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 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013143544 
 
Tudor <£^ Stuart 
 Library 
 
 Shakespeare'' s Sonnets 
 
 and 
 
 <lA JLover^s Complaint 
 
Henry Frowde, M. A. 
 
 Publisher to the University of Oxford 
 
 JLondon, Edinburgh, New York 
 
 and Toronto 
 
Shakespeare s 
 Sonnets 
 
 ^^nd o^ Lover's Complaint 
 
 With an Introduction 
 by W. H. Hadow 
 
 Q^t the Clarendon Tress 
 
 M CM VII 
 

 Oxford 
 
 Printed at the Clarendon Press 
 
 By Horace Hart, M.A. 
 
 Printer to the Unirersity 
 
 7 :: ■■ I/'- ' t fa lie / J ^si^ J 
 
Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Introduction vii 
 
 Sonnets ........ i 
 
 A Lover's Complaint 83 
 
 Notes 55- 
 

Introduction 
 
 One of Shakespeare's most amazing gifts is his powet of inspir- 
 ing with new life and interest a perfectly commonplace topic. 
 Beethoven will sometimes take a theme so bare that you wonder 
 at his wasting a thought on it — the bass it may be of a cadence, 
 or three notes of a diatonic scale — and weave it straightway into 
 a texture of unexpected and incomparable beauty : Shakespeare 
 in like manner will take some familiar fact of human nature and 
 by a fresh turn of idea or a fresh adjustment of relations reveal 
 in it an unforeseen depth of purpose and significance. His most 
 memorable scenes are often those which deal with simplest issues, 
 his most memorable lines those which tell a plain thing in plain 
 words : with the whole palette at his command he lays the 
 foundation of his design upon a scheme of primary colours. 
 
 Now there is one topic which is as old as romance itself: — 
 that in which two men bound to one another by ties of friendship 
 or service fall under the attraction of the same woman. It is the 
 theme of Tristan and of Lancelot, it points the temptation-scene 
 in Sir Gawayn, it has formed the plot of a thousand novels and 
 the subject of a thousand lyrics. As it turns in the hand it 
 reflects light from many facets : the competing claims of love 
 and friendship, of desire and honour, the imperious demands of 
 passion, the injunctions of duty and self-control : but with all its 
 variety the conclusion of the whole matter has usually been stated 
 in two or three simple alternatives : that to resist is loyal and to 
 fall is treacherous, that the wronged man, robbed of all that he 
 holds dearest on earth, has, if he choose to exercise it, the right 
 of pardon or vengeance, and that the only plea of guilt, if indeed 
 
viii Introduction 
 
 any plea be availing, is an overmastering irresistible passion of 
 love which sweeps a man from his feet like a torrent, and snaps 
 friendship asunder as its waters snap a bridge across their banks. 
 Nor when guilt is deepest, can even that plea stay the course of 
 retribution. There is no issue for Lancelot but exile or for Tristan 
 but death : only so, we judge, can their sin be expiated. 
 
 The Sonnets of Shakespeare unfold from the same theme 
 a situation so strange that we may feel little wonder at the 
 controversies to which it has given rise. The dramatis personae 
 are the usual three — two friends and the woman who comes 
 between them — the strangeness lies in the perspective of the story 
 and in its upshot. Of the two friends one is a poet, as yet 
 humble and obscure, often ' in disgrace with fortvme and men's 
 eyes ', compelled by need of livelihood to join a degraded 
 profession and ' make himself a motley to the view '. The other, 
 a far younger man, is rich, noble, popular, endowed with great 
 personal beauty and charm, a patron of letters, himself perhaps 
 with some skill of verse-making, on all sides one of the most 
 brilliant figures of a brilliant epoch. At the outset the poet's life 
 is swayed by two conflicting influences — the ' angel ' and ' devil ' 
 of Sonnet CXLIV. For his friend he feels a pure passionate 
 affection ; such an aflfection as subsisted between Languet and 
 Sir Philip Sidney ; the foil expression of his higher and nobler 
 self, devoted, adoring, ' passing the love of women '. And as this 
 is wholly spiritual, so the senses take their revenge by driving him 
 into the toils of an unworthy mistress, a dark-haired, dark-eyed 
 Circe, skilful and unscnipulous, who holds him enthralled by the 
 gross attraction of desire. Some avocation calls him away from 
 home and during his absence he finds that friend and mistress 
 have conspired to play him false : that the enchantress from 
 whom he cannot escape has given herself to a rival, and that the 
 rival is the man whom he worships. 
 
Introduction ix 
 
 Such is the bare outline of the situation which Shakespeare 
 presents : it follows to consider how and to what end he develops 
 it. But first a word may be said on the vexed question whether 
 the Sonnets are in any literal sense autobiographical ; whether 
 they depict any actual experience of Shakespeare's life. It is 
 known that during the closing years of the sixteenth century he 
 was on terms of friendship with the young William Herbert, Earl 
 of Pembroke, a munificent patron of letters who, in Mr. Wyndham's 
 phrase, was then ' one of the brightest particles in the shifting 
 kaleidoscope of Court and Stage '. It is believed that at the same 
 time he was acquainted with the brilliant and unscrupulous Mary 
 Fitton^ whoj before i^oo, became Herbert's mistress. If then 
 the Sonnets can be dated between 1597 and 1J99 it is quite 
 possible that he dramatized a situation of real life, or at least 
 found in it, like the poet of ^ light Woman, ' a subject made to 
 his hand.' And in this there is no inherent improbability. The 
 last line of Sonnet xciv is identical with one in a scene, attributed 
 to Shakespeare, of Edward III which was printed in 1J96, and 
 the balance of likelihood is that the Sonnet quoted from the play. 
 The first known allusion to the Soimets is the statement of Meres 
 (1598), that they, or some of them, were being circulated among 
 Shakespeare's ' private friends '. Two, including one of the most 
 significant, were printed by Jaggard in the Paisionate Piigrim (i $9^), 
 It is arguable that a few were written earlier as isolated numbers 
 and afterwards fitted to their place in the general scheme : it is 
 possible that some were written after 16^00, though the supposed 
 allusion to Queen Elizabeth's death (lvii) is far too shadowy to 
 stand as evidence.'^ We may, therefore, not unreasonably con- 
 
