41
Not marble nor the gilded monuments
Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Music to hear, why hears't thou music sadly
When forty winters shall besiege thy brow
No longer mourn for me when I am dead
In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes
Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day
Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck
My love is as a fever, longing still
The little Love-God lying once asleep
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day
Our revels now are ended (The Tempest, Act IV, Scene I)
℗ This compilation 2002 by EMI Records Ltd. © 2002 EMI Records Ltd
