I have mark'd

A thousand blushing apparitions

To start into her face, a thousand innocent shames

In angel whiteness beat away those blushes.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Much Ado about Nothing. Act iv. Sc. 1.

That saw the manners in the face.

Samuel Johnson (1709-1784): Lines on the Death of Hogarth.

Her face, oh call it fair, not pale!

Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834): Christabel. Part ii.

Can't I another's face commend,

And to her virtues be a friend,

But instantly your forehead lowers,

As if her merit lessen'd yours?

Edward Moore (1712-1757): The Farmer, the Spaniel, and the Cat. Fable ix.

'T is a common proof,

That lowliness is young ambition's ladder,

Whereto the climber-upward turns his face;

But when he once attains the upmost round,

He then unto the ladder turns his back,

Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees

By which he did ascend.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Julius Caesar. Act ii. Sc. 1.

A sweet attractive kinde of grace,

A full assurance given by lookes,

Continuall comfort in a face

The lineaments of Gospell bookes.

Mathew Roydon (Circa 1586): An Elegie; or Friend's Passion for his Astrophill.

Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace

The day's disasters in his morning face;

Full well they laugh'd with counterfeited glee

At all his jokes, for many a joke had he;

Full well the busy whisper circling round

Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd.

Yet was he kind, or if severe in aught,

The love he bore to learning was in fault;

The village all declar'd how much he knew,

'T was certain he could write and cipher too.

Oliver Goldsmith (1728-1774): The Deserted Village. Line 199.

Thus with the year

Seasons return; but not to me returns

Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn,

Or sight of vernal bloom or summer's rose,

Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine;

But cloud instead, and ever-during dark

Surrounds me; from the cheerful ways of men

Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair

Presented with a universal blank

Of Nature's works, to me expung'd and raz'd,

And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out.

John Milton (1608-1674): Paradise Lost. Book iii. Line 40.

In her face excuse

Came prologue, and apology too prompt.

John Milton (1608-1674): Paradise Lost. Book ix. Line 853.

Vice is a monster of so frightful mien,

As to be hated needs but to be seen;

Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face,

We first endure, then pity, then embrace.

Alexander Pope (1688-1744): Essay on Man. Epistle ii. Line 217.

Yet in my lineaments they trace

Some features of my father's face.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: Parisina. Stanza 13.

And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace

A Nymph, a Naiad, or a Grace

Of finer form or lovelier face.

Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832): Lady of the Lake. Canto i. Stanza 18.

There is a garden in her face,

Where roses and white lilies show;

A heavenly paradise is that place,

Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow.

There cherries hang that none may buy,

Till cherry ripe themselves do cry.

An Howres Recreation in Musike. (1606. Set to music by Richard Alison. Oliphant's "La Messa Madrigalesca," p. 229.)

Give me a look, give me a face,

That makes simplicity a grace;

Robes loosely flowing, hair as free,—

Such sweet neglect more taketh me

Than all the adulteries of art:

They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.

Ben Jonson (1573-1637): Epicoene; Or, the Silent Woman. Act i. Sc. 1.

Behind a frowning providence

He hides a shining face.

William Cowper (1731-1800): Light shining out of Darkness.

Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace

The day's disasters in his morning face;

Full well they laugh'd with counterfeited glee

At all his jokes, for many a joke had he;

Full well the busy whisper circling round

Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd.

Yet was he kind, or if severe in aught,

The love he bore to learning was in fault;

The village all declar'd how much he knew,

'T was certain he could write and cipher too.

Oliver Goldsmith (1728-1774): The Deserted Village. Line 199.

As if the man had fixed his face,

In many a solitary place,

Against the wind and open sky!

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): Peter Bell. Part i. Stanza 26.

Your face, my thane, is as a book where men

May read strange matters. To beguile the time,

Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye,

Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower,

But be the serpent under 't.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Macbeth. Act i. Sc. 5.

Honest labour bears a lovely face.

Thomas Dekker (1572-1632): Patient Grissell. Act i. Sc. 1.

Her face is like the milky way i' the sky,—

A meeting of gentle lights without a name.

Sir John Suckling (1609-1641): Brennoralt. Act iii.

If to her share some female errors fall,

Look on her face, and you 'll forget them all.

Alexander Pope (1688-1744): The Rape of the Lock. Canto ii. Line 17.

The magic of a face.

Thomas Carew (1589-1639): Epitaph on the Lady S——.

As if the man had fixed his face,

In many a solitary place,

Against the wind and open sky!

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): Peter Bell. Part i. Stanza 26.

There's no art

To find the mind's construction in the face.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Macbeth. Act i. Sc. 4.

The light of love, the purity of grace,

The mind, the music breathing from her face,

The heart whose softness harmonized the whole,—

And oh, that eye was in itself a soul!

