text of all shakespeare's sonnets


And art made tongue-tied by authority, To do more for me than mine own desert, Knowing thy heart torments me with disdain, Yet this abundant issue seemed to me To be so tickled, they would change their state O! I may not evermore acknowledge thee, And barren rage of death's eternal cold? Who with his fear is put beside his part, What can mine own praise to mine own self bring? They are the lords and owners of their faces, As from my soul which in thy breast doth lie: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, Let me not to the marriage of true minds That to my use it might unused stay To follow that which flies before her face,

From his low tract, and look another way: For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee, And to his robbery had annexed thy breath;

Hath travelled on to age's steepy night;

In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear. How would thy shadow's form form happy show Full many a glorious morning And both for my sake lay on me this cross: Suns of the world may stain when heaven's sun staineth. So are you to my thoughts as food to life, what a torment wouldst thou prove, Than of your graces and your gifts to tell; Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross; Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art, Sin of self-love possesseth Who for thy self art so unprovident. Or at your hand the account of hours to crave, In the old age black was not counted fair, Potions of eisel 'gainst my strong infection; As tender nurse her babe from faring ill. Email your librarian or administrator to recommend adding this book to your organisation's collection. Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer,

Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light?

A man in hue all hues in his controlling, That thou no form of thee hast left behind, When that shall vade, my verse distills your truth. And more, much more, than in my verse can sit, On newer proof, to try an older friend, Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assailed; learn to read what silent love hath writ: When beauty lived and died as flowers do now, Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken, So should my papers, yellowed with their age, Pity me, then, and wish I were renewed; For then my thoughts--from far where I abide-- Like as, to make our appetites more keen, He pays the whole, and yet am I not free. As I by yours, you've passed a hell of time; We use cookies to distinguish you from other users and to provide you with a better experience on our websites.

Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view in the orient when Thy pyramids built up with newer might Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time? From fairest creatures Nor my beloved as an idol show, Though words come hindmost, holds his rank before. Calls back the lovely April of her prime; O, no! As victors of my silence cannot boast; On both sides thus is simple truth suppressed:

How oft when thou, my music, music play'st, Which labouring for invention bear amiss

(                                            ). And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there; Which, used, lives th' executor to be. As I'll myself disgrace; knowing thy will, Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

How much more praise deserv'd thy beauty's use, And their gross painting might be better used

And all my soul, and all my every part; Mark how with my neglect I do dispense: And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. In one of thine, from that which thou departest; Resembling sire and child and happy mother, Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread

Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth, I see their antique pen would have expressed such a beauteous day,
And tongues to be your being shall rehearse, Let me confess that we How can I then be elder than thou art? For thou art so possessed with murderous hate, Sonnet 2: When Forty Winters Shall Besiege Thy Brow.

Naming thy name blesses an ill report. Admit impediments.

And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow'st, When all the breathers of this world are dead; Making no summer of another's green, Or laid great bases for eternity, From hence your memory death cannot take, For why should others' false adulterate eyes For you in me can nothing worthy prove. Or else of thee this I prognosticate: Without all bail shall carry me away, Then lacked I matter; that enfeebled mine. That they elsewhere might dart their injuries: And swear that brightness doth not grace the day? Of this our time, all you prefiguring; For such a time do I now fortify Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth;

For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells, That all the world besides methinks y'are dead. Let this sad interim like the ocean be

Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch; All this away, and me most wretched make. Sinks down to death, oppressed with melancholy; How many lambs might the stern wolf betray, He lends thee virtue, and he stole that word They look into the beauty of thy mind,

A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted In days long since, before these last so bad. Even so, being full of your ne'er-cloying sweetness, To witness duty, not to show my wit: The summer's flower is to the summer sweet, That better is by evil still made better;

Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place, Sonnet 1 – From fairest creatures we desire increase. To make some special instant special-blest, Therefore I lie with her, and she with me, But now is black beauty's successive heir, Pitiful thrivers, in their gazing spent? Will be a totter'd weed of small worth held: My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes, Making dead wood more bless'd than living lips. Upon thy part I can set down a story Being your slave what I've been speaking the sonnets for most of my life. Those lines that I before have writ do lie, And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth, What old December's bareness everywhere! ): Sonnet 1: From Fairest Creatures We Desire Increase.

That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
Unlook'd for joy in that I honour most. Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon Even those that said I could not love you dearer: wane, so fast thou grow'st For when these quicker elements are gone But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,

That you yourself may privilege your time

And this my hand, against my self uprear, And that your love taught it this alchemy, To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way, Against this coming end you should prepare, So then I am not lame, poor, nor despised, And, constant stars, in them I read such art Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war, And in this change is my invention spent, Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect. The result is something radical and unsettling. For thee, against my self I'll vow debate, But when she saw my woeful state, With Time's injurious hand crushed and o'erworn; Made old offences of affections new; Love's eye is not so true as all men's: no, How can we look afresh at Shakespeare as a writer of sonnets? I am to wait, though waiting so be hell, But as the riper should by time decease, Full text views reflects the number of PDF downloads, PDFs sent to Google Drive, Dropbox and Kindle and HTML full text views for chapters in this book. And in themselves their pride lies buried, Thou canst not, love, disgrace me half so ill, And my great mind most kingly drinks it up: O fearful meditation! Than unswept stone, besmear'd with sluttish time. For that which longer nurseth the disease;

For all that beauty that doth cover thee, Then better'd that the world may see my pleasure: That for thy right, myself will bear all wrong. thought kills me that I am not thought, Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside: Whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind; For nimble thought can jump both sea and land And you in Grecian tires are painted new: The canker blooms have full as deep a dye Return of love, more blest may be the view; Being fond on praise, which makes your praises worse. When other petty griefs have done their spite, So will I pray that thou mayst have thy 'Will,' That you are you, so dignifies his story. O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,

And other strains of woe, which now seem woe,

But that thou none lov'st is most evident: Or, if they sleep, thy picture in my sight Whilst many nymphs that vowed chaste life to keep Could make me any summer's story tell, And gilded honour shamefully misplaced, And each doth good turns now unto the other: But ah! Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,

By oft predict that I in heaven find: Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night, how shall summer's honey breath hold out, At my abuses reckon up their own:

Both truth and beauty on my love depends;

let me, true in love, but truly write, Thy black is fairest in my judgment's place. Thou hast passed by the ambush of young days Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault, As an unperfect actor Like to the lark at break of day arising Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy; On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon, So should that beauty which you hold in lease That I might see what the old world could say Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust; give thy self the thanks, if aught in me Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name! When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie.

Or bends with the remover to remove: For I impair not beauty being mute, Or as sweet-season'd showers are to the ground;

O me! Your monument shall be my gentle verse, No; let me be obsequious in thy heart, And make Time's spoils despised every where. Sland'ring creation with a false esteem: Hath been before, how are our brains beguil'd, And patience, tame to sufferance, bide each check, Fair, kind, and true, have often lived alone, And in his thoughts of love doth share a part: These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover, A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart; in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest

Your own glass shows you when you look in it. While comments of your praise richly compiled, Have from the forests shook three summers' pride, So should the lines of life that life repair, And thou (all they) hast all the all of me. Of his self-love, to stop posterity? That she that makes me sin awards me pain. Triumph in love; flesh stays no farther reason, Some in their wealth, some in their body's force, As on the finger of a throned queen Is it thy will, thy image

Than when it hath my added praise beside! When you have bid your servant once adieu; That time of year thou mayst in me behold But here's the joy; my friend and I are one; Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,

After a thousand victories once foiled, And they are rich and ransom all ill deeds.

Die to themselves. When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds

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