Sonnet 16

|XVI. |

|But wherefore do not you a mightier way |

|Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time? |

|And fortify yourself in your decay |

|With means more blessed than my barren rhyme? |

|Now stand you on the top of happy hours, |

|And many maiden gardens yet unset |

|With virtuous wish would bear your living |

|flowers, |

|Much liker than your painted counterfeit: |

|So should the lines of life that life repair, |

|Which this, Time's pencil, or my pupil pen, |

|Neither in inward worth nor outward fair, |

|Can make you live yourself in eyes of men. |

| To give away yourself keeps yourself still, |

| And you must live, drawn by your own sweet |

|skill. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 17

|XVII. |

|Who will believe my verse in time to come, |

|If it were fill'd with your most high deserts? |

|Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb |

|Which hides your life and shows not half your |

|parts. |

|If I could write the beauty of your eyes |

|And in fresh numbers number all your graces, |

|The age to come would say 'This poet lies: |

|Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly |

|faces.' |

|So should my papers yellow'd with their age |

|Be scorn'd like old men of less truth than |

|tongue, |

|And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage |

|And stretched metre of an antique song: |

| But were some child of yours alive that time, |

| You should live twice; in it and in my rhyme. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 18

|XVIII. |

|Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? |

|Thou art more lovely and more temperate: |

|Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, |

|And summer's lease hath all too short a date: |

|Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, |

|And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; |

|And every fair from fair sometime declines, |

|By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd; |

|But thy eternal summer shall not fade |

|Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; |

|Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,|

| |

|When in eternal lines to time thou growest: |

| So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, |

| So long lives this and this gives life to thee.|

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 19

|XIX. |

|Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws, |

|And make the earth devour her own sweet brood; |

|Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's |

|jaws, |

|And burn the long-lived phoenix in her blood; |

|Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleets, |

|And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time, |

|To the wide world and all her fading sweets; |

|But I forbid thee one most heinous crime: |

|O, carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow, |

|Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen; |

|Him in thy course untainted do allow |

|For beauty's pattern to succeeding men. |

| Yet, do thy worst, old Time: despite thy wrong,|

| |

| My love shall in my verse ever live young. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 20

|XX. |

|A woman's face with Nature's own hand painted |

|Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion; |

|A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted |

|With shifting change, as is false women's |

|fashion; |

|An eye more bright than theirs, less false in |

|rolling, |

|Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth; |

|A man in hue, all 'hues' in his controlling, |

|Much steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth.|

| |

|And for a woman wert thou first created; |

|Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting, |

|And by addition me of thee defeated, |

|By adding one thing to my purpose nothing. |

| But since she prick'd thee out for women's |

|pleasure, |

| Mine be thy love and thy love's use their |

|treasure. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 21

|XXI. |

|So is it not with me as with that Muse |

|Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse, |

|Who heaven itself for ornament doth use |

|And every fair with his fair doth rehearse |

|Making a couplement of proud compare, |

|With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich |

|gems, |

|With April's first-born flowers, and all things |

|rare |

|That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems. |

|O' let me, true in love, but truly write, |

|And then believe me, my love is as fair |

|As any mother's child, though not so bright |

|As those gold candles fix'd in heaven's air: |

| Let them say more than like of hearsay well; |

| I will not praise that purpose not to sell. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 22

|XXII. |

|My glass shall not persuade me I am old, |

|So long as youth and thou are of one date; |

|But when in thee time's furrows I behold, |

|Then look I death my days should expiate. |

|For all that beauty that doth cover thee |

|Is but the seemly raiment of my heart, |

|Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me: |

|How can I then be elder than thou art? |

|O, therefore, love, be of thyself so wary |

|As I, not for myself, but for thee will; |

|Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary |

|As tender nurse her babe from faring ill. |

| Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain; |

| Thou gavest me thine, not to give back again. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 23

|XXIII. |

|As an unperfect actor on the stage |

|Who with his fear is put besides his part, |

|Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage, |

|Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart.|

| |

|So I, for fear of trust, forget to say |

|The perfect ceremony of love's rite, |

|And in mine own love's strength seem to decay, |

|O'ercharged with burden of mine own love's might.|

| |

|O, let my books be then the eloquence |

|And dumb presagers of my speaking breast, |

|Who plead for love and look for recompense |

|More than that tongue that more hath more |

|express'd. |

| O, learn to read what silent love hath writ: |

| To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 24

|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 the painter's art. |

|For through the painter must you see his skill, |

|To find where your true image pictured 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. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 25

|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 beloved |

| Where I may not remove nor be removed. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 26

|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. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 27

|XXVII. |

|Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed, |

|The dear repose for limbs with travel tired; |

|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. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 28

|XXVIII. |

|How can I then return in happy plight, |

|That am debarr'd the benefit of rest? |

|When day's oppression is not eased 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 them 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 strength |

|seem stronger. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 29

|XXIX. |

|When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, |

|I all alone beweep my outcast state |

|And trouble deal heaven with my bootless cries |

|And look upon myself and curse my fate, |

|Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, |

|Featured 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 myself 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. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 30

|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 restored and sorrows end. |

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