 ' She was certainly acquainted with some members of Shakespeare's 
 company, for Kempe dedicated to her his Morris to Nonuiche. See Mr. Wynd- 
 ham's Introduction, p. xliv, and Mr. Tyler's Introduction, ch. viii. 
 
 ' On this question see Professor Dowden's Introduction, pp. xl-xlv, and 
 
X Introduction 
 
 jccture that the bulk of the sonnets were written when a story 
 suggesting that which they narrate may have actually occurred, 
 and that Shakespeare may have used it with the same imaginative 
 latitude with which he rewrote the history of King Lear or 
 remodelled the caricature of Oldcastle. That the events took 
 place as they are here depicted is not a matter of possible belief 
 No man, not even Shakespeare, has ever shown the tireless for- 
 bearance of the first scene : no man, and least of all Shakespeare, 
 has ever sunk to the degradation of the second. But in human 
 nature are groups of qualities which, though held in check and 
 counterpoise, may for the poet's purpose be analysed separately. 
 If in real life a man is oscillating between a pure friendship and 
 a sensual passion, each will react on the other : the friendship 
 will suffer in some degree, the passion will be in some degree 
 ennobled. Yet nothing prevents the psychologist from severing 
 them, from considering each apart, and, where they clash on the 
 same event, looking on the conflict from their two different points 
 of view. And this may well be what Shakespeare has done. 
 The occasion, whether this or another, may have borne the same 
 relation to the Sonnets as Count Guido Franceschini's trial to The 
 I{ingandtheBook^ it may havebeenbut the alloy which held the metal 
 together. If we can suppose that Shakespeare at some time 
 in his life saw friendship and passion on either hand of him, and 
 allowed his imagination to trace each to its furthest conceivable 
 point, we may find a reasonable solution of the question at issue- 
 At any rate it is far more likely than the alternative views which 
 have been suggested — that he was writing a set of academic 
 exercises, that he was satirizing Drayton and Davies, or that he 
 was constructing an elaborate bloodless allegory of the Ideal Self 
 and the Catholic Church. 
 
 Mr. Beeching's Essay in the 'Shakespeare Head' Edition, vol. x, pp. 368-7 j. 
 Bee on the other side Mr. Sidney Lee's Life of Shakfs^ear, pp. Sj-7. 
 
Introduction xi 
 
 It may be said that the tone of the sonnets is entirely personal, 
 and that had it been genuine, apart from any question of actual 
 experience, Shakespeare would never have admitted the world to 
 so close an intimacy. But this contention proves too much. On 
 the spiritual plane all great poetry is autobiographical : and of all 
 poetic forms the lyric (in which the sonnet may be included) is 
 the most self-revealing. We should know Sidney from ^strophe! 
 and Stel/a and Spenser from the ^moretti if we had never heard of 
 the passion which inspired the one and the courtship which is 
 narrated by the other. And on this point two further con- 
 siderations may be added. First, that in Shakespeare's case the 
 story is but the ground-plan of his palace, but the opportunity for 
 those golden thoughts on beauty and decay, on life and time, on 
 love and honour, which are his truest autobiography and which 
 alone would suffice to rank the Sonnets in the forefront of 
 English poems. Second, that he wrote them not for the public 
 but for ' his private friends '. The first edition {r6og) was issued, 
 so far as we can tell, without his authorization or knowledge, and 
 there are, indeed, some critics who find in its dedication the 
 saturnine smile of the successful pirate. That he should have 
 circulated in private a key which unlocked his heart is in full 
 accord with the practice of his time : and though Browning protests, 
 ' If so, the less Shakespear he,' yet we think of One IVord More and 
 the Epilogue to ^soUndo and wonder whether this advocate of 
 reserve is not another Gracchus complaining about sedition. 
 
 The Sonnets are divided into two unequal groups, which, in 
 their relation to the story, so far synchronize that a turning-point 
 of both is upon the same event. It is extremely probable that 
 the longer group (i-cxxvi) outlasts the shorter (cxxvil-cill) by 
 some considerable period of time ' : it can hardly be doubted that 
 
 ' The whole duration of the story is said in civ to be three years, which 
 would fit the hypothesis ts9J-9- 
 
xii Introduction 
 
 the catastrophe narrated in XLI-XLII of the first is that narrated 
 in cxxxill-cxxxiv of the second. Each is in a sense complete in 
 itself, for each is the description and analysis of a state of mind ; 
 yet they are as interdependent as the movements of a symphony. 
 In one the poet addresses his friend, in the other his mistress : in 
 the two together he tells the history of his fate and reveals in 
 successive aspects the temper with which he meets it. The 
 narrative is broken by digressions, by episodes, by sudden changes 
 of mood : but these, it may be maintained, are psychologically true. 
 The sequence, in short, has its own logic, though it is the logic of 
 a poem, not of a syllogism. 
 
