It's a poem. It doesn't have a setting.
Shakespeare says: 'My mistress's eyes are nothing like the sun'
Sonnet 130
Shakespearean sonnet #130: My mistress's eyes are nothing like the sun
Shakespeare. It's the first line of his Sonnet 130.
Presumably you are referring to Sonnet 130 "My mistress's eyes are nothing like the sun". We know that it was written before 1608, when it was first published. How much before is anyone's guess.
Shakespeare says: 'My mistress's eyes are nothing like the sun'
Shakespeare says: 'My mistress's eyes are nothing like the sun'
Shakespeare says: 'My mistress's eyes are nothing like the sun'
The rhyme scheme of Shakespeare's Sonnet 130, "My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun," is ababcdcdefefgg.
It's a sonnet.
Sonnet 130
Shakespearean sonnet #130: My mistress's eyes are nothing like the sun
Shakespeare. It's the first line of his Sonnet 130.
Presumably you are referring to Sonnet 130 "My mistress's eyes are nothing like the sun". We know that it was written before 1608, when it was first published. How much before is anyone's guess.
All the other guys were writing sonnets saying, "My mistress's eyes are like the sun, her hair like fire, her lips like cherries, her cheeks like the petals of roses." Shakespeare says, "Ever hear the word 'cliché'? Rather than use these old, stale, tired metaphors, Shakespeare renounces them and says, "My mistress's eyes are like eyes actually, not the sun." She is a real woman, which means that she is not perfect or superhumanly beautiful, but, says Shakespeare, "I think my love as rare as any she belied with false compare."--she is more beautiful than any other real woman (who has probably been told she has eyes like the sun).
Roses
He Had a black mistress My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun (Sonnet 130) by William ShakespeareMy 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 damasked, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks; And in some perfumes is there more delight Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know That 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.