Was this the face that launchd a thousand ships, And burnt the topless towers of Ilium? Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss. Her lips suck forth my soul: see where it flies! Come, Helen, come, give me my soul again. Here will I dwell, for heaven is in these lips, And all is dross that is not Helena. I will be Paris, and for love of thee, Instead of Troy, shall Wittenberg be sackd; And I will combat with weak Menelaus, And wear thy colours on my plumed crest; Yea, I will wound Achilles in the heel, And then return to Helen for a kiss. O, thou art fairer than the evening air Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars; Brighter art thou than flaming Jupiter When he appeard to hapless Semele; More lovely than the monarch of the sky In wanton Arethusas azurd arms; And none but thou shalt be my paramour! Christopher Marlowe. Doctor Faustus Kaalia Jutt Leo Shan Atiq Ur Rehman Ammar Shah
Posted on: Sat, 27 Dec 2014 16:21:46 +0000
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