 In the first seventeen Sonnets the poet urges his friend to 
 marry. Such advice was natural enough and common enough — 
 Languet writes to Sir Philip Sidney in exactly the same strain — 
 but its appearance here opens the drama on a curious note of irony. 
 The friendship is so secure that even the rivalry of woman's love 
 is not to be feared. Indeed it may be observed that in the whole 
 seventeen hardly a word is said about the lady. The plea is 
 based entirely on the prospective son who is to inherit his father's 
 qualities : the prospective bride never comes into the picture at all. 
 It is death, not estrangement of which the poet is afraid : while 
 his friend lives he will sing his descant on the melody of Astrophel : 
 
 My true love hath my heart and I have his. 
 
 The Sonnets which immediately follow are the happiest of the 
 entire series. Every device of fancy, every sweet and gracious 
 word is heaped upon the altar : 
 
 Shall I compare thee to a summer's day ? 
 Thou art more lovely and more temperate. 
 
 and again : 
 
 Yet do thy worst, old Time : despite thy wrong 
 My love shall in my verse ever live young. 
 
Introduction xiii 
 
 and again : 
 
 Mine eye hath played the painter, and hath steeled 
 Thy beauty's form in table of my heart. 
 
 The affection is so confident that it can afford to smile at its 
 own enthusiasm : 
 
 I will not praise that purpose not to sell. 
 
 and in XXV the song rises to the highest pitch of rapture as it 
 hymns friendship and its eternity. The prince's favourite is but 
 a marigold which spreads its leaves for a season to the sunshine. 
 The ' painful warrior famoused for fight ' will some day be razed 
 from the book of honour. But love is everlasting : 
 
 Thrice happy I who love and am beloved 
 Where I may not remove nor be removed. 
 
 With XXVI comes the first change to a minor key : the first 
 indication that tragedy is impending. The tone hitherto has 
 sometimes been grave and earnest ; it now becomes poignant. 
 The poet is absent from the ' Lord of his love ' and writes from 
 a distance his written embassage. In half a dozen sonnets of 
 magnificent and sustained beauty he describes his sorrow at parting, 
 his days of anxiety, his sleepless nights, the gleam of remembrance 
 which comes to cheer him, the relapse back to the thought of 
 
 My well-contented day 
 When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover ; 
 
 all that weary round well-known to the lonely room and the 
 solitary watcher. Then, in xxxiil, the current is changed by 
 a hint of disgrace and wrong, which grows more arriculate in 
 
 XXXIV : 
 
 Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief. 
 Though thou repent, 
 
xiv Introduction 
 
 and is stated in plain words by the opening lines of XLII : 
 
 That thou hast her it is not all my grief. 
 And yet it may be said I loved her dearly. 
 
 Now had the poet's love for the dark lady been pure and noble, 
 had it been ' the maiden passion for a maid ' that was here 
 outraged and deceived, we may gather that Shakespeare would 
 still have held the claims of friendship to be paramount and 
 would have counselled forgiveness. In The Two Gentlemen of 
 rerona Valentine grants to Proteus a pardon which we may 
 think too easily earned and even crowns his magnanimity by 
 resigning Silvia to the arms of his treacherous rival : 
 
 And that my love may appear plain and free. 
 All that is mine in Silvia I give thee. 
 
 In the Sonnets, and here is the very centre of the situation, we 
 have a different standpoint. All the force of pure and ennobling 
 emotion is bestowed on the friendship, the other tie is but a ' love 
 of despair', a bond of sin and shame the momentary sweets of 
 which are bitter in the recollection. And so, when the first 
 sting of the wound is past, the poet finds that his whole concern 
 is for his friend. He will forgive everything, will resign every- 
 thing : 
 
 Take all my loves, my love, yea take them all : 
 
 I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief, 
 Although thou steal thee all my poverty : 
 
 he forces himself to speak lightly of the wrong 
 
 that liberty commits 
 When I am sometime absent from thy heart ; 
 
 his deepest sorrow is not the knowledge that his mistress is 
 unfaithful, but his anxiety lest she may take his friend from him : 
 
Introduction xv 
 
 That she hath thee is of my wailing chief, 
 A loss in love that touches me more nearly.' 
 
 Indeed throughout the numbers from xxxiii to xLii the same 
 theme is developed : a spontaneous cry of pain at the offence, 
 followed by desperate and loving excuses for the offender. 
 
 As the series proceeds, the fear of estrangement grows more 
 acute, more apprehensive. The poet still writes in absence, and, 
 though he strikes divers notes of regret or protestation or fervour, 
 recurs time after time to the subject which is nearest his heart. 
 Constancy is praised in a more wistful tone ; the promise of poetic 
 fame is repeated with more emphasis — as though it were the 
 only bribe he had left to offer : and through all there runs, like 
 a connecting thread, the possibility that he may be cast aside as 
 unworthy, that others may come to take his place, that his love 
 may be postponed to passion or superseded by flattery. Thus 
 in XLIX : 
 
 Against that time, if ever that time come. 
 When I shall see thee frown on my defects ; 
 
 in Liv ; 
 
 m LVI ; 
 
 O how much more doth beauty beauteous seem 
 By that sweet ornament which truth doth give ; 
 
 Sweet love, renew thy force ; be it not said 
 Thy edge should blunter be than appetite. 
 
 in LVII — the first hint of a wider rivalry : 
 
 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 anything, he thinks no ill. 
 
