Reading Help THE SONNETS
`
` XXIV `
` `
` Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath stell'd, `
` Thy beauty's form in table of my heart; `
` My body is the frame wherein 'tis held, `
` And perspective it is best painter's art. `
` For through the painter must you see his skill, `
` To find where your true image pictur'd lies, `
` Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still, `
` That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes. `
` 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, where-through the sun `
` Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee; `
` Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art, `
` They draw but what they see, know not the heart. `
` `
` XXV `
` `
` Let those who are in favour with their stars `
` Of public honour and proud titles boast, `
` Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars `
` Unlook'd for joy in that I honour most. `
` Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread `
` But as the marigold at the sun's eye, `
` And in themselves their pride lies buried, `
` For at a frown they in their glory die. `
` The painful warrior famoused for fight, `
` After a thousand victories once foil'd, `
` Is from the book of honour razed quite, `
` And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd: `
` Then happy I, that love and am belov'd, `
` Where I may not remove nor be remov'd. `
` `
` XXVI `
` `
` Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage `
` Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit, `
` To thee I send this written embassage, `
` To witness duty, not to show my wit: `
` Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine `
` May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it, `
` But that I hope some good conceit of thine `
` In thy soul's thought, all naked, will bestow it: `
` Till whatsoever star that guides my moving, `
` Points on me graciously with fair aspect, `
` And puts apparel on my tatter'd loving, `
` To show me worthy of thy sweet respect: `
` Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee; `
` Till then, not show my head where thou mayst prove me. `
` `
` XXVII `
` `
` Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed, `
` The dear respose for limbs with travel tir'd; `
` But then begins a journey in my head `
` To work my mind, when body's work's expired: `
` For then my thoughts--from far where I abide-- `
` Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee, `
` And keep my drooping eyelids open wide, `
` Looking on darkness which the blind do see: `
` Save that my soul's imaginary sight `
` Presents thy shadow to my sightless view, `
` Which, like a jewel (hung in ghastly night, `
` Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new. `
` Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind, `
` For thee, and for myself, no quiet find. `
` `
` XXVIII `
` `
` How can I then return in happy plight, `
` That am debarre'd the benefit of rest? `
` When day's oppression is not eas'd by night, `
` But day by night and night by day oppress'd, `
` And each, though enemies to either's reign, `
` Do in consent shake hands to torture me, `
` The one by toil, the other to complain `
` How far I toil, still farther off from thee. `
` I tell the day, to please him thou art bright, `
` And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven: `
` So flatter I the swart-complexion'd night, `
` When sparkling stars twire not thou gild'st the even. `
` But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer, `
` And night doth nightly make grief's length seem stronger. `
` `
` XXIX `
` `
` When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes `
` I all alone beweep my outcast state, `
` And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, `
` And look upon myself, and curse my fate, `
` 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 in these thoughts my self almost despising, `
` Haply I think on thee,-- and then my state, `
` Like to the lark at break of day arising `
` From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate,; `
` For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings `
` That then I scorn to change my state with kings. `
` `
` XXX `
` `
` When to the sessions of sweet silent thought `
` I summon up remembrance of things past, `
` I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, `
` And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste: `
` Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, `
` For precious friends hid in death's dateless night, `
` And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe, `
` And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight: `
` Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, `
` And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er `
` The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, `
` Which I new pay as if not paid before. `
` But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, `
` All losses are restor'd and sorrows end. `
` `
` XXXI `
` `
` Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts, `
` Which I by lacking have supposed dead; `
` And there reigns Love, and all Love's loving parts, `
` And all those friends which I thought buried. `
` How many a holy and obsequious tear `
` Hath dear religious love stol'n from mine eye, `
` As interest of the dead, which now appear `
` But things remov'd that hidden in thee lie! `
` 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, `
` That due of many now is thine alone: `
` Their images I lov'd, I view in thee, `
` And thou--all they--hast all the all of me. `
` `
` XXXII `
` `
` If thou survive my well-contented day, `
` 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, `
` Exceeded by the height of happier men. `
` O! then vouchsafe me but this loving thought: `
` 'Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age, `
` A dearer birth than this his love had brought, `
` To march in ranks of better equipage: `
` But since he died and poets better prove, `
` Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love'. `
` `
` XXXIII `
` `
` 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; `
` Anon permit the basest clouds to ride `
` With ugly rack on his celestial face, `
` And from the forlorn world his visage hide, `
` Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace: `
` Even so my sun one early morn did shine, `
` With all triumphant splendour on my brow; `
` But out! alack! he was but one hour mine, `
` The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now. `
` Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth; `
` Suns of the world may stain when heaven's sun staineth. `
` `
` XXXIV `
` `
` Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day, `
` And make me travel forth without my cloak, `
` To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way, `
` Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke? `
` '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: `
` Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief; `
` Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss: `
` The offender's sorrow lends but weak relief `
` To him that bears the strong offence's cross. `
` Ah! but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds, `
` And they are rich and ransom all ill deeds. `
` `
` XXXV `
` `
` 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. `
` All men make faults, and even I in this, `
` Authorizing thy trespass with compare, `
` Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss, `
` Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are; `
` For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense,-- `
` Thy adverse party is thy advocate,-- `
` And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence: `
