and when he says of the birds singing,—
"Clear, loud, and lively is the din,
From social warblers gathering in
Their harvest of sweet lays";
and when he says of his Lucy,—
"The stars of midnight shall be dear
To her; and she shall lean her ear
In many a secret place
Where rivulets dance their wayward round,
And beauty born of murmuring sound
Shall pass into her face";—
in these lines we have four pure and perfect metaphors.
Again: In Cymbeline, old Belarius says of the "two princely boys" that are with him,—
"They are as gentle
As zephyrs, blowing below the violet,
Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough,
Their royal blood enchaf'd, as the rud'st wind,
That by the top doth take the mountain pine,
And make him stoop to th' vale."
Here are two similes, of the right Shakespeare mintage. As metaphors from the same hand, take this from Iachimo's temptation of Imogen, "This object, which takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye"; and this from Viola, urging Orsino's suit to the Countess,—
"Holla your name to the reverberate hills,
And make the babbling gossip of the air
Cry out, Olivia!"
and this of Cleopatra's with the asp at her bosom,—