Classic Audiobook Collection - The Passionate Pilgrim by William Shakespeare ~ Full Audiobook [poetry]

Episode Date: May 1, 2025

The Passionate Pilgrim by William Shakespeare audiobook. Genre: poetry First published in 1599, The Passionate Pilgrim is a compact, sparkling gathering of lyric poems that early readers associated with William Shakespeare. Moving from playful wooing to aching longing, from bright praise of beauty to darker notes of jealousy and regret, the collection offers a chorus of shifting speakers - lovers pleading, admirers boasting, and wary hearts counting the cost of desire. Some pieces echo the courtly sonnet tradition, turning argument into music as the speaker tries to persuade, excuse, or confess; others lean pastoral, where shepherds and maidens trade songs that feel at once theatrical and intimate. Across the sequence, recurring motifs of time, fidelity, reputation, and the tension between pleasure and conscience give the poems a loose emotional arc, inviting listeners to hear how quickly delight can become complaint, and how language can both conceal and reveal the self. Ideal for an audiobook experience, these short poems reward attentive listening with verbal wit, memorable imagery, and the quick turns of thought that made Shakespeare's verse endure. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 01 (00:01:15) Chapter 02 (00:02:17) Chapter 03 (00:03:32) Chapter 04 (00:04:34) Chapter 05 (00:05:59) Chapter 06 (00:07:03) Chapter 07 (00:08:27) Chapter 08 (00:09:33) Chapter 09 (00:10:36) Chapter 10 (00:11:37) Chapter 11 (00:12:43) Chapter 12 (00:13:56) Chapter 13 (00:15:10) Chapter 14 (00:16:16) Chapter 15 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Poem One of the passionate pilgrim by William Shakespeare Ridded by Caliban 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, unskilful in the world's false forgeries. Thus, vainly thinking that she thinks me young, although I know my years be past the best.

I smiling credit her false-speaking time. tongue, out facing faults in love with love's ill rest. But wherefore says my love that she is young, and wherefore say not I that I am old? Oh, love's best habit is a soothing tongue, and age in love loves not to have years old. Therefore I lie with love and love with me, since it are faults in love, thus Smother it be. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.

Poem 2 of the Passionate Pilgrim. This is a liverbox recording. Two loves I have of comfort and despair. They'd like two spirits do suggest me still. My better angel is a man, right fair. My worse a spirit, a woman, colored 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 fair pride.

And whether that my angel be turned fiend suspect I may yet not directly tell. For being both to me, both to each friend, I guess one angel in another's hell. The truth I shall not know but live in doubt, till my bad angel fire my good one out. End of poem. This recording is placed in the public domain. Poem 3 of the passionate pilgrim by William Shakespeare. This is a limberbox recording. Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye against whom the world could not hold argument,

persuade my heart to this false perjury? Bows for thee broke, deserve not punishment. A woman I for swore, but I forswore. I will prove. Thou being a goddess, I foreswore not thee. My vow was earthly. Thou a heavenly love. Thy grace being gained cures all disgrace in me.

My vow was breath, and breath of vapour is. Then thou fair sun, that on this earth doth shine. Exhale this vapor vow in thee, it is. is. If broken, then it is no fault of mine. If I me broke what fool is not so wise, to break an oath to win a paradise. And a poem this recording has placed in a public domain. Poem four of the passionate pilgrim by William Shakespeare. This is a lipper-box recording. Sweet Cytheria, sitting by a brook with young Adonis lovely, fresh and green. The court lad with many a lovely look, such looks as none could look but beauty's queen.

She told him stories to delight his ear. She showed him fabulous to lure his eyes. To when his heart she touched him, here and there, touches so soft still conquer chastity, that whether unripe years did want conceit, or he refused to take her figure proper, the tender niblin would not touch the bait, but smile and jest at every gentle offer. Then fell she on her back, fair queen, and toward, he rose and ran away. Ha, fool. Toothraud.

End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Poem 5 of the Passionate Pilgrim. This is a liverbox recording. If love make me postponed, how shall I swear to love? Oh, never feel. could hold if not the beauty vowed. Though to myself, bossworn, to thee, I'll constant frule.

Those thoughts to me like oaks, to thee like osiers, bowed. Study his bias leaves, and make his book thine eyes, where all those pleasures live that art can comprehend. If knowledge be the mark to know thee shall suffice, and well learned is that tongue that well can thee commend. All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder, which is to me some praise that I thy parts admire. Thy eye jove lightning seems,

thy voice is dreadful thunder, which not too eager bent is music and sweet fire. Celestial and star art, oh, do not love that wrong, to sing heaven praise with such an earthly tongue. End of poem. This recording is placed in the public domain. Poem 6 of the Passionate Pilgrim by William Shakespeare. This is a Liberbox recording.

Scarce had the sun dried up the dewy morn, and scarce the herd gone to the hedge for shade, when Cetheria, all in love, Poulon, a longing terriance for Adonis made. Under an ocean, growing by a brook, a brook where Aden used to cool his spleen. Hot was the day, she hotter that did look for his approach that often there had been. Anon he comes and throws his mantle by and stood stark naked on the brook's green brim. The sun looked on the world with the glorious eye, yet not so warm.

Whistly as his queen on him. He, spying her, bounced in whereas he stood. Oh, Joe, Koshy, why was I not a flood? End a poem? This recording's in the public domain. Poem seven of the passionate pilgrim by William Shakespeare.

