|These present-absent with swift motion slide. |

|For when these quicker elements are gone |

|In tender embassy of love to thee, |

|My life, being made of four, with two alone |

|Sinks down to death, oppress'd with melancholy; |

|Until life's composition be recured |

|By those swift messengers return'd from thee, |

|Who even but now come back again, assured |

|Of thy fair health, recounting it to me: |

| This told, I joy; but then no longer glad, |

| I send them back again and straight grow sad. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 46

|XLVI. |

|Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war |

|How to divide the conquest of thy sight; |

|Mine eye my heart thy picture's sight would bar, |

|My heart mine eye the freedom of that right. |

|My heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie-- |

|A closet never pierced with crystal eyes-- |

|But the defendant doth that plea deny |

|And says in him thy fair appearance lies. |

|To 'cide this title is impanneled |

|A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart, |

|And by their verdict is determined |

|The clear eye's moiety and the dear heart's part:|

| |

| As thus; mine eye's due is thy outward part, |

| And my heart's right thy inward love of heart. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 47

|XLVII. |

|Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took, |

|And each doth good turns now unto the other: |

|When that mine eye is famish'd for a look, |

|Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother,|

| |

|With my love's picture then my eye doth feast |

|And to the painted banquet bids my heart; |

|Another time mine eye is my heart's guest |

|And in his thoughts of love doth share a part: |

|So, either by thy picture or my love, |

|Thyself away art resent still with me; |

|For thou not farther than my thoughts canst move,|

| |

|And I am still with them and they with thee; |

| Or, if they sleep, thy picture in my sight |

| Awakes my heart to heart's and eye's delight. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 48

|XLVIII. |

|How careful was I, when I took my way, |

|Each trifle under truest bars to thrust, |

|That to my use it might unused stay |

|From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust! |

|But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are, |

|Most worthy of comfort, now my greatest grief, |

|Thou, best of dearest and mine only care, |

|Art left the prey of every vulgar thief. |

|Thee have I not lock'd up in any chest, |

|Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art, |

|Within the gentle closure of my breast, |

|From whence at pleasure thou mayst come and part;|

| |

| And even thence thou wilt be stol'n, I fear, |

| For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 49

|XLIX. |

|Against that time, if ever that time come, |

|When I shall see thee frown on my defects, |

|When as thy love hath cast his utmost sum, |

|Call'd to that audit by advised respects; |

|Against that time when thou shalt strangely pass |

|And scarcely greet me with that sun thine eye, |

|When love, converted from the thing it was, |

|Shall reasons find of settled gravity,-- |

|Against that time do I ensconce me here |

|Within the knowledge of mine own desert, |

|And this my hand against myself uprear, |

|To guard the lawful reasons on thy part: |

| To leave poor me thou hast the strength of |

|laws, |

| Since why to love I can allege no cause. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 50

|L. |

|How heavy do I journey on the way, |

|When what I seek, my weary travel's end, |

|Doth teach that ease and that repose to say |

|'Thus far the miles are measured from thy |

|friend!' |

|The beast that bears me, tired with my woe, |

|Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me, |

|As if by some instinct the wretch did know |

|His rider loved not speed, being made from thee: |

|The bloody spur cannot provoke him on |

|That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide; |

|Which heavily he answers with a groan, |

|More sharp to me than spurring to his side; |

| For that same groan doth put this in my mind; |

| My grief lies onward and my joy behind. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 51

