Reading Help THE SONNETS
CXVIII `
` `
` Like as, to make our appetite more keen, `
` With eager compounds we our palate urge; `
` As, to prevent our maladies unseen, `
` We sicken to shun sickness when we purge; `
` Even so, being full of your ne'er-cloying sweetness, `
` To bitter sauces did I frame my feeding; `
` And, sick of welfare, found a kind of meetness `
` To be diseas'd, ere that there was true needing. `
` Thus policy in love, to anticipate `
` The ills that were not, grew to faults assur'd, `
` And brought to medicine a healthful state `
` Which, rank of goodness, would by ill be cur'd; `
` But thence I learn and find the lesson true, `
` Drugs poison him that so fell sick of you. `
` `
` CXIX `
` `
` What potions have I drunk of Siren tears, `
` Distill'd from limbecks foul as hell within, `
` Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears, `
` Still losing when I saw myself to win! `
` What wretched errors hath my heart committed, `
` Whilst it hath thought itself so blessed never! `
` How have mine eyes out of their spheres been fitted, `
` In the distraction of this madding fever! `
` 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 ill thrice more than I have spent. `
` `
` CXX `
` `
` That you were once unkind befriends me now, `
` And for that sorrow, which I then did feel, `
` Needs must I under my transgression bow, `
` Unless my nerves were brass or hammer'd steel. `
` For if you were by my unkindness shaken, `
` As I by yours, you've pass'd a hell of time; `
` And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken `
` To weigh how once I suffer'd in your crime. `
` O! that our night of woe might have remember'd `
` My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits, `
` And soon to you, as you to me, then tender'd `
` The humble salve, which wounded bosoms fits! `
` But that your trespass now becomes a fee; `
` Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me. `
` `
` CXXI `
` `
` 'Tis better to be vile than vile esteem'd, `
` When not to be receives reproach of being; `
` And the just pleasure lost, which is so deem'd `
` Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing: `
` For why should others' false adulterate eyes `
` Give salutation to my sportive blood? `
` Or on my frailties why are frailer spies, `
` Which in their wills count bad what I think good? `
` No, I am that I am, and they that level `
` At my abuses reckon up their own: `
` I may be straight though they themselves be bevel; `
` By their rank thoughts, my deeds must not be shown; `
` Unless this general evil they maintain, `
` All men are bad and in their badness reign. `
` `
` CXXII `
` `
` 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: `
` Or, at the least, so long as brain and heart `
` Have faculty by nature to subsist; `
` Till each to raz'd oblivion yield his part `
` Of thee, thy record never can be miss'd. `
` That poor retention could not so much hold, `
` Nor need I tallies thy dear love to score; `
` Therefore to give them from me was I bold, `
` To trust those tables that receive thee more: `
` To keep an adjunct to remember thee `
` Were to import forgetfulness in me. `
` `
` CXXIII `
` `
` No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change: `
` Thy pyramids built up with newer might `
` To me are nothing novel, nothing strange; `
` They are but dressings of a former sight. `
` 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. `
` Thy registers and thee I both defy, `
` Not wondering at the present nor the past, `
` For thy records and what we see doth lie, `
` Made more or less by thy continual haste. `
` This I do vow and this shall ever be; `
` I will be true despite thy scythe and thee. `
` `
` CXXIV `
` `
` 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 th' 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 lived for crime. `
` `
` CXXV `
` `
` Were't aught to me I bore the canopy, `
` With my extern the outward honouring, `
` Or laid great bases for eternity, `
` Which proves more short than waste or ruining? `
` Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour `
` Lose all and more by paying too much rent `
` For compound sweet; forgoing simple savour, `
` Pitiful thrivers, in their gazing spent? `
` 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 suborned informer! a true soul `
` When most impeach'd, stands least in thy control. `
` `
` CXXVI `
` `
` O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power `
` Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his fickle 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 delayed) answered must be, `
` And her quietus is to render thee. `
` `
` CXXVII `
` `
` 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: `
` For since each hand hath put on Nature's power, `
` Fairing the foul with Art's false borrowed face, `
` Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy bower, `
` But is profan'd, if not lives in disgrace. `
` Therefore my mistress' eyes 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. `
` `
` CXXXIII `
` `
` How oft when thou, my music, music play'st, `
` Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds `
` With thy sweet fingers when thou gently sway'st `
` The wiry concord that mine ear confounds, `
` Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap, `
` To kiss the tender inward of thy hand, `
` Whilst my poor lips which should that harvest reap, `
` At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand! `
` 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 bless'd than living lips. `
` Since saucy jacks so happy are in this, `
` Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss. `
` `
` CXXIX `
` `
` The expense of spirit in a waste of shame `
` Is lust in action: and till action, lust `
` Is perjur'd, murderous, bloody, full of blame, `
` Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust; `
` Enjoy'd no sooner but despised straight; `
` Past reason hunted; and no sooner had, `
` Past reason hated, as a swallow'd bait, `
` On purpose laid to make the taker mad: `
` 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. `
