Sonnets

“ 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.”

“ Mark how one string, sweet husband to another, Strikes each in each by mutual ordering; Resembling sire, and child, and happy mother, Who all in one, one pleasing note do sing:”

“ Since from thee going he went willful-slow, Towards thee I’ll run, and give him leave to go.”

“ What merit do I in myself respect, That is so proud thy service to despise, When all my best doth worship thy defect, Commanded by the motion of thine eyes? But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind: Those that can see thou lov’st, and I am blind.”

“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,”

“Ah, do not, when my heart hath scap’d this sorrow, Come in the rearward of a conquer’d woe; Give not a windy night a rainy morrow, To linger out a purpos’d overthrow.”

“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?”

“Alas, ’tis true, I have gone here and there, And made myself a motley to the view, Gor’d mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear, Made old offenses of affections new;”

“All days are nights to see till I see thee, And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.”

“And all in war with Time for love of you, As he takes from you, I ingraft you new.”

“And do so, love; yet when they have devis’d What strained touches rhetoric can lend, Thou, truly fair, wert truly sympathiz’d In true plain words by thy true-telling friend;”

“And in this change is my invention spent, Three themes in one, which wondrous scope affords. “Fair,” “kind,” and “true” have often liv’d alone, Which three till now never kept seat in one.”

“And simple truth miscall’d simplicity, And captive good attending captain ill: Tir’d with all these, from these would I be gone, Save that to die, I leave my love alone.”

“And truly not the morning sun of heaven Better becomes the grey cheeks of th’ east, Nor that full star that ushers in the even Doth half that glory to the sober west,”

“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.”

“As call it winter, which being full of care, Makes summer’s welcome thrice more wish’d, more rare.”

“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.”

“As thus: mine eye’s due is thy outward part, And my heart’s right thy inward love of heart.”

“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.”

“Be absent from thy walks, and in my tongue Thy sweet beloved name no more shall dwell, Lest I (too much profane) should do it wrong, And haply of our old acquaintance tell. For thee, against myself I’ll vow debate, For I must ne’er love him whom thou dost hate.”

“Be it lawful I love thee as thou lov’st those Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee. Root pity in thy heart, that when it grows, Thy pity may deserve to pitied be. If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide, By self-example mayst thou be denied”

“Be not self-will’d, for thou art much too fair To be death’s conquest and make worms thine heir.”

“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 Your self to pardon of self-doing crime. I am to wait, though waiting so be hell, Not blame your pleasure, be it ill or well.”

“Be wise as thou art cruel, do not press My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain, Lest sorrow lend me words, and words express The manner of my pity-wanting pain.”

“Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb? Excuse not silence so, for’t lies in thee To make him much outlive a gilded tomb, And to be prais’d of ages yet to be.”

“Bring me within the level of your frown, But shoot not at me in your wakened hate: Since my appeal says I did strive to prove The constancy and virtue of your love.”

“But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer, And night doth nightly make grief’s length seem stronger.”

“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;”

“But heaven in thy creation did decree That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell; What e’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!”

“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.”

“But reckoning Time, whose million’d accidents Creep in ’twixt vows, and change decrees of kings, Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp’st intents, Divert strong minds to th’ course of alt’ring things:”

“But rising at thy name doth point out thee As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride, He is contented thy poor drudge to be, To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side. No want of conscience hold it that I call Her “love” for whose dear love I rise and fall.”

“But that your trespass now becomes a fee, Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me.”

“But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are, Most worthy comfort, now my greatest grief, Thou best of dearest, and mine only care, Art left the prey of every vulgar thief.”

“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.”

“Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross; Within be fed, without be rich no more: So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men, And Death once dead, there’s no more dying then.”

“Enjoy’d no sooner but despised straight, Past reason hunted, and no sooner had, Past reason hated as a swallowed bait On purpose laid to make the taker mad:”

“Even so my sun one early morn did shine With all-triumphant splendor on my brow, But out, alack, he was but one hour mine,”

“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 eye, To swear against the truth so foul a lie!”

“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.”