This is a limberbox recording. Fair is my love, but not so fair as fickle. Mild is a dove, but neither true nor trickel. rusty. Brighter than glass, and yet as glasses, brittle. Softer than wax, yet as iron, rusty. A lily pale with the mask dyed to grace her, none fairer, nor none falter to deface her. Her lips to mind how often hath she joined. Between each kiss her oaths of true love swearing. How many tales to please me, hath she coined, dreading my words. my love, the loss thereof still fearing.

Yet in the midst of all her pure protestings, her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were jestings. She burned with love, as straw with fire, flameth. She burned out love, as soon as straw outburneth. She framed the love, and yet she foiled the framing. She bade love last, and yet she fell a-turning. Was this a lover or a lecher-weather? bad in the best, though excellent in neither.

End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Poem 8 The Passionate Pilgrim by William Shakespeare. This is a Liberbox recording. If music and sweet poetry agree, as they must needs, the sister and the brother, then must the love be great twixt thee and me, because I love's the one and I the other. dowl unto thee is there whose heavenly touch upon the lute doth ravish human sense spencer to me whose deep conceit is such as passing all conceit needs no defence

thou loves to hear the sweet melodious sound that fevers luke the queen of music makes and i in deep delight am cheaply drowned when as himself to singing he betakes one god is god of both as poets vain One night loves both, and both in thee remain. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Poem nine of the passionate pilgrim by William Shakespeare. This is a liverbox recording. Fair was the mourn with the fair queen of love, pale of a sorrow than her milk white dove for aid and sake, a youngster, proud and wild. Her stand she takes upon a steep-up hill.

A non-adonis comes with horn and hounds. She, silly queen, with more than love's goodwill, forbade the boy he should not pass those grounds. Once, Croshey, did I see a fair, sweet youth here in these breaks, deep wounded with a bore, deep in the thigh, a spectacle of roof. See in my thigh, quote she, Here was the saw.

She showed hers. He saw more wounds than one, and blushing fled, and left her all alone. And the poem, this recording is in the public domain. Poem 10 of the Passionate Pilgrim by William Shakespeare. This is a Libra Box recording. Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely plucked, soon vaded. Plucked in the bud and waded in the spring. Bright, orient pearl, a lack too timely shaded.

fair creature killed too soon by death-sharp sting like a green plum that hangs upon a tree and falls through wind before the fall should be i weep for thee and yet no cause i have for why thou lett'st me nothing in thy will and yet thou let's me more than i did crave for why i crave nothing of thee still oh yes dear friend i pardon crave of thee Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Poem 11 of the passionate pilgrim by William Shakespeare. This is a liverbox recording. Venus, with young Adonner sitting by her under a myrtle shade, began to woo him.

She told the youngling how God Mars did try her. And as he fell to her, so fell she to him. Even thus quoth she the warlike God embraced me, and then she clipped Adonnes in her arms. Even thus, quoth she, the war like God unlaced me, as if the boy should use like loving charms. Even thus, quoth she, he seized on my lips, and with her lips on his did act the seizure. And as she fetched breath, away he skips, and would not take her meaning nor her pleasure. Did I had my lady at this bay? The kissing clip me till I run away.

End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Poem 12 of the Passionate Pilgrim by William Shakespeare. This is a liver box recording. Crabbed age and youth cannot live together. Youth is full of pleasant. Age is full of care. Youth like summer morn.

Age like winter weather. Youth like summer brave Age like winter bear Youth is full of sport Age's breath is short Youth is nimble Age is lame Youth is hot and bold

Age is weak and cold Youth is wild And age is tame Age I do abhor thee Youth I do abhor thee youth I do adore thee Oh my love

My love is young Age I do defy O sweet shepherd Hydie thee What we think thou stay'st too long And a poem This recording is placed in a public domain Poem

Thirteen of the Passionate Pilgrim by William Shakespeare This is a liverbox recording Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good. A shining gloss that faded suddenly. A flower that dies went first against a bud. A brittle glass that's broken presently. A doubtful good. A gloss, a glass, a flower.

Lost, veaded, broken, dead within an hour. And as goods lost or sold or never found, As faded glass, no rubbing will be fresh, As flowers dead lie wither it on the ground, As broken glass, though cement can redress, So beauty blemished, once is forever lost, In spite of physic, painting, pain, and cost. End of poem, this recording is placed in the public domain.

poem 14 at the passionate pilgrim by William Shakespeare. This is a Liberbox recording. Good night, good rest, ah, neither be my share. She bade good night that kept my rest away, and daft me to a cabin hanged with care, to decant on the doubts of my decay. Farewell, quoth she, and come again tomorrow. Farewell, I could not, for I sup with sorrow.

yet at my parting sweetly did she smile in scorn or friendship knew i construe whether to maybe she joyed to jest at my exile to maybe again to make me wander thither wander a word for shadows like myself as take the pain but cannot pluck the pell end of poem this recording is in the public domain Poem 15 at the Passionate Pilgrim, read by Caliban. This is a liverwalk's recording. Lord, how mine eyes through gazes to the east. My heart doth charge the watch. The morning rise that sight each moving sense from idle rest, not daring trust the office of mine eyes.

While Philomilla sits and sings, I sit and mark, and wish her lays were tuned like the lark. For she doth welcome daylight with her ditty, And drives away dark dismal dreaming night. The night so packed I post unto my pretty. Hot hat is hope, and eyes their wishyed sight. Sorrow changed to solace. Solace mixed with sorrow.

For why? She sighed and bad me coming. tomorrow. Were I with her, the night would post too soon, but now are minutes added to the hours. Despite me now, each minute seems a moon, yet not for me. Shine, sun to sucker flowers. Pack night, peep day, good day of night now borrow, short night, to night, and link thyself tomorrow. End of poem. This recording is placed in the public domain.