|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 myself I'll vow debate, |

| For I must ne'er love him whom thou dost hate. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 90

|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 'scoped this |

|sorrow, |

|Come in the rearward of a conquer'd woe; |

|Give not a windy night a rainy morrow, |

|To linger out a purposed 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, |

| Compared with loss of thee will not seem so. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 91

|XCI. |

|Some glory in their birth, some in their skill, |

|Some in their wealth, some in their bodies' |

|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' cost, |

|Of more delight than hawks or 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 wretched make. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 92

|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. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 93

|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! |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 94

|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. |

|The summer's flower is to the summer sweet, |

|Though to itself it only live and die, |

|But if that flower with base infection meet, |

|The basest weed outbraves his dignity: |

| For sweetest things turn sourest by their |

|deeds; |

| Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 95

|XCV. |

|How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame |

|Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose, |

|Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name! |

|O, in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose! |

|That tongue that tells the story of thy days, |

|Making lascivious comments on thy sport, |

|Cannot dispraise but in a kind of praise; |

|Naming thy name blesses an ill report. |

|O, what a mansion have those vices got |

|Which for their habitation chose out thee, |

|Where beauty's veil doth cover every blot, |

|And all things turn to fair that eyes can see! |

| Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege;|

| |

| The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 96

|XCVI. |

|Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness; |

|Some say thy grace is youth and gentle sport; |

|Both grace and faults are loved of more and less;|

| |

|Thou makest faults graces that to thee resort. |

|As on the finger of a throned queen |

|The basest jewel will be well esteem'd, |

|So are those errors that in thee are seen |

|To truths translated and for true things deem'd. |

|How many lambs might the stem wolf betray, |

|If like a lamb he could his looks translate! |

|How many gazers mightst thou lead away, |

|If thou wouldst use the strength of all thy |

|state! |

| But do not so; I love thee in such sort |

| As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 97

|XCVII. |

|How like a winter hath my absence been |

|From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year! |

|What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen! |

|What old December's bareness every where! |

|And yet this time removed was summer's time, |

|The teeming autumn, big with rich increase, |

|Bearing the wanton burden of the prime, |

|Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease: |

|Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me |

|But hope of orphans and unfather'd fruit; |

|For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, |

|And, thou away, the very birds are mute; |

| Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer |

| That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's |

|near. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 98

|XCVIII. |

|From you have I been absent in the spring, |

|When proud-pied April dress'd in all his trim |

|Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing, |

|That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him. |

|Yet nor the lays of birds nor the sweet smell |

|Of different flowers in odour and in hue |

|Could make me any summer's story tell, |

|Or from their proud lap pluck them where they |

|grew; |

|Nor did I wonder at the lily's white, |

|Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose; |

|They were but sweet, but figures of delight, |

|Drawn after you, you pattern of all those. |

| Yet seem'd it winter still, and, you away, |

| As with your shadow I with these did play. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 99

|XCIX. |

|The forward violet thus did I chide: |

|Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet |

|that smells, |

|If not from my love's breath? The purple pride |

|Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells |

|In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed. |

|The lily I condemned for thy hand, |

|And buds of marjoram had stol'n thy hair: |

|The roses fearfully on thorns did stand, |

|One blushing shame, another white despair; |

|A third, nor red nor white, had stol'n of both |

|And to his robbery had annex'd thy breath; |

|But, for his theft, in pride of all his growth |

|A vengeful canker eat him up to death. |

| More flowers I noted, yet I none could see |

| But sweet or colour it had stol'n from thee. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 100

|C. |

|Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long|

| |

|To speak of that which gives thee all thy might? |

|Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song, |

|Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light? |

|Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem |

|In gentle numbers time so idly spent; |

|Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem |

|And gives thy pen both skill and argument. |

|Rise, resty Muse, my love's sweet face survey, |

|If Time have any wrinkle graven there; |

|If any, be a satire to decay, |

|And make Time's spoils despised every where. |

| Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life;|

| |

| So thou prevent'st his scythe and crooked |

|knife. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 101

|CI. |

|O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends |

|For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed? |

|Both truth and beauty on my love depends; |

|So dost thou too, and therein dignified. |

|Make answer, Muse: wilt thou not haply say |

|'Truth needs no colour, with his colour fix'd; |

|Beauty no pencil, beauty's truth to lay; |

|But best is best, if never intermix'd?' |

|Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb? |

|Excuse not silence so; for't lies in thee |

|To make him much outlive a gilded tomb, |

|And to be praised of ages yet to be. |

| Then do thy office, Muse; I teach thee how |

| To make him seem long hence as he shows now. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 102

|CII. |

|My love is strengthen'd, though more weak in |

|seeming; |

|I love not less, though less the show appear: |

|That love is merchandized whose rich esteeming |

|The owner's tongue doth publish every where. |

|Our love was new and then but in the spring |

|When I was wont to greet it with my lays, |

|As Philomel in summer's front doth sing |

|And stops her pipe in growth of riper days: |

|Not that the summer is less pleasant now |

|Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night, |

|But that wild music burthens every bough |

|And sweets grown common lose their dear delight. |

| Therefore like her I sometime hold my tongue, |

| Because I would not dull you with my song. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 103

|CIII. |

|Alack, what poverty my Muse brings forth, |

|That having such a scope to show her pride, |

|The argument all bare is of more worth |

|Than when it hath my added praise beside! |

|O, blame me not, if I no more can write! |

|Look in your glass, and there appears a face |

|That over-goes my blunt invention quite, |

|Dulling my lines and doing me disgrace. |

|Were it not sinful then, striving to mend, |

|To mar the subject that before was well? |

|For to no other pass my verses tend |

|Than of your graces and your gifts to tell; |

| And more, much more, than in my verse can sit |

| Your own glass shows you when you look in it. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 104

|CIV. |

|To me, fair friend, you never can be old, |

|For as you were when first your eye I eyed, |

|Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold |

|Have from the forests shook three summers' pride,|

| |

|Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd |

|In process of the seasons have I seen, |

|Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd, |

|Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.|

| |

|Ah! yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand, |

|Steal from his figure and no pace perceived; |

|So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth |

|stand, |

|Hath motion and mine eye may be deceived: |

| For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred; |

| Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 105

|CV. |

|Let not my love be call'd idolatry, |

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