 ' Compare, at this point, Sonnets cxxxni, cxxxiv, where the fear for his 
 friend is even more poignantly expressed. 
 
xvi Introduction 
 
 in LXI : 
 
 O no, thy love though much is not so great : 
 
 It is my love that keeps mine eye awake ; 
 
 Mine own trae love that doth my rest defeat, 
 
 To play the watchman ever for thy sake : 
 
 For thee watch I while thou dost wake elsewhere 
 From me far off, with others all too near. 
 
 in Lxvii : 
 
 Ah, wherefore with infection should he live 
 And with his presence grace impiety, 
 That sin by him advantage should receive 
 And lace itself with his society ? 
 
 in LXix : 
 
 They look into the beauty of thy mind. 
 And that, in guess, they measure by thy deeds. 
 Then churls, their thoughts, although their eyes were kind. 
 To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds. 
 But why thy odour matcheth not thy show. 
 The solve is this, that thou dost common grow. 
 
 At this point it would appear that the friend returns a 
 disdainful answer, asserting his liberty, complaining of reproof, 
 and declaring that he is being better praised by new favourites.' 
 The reply to this begins in Sonnet LXXVlll : 
 
 So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse 
 And found such fair assistance in my verse 
 As every alien pen hath got my use 
 And under thee their poesy disperse ; 
 
 and continues, with increasing urgence, until in Lxxxvi it breaks 
 into an outburst of unconcealed jealousy. ' My rival is no better 
 a man than I am. He has supplanted me not by his genius nor 
 
 • Critics who press into detail the view that the Sonnets are autobio- 
 graphical have asserted these favourites to be Daniel and Chapman, both of 
 whom were patronised by the Earl of Pembroke. 
 
Introduction xvii 
 
 by the spirit which he invokes, but solely by your favour. It is your 
 breath that has filled the sail of his verse, it is your preference 
 that has exalted him and driven me to silence : 
 
 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 filled up his line 
 Then lacked I matter 5 that enfeebled mine. 
 
 In the next Sonnet the blow has fallen : the estrangement has 
 taken place : 
 
 Farewell : thou art too dear for my possessing, 
 And like enough thou know'st thine estimate. 
 
 Yet now, as before, and with even more insistence than before, 
 the first cry of pain is followed by a despairing effort to condone 
 and excuse. The poet brings no accusation against his friend : 
 in passionate protestation he takes all blame upon his own head : 
 
 For thy right myself will bear all wrong ; 
 and again, Lxxxix : 
 
 Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault 
 And I will comment upon that offence. 
 
 and in my tongue 
 Thy sweet beloved name no more shall dwell. 
 Lest I, too much profane, should do it wrong. 
 
 In xc he pleads for hatred rather than coldness, that he may have 
 the worst at once : in the succeeding sonnets he passes from 
 mood to mood of regret, despair, anything but reproach, closing 
 in a love-song which begins like a memory of the lost happiness, 
 and in xcrx breaks off abruptly as though the writer's hand 
 faltered. 
 
 SLC D 
 
xviii Introduction 
 
 The last twenty-sk sonnets of this group (c-cxxv) ' take up 
 the thread again after a great silence. The poet has accepted 
 his doom, has gone forth into the outer darkness, and he now 
 pleads for pardon and recall. During his wanderings he has 
 sunk in fortune and in character, he has consorted with ill com- 
 panions, he has tried to seek forgetfulness in 'harmful deeds'. 
 But through all diangesand vicissitudes his constancy has remained 
 
 unbroken : 
 
 Love is not love 
 Which alters when it alteration finds 
 Or bends with the remover to remove. 
 
 His affection, indeed, has been confirmed and strengthened by 
 suffering : 
 
 Those lines that I before have writ do lie. 
 
 Even those that said I could not love you dearer : 
 
 and again, cxix : 
 
 Ruined love, when it is built anew. 
 Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater. 
 
 He is ready to take a humble place if he may only return, if 
 he may only end the intolerable separation : his love is not 
 dependent on beauty or favour or any other accident of circum- 
 stance, he rises above the hope of reward or the feat of denial, 
 and in the last number offers his 'oblation poor but free' as 
 a willing gift to the shrine that he adores. 
 
 The first group of sonnets traces the course of a man's betternature 
 as it passes through the extreme alternations of joy and sorrow, of 
 hope and disappointment. The second group, pendant and antithesis 
 of the first, shows how the worser nature answers to a similar assay. 
 In one the soulj buffeted and storm-beaten, driven sometimes from 
 
 ' cxxvi is a stania of six couplets which seems to be intended as an Envoy 
 to the group. It is inferior in value to the rest and may possibly be an 
 interpolation. 
 
Introduction xix 
 
 its course, tottering sometimes near to shipwreck, yet holds through- 
 out to the helm of constant loyalty until it finds its haven in the 
 certain peace of self-sacrifice and self-devotion. In the other 
 a sensual passion puts forth, without pilot or compass, into an 
 ocean of turbulent desires : at the outset it is gay with pleasures 
 and gallantry, amid seas it is helplessly drifting before every gust, 
 and at the last it founders. 
 