“For where is she so fair whose unear’d womb Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry? Or who is he so fond will be the tomb, Of his self-love, to stop posterity?”

“From fairest creatures we desire increase, That thereby beauty’s rose might never die, But as the riper should by time decease, His tender heir might bear his memory:”

“Full many a glorious morning have I seen Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye, Kissing with golden face the meadows green, Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy;”

“Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life, So thou prevent’st his scythe and crooked knife.”

“He lends thee virtue, and he stole that word From thy behavior; beauty doth he give, And found it in thy cheek; he can afford No praise to thee but what in thee doth live. Then thank him not for that which he doth say, Since what he owes thee, thou thyself dost pay.”

“He, nor that affable familiar ghost Which nightly gulls him with intelligence, As victors of my silence cannot boast; I was not sick of any fear from thence: But when your countenance fill’d up his line, Then lack’d I matter, that enfeebled mine.”

“Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase, Without this, folly, age, and cold decay. If all were minded so, the times should cease, And threescore year would make the world away.”

“I hate” she alter’d with an end That follow’d it as gentle day Doth follow night, who like a fiend From heaven to hell is flown away: ’I hate’ from hate away she threw, And sav’d my life, saying “not you.”

“I think good thoughts whilst other write good words, And like unlettered clerk still cry  “Amen” To every hymn that able spirit affords In polish’d form of well-refined pen.”

“If I lose thee, my loss is my love’s gain, And losing her, my friend hath found that loss; Both find each other, and I lose both twain, And both for my sake lay on me this cross.”

“If I might teach thee wit, better it were, Though not to love, yet, love, to tell me so, As testy sick men, when their deaths be near, No news but health from their physicians know;”

“If my slight Muse do please these curious days, The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise.”

“In me thou see’st the glowing of such fire That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, As the death-bed whereon it must expire, Consum’d with that which it was nourish’d by.”

“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 shame,”

“It fears not policy, that heretic, Which works on leases of short-numb’red hours, But all alone stands hugely politic, That it nor grows with heat, nor drowns with show’rs. To this I witness call the fools of Time, Which die for goodness, who have liv’d for crime.”

“Lean penury within that pen doth dwell That to his subject lends not some small glory, But he that writes of you, if he can tell That you are you, so dignifies his story.”

“Let me excuse thee: ah, my love well knows Her pretty looks have been mine 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. ”

“Let not my love be call’d idolatry, Nor my beloved as an idol show, Since all alike my songs and praises be To one, of one, still such, and ever so.”

“Like as the waves make towards the pibbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end, Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend.”

“Lo in the orient when the gracious light Lifts up his burning head, each under eye Doth homage to his new-appearing sight, Serving with looks his sacred majesty,”

“Lo thus by day my limbs, by night my mind, For thee, and for myself, no quiet find.”

“Look what thy memory cannot contain Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find Those children nurs’d, deliver’d from thy brain, To take a new acquaintance of thy mind. These offices, so oft as thou wilt look, Shall profit thee, and much enrich thy book.”

“Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.”

“Mad in pursuit and in possession so, Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme, A bliss in proof, and prov’d, a very woe, Before, a joy propos’d, behind, a dream. All this the world well knows, yet none knows well To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.”

“Make thee another self for love of me, That beauty still may live in thine or thee.”

“Me from myself thy cruel eye hath taken, And my next self thou harder hast engrossed: Of him, myself, and thee I am forsaken, A torment thrice threefold thus to be crossed.”

“Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war, How to divide the conquest of thy sight: Mine eye my heart thy picture’s sight would bar, My heart mine eye the freedom of that right.”

“More flowers I noted, yet I none could see But sweet or color it had stol’n from thee.”

“My glass shall not persuade me I am old, So long as youth and thou are of one date, But when in thee time’s furrows I behold, Then look I death my days should expiate.”

“Nature’s bequest gives nothing, but doth lend, And being frank she lends to those are free: Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse The bounteous largess given thee to give?”

“Nay, if you read this line, remember not The hand that writ it, for I love you so, That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, If thinking on me then should make you woe.”

“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.”