Lord Byron 1788-1824: The Bride of Abydos. Canto i. Stanza 6.

Oh, could you view the melody

Of every grace

And music of her face,

You 'd drop a tear;

Seeing more harmony

In her bright eye

Than now you hear.

Richard Lovelace (1618-1658): Orpheus to Beasts.

Was never eie did see that face,

Was never eare did heare that tong,

Was never minde did minde his grace,

That ever thought the travell long;

But eies and eares and ev'ry thought

Were with his sweete perfections caught.

Mathew Roydon (Circa 1586): An Elegie; or Friend's Passion for his Astrophill.

Time has touched me gently in his race,

And left no odious furrows in my face.

George Crabbe (1754-1832): Tales of the Hall. Book xvii. The Widow.

O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible,

As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a steeple.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): The Two Gentlemen of Verona. Act ii. Sc. 1.

He would not, with a peremptory tone,

Assert the nose upon his face his own.

William Cowper (1731-1800): Conversation. Line 121.

And thou, vast ocean! on whose awful face

Time's iron feet can print no ruin-trace.

Robert Montgomery (1807-1855): The Omnipresence of the Deity. Part i.

Alas! how little can a moment show

Of an eye where feeling plays

In ten thousand dewy rays:

A face o'er which a thousand shadows go!

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): The Triad.

When he shall die,

Take him and cut him out in little stars,

And he will make the face of heaven so fine

That all the world will be in love with night,

And pay no worship to the garish sun.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Romeo and Juliet. Act iii. Sc. 2.

And often, glad no more,

We wear a face of joy because

We have been glad of yore.

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): The Fountain.

And to his eye

There was but one beloved face on earth,

And that was shining on him.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: The Dream. Stanza 2.

The women pardon'd all except her face.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: Don Juan. Canto v. Stanza 113.

With grave

Aspect he rose, and in his rising seem'd

A pillar of state; deep on his front engraven

Deliberation sat, and public care;

And princely counsel in his face yet shone,

Majestic though in ruin: sage he stood,

With Atlantean shoulders, fit to bear

The weight of mightiest monarchies; his look

Drew audience and attention still as night

Or summer's noontide air.

John Milton (1608-1674): Paradise Lost. Book ii. Line 300.

That saw the manners in the face.

Samuel Johnson (1709-1784): Lines on the Death of Hogarth.

All the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players.

They have their exits and their entrances;

And one man in his time plays many parts,

His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,

Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.

And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel

And shining morning face, creeping like snail

Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,

Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad

Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,

Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard;

Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,

Seeking the bubble reputation

Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,

In fair round belly with good capon lined,

With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,

Full of wise saws and modern instances;

And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts

Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,

With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;

His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide

For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,

Turning again toward childish treble, pipes

And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,

That ends this strange eventful history,

Is second childishness and mere oblivion,

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 7.

Her angels face,

As the great eye of heaven, shyned bright,

And made a sunshine in the shady place.

Edmund Spenser (1553-1599): Faerie Queene. Book i. Canto iii. St. 4.

But who, if he be called upon to face

Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined

Great issues, good or bad for humankind,

Is happy as a lover.

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): Character of the Happy Warrior.

And her face so fair

Stirr'd with her dream, as rose-leaves with the air.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: Don Juan. Canto iv. Stanza 29.

Could I come near your beauty with my nails,

I'd set my ten commandments in your face.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): King Henry VI. Part II. Act i. Sc. 3.

Was this the face that launch'd 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!

Christopher Marlowe (1565-1593): Faustus.

Give me a look, give me a face,

That makes simplicity a grace;

Robes loosely flowing, hair as free,—

Such sweet neglect more taketh me

Than all the adulteries of art:

They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.

Ben Jonson (1573-1637): Epicoene; Or, the Silent Woman. Act i. Sc. 1.

Fear death?—to feel the fog in my throat,

The mist in my face.

.   .   .   .   .   .   .

No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers,

The heroes of old;

Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears

Of pain, darkness, and cold.

Robert Browning (1812-1890): Prospice.

He lives to build, not boast, a generous race;

No tenth transmitter of a foolish face.

Richard Savage (1698-1743): The Bastard. Line 7.

For truth has such a face and such a mien,

As to be lov'd needs only to be seen.

John Dryden (1631-1701): The Hind and the Panther. Part i. Line 33.

There is some soul of goodness in things evil,

Would men observingly distil it out.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): King Henry V. Act iv. Sc. 1.

Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother,

That he might not beteem the winds of heaven

Visit her face too roughly.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Hamlet. Act i. Sc. 2.

For every wave with dimpled face

That leap'd upon the air,

Had caught a star in its embrace

And held it trembling there.

Amelia B. Welby (1821-1852): Musings. Stanza 4.