My blood is mingled with the crime of lust; / For if we two be one, and thou play false, / I do digest the poison of thy flesh, / Being strumpeted by thy contagion.
Vividness and clarity often go hand in hand, but may also be contrasted, like Ophelia's father, Polonius' exasperatingly muddled pedanticness; at once as intense as he is impervious.
Sometime a louelie boye in Dians shape, With haire that gilds the water as it glides, Crownets of pearle about his naked armes, And in his sportfull hands an Oliue tree, To hide those parts which men delight to see, Shall bathe him in a spring […]
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