“No matter then although my foot did stand Upon the farthest earth remov’d from thee, For nimble thought can jump both sea and land As soon as think the place where he would be.”

“No more be griev’d at that which thou hast done: Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud, Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun, And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.”

“No, let me be obsequious in thy heart, And take thou my oblation, poor but free, Which is not mix’d with seconds, knows no art, But mutual render, only me for thee. Hence, thou suborn’d informer, a true soul When most impeach’d stands least in thy control.”

“Nor did I wonder at the lily’s white, Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose, They were but sweet, but figures of delight, Drawn after you, you pattern of all those. Yet seem’d it winter still, and, you away, As with your shadow I with these did play.”

“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.”

“Not that the summer is less pleasant now Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night, But that wild music burdens every bough, And sweets grown common lose their dear delight. Therefore like her, I sometime hold my tongue, Because I would not dull you with my song.”

“Nothing, sweet boy, but yet like prayers divine, I must each day say o’er the very same, Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine, Even as when first I hallowed thy fair name.”

“Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done: Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me Are windows to my breast, wherethrough the sun Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee.”

“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 rhyme, While he insults o’er dull and speechless tribes;”

“O benefit of ill, now I find true That better is by evil still made better, And ruin’d love when it is built anew Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater. So I return rebuk’d to my content, And gain by ills thrice more than I have spent.”

“O cunning Love, with tears thou keep’st me blind, Lest eyes well seeing thy foul faults should find.”

“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.”

“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 odor which doth in it live.”

“O no, it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wand’ring bark, Whose worth’s unknown, although his highth be taken.”

“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.”

“O none, unless this miracle have might, That in black ink my love may still shine bright.”

“O that record could with a backward look, Even of five hundreth courses of the sun, Show me your image in some antique book, Since mind at first in character was done!”

“O that you were yourself! But, love, you are No longer yours than you yourself here live: Against this coming end you should prepare, And your sweet semblance to some other give.”

“O, know, sweet love, I always write of you, And you and love are still my argument; So all my best is dressing old words new, Spending again what is already spent: For as the sun is daily new and old, So is my love still telling what is told.”

“O, learn to read what silent love hath writ: To hear with eyes belongs to love’s fine wit.”

“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.”

“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:”

“O, never say that I was false of heart, Though absence seem’d my flame to qualify; As easy might I from myself depart As from my soul which in thy breast doth lie:”

“O, sure I am the wits of former days To subjects worse have given admiring praise.”

“O, what a mansion have those vices got Which for their habitation chose out thee, Where beauty’s veil doth cover every blot, And all things turns to fair that eyes can see! Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege, The hardest knife ill us’d doth lose his edge.”

“O, what excuse will my poor beast then find, When swift extremity can seem but slow?”

“O, ’tis the first, ’tis flatt’ry in my seeing, And my great mind most kingly drinks it up; Mine eye well knows what with his gust is ’greeing, And to his palate doth prepare the cup. If it be poison’d, ’tis the lesser sin That mine eye loves it and doth first begin.”

“Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire What thou dost foist upon us that is old, And rather make them born to our desire Than think that we before have heard them told.”

“Past cure I am, now reason is past care, And frantic mad with evermore unrest; My thoughts and my discourse as madmen’s are, At randon from the truth vainly express’d; For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.”

“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.”

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;”

“Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind, And that which governs me to go about Doth part his function, and is partly blind, Seems seeing, but effectually is out;”

“So I, for fear of trust, forget to say The perfect ceremony of love’s rite, And in mine own love’s strength seem to decay, O’ercharg’d with burden of mine own love’s might.”

“So all their praises are but prophecies Of this our time, all you prefiguring, And for they look’d but with divining eyes, They had not still enough your worth to sing: For we which now behold these present days Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.”

“So either by thy picture or my love, Thyself away are present still with me, For thou not farther than my thoughts canst move, And I am still with them, and they with thee; Or if they sleep, thy picture in my sight Awakes my heart to heart’s and eye’s delight.”

