61 Shakespeare - Sonnets

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
O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power
O! call not me to justify the wrong
O! for my sake do you with Fortune chide
O! from what power hast thou this powerful might
O! how I faint when I of you do write
O! how much more doth beauty beauteous seem
O! how thy worth with manners may I sing
O! lest the world should task you to recite
O! never say that I was false of heart
O! that you were yourself; but, love, you are
Or I shall live your epitaph to make
Or whether doth my mind, being crown'd with you
Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth
Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye
Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind
Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea
So am I as the rich, whose blessed key
So are you to my thoughts as food to life
So is it not with me as with that Muse
So oft have I invok'd thee for my Muse
So shall I live, supposing thou art true
So, now I have confess'd that he is thine
Some glory in their birth, some in their skill
Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness
Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said
Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all
That god forbid that made me first your slave
That thou art blam'd shall not be thy defect
That thou hast her it is not all my grief
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
That you were once unkind befriends me now
........
Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck
  _
NOT from the stars do I my judgment pluck
And yet methinks I have astronomy,
But not to tell of good or evil luck,   _
Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality;
Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,
Pointing to each his thunder, rain, and wind,   _
Or say with princes if it shall go well,
By oft predict that I in heaven find:
But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,   _
And, constant stars, in them I read such art
As 'Truth and beauty shall together thrive,
If from thyself to store thou wouldst convert   _

'Or else of thee this I prognosticate
'Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.   _

........
Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
  _
NOT marble, nor the gilded monuments
Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rime;
But you shall shine more bright in these contents   _
Than unswept stone, besmear'd with sluttish time.
When wasteful war shall statues overturn,
And broils root out the work of masonry,   _
Nor Mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall burn
The living record of your memory.Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity
Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room   _
Even in the eyes of all posterity
That wear this world out to the ending doom.
  _
So, till the judgment that yourself arise,
You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes.
........
Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul
  _
NOT mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul
Of the wide world dreaming on things to come,
Can yet the lease of my true love control,   _
Suppos'd as forfeit to a confin'd doom.
The mortal moon hath her eclipse endur'd,
And the sad augurs mock their own presage;   _
Incertainties now crown themselves assur'd,
And peace proclaims olives of endless age.
Now with the drops of this most balmy time   _
My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes,
Since, spite of him, I 'll live in this poor rime,
While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes   _

And thou in this shalt find thy monument,
When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent.
........
O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power
  _
O THOU, my lovely boy, who in thy power
Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his sickle hour;
Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st   _
Thy lovers withering as thy sweet self grow'st;
If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack,
As thou goest onwards, still will pluck thee back,   _
She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill
May time disgrace and wretched minutes kill.
Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure!   _
She may detain, but not still keep, her treasure:

Her audit, though delay'd, answer'd must be,   _
And her quietus is to render thee.

........
O! call not me to justify the wrong
  _
O! CALL not me to justify the wrong
That thy unkindness lays upon my heart;
Wound me not with thine eye, but with thy tongue:   _
Use power with power, and slay me not by art.
Tell me thou lovest 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'erpress'd defence can bide?
Let me excuse thee: ah! my love well knows   _
Her pretty looks have been my enemies;
And therefore from my face she turns my foes,
That they elsewhere might dart their injuries   _

Yet do not so; but since I am near slain,
Kill me outright with looks, and rid my pain.
........
O! for my sake do you with Fortune chide
  _
O! FOR my sake do you with Fortune chide
The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds,
That did not better for my life provide   _
Than public means which public manners breeds.
Thence comes it that my name receives a brand,
And almost thence my nature is subdu'd   _
To what it works in, like the dyer's hand:
Pity me, then, and wish I were renew'd;
Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink   _
Potions of eisel 'gainst my strong infection;
No bitterness that I will bitter think,
Nor double penance, to correct correction.   _

Pity me, then, dear friend, and I assure ye
Even that your pity is enough to cure me.
........
O! from what power hast thou this powerful might
  _
O! FROM what power hast thou this powerful might
With insufficiency my heart to sway?
To make me give the lie to my true sight,   _
And swear that brightness doth not grace the day?
Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill,
That in the very refuse of thy deeds   _
There is such strength and warrantise of skill,
That, in my mind, thy worst all best exceeds?
Who taught thee how to make me love thee more,   _
The more I hear and see just cause of hate?
O! though I love what others do abhor,
With others thou shouldst not abhor my state   _

If thy unworthiness rais'd love in me,
More worthy I to be belov'd of thee.
........
O! how I faint when I of you do write
  _
O! HOW I faint when I of you do write
Knowing a better spirit doth use your name,
And in the praise thereof spends all his might,   _
To make me tongue-tied, speaking of your fame!
But since your worth - wide as the ocean is, -
The humble as the proudest sail doth bear,   _
My saucy bark, inferior far to his,
On your broad main doth wilfully appear.
Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat,   _
Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride;
Or, being wrack'd, I am a worthless boat,
He of tall building and of goodly pride   _

Then if he thrive and I be cast away,
The worst was this; - my love was my decay.
........
O! how much more doth beauty beauteous seem
  _
O! HOW much more doth beauty beauteous seem
By that sweet ornament which truth doth give!
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem   _
For that sweet odour which doth in it live.
The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye
As the perfumed tincture of the roses,   _
Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly
When summer's breath their masked buds discloses:
But, for their virtue only is their show,   _
They live unwoo'd, and unrespected fade;
Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so;
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made   _

And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,
When that shall vade, by verse distils your truth.
........
O! how thy worth with manners may I sing
  _
O! HOW thy worth with manners may I sing
When thou art all the better part of me?
What can mine own praise to mine own self bring?   _
And what is 't but mine own when I praise thee?
Even for this let us divided live,
And our dear love lose name of single one,   _
That by this separation I may give
That due to thee, which thou deserv'st alone.
O absence! what a torment wouldst thou prove,   _
Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave
To entertain the time with thoughts of love,
Which time and thoughts so sweetly doth deceive,   _

And that thou teachest how to make one twain,
By praising him here who doth hence remain.
........
O! lest the world should task you to recite
  _
O! LEST the world should task you to recite
What merit lived in me, that you should love
After my death, - dear love, forget me quite,   _
For you in me can nothing worthy prove;
Unless you would devise some virtuous lie,
To do more for me than mine own desert,   _
And hang more praise upon deceased I
Than niggard truth would willingly impart:
O! lest your true love may seem false in this,   _
That you for love speak well of me untrue,
My name be buried where my body is,
And live no more to shame nor me nor you.   _

For I am sham'd by that which I bring forth,
And so should you, to love things nothing worth.