Reading Help THE SONNETS
Which labouring for invention bear amiss `
` The second burthen 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; `
` Wh'r we are mended, or wh'r better they, `
` Or whether revolution be the same. `
` O! sure I am the wits of former days, `
` To subjects worse have given admiring praise. `
` `
` 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 eclipses '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. `
` `
` 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 tenure 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. `
` `
` 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 tanned 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. `
` `
` LXIII `
` `
` Against my love shall be as I am now, `
` With Time's injurious hand crush'd and o'erworn; `
` 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 vanished 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. `
` `
` LXIV `
` `
` When I have seen by Time's fell hand defac'd `
` The rich-proud cost of outworn buried age; `
` When sometime lofty towers I see down-raz'd, `
` 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. `
` `
` LXV `
` `
` Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, `
` But sad mortality o'ersways 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 wrackful 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. `
` `
` 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 gilded honour shamefully misplac'd, `
` And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, `
` And right perfection wrongfully disgrac'd, `
` 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: `
` Tir'd with all these, from these would I be gone, `
` Save that, to die, I leave my love alone. `
` `
` 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 steel dead seeming 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. `
` `
` LXVIII `
` `
` Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn, `
` When beauty lived and died as flowers do now, `
` Before these 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. `
` `
` 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 soil is this, that thou dost common grow. `
` `
` LXX `
` `
` 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 passed 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. `
` `
` LXXI `
`
` The second burthen 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; `
` Wh'r we are mended, or wh'r better they, `
` Or whether revolution be the same. `
` O! sure I am the wits of former days, `
` To subjects worse have given admiring praise. `
` `
` 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 eclipses '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. `
` `
` 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 tenure 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. `
` `
` 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 tanned 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. `
` `
` LXIII `
` `
` Against my love shall be as I am now, `
` With Time's injurious hand crush'd and o'erworn; `
` 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 vanished 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. `
` `
` LXIV `
` `
` When I have seen by Time's fell hand defac'd `
` The rich-proud cost of outworn buried age; `
` When sometime lofty towers I see down-raz'd, `
` 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. `
` `
` LXV `
` `
` Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, `
` But sad mortality o'ersways 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 wrackful 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. `
` `
` 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 gilded honour shamefully misplac'd, `
` And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, `
` And right perfection wrongfully disgrac'd, `
` 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: `
` Tir'd with all these, from these would I be gone, `
` Save that, to die, I leave my love alone. `
` `
` 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 steel dead seeming 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. `
` `
` LXVIII `
` `
` Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn, `
` When beauty lived and died as flowers do now, `
` Before these 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. `
` `
` 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 soil is this, that thou dost common grow. `
` `
` LXX `
` `
` 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 passed 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. `
` `
` LXXI `
`