 The sonnets to the 'dark lady' form a sequence from cxxvii 
 to CLII.' It is possible that in some instances the order might be 
 bettered ; at any rate the transitions are often very abrupt : but 
 the whole scene is such a chaos of conflicting emotions that any 
 exact consecution would be against the truth of human nature. 
 Some are playful, some even bantering, some couched in that 
 tone of courtly compliment which, at the time, any lover might 
 have used toward his mistress : then the mood sways and in the 
 magnificent sonnet on ' lust in action ' pours forth its flood of 
 repentance and self-reproach. But the chain is too strong to 
 break. In the next number he laughs away his contrition, in the 
 next he is back at his mistress's door asking for pity j even when he 
 finds that she is unfaithful he cannot leave her : 
 
 When my love swears that she is made of trath 
 I do believe her, though I know she lies. 
 
 and again : 
 
 O call me not to justify the wrong 
 
 That thy unkindness lays upon my heart ; 
 
 and again, more ominously : 
 
 Be wise as thou art cruel, do not press 
 My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain. 
 Lest sorrow lend me words, and words express 
 The manner of my pity- wanting pain. 
 ' Sonnets cliii and cliv, two variant adaptations of a Greek epigram, are 
 evidently occasional pieces which do not belong to this collection. 
 
 b 1 
 
XX Introduction 
 
 When feeling comes to this point words are not far off. Once 
 more the moods change with rapid alternation, but in shorter and 
 shorter circuit they return to the sense of sin and dishonour and 
 unworthiness. The whole head is sick and the whole heart faint, 
 fevered with desire, torn between love and loathing, more sensi- 
 tive to wounds as it has less vitality to heal them, until in 
 Sonnet cm ' all honest faith is lost ' and passion itself dies away 
 into remorse and hatred. 
 
 In all literature there is no more tremendous revelation of 
 human weakness. The cry of Catullus : — 
 
 Odi et amo : quare id faciam fortasse requiris : 
 Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior. 
 
 is faint in comparison : the story of Lesbia and her poet does 
 not lift the veil with such a remorseless hand. To ask how this 
 hand could be Shakespeare's is an idle question. All things were 
 in Shakespeare : he was, as Sainte-Beuve said, ' la nature meme ', 
 and to his power of creation we can place no limit. But at the 
 same time it cannot be too strongly insisted that the Sonnets, 
 though lyric, have a dramatic basis : and that Shakespeare's true 
 self is revealed not in the story which they narrate but in the 
 judgements on life and love which they contain. 
 
 It may be worth while to add a few words of formal criticism. 
 Wyatt, who introduced the Sonnet into England, adopted with 
 one slight variation the ' Petrarchian ' form, which was almost 
 universal among the writers of France and Italy j the form which 
 consists of an octave on two rhymes and a sextain on two or three. 
 Surrey, Wyatt's younger contemporary, chose instead the scheme 
 of three alternate-rhyming quatrains with a final couplet; as 
 described, some thirty years after his time, in George Gascoigne's 
 treatise The Making of yerse : 
 
 ' I can best allow to call those sonnets which are of fourteen 
 lines, every line containing ten syllables. The first twelve do 
 
Introduction xxi 
 
 rhyme in staves of four lines by cross-metre, and the last two, 
 rhyming together, do complete the whole.' 
 
 This passage of Gascoigne is the more noteworthy since the 
 pattern which it 'best allows' had not been preferred by any 
 considerable poet except Surrey, and was not preferred afterwards 
 either by Sidney or by Spenser. However, in the press of sonnet- 
 writing which followed the publication of ^strofbel and Stella it 
 came into not infrequent use : there are many examples of it 
 among the collections of Daniel and Drayton and their lesser 
 contemporaries, and amid all these it was raised to its highest 
 honour by the invariable practice of Shakespeare. 
 
 The reasons of his choice are not difficult to conjecture. 
 One of them is that from the beginning of his career he was 
 evidently interested in experimenting with the quatrain and the 
 couplet : he uses them separately:, he weaves them into every 
 conceivable pattern. In the plays of his first period there are at 
 least two instances of dialogue written in quatrains ^ : there are 
 throughout many instances in which a single rhymed couplet sums 
 up and concludes a speech or scene of blank verse. We have the 
 pattern of one quatrain with a couplet in ymus and ^donit, of 
 two in Beatrice's soliloquy,'' of three — the Shakespearian sonnet- 
 form — in Helena's letter,' in two choruses of I{omeo and Juliet, 
 and in no less than five examples of Love's Labour's Lost.* It 
 has been argued from these analogies that the Sonnets themselves 
 are early in date, and very possibly some of them, e. g. the last 
 
 ' Lme's Labour's Lost, IV. iii, beginning 'That like a rude and savage man 
 of Inde': Comedy of Errors, m. ii. 
 
 " Much ^do about Nothing, III. i . For a burlesque parallel see the prologue 
 to the Clowns' Play in Midsummer Night's Dream. 
 
 = ^11 's Well that Ends Well, in. iv. 
 
 ' The three 'letters' and two passages of dialogue in i. i. For further 
 extensions of the pattern, in which the final couplet is preceded by four and 
 five quatrains respectively, see v. ii. of the same play. 
 
xxii Introduction 
 
 two, may belong to this period of metrical experiment. In any 
 case there can be little question of its bearing upon the formal 
 side of Shakespeare's ultimate selection. And, for another reason, 
 the general character of the Elizabethan Sonnet is akin to that 
 of the Epigram — its nearest analogue is perhaps to be found 
 in the Palatine Anthology — and for purposes of the Epigram the 
 final couplet, which Petrarch studiously avoided, has special use and 
 appropriateness. Sometimes it may degenerate into a mere conceit, 
 as, for example, in LXV ; far more often it brings to a pointed 
 climax the thought which has been developed through the 
 preceding staves. 
 
