: On both sides thus is simple truth suppressed: But wherefore says she not she is unjust? And wherefore say not I that I am old? O! love's best habit is in seeming trust, And age in love, loves not to have years told: Therefore I lie with her, and she with me, And in our faults by lies we flattered be.
CXXXIX
O! call not me to justify the wrong That thy unkindness lays upon my heart; Wound me not with thine eye, but with thy tongue: Use power with power, and slay me not by art, Tell me thou lov'st elsewhere; but in my sight, Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside: What need'st thou wound with cunning, when thy might Is more than my o'erpressed defence can bide? Let me excuse thee: ah! my love well knows Her pretty looks have been mine enemies; And therefore from my face she turns my foes, That they elsewhere might dart their injuries: Yet do not so; but since I am near slain, Kill me outright with looks, and rid my pain.
CXL
Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain; Lest sorrow lend me words, and words express The manner of my pity-wanting pain. If I might teach thee wit, better it were, Though not to love, yet, love to tell me so; As testy sick men, when their deaths be near, No news but health from their physicians know; For, if I should despair, I should grow mad, And in my madness might speak ill of thee; Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad, Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be. That I may not be so, nor thou belied, Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide.
CXLI
In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes, For they in thee a thousand errors note; But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise, Who, in despite of view, is pleased to dote. Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune delighted; Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone, Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited To any sensual feast with thee alone: But my five wits nor my five senses can Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee, Who leaves unswayed the likeness of a man, Thy proud heart's slave and vassal wretch to be: Only my plague thus far I count my gain, That she that makes me sin awards me pain.
CXLII
Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate, Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving: O! but with mine compare thou thine own state, And thou shalt find it merits not reproving; Or, if it do, not from those lips of thine, That have profaned their scarlet ornaments And sealed false bonds of love as oft as mine, Robbed others' beds' revenues of their rents. Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lov'st those Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee: Root pity in thy heart, that, when it grows, Thy pity may deserve to pitied be. If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide, By self-example mayst thou be denied!
CXLIII
Lo, as a careful housewife runs to catch One of her feather'd creatures broke away, Sets down her babe, and makes all swift dispatch In pursuit of the thing she would have stay; Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase, Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent To follow that which flies before her face, Not prizing her poor infant's discontent; So runn'st thou after that which flies from thee, Whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind; But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me, And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind; So will I pray that thou mayst have thy 'Will,' If thou turn back and my loud crying still.
CXLIV
Two loves I have of comfort and despair, Which like two spirits do suggest me still: The better angel is a man right fair, The worser spirit a woman coloured ill. To win me soon to hell, my female evil, Tempteth my better angel from my side, And would corrupt my saint to be a devil, Wooing his purity with her foul pride. And whether that my angel be turned fiend, Suspect I may, yet not directly tell; But being both from me, both to each friend, I guess one angel in another's hell: Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt, Till my bad angel fire my good one out.
CXLV
Those lips that Love's own hand did make, Breathed forth the sound that said 'I hate', To me that languished for her sake: But when she saw my woeful state, Straight in her heart did mercy come, Chiding that tongue that ever sweet Was used in giving gentle doom; And taught it thus anew to greet; 'I hate' she altered with an end, That followed it as gentle day, Doth follow night, who like a fiend From heaven to hell is flown away. 'I hate', from hate away she threw, And saved my life, saying 'not you'.
CXLVI
Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth, ( ??? ) these rebel powers that thee array, Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth, Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? Why so large cost, having so short a lease, Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? Shall worms, inheritors of this excess, Eat up thy charge? Is this thy body's end? Then soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, And let that pine to aggravate thy store; Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross; Within be fed, without be rich no more: So shall thou feed on Death, that feeds on men, And Death once dead, there's no more dying then.