`
` XXIV `
` `
` Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath stell'd, `
` Thy beauty's form in table of my heart; `
` My body is the frame wherein 'tis held, `
` And perspective it is best painter's art. `
` For through the painter must you see his skill, `
` To find where your true image pictur'd lies, `
` Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still, `
` That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes. `
` 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, where-through the sun `
` Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee; `
` Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art, `
` They draw but what they see, know not the heart. `
` `
` XXV `
` `
` Let those who are in favour with their stars `
` Of public honour and proud titles boast, `
` Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars `
` Unlook'd for joy in that I honour most. `
` Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread `
` But as the marigold at the sun's eye, `
` And in themselves their pride lies buried, `
` For at a frown they in their glory die. `
` The painful warrior famoused for fight, `
` After a thousand victories once foil'd, `
` Is from the book of honour razed quite, `
` And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd: `
` Then happy I, that love and am belov'd, `
` Where I may not remove nor be remov'd. `
` `
` XXVI `
` `
` Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage `
` Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit, `
` To thee I send this written embassage, `
` To witness duty, not to show my wit: `
` Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine `
` May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it, `
` But that I hope some good conceit of thine `
` In thy soul's thought, all naked, will bestow it: `
` Till whatsoever star that guides my moving, `
` Points on me graciously with fair aspect, `
` And puts apparel on my tatter'd loving, `
` To show me worthy of thy sweet respect: `
` Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee; `
` Till then, not show my head where thou mayst prove me. `
` `
` XXVII `
` `
` Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed, `
` The dear respose for limbs with travel tir'd; `
` But then begins a journey in my head `
` To work my mind, when body's work's expired: `
` For then my thoughts--from far where I abide-- `
` Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee, `
` And keep my drooping eyelids open wide, `
` Looking on darkness which the blind do see: `
` Save that my soul's imaginary sight `
` Presents thy shadow to my sightless view, `
` Which, like a jewel (hung in ghastly night, `
` Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new. `
` Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind, `
` For thee, and for myself, no quiet find. `
` `
` XXVIII `
` `
` How can I then return in happy plight, `
` That am debarre'd the benefit of rest? `
` When day's oppression is not eas'd by night, `
` But day by night and night by day oppress'd, `
` And each, though enemies to either's reign, `
` Do in consent shake hands to torture me, `
` The one by toil, the other to complain `
` How far I toil, still farther off from thee. `
` I tell the day, to please him thou art bright, `
` And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven: `
` So flatter I the swart-complexion'd night, `
` When sparkling stars twire not thou gild'st the even. `
` But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer, `
` And night doth nightly make grief's length seem stronger. `
` `
` XXIX `
` `
` When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes `
` I all alone beweep my outcast state, `
` And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, `
` And look upon myself, and curse my fate, `
` 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 in these thoughts my self almost despising, `
` Haply I think on thee,-- and then my state, `
` Like to the lark at break of day arising `
` From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate,; `
` For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings `
` That then I scorn to change my state with kings. `
` `
` XXX `
` `
` When to the sessions of sweet silent thought `
` I summon up remembrance of things past, `
` I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, `
` And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste: `
` Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, `
` For precious friends hid in death's dateless night, `
` And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe, `
` And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight: `
` Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, `
` And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er `
` The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, `
` Which I new pay as if not paid before. `
` But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, `
` All losses are restor'd and sorrows end. `
` `
` XXXI `
` `
` Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts, `
` Which I by lacking have supposed dead; `
` And there reigns Love, and all Love's loving parts, `
` And all those friends which I thought buried. `
` How many a holy and obsequious tear `
` Hath dear religious love stol'n from mine eye, `
` As interest of the dead, which now appear `
` But things remov'd that hidden in thee lie! `
` 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, `
` That due of many now is thine alone: `
` Their images I lov'd, I view in thee, `
` And thou--all they--hast all the all of me. `
` `
` XXXII `
` `
` If thou survive my well-contented day, `
` 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, `
` Exceeded by the height of happier men. `
` O! then vouchsafe me but this loving thought: `
` 'Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age, `
` A dearer birth than this his love had brought, `
` To march in ranks of better equipage: `
` But since he died and poets better prove, `
` Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love'. `
` `
` XXXIII `
` `
` 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; `
` Anon permit the basest clouds to ride `
` With ugly rack on his celestial face, `
` And from the forlorn world his visage hide, `
` Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace: `
` Even so my sun one early morn did shine, `
` With all triumphant splendour on my brow; `
` But out! alack! he was but one hour mine, `
` The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now. `
` Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth; `
` Suns of the world may stain when heaven's sun staineth. `
` `
` XXXIV `
` `
` Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day, `
` And make me travel forth without my cloak, `
` To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way, `
` Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke? `
` '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: `
` Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief; `
` Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss: `
` The offender's sorrow lends but weak relief `
` To him that bears the strong offence's cross. `
` Ah! but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds, `
` And they are rich and ransom all ill deeds. `
` `
` XXXV `
` `
` 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. `
` All men make faults, and even I in this, `
` Authorizing thy trespass with compare, `
` Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss, `
` Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are; `
` For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense,-- `
` Thy adverse party is thy advocate,-- `
` And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence: `
`