 In point of pure structure the Shakespearian scheme is perhaps 
 less beautiful, certainly less organic, than that of Petrarch. It is 
 like the sonata form of Bach beside that of Beethoven : more 
 narrow in scope, more fixed and determinate in measure. But 
 the outline is filled with such living melody that we cannot 
 wish it otherwise. All the strength and sweetness of Elizabethan 
 song are here ; pictures of exquisite invention, haunting cadences 
 of musical speech, lines that have passed, like jewels, into the 
 treasury of our language : 
 
 Thou art thy mother's glass and she in thee 
 Calls back the lovely April of her prime j 
 
 and 
 and 
 
 and 
 and 
 
 Shall I compare thee to a summer's day ; 
 
 When to the sessions of sweet silent thought 
 I summon up remembrance of things past j 
 
 Full many a glorious morning have I seen 
 Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye, 
 Kissing with golden face the meadows green. 
 Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy 5 
 
 Bare ruined choirs where late the sweet birds sang. 
 
Introduction xxiii 
 
 and 
 
 To me, fair friend, you never can be old. 
 and 
 
 Love is not love 
 
 Which alters when it alteration finds. 
 
 It may be true that the Sonnets are unequal : that is the 
 common censure brought against every great poet. It is more to 
 the purpose that they have given us an inexhaustible heritage of 
 beauty, and that each successive reading only deepens our wonder 
 and our admiration. 
 
 The edition of 1609 appended to the Sonnets an elegiac poem 
 called ^ Lover's Complaint, which is therefore included in the 
 present reprint. It is the lament of a girl who has been betrayed 
 and abandoned, and is told in gentle smooth stanzas of the 
 Rhyme Royal which, in i ^94, Shakespeare employed for Lucrece. 
 Its authenticity may be questioned. The picture with which it 
 opens is more in Shakespeare's manner than in that of any known 
 contemporary: but the verse, especially if we take 1597 as its 
 date, is far inferior to his. A further piece of evidence is afforded 
 by the strangeness of the vocabulary. Shakespeare was rich in 
 the coinage of new words, but this poem is lavish beyond his 
 measure. A few seem to have been accepted by him, like 
 'credent' which afterwards appears in Hamlet; a few like 
 'impleach'd' may have been his, though they are not elsewhere 
 found in his work : but there is little trace of his mintage in such 
 forms as ' acture,' ' enpatron,' ' fluxive,' though that is used by 
 Drayton, and '■ laundering ', though that is borrowed, together 
 with the line in which it occurs, by Drummond of Hawthornden. 
 Indeed one of two conclusions alone would seem to be tenable : 
 either that the poem is attributed to him by a publisher's error, 
 or that, as so often happened, he shared the design with a 
 collaborator of lesser genius. 
 
 W. H. HADOW. 
 
 Seft. 1907. 
 
Note 
 
 The present edition of the Sonnets and ^ Lover's Complaint is 
 a reprint of the quarto of 1^09. The versions of Sonnets cxxxvill 
 and CXLIV3 which are found in The Passionate Pilgrim (1^99)5 are 
 given in the notes. 
 
 The quarto is not a particularly good specimen of the printing 
 of the period, and no attempt has been made to reproduce the 
 special features of its typography ; otherwise this edition follows 
 the text, spelling, and punctuation of the Bodleian copy edited in 
 facsimile by Dr. Sidney Lee (Oxford, 190J) ; changes have only 
 been made in places where the text is obviously corrupt and the 
 correction virtually certain. All changes not purely typographical 
 are recorded in the notes. 
 
SHAKE-SPEARES 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 Ncucr before Imprinted. 
 
 AT LONDON 
 
 ly G^Md for T. T. and are 
 
 'jobc IbWc by mlSsm^ltj, 
 
TO .THE .ONLIE . BEGETTER . OF. 
 
 THESE . INSVING . SONNETS. 
 
 M^W.H. ALL.HAPPINESSE. 
 
 AND.THAT.ETERNITIE. 
 
 PROMISED. 
 
 BY. 
 
 O VR . EVER-LIVING . POET. 
 
 WISHETH. 
 
 THE. WELL-WISHING. 
 
 ADVENT VRER. IN. 
 
 SETTING. 
 
 FORTH. 
 
 T.T. 
 
SHAKESPEARES 
 
 SONNE TS 
 
 FROM fairest creatures we desire increase. 
 That thereby beauties Rose might neuer die. 
 But as the riper should by time decease, 
 His tender heire might beare his memory : 
 But thou contracted to thine owne bright eyes, 
 Feed'st thy lights flame with selfe substantial! fewell. 
 Making a famine where aboundance lies. 
 Thy selfe thy foe, to thy sweet selfe too cruell : 
 Thou that art now the worlds fresh ornament. 
 And only herauld to the gaudy spring. 
 Within thine owne bud buriest thy content. 
 And tender chorle makst wast in niggarding ; 
 Pitty the world, or else this glutton be, 
 To eate the worlds due, by the graue and thee. 
 
6 Sha kespeares 
 
 2 
 
 WHEN fortie Winters shall beseige thy brow, 
 And digge deep trenches in thy beauties field. 
 Thy youthes proud liuery so gaz'd on now, 
 Wil be a totler'd weed of smal worth held : 
 Then being askt, where all thy beautie lies. 
 Where all the treasure of thy lusty dales j 
 To say within thine owne deepe sunken eyes. 
 Were an all-eating shame, and thriftlesse praise. 
 How much more praise deseru'd thy beauties vse. 
 If thou couldst answere this faire child of mine 
 Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse : 
 Prooulng his beautie by succession thine. 
 
 This were to be new made when thou art ould, 
 And see thy blood warme when thou feel'st it could. 
 
