Reading Help THE SONNETS
In true plain words, by thy true-telling friend; `
` And their gross painting might be better us'd `
` Where cheeks need blood; in thee it is abus'd. `
` `
` LXXXIII `
` `
` I never saw that you did painting need, `
` And therefore to your fair no painting set; `
` I found, or thought I found, you did exceed `
` That barren tender of a poet's debt: `
` And therefore have I slept in your report, `
` That you yourself, being extant, well might show `
` How far a modern quill doth come too short, `
` Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow. `
` This silence for my sin you did impute, `
` Which shall be most my glory being dumb; `
` For I impair not beauty being mute, `
` When others would give life, and bring a tomb. `
` There lives more life in one of your fair eyes `
` Than both your poets can in praise devise. `
` `
` LXXXIV `
` `
` 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. `
` 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 him but copy what in you is writ, `
` Not making worse what nature made so clear, `
` And such a counterpart shall fame his wit, `
` Making his style admired every where. `
` You to your beauteous blessings add a curse, `
` Being fond on praise, which makes your praises worse. `
` `
` LXXXV `
` `
` My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still, `
` While comments of your praise richly compil'd, `
` Reserve their character with golden quill, `
` And precious phrase by all the Muses fil'd. `
` I think good thoughts, whilst others 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. `
` Hearing you praised, I say ''tis so, 'tis true,' `
` And to the most of praise add something more; `
` But that is in my thought, whose love to you, `
` Though words come hindmost, holds his rank before. `
` Then others, for the breath of words respect, `
` Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect. `
` `
` LXXXVI `
` `
` 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? `
` Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write, `
` Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead? `
` No, neither he, nor his compeers by night `
` Giving him aid, my verse astonished. `
` 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 lacked I matter; that enfeebled mine. `
` `
` LXXXVII `
` `
` Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing, `
` And like enough thou know'st thy estimate, `
` The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing; `
` My bonds in thee are all determinate. `
` For how do I hold thee but by thy granting? `
` And for that riches where is my deserving? `
` The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting, `
` And so my patent back again is swerving. `
` Thy self 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 judgement making. `
` Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter, `
` In sleep a king, but waking no such matter. `
` `
` LXXXVIII `
` `
` When thou shalt be dispos'd to set me light, `
` And place my merit in the eye of scorn, `
` Upon thy side, against myself I'll fight, `
` And prove thee virtuous, though thou art forsworn. `
` With mine own weakness, being best acquainted, `
` Upon thy part I can set down a story `
` Of faults conceal'd, wherein I am attainted; `
` That thou in losing me shalt win much glory: `
` And I by this will be a gainer too; `
` For bending all my loving thoughts on thee, `
` The injuries that to myself I do, `
` Doing thee vantage, double-vantage me. `
` Such is my love, to thee I so belong, `
` That for thy right, myself will bear all wrong. `
` `
` LXXXIX `
` `
` Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault, `
` And I will comment upon that offence: `
` Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt, `
` Against thy reasons making no defence. `
` Thou canst not love disgrace me half so ill, `
` To set a form upon desired change, `
` As I'll myself disgrace; knowing thy will, `
` I will acquaintance strangle, and look strange; `
` 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 my self I'll vow debate, `
` For I must ne'er love him whom thou dost hate. `
` `
` XC `
` `
` Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now; `
` Now, while the world is bent my deeds to cross, `
` Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow, `
` And do not drop in for an after-loss: `
` 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. `
` If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last, `
` When other petty griefs have done their spite, `
` But in the onset come: so shall I taste `
` At first the very worst of fortune's might; `
` And other strains of woe, which now seem woe, `
` Compar'd with loss of thee, will not seem so. `
` `
` XCI `
` `
` Some glory in their birth, some in their skill, `
` Some in their wealth, some in their body's force, `
` Some in their garments though new-fangled ill; `
` Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse; `
` And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure, `
` Wherein it finds a joy above the rest: `
` But these particulars are not my measure, `
` All these I better in one general best. `
` Thy love is better than high birth to me, `
` Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' costs, `
` Of more delight than hawks and horses be; `
` And having thee, of all men's pride I boast: `
` Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take `
` All this away, and me most wretchcd make. `
` `
` XCII `
` `
` But do thy worst to steal thyself away, `
` For term of life thou art assured mine; `
` And life no longer than thy love will stay, `
` For it depends upon that love of thine. `
` Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs, `
` When in the least of them my life hath end. `
` I see a better state to me belongs `
` Than that which on thy humour doth depend: `
` 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. `
` `
` XCIII `
` `
` So shall I live, supposing thou art true, `
` Like a deceived husband; so love's face `
` May still seem love to me, though alter'd new; `
` Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place: `
` For there can live no hatred in thine eye, `
` Therefore in that I cannot know thy change. `
` In many's looks, the false heart's history `
` Is writ in moods, and frowns, and wrinkles strange. `
` But heaven in thy creation did decree `
` That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell; `
` Whate'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! `
` `
` XCIV `
` `
` They that have power 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. `