`
` `
` Like as, to make our appetite more keen, `
` With eager compounds we our palate urge; `
` As, to prevent our maladies unseen, `
` We sicken to shun sickness when we purge; `
` Even so, being full of your ne'er-cloying sweetness, `
` To bitter sauces did I frame my feeding; `
` And, sick of welfare, found a kind of meetness `
` To be diseas'd, ere that there was true needing. `
` Thus policy in love, to anticipate `
` The ills that were not, grew to faults assur'd, `
` And brought to medicine a healthful state `
` Which, rank of goodness, would by ill be cur'd; `
` But thence I learn and find the lesson true, `
` Drugs poison him that so fell sick of you. `
` `
` CXIX `
` `
` What potions have I drunk of Siren tears, `
` Distill'd from limbecks foul as hell within, `
` Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears, `
` Still losing when I saw myself to win! `
` What wretched errors hath my heart committed, `
` Whilst it hath thought itself so blessed never! `
` How have mine eyes out of their spheres been fitted, `
` In the distraction of this madding fever! `
` 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 ill thrice more than I have spent. `
` `
` CXX `
` `
` That you were once unkind befriends me now, `
` And for that sorrow, which I then did feel, `
` Needs must I under my transgression bow, `
` Unless my nerves were brass or hammer'd steel. `
` For if you were by my unkindness shaken, `
` As I by yours, you've pass'd a hell of time; `
` And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken `
` To weigh how once I suffer'd in your crime. `
` O! that our night of woe might have remember'd `
` My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits, `
` And soon to you, as you to me, then tender'd `
` The humble salve, which wounded bosoms fits! `
` But that your trespass now becomes a fee; `
` Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me. `
` `
` CXXI `
` `
` 'Tis better to be vile than vile esteem'd, `
` When not to be receives reproach of being; `
` And the just pleasure lost, which is so deem'd `
` Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing: `
` For why should others' false adulterate eyes `
` Give salutation to my sportive blood? `
` Or on my frailties why are frailer spies, `
` Which in their wills count bad what I think good? `
` No, I am that I am, and they that level `
` At my abuses reckon up their own: `
` I may be straight though they themselves be bevel; `
` By their rank thoughts, my deeds must not be shown; `
` Unless this general evil they maintain, `
` All men are bad and in their badness reign. `
` `
` CXXII `
` `
` 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: `
` Or, at the least, so long as brain and heart `
` Have faculty by nature to subsist; `
` Till each to raz'd oblivion yield his part `
` Of thee, thy record never can be miss'd. `
` That poor retention could not so much hold, `
` Nor need I tallies thy dear love to score; `
` Therefore to give them from me was I bold, `
` To trust those tables that receive thee more: `
` To keep an adjunct to remember thee `
` Were to import forgetfulness in me. `
` `
` CXXIII `
` `
` No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change: `
` Thy pyramids built up with newer might `
` To me are nothing novel, nothing strange; `
` They are but dressings of a former sight. `
` 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. `
` Thy registers and thee I both defy, `
` Not wondering at the present nor the past, `
` For thy records and what we see doth lie, `
` Made more or less by thy continual haste. `
` This I do vow and this shall ever be; `
` I will be true despite thy scythe and thee. `
` `
` CXXIV `
` `
` 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 th' 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 lived for crime. `
` `
` CXXV `
` `
` Were't aught to me I bore the canopy, `
` With my extern the outward honouring, `
` Or laid great bases for eternity, `
` Which proves more short than waste or ruining? `
` Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour `
` Lose all and more by paying too much rent `
` For compound sweet; forgoing simple savour, `
` Pitiful thrivers, in their gazing spent? `
` 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 suborned informer! a true soul `
` When most impeach'd, stands least in thy control. `
` `
` CXXVI `
` `
` O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power `
` Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his fickle 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 delayed) answered must be, `
` And her quietus is to render thee. `
` `
` CXXVII `
` `
` 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: `
` For since each hand hath put on Nature's power, `
` Fairing the foul with Art's false borrowed face, `
` Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy bower, `
` But is profan'd, if not lives in disgrace. `
` Therefore my mistress' eyes 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. `
` `
` CXXXIII `
` `
` How oft when thou, my music, music play'st, `
` Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds `
` With thy sweet fingers when thou gently sway'st `
` The wiry concord that mine ear confounds, `
` Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap, `
` To kiss the tender inward of thy hand, `
` Whilst my poor lips which should that harvest reap, `
` At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand! `
` 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 bless'd than living lips. `
` Since saucy jacks so happy are in this, `
` Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss. `
` `
` CXXIX `
` `
` The expense of spirit in a waste of shame `
` Is lust in action: and till action, lust `
` Is perjur'd, murderous, bloody, full of blame, `
` Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust; `
` Enjoy'd no sooner but despised straight; `
` Past reason hunted; and no sooner had, `
` Past reason hated, as a swallow'd bait, `
` On purpose laid to make the taker mad: `
` 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. `
`