|LI. |

|Thus can my love excuse the slow offence |

|Of my dull bearer when from thee I speed: |

|From where thou art why should I haste me thence?|

| |

|Till I return, of posting is no need. |

|O, what excuse will my poor beast then find, |

|When swift extremity can seem but slow? |

|Then should I spur, though mounted on the wind; |

|In winged speed no motion shall I know: |

|Then can no horse with my desire keep pace; |

|Therefore desire of perfect'st love being made, |

|Shall neigh--no dull flesh--in his fiery race; |

|But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade; |

| Since from thee going he went wilful-slow, |

| Towards thee I'll run, and give him leave to |

|go. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 52

|LII. |

|So am I as the rich, whose blessed key |

|Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure, |

|The which he will not every hour survey, |

|For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure. |

|Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare, |

|Since, seldom coming, in the long year set, |

|Like stones of worth they thinly placed are, |

|Or captain jewels in the carcanet. |

|So is the time that keeps you as my chest, |

|Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide, |

|To make some special instant special blest, |

|By new unfolding his imprison'd pride. |

| Blessed are you, whose worthiness gives scope, |

| Being had, to triumph, being lack'd, to hope. |

|Sonnets of William Shakespeare |

|Sonnet 53 |

|LIII. |

|What is your substance, whereof are you made, |

|That millions of strange shadows on you tend? |

|Since every one hath, every one, one shade, |

|And you, but one, can every shadow lend. |

|Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit |

|Is poorly imitated after you; |

|On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set, |

|And you in Grecian tires are painted new: |

|Speak of the spring and foison of the year; |

|The one doth shadow of your beauty show, |

|The other as your bounty doth appear; |

|And you in every blessed shape we know. |

| In all external grace you have some part, |

| But you like none, none you, for constant heart. |

| |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 54

|LIV. |

|O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem |

|By that sweet ornament which truth doth give! |

|The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem |

|For that sweet odour which doth in it live. |

|The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye |

|As the perfumed tincture of the roses, |

|Hang on such thorns and play as wantonly |

|When summer's breath their masked buds discloses:|

| |

|But, for their virtue only is their show, |

|They live unwoo'd and unrespected fade, |

|Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so; |

|Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made: |

| And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth, |

| When that shall fade, my verse distills your |

|truth. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 55

|LV. |

|Not marble, nor the gilded monuments |

|Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme; |

|But you shall shine more bright in these contents|

| |

|Than unswept stone besmear'd with sluttish time. |

|When wasteful war shall statues overturn, |

|And broils root out the work of masonry, |

|Nor Mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall |

|burn |

|The living record of your memory. |

|'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity |

|Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still |

|find room |

|Even in the eyes of all posterity |

|That wear this world out to the ending doom. |

| So, till the judgment that yourself arise, |

| You live in this, and dwell in lover's eyes. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 56

|LVI. |

|Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said |

|Thy edge should blunter be than appetite, |

|Which but to-day by feeding is allay'd, |

|To-morrow sharpen'd in his former might: |

|So, love, be thou; although to-day thou fill |

|Thy hungry eyes even till they wink with |

|fullness, |

|To-morrow see again, and do not kill |

|The spirit of love with a perpetual dullness. |

|Let this sad interim like the ocean be |

|Which parts the shore, where two contracted new |

|Come daily to the banks, that, when they see |

|Return of love, more blest may be the view; |

| Else call it winter, which being full of care |

| Makes summer's welcome thrice more wish'd, more|

|rare. |

|Sonnets of William Shakespeare |

|Sonnet 57 |

|LVII. |

|Being your slave, what should I do but tend |

|Upon the hours and times of your desire? |

|I have no precious time at all to spend, |

|Nor services to do, till you require. |

|Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour |

|Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you, |

|Nor think the bitterness of absence sour |

|When you have bid your servant once adieu; |

|Nor dare I question with my jealous thought |

|Where you may be, or your affairs suppose, |

|But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought |

|Save, where you are how happy you make those. |

| So true a fool is love that in your will, |

| Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill. |

| |

|Sonnets of William Shakespeare |

|Sonnet 58 |

|LVIII. |

|That god forbid that made me first your slave, |

|I should in thought control your times of pleasure, |

|Or at your hand the account of hours to crave, |

|Being your vassal, bound to stay your leisure! |

|O, let me suffer, being at your beck, |

|The imprison'd absence of your liberty; |

|And patience, tame to sufferance, bide each cheque, |

|Without accusing you of injury. |

|Be where you list, your charter is so strong |

|That you yourself may privilege your time |

|To what you will; to you it doth belong |

|Yourself to pardon of self-doing crime. |

| I am to wait, though waiting so be hell; |

| Not blame your pleasure, be it ill or well. |

| |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 59

|LIX. |

|If there be nothing new, but that which is |

|Hath been before, how are our brains beguiled, |

|Which, labouring for invention, bear amiss |

|The second burden 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; |

|Whether we are mended, or whether better they, |

|Or whether revolution be the same. |

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