`
` And their gross painting might be better us'd `
` Where cheeks need blood; in thee it is abus'd. `
` `
` LXXXIII `
` `
` I never saw that you did painting need, `
` And therefore to your fair no painting set; `
` I found, or thought I found, you did exceed `
` That barren tender of a poet's debt: `
` And therefore have I slept in your report, `
` That you yourself, being extant, well might show `
` How far a modern quill doth come too short, `
` Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow. `
` This silence for my sin you did impute, `
` Which shall be most my glory being dumb; `
` For I impair not beauty being mute, `
` When others would give life, and bring a tomb. `
` There lives more life in one of your fair eyes `
` Than both your poets can in praise devise. `
` `
` LXXXIV `
` `
` 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. `
` 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 him but copy what in you is writ, `
` Not making worse what nature made so clear, `
` And such a counterpart shall fame his wit, `
` Making his style admired every where. `
` You to your beauteous blessings add a curse, `
` Being fond on praise, which makes your praises worse. `
` `
` LXXXV `
` `
` My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still, `
` While comments of your praise richly compil'd, `
` Reserve their character with golden quill, `
` And precious phrase by all the Muses fil'd. `
` I think good thoughts, whilst others 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. `
` Hearing you praised, I say ''tis so, 'tis true,' `
` And to the most of praise add something more; `
` But that is in my thought, whose love to you, `
` Though words come hindmost, holds his rank before. `
` Then others, for the breath of words respect, `
` Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect. `
` `
` LXXXVI `
` `
` 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? `
` Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write, `
` Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead? `
` No, neither he, nor his compeers by night `
` Giving him aid, my verse astonished. `
` 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 lacked I matter; that enfeebled mine. `
` `
` LXXXVII `
` `
` Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing, `
` And like enough thou know'st thy estimate, `
` The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing; `
` My bonds in thee are all determinate. `
` For how do I hold thee but by thy granting? `
` And for that riches where is my deserving? `
` The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting, `
` And so my patent back again is swerving. `
` Thy self 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 judgement making. `
` Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter, `
` In sleep a king, but waking no such matter. `
` `
` LXXXVIII `
` `
` When thou shalt be dispos'd to set me light, `
` And place my merit in the eye of scorn, `
` Upon thy side, against myself I'll fight, `
` And prove thee virtuous, though thou art forsworn. `
` With mine own weakness, being best acquainted, `
` Upon thy part I can set down a story `
` Of faults conceal'd, wherein I am attainted; `
` That thou in losing me shalt win much glory: `
` And I by this will be a gainer too; `
` For bending all my loving thoughts on thee, `
` The injuries that to myself I do, `
` Doing thee vantage, double-vantage me. `
` Such is my love, to thee I so belong, `
` That for thy right, myself will bear all wrong. `
` `
` LXXXIX `
` `
` Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault, `
` And I will comment upon that offence: `
` Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt, `
` Against thy reasons making no defence. `
` Thou canst not love disgrace me half so ill, `
` To set a form upon desired change, `
` As I'll myself disgrace; knowing thy will, `
` I will acquaintance strangle, and look strange; `
` 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 my self I'll vow debate, `
` For I must ne'er love him whom thou dost hate. `
` `
` XC `
` `
` Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now; `
` Now, while the world is bent my deeds to cross, `
` Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow, `
` And do not drop in for an after-loss: `
` 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. `
` If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last, `
` When other petty griefs have done their spite, `
` But in the onset come: so shall I taste `
` At first the very worst of fortune's might; `
` And other strains of woe, which now seem woe, `
` Compar'd with loss of thee, will not seem so. `
` `
` XCI `
` `
` Some glory in their birth, some in their skill, `
` Some in their wealth, some in their body's force, `
` Some in their garments though new-fangled ill; `
` Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse; `
` And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure, `
` Wherein it finds a joy above the rest: `
` But these particulars are not my measure, `
` All these I better in one general best. `
` Thy love is better than high birth to me, `
` Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' costs, `
` Of more delight than hawks and horses be; `
` And having thee, of all men's pride I boast: `
` Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take `
` All this away, and me most wretchcd make. `
` `
` XCII `
` `
` But do thy worst to steal thyself away, `
` For term of life thou art assured mine; `
` And life no longer than thy love will stay, `
` For it depends upon that love of thine. `
` Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs, `
` When in the least of them my life hath end. `
` I see a better state to me belongs `
` Than that which on thy humour doth depend: `
` 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. `
` `
` XCIII `
` `
` So shall I live, supposing thou art true, `
` Like a deceived husband; so love's face `
` May still seem love to me, though alter'd new; `
` Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place: `
` For there can live no hatred in thine eye, `
` Therefore in that I cannot know thy change. `
` In many's looks, the false heart's history `
` Is writ in moods, and frowns, and wrinkles strange. `
` But heaven in thy creation did decree `
` That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell; `
` Whate'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! `
` `
` XCIV `
` `
` They that have power 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. `
`