 3 
 
 100KE in thy glasse and tell the face thou vewest, 
 _<Now is the time that face should forme an other, 
 Whose fresh repaire if now thou not renewest. 
 Thou doo'st beguile the world, vnblesse some mother. 
 For where is she so faire whose vn-eard wombe 
 Disdaines the tillage of thy husbandry ? 
 Or who is he so fond will be the tombe. 
 Of his selfe loue, to stop posterity ? 
 Thou art thy mothers glasse and she in thee 
 Calls backe the louely Aprill of her prime. 
 So thou through windowes of thine age shalt see, 
 Dispight of wrinkles this thy goulden time. 
 But if thou Hue remembred not to be. 
 Die single and thine Image dies with thee. 
 
Sonnets 
 
 VNTHRIFTY louelinesse why dost thou spend, 
 Vpon thy selfe thy beauties legacy ? 
 Natures bequest giues nothing but doth lend. 
 And being franck she lends to those are free ; 
 Then beautious nigard why doost thou abuse. 
 The bountious largesse giuen thee to giue ? 
 Profitles vserer why doost thou vse 
 So great a summe of summes yet can'st not Hue ? 
 For hauing traffike with thy selfe alone. 
 Thou of thy selfe thy sweet selfe dost deceaue. 
 Then how when nature calls thee to be gone, 
 What acceptable Audit can'st thou leaue ? 
 
 Thy vnus'd beauty must be tomb'd with thee. 
 
 Which vsed liues th'executor to be. 
 
 THOSE howers that with gentle worke did frame. 
 The louely gaze where euery eye doth dwell 
 
 Will play the tirants to the very same. 
 
 And that vnfaire which fairely doth excell : 
 
 For neuer resting time leads Summer on, 
 
 To hidious winter and confounds him there. 
 
 Sap checkt with frost and lustie leau's quite gon. 
 
 Beauty ore-snow'd and barenes euerywhere. 
 
 Then were not summers distillation left 
 
 A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glasse. 
 
 Beauties effect with beauty were bereft. 
 
 Nor it nor noe remembrance what it was. 
 
 But flowers distil'd though they with winter meete, 
 Leese but their show, their substance still liu>-5 sweet. 
 
Shakespeares 
 
 THEN let not winters wragged hand deface. 
 In thee thy summer ere thou be distil'd : 
 
 Make sweet some viall ; treasure thou some place. 
 
 With beauties treasure ere it be selfe kil'd : 
 
 That vse is not forbidden vsery. 
 
 Which happies those that pay the willing lone j 
 
 That's for thy selfe to breed an other thee. 
 
 Or ten times happier be it ten for one. 
 
 Ten times thy selfe were happier then thou art. 
 
 If ten of thine ten times refigur'd thee. 
 
 Then what could death doe if thou should'st depart, 
 
 Leauing thee lining in posterity ? 
 
 Be not selfe-wild for thou art much too faire. 
 
 To be deaths conquest and make wormes thine heire. 
 
 7 
 
 LOE in the Orient when the gracious light, 
 J Lifts vp his burning head, each vnder eye 
 Doth homage to his new appearing sight, 
 Seruing with lookes his sacred maiesty. 
 And hauing climb'd the steepe-vp heauenly hill. 
 Resembling strong youth in his middle age. 
 Yet mortall lookes adore his beauty still. 
 Attending on his goulden pilgrimage : 
 But when from high-most pich with wery car. 
 Like feeble age he reeleth from the day. 
 The eyes (fore dutious) now conuerted are 
 From his low tract and looke an other way : 
 So thou, thy selfe out-going in thy noon, 
 Vnlok'd on dlest vnlesse thou get a Sonne. 
 
M 
 
 Sonnets 
 8 
 
 VSICK to heare, why hear'st thou musick sadly, 
 .Sweets with sweets warre not, ioy delights in ioy ; 
 Why lou'st thou that which thou receaust not gladly. 
 Or else receau'st with pleasure thine annoy ? 
 If the true concord of well tuned sounds. 
 By vnions married, do offend thine eare. 
 They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds 
 In singlenesse the parts that thou should'st beare : 
 Marke how one string sweet husband to an other. 
 Strikes each in each by mutuall ordering; 
 Resembling sier, and child, and happy mother. 
 Who all in one, one pleasing note do sing : 
 
 Whose speechlesse song being many, seeming one. 
 Sings this to thee thou single wilt proue none. 
 
 9 
 
 IS it for feare to wet a widdowes eye. 
 That thou consum'st thy selfe in single life ? 
 Ah ; if thou issulesse shalt hap to die. 
 The world will waile thee like a makelesse wife. 
 The world wilbe thy widdow and still weepe. 
 That thou no forme of thee hast left behind. 
 When euery priuat widdow well may keepe. 
 By childrens eyes, her husbands shape in minde : 
 Looke what an vnthrift in the world doth spend 
 Shifts but his place, for still the world inioyes it, 
 But beauties waste hath in the world an end. 
 And kept vnvsde the vser so destroyes it : 
 No loue toward others in that bosome sits 
 That on himselfe such murdrous shame commits. 
 
10 Shakespeares 
 
 10 
 
 FOR shame deny that thou bear'st loue to any 
 Who for thy selfe art so vnprouident, 
 Graunt if thou wilt, thou art belou'd of many. 
 But that thou none lou'st is most euident : 
 For thou art so possest with murdrous hate. 
 That gainst thy selfe thou stickst not to conspire. 
 Seeking that beautious roofe to ruinate 
 Which to repaire should be thy chiefe desire : 
 O change thy thought, that I may change my minde. 
 Shall hate be fairer log'd then gentle loue ? 
 Be as thy presence is gracious and kind. 
 Or to thy selfe at least kind harted proue. 
 Make thee an other selfe for loue of me. 
 That beauty still may liue in thine or thee. 
 