“So is the time that keeps you as my chest, Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide, To make some special instant special blest, By new unfolding his imprison’d pride. Blessed are you whose worthiness gives scope, Being had, to triumph, being lack’d, to hope.”

“So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”

“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:”

“So run’st thou after that which flies from thee, Whilst I, thy babe, chase thee afar behind, But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me, And play the mother’s part, kiss me, be kind.”

“So should my papers (yellowed with their age) Be scorn’d, like old men of less truth than tongue, And your true rights be term’d a poet’s rage, And stretched metre of an antique song: But were some child of yours alive that time, You should live twice, in it and in my rhyme.”

“So should the lines of life that life repair Which this time’s pencil, or my pupil pen, Neither in inward worth nor outward fair Can make you live yourself in eyes of men.”

“So that eternal love in love’s fresh case Weighs not the dust and injury of age, Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place, But makes antiquity for aye his page, Finding the first conceit of love there bred, Where time and outward form would show it dead.”

“So then I am not lame, poor, nor despis’d, Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give, That I in thy abundance am suffic’d, And by a part of all thy glory live. Look what is best, that best I wish in thee: This wish I have, then ten times happy me!”

“So, love, be thou: although to-day thou fill Thy hungry eyes even till they wink with fullness, Tomorrow see again, and do not kill The spirit of love with a perpetual dullness:”

“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.”

“Such civil war is in my love and hate, That I an accessary needs must be To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me.”

“Such is my love, to thee I so belong, That for thy right myself will bear all wrong.”

“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 sharp’ned in his former might.”

“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.”

“That thou are 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.”

“That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin’d choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.”

“The bloody spur cannot provoke him on, That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide, Which heavily he answers with a groan, More sharp to me than spurring to his side, For that same groan doth put this in my mind: My grief lies onward and my joy behind.”

“The other two, slight air and purging fire, Are both with thee, where ever I abide; The first my thought, the other my desire, These present-absent with swift motion slide.”

“The painful warrior famoused for fight, After a thousand victories once foil’d, Is from the book of honor rased quite, And all the rest forgot for which he toil’d. Then happy I that love and am beloved Where I may not remove, nor be removed.”

“The roses fearfully on thorns did stand, One blushing shame, another white despair; A third, nor red nor white, had stol’n of both, And to his robb’ry had annex’d thy breath,”

“The sea, all water, yet receives rain still, And in abundance addeth to his store, So thou being rich in Will add to thy Will One will of mine to make thy large Will more. Let no unkind, no fair beseechers kill; Think all but one, and me in that one Will.”

“Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, And heavily from woe to woe tell o’er The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,”

“Then in the number let me pass untold, Though in thy store’s 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 lovest me, for my name is Will.”

“Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee, Till then, not show my head where thou mayst prove me.”

“Then others for the breath of words respect, Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect.”

“Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright, How would thy shadow’s form form happy show To the clear day with thy much clearer light, When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so!”

“Then were not summer’s distillation left A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass, Beauty’s effect with beauty were bereft, Nor it nor no remembrance what it was.”

“There lives more life in one of your fair eyes Than both your poets can in praise devise.”

“They that have pow’r to hurt, and will do none, That do not do the thing they most do show, Who moving others, are themselves as stone, Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow, They rightly do inherit heaven’s graces, And husband nature’s riches from expense; They are the lords and owners of their faces, Others but stewards of their excellence.”

“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.”

“This brand she quenched in a cool well by, Which from Love’s fire took heat perpetual, Growing a bath and healthful remedy For men diseas’d, but I, my mistress’ thrall, Came there for cure, and this by that I prove: Love’s fire heats water, water cools not love.”

“This told, I joy, but then no longer glad, I send them back again and straight grow sad.”

“This were to be new made when thou art old, And see thy blood warm when thou feel’st it cold.”

“Thou art the grave where buried love doth live, Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone, Who all their parts of me to thee did give:”

“Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind, Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie; O, what a happy title do I find, Happy to have thy love, happy to die! But what’s so blessed-fair that fears no blot? Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not.”

“Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn’d In process of the seasons have I seen, Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn’d, Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.”

“Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn, When beauty liv’d and died as flowers do now, Before these bastard signs of fair were born, Or durst inhabit on a living brow;”

“Thus policy in love, t’ anticipate The ills that were not, grew to faults assured, And brought to medicine a healthful state Which, rank of goodness, would by ill be cured. But thence I learn, and find the lesson true, Drugs poison him that so fell sick of you.”

“Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young, Although she knows my days are past the best, Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue; On both sides thus is simple truth suppress’d.”

“Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain Full character’d with lasting memory, Which shall above that idle rank remain Beyond all date, even to eternity;”

“Thy love is better than high birth to me, Richer than wealth, prouder than garments’ cost, Of more delight than hawks or horses be; And having thee, of all men’s pride I boast:”

“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.”

“Thyself thou gav’st, thy own worth then not knowing, Or me, to whom thou gav’st it, else mistaking, So thy great gift, upon misprision growing, Comes home again, on better judgment making. Thus have I had thee as a dream doth flatter: In sleep a king, but waking no such matter.”

“Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break, To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face, For no man well of such a salve can speak That heals the wound, and cures not the disgrace;”

“To be so tickled they would change their state And situation with those dancing chips, O’er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait, Making dead wood more blest than living lips: Since saucy jacks so happy are in this, Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.”

“Two loves I have of comfort and despair, Which like two spirits do suggest me still: The better angel is a man right fair, The worser spirit a woman color’d ill.”

“Was it the proud full sail of his great verse, Bound for the prize of all-too-precious you, That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse, Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew?”

“Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed, The dear repose for limbs with travel tired, But then begins a journey in my head To work my mind, when body’s work’s expired;”

“Were it not sinful then, striving to mend, To mar the subject that before was well? For to no other pass my verses tend Than of your graces and your gifts to tell; And more, much more than in my verse can sit, Your own glass shows you, when you look in it.”

“What’s in the brain that ink may character Which hath not figur’d to thee my true spirit? What’s new to speak, what now to register, That may express my love, or thy dear merit?”

“When I do count the clock that tells the time, And see the brave day sunk in hideous night; When I behold the violet past prime, And sable curls all silver’d o’er with white;”

“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.”

“When I was certain o’er incertainty, Crowning the present, doubting of the rest? Love is a babe, then might I not say so, To give full growth to that which still doth grow.”

“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 bett’ring of the time, And though they be outstripp’d by every pen, Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme,”

“When thou reviewest this, thou dost review The very part was consecrate to thee: The earth can have but earth, which is his due, My spirit is thine, the better part of me.”

“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.”

“Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget’st so long To speak of that which gives thee all thy might? Spend’st thou thy fury on some worthless song, Dark’ning thy pow’r to lend base subjects light?”

“Which borrow’d from this holy fire of Love A dateless lively heat, still to endure, And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove Against strange maladies a sovereign cure.”

“Who is it that says most, which can say more Than this rich praise, that you alone are you, In whose confine immured is the store Which should example where your equal grew?”

“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. ”

“Why should my heart think that a several plot, Which my heart knows the wide world’s common place? Or mine eyes seeing this, say this is not, To put fair truth upon so foul a face?”

“Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featur’d like him, like him with friends possess’d, Desiring this man’s art, and that man’s scope, With what I most enjoy contented least;”

“Yet do thy worst, old Time: despite thy wrong, My love shall in my verse ever live young.”

“Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art, They draw but what they see, know not the heart.”

“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.”

“Yet this abundant issue seem’d to me But hope of orphans and unfathered fruit, For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, And thou away, the very birds are mute; Or if they sing, ’tis with so dull a cheer That leaves look pale, dreading the winter’s near.”

“You are my all the world, and I must strive To know my shames and praises from your tongue; None else to me, nor I to none alive, That my steel’d sense or changes right or wrong.”

“You are so strongly in my purpose bred That all the world besides methinks are dead.”

“Your monument shall be my gentle verse, Which eyes not yet created shall o’er-read, And tongues to be your being shall rehearse, When all the breathers of this world are dead; You still shall live (such virtue hath my pen) Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men.”