61 Shakespeare - Sonnets

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
The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
The forward violet thus did I chide
The little Love-god lying once asleep
The other two, slight air and purging fire
Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now
Then let not winter's ragged hand deface
They that have power to hurt and will do none
Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me
Those hours, that with gentle work did frame
Those lines that I before have writ do lie
Those lips that Love's own hand did make
Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view
Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits
Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art
Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes
Thus can my love excuse the slow offence
Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn
Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts
Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain
Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear
Tir'd with all these, for restful death I cry
To me, fair friend, you never can be old
........
So are you to my thoughts as food to life
  _
SO are you to my thoughts as food to life
Or as sweet-season'd showers are to the ground;
And for the peace of you I hold such strife   _
As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found;
Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon
Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure;   _
Now counting best to be with you alone,
Then better'd that the world may see my pleasure:
Sometime, all full with feasting on your sight,   _
And by and by clean starved for a look;
Possessing or pursuing no delight,
Save what is had or must from you be took.   _

Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day,
Or gluttoning on all, or all away.
........
So is it not with me as with that Muse
  _
SO is it not with me as with that Muse
Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse,
Who heaven itself for ornament doth use   _
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse,
Making a couplement of proud compare,
With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems,   _
With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare
That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems.
O! let me, true in love, but truly write,   _
And then believe me, my love is as fair
As any mother's child, though not so bright
As those gold candles fix'd in heaven's air   _

Let them say more that like of hear-say well
I will not praise that purpose not to sell.
........
So oft have I invok'd thee for my Muse
  _
SO oft have I invok'd thee for my Muse
And found such fair assistance in my verse
As every alien pen hath got my use   _
And under thee their poesy disperse.
Thine eyes, that taught the dumb on high to sing
And heavy ignorance aloft to fly,   _
Have added feathers to the learned's wing
And given grace a double majesty.
Yet be most proud of that which I compile,   _
Whose influence is thine, and born of thee:
In others' works thou dost but mend the style,
And arts with thy sweet graces graced be   _

But thou art all my art, and dost advance
As high as learning my rude ignorance.
........
So shall I live, supposing thou art true
  _
SO shall I live, supposing thou art true
Like a deceived husband; so love's face
May still seem love to me, though alter'd new;   _
Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place:
For there can live no hatred in thine eye,
Therefore in that I cannot know thy change.   _
In many's looks, the false heart's history
Is writ in moods, and frowns, and wrinkles strange,
But heaven in thy creation did decree   _
That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell;
Whate'er thy thoughts or thy heart's workings be,
Thy looks should nothing thence but sweetness tell.   _

How like Eve's apple doth thy beauty grow,
If thy sweet virtue answer not thy show!
........
So, now I have confess'd that he is thine
  _
SO, now I have confess'd that he is thine
And I myself am mortgag'd to thy will,
Myself I 'll forfeit, so that other mine   _
Thou wilt restore, to be my comfort still:
But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free,
For thou art covetous and he is kind;   _
He learn'd but surety-like to write for me,
Under that bond that him as fast doth bind.
The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take,   _
Thou usurer, that putt'st forth all to use,
And sue a friend came debtor for my sake;
So him I lose through my unkind abuse.   _

Him have I lost; thou hast both him and me
He pays the whole, and yet am I not free.
........
Some glory in their birth, some in their skill
  _
SOME glory in their birth, some in their skill
Some in their wealth, some in their body's force;
Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill;   _
Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse;
And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure,
Wherein it finds a joy above the rest:   _
But these particulars are not my measure;
All these I better in one general best.
Thy love is better than high birth to me,   _
Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' cost,
Of more delight than hawks and horses be;
And having thee, of all men's pride I boast   _

Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take
All this away, and me most wretched make.
........
Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness
  _
SOME say thy fault is youth, some wantonness
Some say thy grace is youth and gentle sport;
Both grace and faults are lov'd of more and less:   _
Thou makest faults graces that to thee resort.
As on the finger of a throned queen
The basest jewel will be well esteem'd,   _
So are those errors that in thee are seen
To truths translated and for true things deem'd.
How many lambs might the stern wolf betray,   _
If like a lamb he could his looks translate!
How many gazers mightst thou lead away,
If thou wouldst use the strength of all thy state!   _

But do not so; I love thee in such sort,
As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report.
........
Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said
  _
SWEET love, renew thy force; be it not said
Thy edge should blunter be than appetite,
Which but to-day by feeding is allay'd,   _
To-morrow sharpen'd in his former might:
So, love, be thou; although to-day thou fill
Thy hungry eyes, even till they wink with fulness,   _
To-morrow see again, and do not kill
The spirit of love with a perpetual dulness.
Let this sad interim like the ocean be   _
Which parts the shore, where two contracted new
Come daily to the banks, that, when they see
Return of love, more bless'd may be the view   _

Or call it winter, which, being full of care,
Makes summer's welcome thrice more wish'd, more rare.
........
Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all
  _
TAKE all my loves, my love, yea, take them all
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?
No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call;   _
All mine was thine before thou hadst this more.
Then, if for my love thou my love receivest,
I cannot blame thee for my love thou usest;   _
But yet be blam'd, if thou thyself deceivest
By wilful taste of what thyself refusest.
I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief,   _
Although thou steal thee all my poverty;
And yet, love knows it is a greater grief
To bear love's wrong than hate's known injury.   _

Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,
Kill me with spites; yet we must not be foes.
........
That god forbid that made me first your slave
  _
THAT god forbid that made me first your slave
I should in thought control your times of pleasure,
Or at your hand the account of hours to crave,   _
Being your vassal, bound to stay your leisure!
O! let me suffer, being at your beck,
The imprison'd absence of your liberty;   _
And patience, tame to sufferance, bide each check,
Without accusing you of injury.
Be where you list, your charter is so strong   _
That you yourself may privilege your time
To what you will; to you it doth belong
Yourself to pardon of self-doing crime.   _

I am to wait, though waiting so be hell,
Not blame your pleasure, be it ill or well.
........
That thou art blam'd shall not be thy defect
  _
THAT thou art blam'd shall not be thy defect
For slander's mark was ever yet the fair;
The ornament of beauty is suspect,   _
A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air.
So thou be good, slander doth but approve
Thy worth the greater, being woo'd of time;   _
For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love,
And thou present'st a pure unstained prime.
Thou hast pass'd by the ambush of young days,   _
Either not assail'd, or victor being charg'd;
Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise,
To tie up envy evermore enlarg'd   _

If some suspect of ill mask'd not thy show,
Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts shouldst owe.