61 Shakespeare - Sonnets

As a decrepit father takes delight
As an unperfect actor on the stage
As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st
Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press
Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan
Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took
But be contented: when that fell arrest
But do thy worst to steal thyself away
But wherefore do not you a mightier way
Canst thou, O cruel! say I love thee not
Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep
Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws
Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing
For shame! deny that thou bear'st love to any
From fairest creatures we desire increase
From you have I been absent in the spring
Full many a glorious morning have I seen
How can I then return in happy plight
How can my Muse want subject to invent
How careful was I when I took my way
How heavy do I journey on the way
How like a winter hath my absence been
How oft when thou, my music, music play'st
How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame
If my dear love were but the child of state
If the dull substance of my flesh were thought
If there be nothing new, but that which is
If thou survive my well-contented day
If thy soul check thee that I come so near
In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes
In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn
In the old age black was not counted fair
Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye
Is it thy will, thy image should keep open
Let me confess that we two must be twain
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Let not my love be call'd idolatry
Let those who are in favour with their stars
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore
Like as, to make our appetites more keen
Lo! in the orient when the gracious light
Lo, as a careful housewife runs to catch
Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest
Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage
Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate
Love is too young to know what conscience is
Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war
Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath stell'd
Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?
My glass shall not persuade me I am old
My love is as a fever, longing still
My love is strengthen'd, though more weak in seeming
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun
My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still
No longer mourn for me when I am dead
No more be griev'd at that which thou hast done
No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change
Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck
Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul
........
If my dear love were but the child of state
  _
IF my dear love were but the child of state
It might for Fortune's bastard be unfather'd,
As subject to Time's love or to Time's hate,   _
Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gather'd.
No, it was builded far from accident;
It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls   _
Under the blow of thralled discontent,
Whereto the inviting time our fashion calls:
It fears not policy, that heretic,   _
Which works on leases of short-number'd hours,
But all alone stands hugely politic,
That it nor grows with heat, nor drowns with showers.   _

To this I witness call the fools of time,
Which die for goodness, who have liv'd for crime.
........
If the dull substance of my flesh were thought
  _
IF the dull substance of my flesh were thought
Injurious distance should not stop my way;
For then, despite of space, I would be brought,   _
From limits far remote, where thou dost stay.
No matter then although my foot did stand
Upon the furthest earth remov'd from thee;   _
For nimble thought can jump both sea and land,
As soon as think the place where he would be.
But, ah! thought kills me that I am not thought,   _
To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone,
But that, so much of earth and water wrought,
I must attend time's leisure with my moan   _

Receiving nought by elements so slow
But heavy tears, badges of either's woe.
........
If there be nothing new, but that which is
  _
IF there be nothing new, but that which is
Hath been before, how are our brains beguil'd,
Which, labouring for invention, bear amiss   _
The second burden of a former child!
O! that record could with a backward look,
Even of five hundred courses of the sun,   _
Show me your image in some antique book,
Since mind at first in character was done!
That I might see what the old world could say   _
To this composed wonder of your frame;
Whe'r we are mended, or whe'r better they,
Or whether revolution be the same.   _

O! sure I am, the wits of former days
To subjects worse have given admiring praise.
........
If thou survive my well-contented day
  _
IF thou survive my well-contented day
When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover,
And shalt by fortune once more re-survey   _
These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover,
Compare them with the bettering of the time,
And though they be outstripp'd by every pen,   _
Reserve them for my love, not for their rime,
Exceeded by the height of happier men.
O! then vouchsafe me but this loving thought:   _
'Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age,
A dearer birth than this his love had brought,
To march in ranks of better equipage   _

But since he died, and poets better prove,
Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love.   _

........
If thy soul check thee that I come so near
  _
IF thy soul check thee that I come so near
Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy Will,
And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there;   _
Thus far for love, my love-suit, sweet, fulfil.
Will will fulfil the treasure of thy love,
Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one.   _
In things of great receipt with ease we prove
Among a number one is reckon'd none:
Then in the number let me pass untold,   _
Though in thy stores' account I one must be;
For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold
That nothing me, a something sweet to thee   _

Make but my name thy love, and love that still,
And then thou lov'st me, - for my name is Will.
........
In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes
  _
IN faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes
For they in thee a thousand errors note;
But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise,   _
Who, in despite of view, is pleas'd to dote.
Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune delighted;
Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone,   _
Nor taste, nor smell desire to be invited
To any sensual feast with thee alone:
But my five wits nor my five senses can   _
Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee,
Who leaves unsway'd the likeness of a man,
Thy proud heart's slave and vassal wretch to be   _

Only my plague thus far I count my gain,
That she that makes me sin awards me pain.
........
In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn
  _
IN loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn
But thou art twice forsworn, to me love swearing;
In act thy bed-vow broke, and new faith torn,   _
In vowing new hate after new love bearing.
But why of two oaths' breach do I accuse thee,
When I break twenty? I am perjur'd most;   _
For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee,
And all my honest faith in thee is lost:
For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness,   _
Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy;
And, to enlighten thee, gave eyes to blindness,
Or made them swear against the thing they see   _

For I have sworn thee fair; more perjur'd I,
To swear against the truth so foul a lie!
........
In the old age black was not counted fair
  _
IN the old age black was not counted fair
Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name;
But now is black beauty's successive heir,   _
And beauty slander'd with a bastard's shame:
For since each hand hath put on Nature's power,
Fairing the foul with Art's false borrow'd face,   _
Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy bower,
But is profan'd, if not lives in disgrace.
Therefore my mistress' brows are raven black,   _
Her eyes so suited, and they mourners seem
At such who, not born fair, no beauty lack,
Sland'ring creation with a false esteem   _

Yet so they mourn, becoming of their woe,
That every tongue says beauty should look so.
........
Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye
  _
IS it for fear to wet a widow's eye
That thou consum'st thyself in single life?
Ah! if thou issueless shalt hap to die,   _
The world will wail thee, like a makeless wife;
The world will be thy widow, and still weep
That thou no form of thee hast left behind,   _
When every private widow well may keep
By children's eyes her husband's shape in mind.
Look! what an unthrift in the world doth spend   _
Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it;
But beauty's waste hath in the world an end,
And kept unus'd, the user so destroys it.   _

No love toward others in that bosom sits
That on himself such murderous shame commits.
........
Is it thy will, thy image should keep open
  _
IS it thy will thy image should keep open
My heavy eyelids to the weary night?
Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken,   _
While shadows, like to thee, do mock my sight?
Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee
So far from home, into my deeds to pry,   _
To find out shames and idle hours in me,
The scope and tenour of thy jealousy?
O, no! thy love, though much, is not so great:   _
It is my love that keeps mine eye awake;
Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat,
To play the watchman ever for thy sake   _

For thee watch I whilst thou dost wake elsewhere,
From me far off, with others all too near.
........
Let me confess that we two must be twain
  _
LET me confess that we two must be twain
Although our undivided loves are one:
So shall those blots that do with me remain,   _
Without thy help, by me be borne alone.
In our two loves there is but one respect,
Though in our lives a separable spite,   _
Which, though it alter not love's sole effect,
Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight.
  _
Imay not evermore acknowledge thee,
Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame,
Nor thou with public kindness honour me,   _
Unless thou take that honour from thy name

But do not so; I love thee in such sort   _
As thou being mine, mine is thy good report.