CXLVII
My love is as a fever longing still, For that which longer nurseth the disease; Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, The uncertain sickly appetite to please. My reason, the physician to my love, Angry that his prescriptions are not kept, Hath left me, and I desperate now approve Desire is death, which physic did except. Past cure I am, now Reason is past care, And frantic-mad with evermore unrest; My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's are, At random from the truth vainly expressed; For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.
CXLVIII
O me! what eyes hath Love put in my head, Which have no correspondence with true sight; Or, if they have, where is my judgment fled, That censures falsely what they see aright? If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote, What means the world to say it is not so? If it be not, then love doth well denote Love's eye is not so true as all men's: no, How can it? O! how can Love's eye be true, That is so vexed with watching and with tears? No marvel then, though I mistake my view; The sun itself sees not, till heaven clears. O cunning Love! with tears thou keep'st me blind, Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find.
CXLIX
Canst thou, O cruel! say I love thee not, When I against myself with thee partake? Do I not think on thee, when I forgot Am of my self, all tyrant, for thy sake? Who hateth thee that I do call my friend, On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon, Nay, if thou lour'st on me, do I not spend Revenge upon myself with present moan? What merit do I in my self respect, That is so proud thy service to despise, When all my best doth worship thy defect, Commanded by the motion of thine eyes? But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind, Those that can see thou lov'st, and I am blind.
CL
O! from what power hast thou this powerful might, With insufficiency my heart to sway? To make me give the lie to my true sight, And swear that brightness doth not grace the day? Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill, That in the very refuse of thy deeds There is such strength and warrantise of skill, That, in my mind, thy worst all best exceeds? Who taught thee how to make me love thee more, The more I hear and see just cause of hate? O! though I love what others do abhor, With others thou shouldst not abhor my state: If thy unworthiness raised love in me, More worthy I to be beloved of thee.
CLI
Love is too young to know what conscience is, Yet who knows not conscience is born of love? Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss, Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove: For, thou betraying me, I do betray My nobler part to my gross body's treason; My soul doth tell my body that he may Triumph in love; flesh stays no farther reason, But rising at thy name doth point out thee, As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride, He is contented thy poor drudge to be, To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side. No want of conscience hold it that I call Her love, for whose dear love I rise and fall.
CLII
In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn, But thou art twice forsworn, to me love swearing; In act thy bed-vow broke, and new faith torn, In vowing new hate after new love bearing: But why of two oaths' breach do I accuse thee, When I break twenty? I am perjured most; For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee, And all my honest faith in thee is lost: For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness, Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy; And, to enlighten thee, gave eyes to blindness, Or made them swear against the thing they see; For I have sworn thee fair; more perjured eye, To swear against the truth so foul a lie!
CLIII
Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep: A maid of Dian's this advantage found, And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep In a cold valley-fountain of that ground; Which borrowed from this holy fire of Love, A dateless lively heat, still to endure, And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove Against strange maladies a sovereign cure. But at my mistress' eye Love's brand new-fired, The boy for trial needs would touch my breast; I, sick withal, the help of bath desired, And thither hied, a sad distempered guest, But found no cure, the bath for my help lies Where Cupid got new fire; my mistress' eyes.
CLIV
The little Love-god lying once asleep, Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand, Whilst many nymphs that vowed chaste life to keep Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand The fairest votary took up that fire Which many legions of true hearts had warmed; And so the General of hot desire Was, sleeping, by a virgin hand disarmed. This brand she quenched in a cool well by, Which from Love's fire took heat perpetual, Growing a bath and healthful remedy, For men diseased; but I, my mistress' thrall, Came there for cure and this by that I prove, Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.
There She is...
NOTE:
The last group of poems all involve a particular woman -- referred to as the 'Dark Lady' because of discriptions of her contained within the poems -- save the last two, which have to do with Cupid, but are generally regarded as being in the same vein as the poems that come before it.
The tone of the sonnets ranges from beatification to admonishment, and describes a multi-faceted relationship that the speaker, at different points, both curses and blesses.
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