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Thou hypocrite, first cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother's eye. [1] The World English Bible translates the passage as: You hypocrite! First, remove the beam out of your own eye, and then you can see clearly to remove the speck out of your brother’s eye. [citation needed]
It has a dual meaning, first attacking the hypocrisy of those who criticize others while ignoring their own much larger flaws, and since the flaw is in the eye it is a metaphor for how such flaws can blind one.
To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes, Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise. How much more praise deserv’d thy beauty’s use, If thou couldst answer “This fair child of mine Shall sum my count and make my old excuse,” Proving his beauty by succession thine! This were to be new made when thou art old,
4 Or how wilt thou say to thy brother, Let me pull out the mote out of thine eye; and, behold, a beam is in thine own eye? 5 Thou hypocrite, first cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother's eye. —
Sonnet 149 is an English or Shakespearean sonnet.The English sonnet has three quatrains, followed by a final rhyming couplet.It follows the typical rhyme scheme of ...
But those same tongues, that give thee so thine own, In other accents do this praise confound By seeing farther than the eye hath shown. They look into the beauty of thy mind, And that, in guess, they measure by thy deeds; Then churls, their thoughts, although their eyes were kind, To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds:
Sonnet 1 is the first in a series of 154 sonnets written by William Shakespeare and published in 1609 by Thomas Thorpe. [2] Nineteenth-century critics thought Thorpe might have published the poems without Shakespeare's consent, but modern scholars don't agree and consider that Thorpe maintained a good reputation.
Wound me not with thine eye, but with thy tongue; Use power with power, and slay me not by art. Tell me thou lov’st elsewhere; but in my sight, Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside: What need’st thou wound with cunning, when thy might Is more than my o’er-press’d defense can bide? Let me excuse thee: ah, my love well knows