|And you in Grecian tires are painted new: |
|Speak of the spring and foison of the year; |
|The one doth shadow of your beauty show, |
|The other as your bounty doth appear; |
|And you in every blessed shape we know. |
| In all external grace you have some part, |
| But you like none, none you, for constant heart. |
| |
Sonnets of William Shakespeare
Sonnet 54
|LIV. |
|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 fade, my verse distills your |
|truth. |
Sonnet 55
|LV. |
|Not marble, nor the gilded monuments |
|Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme; |
|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 lover's eyes. |
Sonnet 56
|LVI. |
|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 |
|fullness, |
|To-morrow see again, and do not kill |
|The spirit of love with a perpetual dullness. |
|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 blest may be the view; |
| Else call it winter, which being full of care |
| Makes summer's welcome thrice more wish'd, more|
|rare. |
|Sonnets of William Shakespeare |
|Sonnet 57 |
|LVII. |
|Being your slave, what should I do but tend |
|Upon the hours and times of your desire? |
|I have no precious time at all to spend, |
|Nor services to do, till you require. |
|Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour |
|Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you, |
|Nor think the bitterness of absence sour |
|When you have bid your servant once adieu; |
|Nor dare I question with my jealous thought |
|Where you may be, or your affairs suppose, |
|But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought |
|Save, where you are how happy you make those. |
| So true a fool is love that in your will, |
| Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill. |
|Sonnet 58 |
|LVIII. |
|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 cheque, |
|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. |
Sonnet 59
|LIX. |
|If there be nothing new, but that which is |
|Hath been before, how are our brains beguiled, |
|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; |
|Whether we are mended, or whether better they, |
|Or whether revolution be the same. |
| O, sure I am, the wits of former days |
| To subjects worse have given admiring praise. |
Sonnet 60
|LX. |
|Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,|
|So do our minutes hasten to their end; |
|Each changing place with that which goes before, |
|In sequent toil all forwards do contend. |
|Nativity, once in the main of light, |
|Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd, |
|Crooked elipses 'gainst his glory fight, |
|And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. |
|Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth |
|And delves the parallels in beauty's brow, |
|Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, |
|And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow: |
| And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand, |
| Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. |
Sonnet 61
|LXI. |
|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 tenor 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. |
Sonnet 62
|LXII. |
|Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye |
|And all my soul and all my every part; |
|And for this sin there is no remedy, |
|It is so grounded inward in my heart. |
|Methinks no face so gracious is as mine, |
|No shape so true, no truth of such account; |
|And for myself mine own worth do define, |
|As I all other in all worths surmount. |
|But when my glass shows me myself indeed, |
|Beated and chopp'd with tann'd antiquity, |
|Mine own self-love quite contrary I read; |
|Self so self-loving were iniquity. |
| 'Tis thee, myself, that for myself I praise, |
| Painting my age with beauty of thy days. |
Sonnet 63
|LXIII. |
|Against my love shall be, as I am now, |
|With Time's injurious hand crush'd and o'er-worn;|
|When hours have drain'd his blood and fill'd his |
|brow |
|With lines and wrinkles; when his youthful morn |
|Hath travell'd on to age's steepy night, |
|And all those beauties whereof now he's king |
|Are vanishing or vanish'd out of sight, |
|Stealing away the treasure of his spring; |
|For such a time do I now fortify |
|Against confounding age's cruel knife, |
|That he shall never cut from memory |
|My sweet love's beauty, though my lover's life: |
| His beauty shall in these black lines be seen, |
| And they shall live, and he in them still |
|green. |
Sonnet 64
|LXIV. |
|When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced |
|The rich proud cost of outworn buried age; |
|When sometime lofty towers I see down-razed |
|And brass eternal slave to mortal rage; |
|When I have seen the hungry ocean gain |
|Advantage on the kingdom of the shore, |
|And the firm soil win of the watery main, |
|Increasing store with loss and loss with store; |
|When I have seen such interchange of state, |
|Or state itself confounded to decay; |
|Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate, |
|That Time will come and take my love away. |
| This thought is as a death, which cannot choose|
| But weep to have that which it fears to lose. |
Sonnet 65
|LXV. |
|Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless |
|sea, |
|But sad mortality o'er-sways their power, |
|How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, |
|Whose action is no stronger than a flower? |
|O, how shall summer's honey breath hold out |
|Against the wreckful siege of battering days, |
|When rocks impregnable are not so stout, |
|Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays? |
|O fearful meditation! where, alack, |
|Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie |
|hid? |
|Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back?|
|Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid? |
| O, none, unless this miracle have might, |
| That in black ink my love may still shine |
|bright. |
|Sonnet 66 |
|LXVI. |
|Tired with all these, for restful death I cry, |
|As, to behold desert a beggar born, |
|And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity, |
|And purest faith unhappily forsworn, |
|And guilded honour shamefully misplaced, |
|And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, |
|And right perfection wrongfully disgraced, |
|And strength by limping sway disabled, |
|And art made tongue-tied by authority, |
|And folly doctor-like controlling skill, |
|And simple truth miscall'd simplicity, |
|And captive good attending captain ill: |
| Tired with all these, from these would I be gone, |
| Save that, to die, I leave my love alone. |
|Sonnet 67 |
|LXVII. |
|Ah! wherefore with infection should he live, |
|And with his presence grace impiety, |
|That sin by him advantage should achieve |
|And lace itself with his society? |
|Why should false painting imitate his cheek |
|And steal dead seeing of his living hue? |
|Why should poor beauty indirectly seek |
|Roses of shadow, since his rose is true? |
|Why should he live, now Nature bankrupt is, |
|Beggar'd of blood to blush through lively veins? |
|For she hath no exchequer now but his, |
|And, proud of many, lives upon his gains. |
| O, him she stores, to show what wealth she had |
| In days long since, before these last so bad. |
Sonnet 68
|LXVIII. |
|Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn, |
|When beauty lived and died as flowers do now, |
|Before the bastard signs of fair were born, |
|Or durst inhabit on a living brow; |
|Before the golden tresses of the dead, |
|The right of sepulchres, were shorn away, |
|To live a second life on second head; |
|Ere beauty's dead fleece made another gay: |
|In him those holy antique hours are seen, |
|Without all ornament, itself and true, |
|Making no summer of another's green, |
|Robbing no old to dress his beauty new; |
| And him as for a map doth Nature store, |
| To show false Art what beauty was of yore. |
Sonnet 69
|LXIX. |
|Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth |
|view |
|Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend;|
|All tongues, the voice of souls, give thee that |
|due, |
|Uttering bare truth, even so as foes commend. |
|Thy outward thus with outward praise is crown'd; |
|But those same tongues that give thee so thine |
|own |
|In other accents do this praise confound |
|By seeing farther than the eye hath shown. |
|They look into the beauty of thy mind, |
|And that, in guess, they measure by thy deeds; |
|Then, churls, their thoughts, although their eyes|
|were kind, |
|To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds: |
| But why thy odour matcheth not thy show, |
| The solve is this, that thou dost common grow. |
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