8.7: Analyzing Different Interpretations of a Sonnet Answers

What is the structure of a Shakespearean sonnet?

Read Shakespeare's "Sonnet 100.”Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so longTo speak of that which gives thee all thy might?Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song,Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light?Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeemIn gentle numbers time so idly spent;Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteemAnd gives thy pen both skill and argument.Rise, resty Muse, my love's sweet face survey,If Time have any wrinkle graven there;If any, be a satire to decay,And make Time's spoils despised every where.Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life;So thou prevent'st his scythe and crooked knife.

In poetry, the term speaker refers to the

Read these lines from Shakespeare's "Sonnet 100.”Rise, resty Muse, my love's sweet face survey,If Time have any wrinkle graven there;If any, be a satire to decay,And make Time's spoils despised every where.Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life;So thou prevent'st his scythe and crooked knife.

Read Shakespeare's "Sonnet 100.”Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so longTo speak of that which gives thee all thy might?Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song,Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light?Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeemIn gentle numbers time so idly spent;Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteemAnd gives thy pen both skill and argument.Rise, resty Muse, my love's sweet face survey,If Time have any wrinkle graven there;If any, be a satire to decay,And make Time's spoils despised every where.Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life;So thou prevent'st his scythe and crooked knife.

Read the last two lines of Shakespeare's "Sonnet 130.”And yet by heaven, I think my love as rare,As any she belied with false compare.Which context clue best supports the definition of belied as "contradicted” or "disproved”?

Read Shakespeare's "Sonnet 130.”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 damask'd, red and white,But no such roses see I in her cheeks;And in some perfumes is there more delightThan in the breath that from my mistress reeks.I love to hear her speak, yet well I knowThat 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.