 II 
 
 AS fast as thou shalt wane so fast thou grow'st, 
 -In one of thine, from that which thou departest. 
 And that fresh bloud which yongly thou bestow' st, 
 Thou maist call thine, when thou from youth conuertest. 
 Herein liues wisdome, beauty, and increase. 
 Without this follie, age, and could decay. 
 If all were minded so, the times should cease. 
 And threescoore yea re would make the world away : 
 Let those whom nature hath not made for store. 
 Harsh, featurelesse, and rude, barrenly perrish ; 
 Looke whom she best indow'd, she gaue the more; 
 Which bountious guift thou shouldst in bounty cherrish. 
 She caru'd thee for her scale, and ment therby. 
 Thou shouldst print more, not let that coppy die. 
 
Sonnets h 
 
 12 
 
 WHEN I doe count the clock that tels the time, 
 And see the braue day sunck in hidious night. 
 When I behold the violet past prime, 
 And sable curls all siluer'd ore with white : 
 When lofty trees I see barren of leaues. 
 Which erst from heat did canopie the herd 
 And Sommers green e all girded vp in sheaues 
 Borne on the beare with white and bristly beard : 
 Then of thy beauty do I question make 
 That thou among the wastes of time must goe. 
 Since sweets and beauties do them-selues forsake. 
 And die as fast as they see others grow. 
 
 And nothing gainst Times sieth can make defence 
 Saue breed to braue him, when he takes thee hence. 
 
 13 
 
 OTHAT you were your selfe, but loue you are 
 No longer yours, then you your selfe here liue, 
 Against this cumming end you should prepare. 
 And your sweet semblance to some other giue. 
 So should that beauty which you hold in lease 
 Find no determination, then you were 
 Your selfe again after your selfes decease, 
 When your sweet issue your sweet forme should beare. 
 Who lets so faire a house fell to decay. 
 Which husbandry in honour might vphold. 
 Against the stormy gusts of winters day 
 And barren rage of deaths eternal! cold ? 
 
 O none but vnthrifts, deare my loue you know. 
 
 You had a Father, let your Son say so. 
 
12 Shakespeares 
 
 14 
 
 NOT from the stars do I my iudgement plucice. 
 And yet me thinkes I haue Astronomy, 
 But not to tell of good, or euil lucke, 
 Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons quallityj 
 Nor can I fortune to breefe mynuits tell. 
 Pointing to each his thunder, raine and winde. 
 Or say with Princes if it shal go wel 
 By oft predict that I in heauen finde. 
 But from thine eies my knowledge I deriue. 
 And constant stars in them I read such art 
 As truth and beautie shal together thriue 
 If from thy selfe, to store thou wouldst conuert : 
 
 Or else of thee this I prognosticate. 
 
 Thy end is Truthes and Beauties doome and date. 
 
 WHEN I consider euery thing that growes 
 Holds in perfection but a little moment : 
 That this huge stage presenteth nought but showes 
 Whereon the Stars in secret influence comment. 
 When I perceiue that men as plants increase, 
 Cheared and checkt euen by the selfe-same skie : 
 Vaunt in their youthful! sap, at height decrease. 
 And were their braue state out of memory. 
 Then the conceit of this inconstant stay. 
 Sets you most rich in youth before my sight. 
 Where wastfull time debateth with decay 
 To change your day of youth to sullied night. 
 And all in war with Time for loue of you 
 As he takes from you, I ingraft you new. 
 
Sonnets 13 
 
 16 
 
 BVT wherefore do not you a mightier waie 
 Make warre vppon this bloudie tirant time ? 
 
 And fortifie your selfe in your decay 
 
 With meanes more blessed then my barren rime ? 
 
 Now stand you on the top of happie houres, 
 
 And many maiden gardens yet vnset. 
 
 With vertuous wish would beare your liuing flowers, 
 
 Much liker then your painted counterfeit : 
 
 So should the lines of life that life repaire 
 
 Which this (Times pensel or my pupill pen) 
 
 Neither in inward worth nor outward faire 
 
 Can make you Hue your selfe in eies of men, 
 To giue away your selfe, keeps your selfe still. 
 And you must Hue drawne by your owne sweet skill. 
 
 17 
 
 WHO will beleeue my verse in time to come 
 If it were fild with your most high deserts ? 
 Though yet heauen knowes it is but as a tombe 
 Which hides your life, and shewes not halfe 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 heauenly touches nere toucht earthly feces. 
 So should my papers (yellowed with their age) 
 Be scorn'd, like old men of lesse truth then tongue. 
 And your true rights be termd a Poets rage. 
 And stretched miter of an Antique song. 
 
 But were some childe of yours aliue that time. 
 You should Hue twise, in it and in my rime. 
 
14 Sua kespeares 
 
 i8 
 
 SHALL I compare thee to a Summers day? 
 Thou art more louely and more temperate : 
 Rough windes do shake the darling buds of Male, 
 And Sommers lease hath all too short a date : 
 Sometime too hot the eye of heauen shines. 
 And often is his gold complexion dimm'd, 
 And euery faire from faire some-time declines. 
 By chance, or natures changing course vntrim'd : 
 But thy eternall Sommer shall not fade. 
 Nor loose possession of that faire thou ow'st, 
 Nor shall death brag thou wandr'st in his shade. 
 When in eternall lines to time thou grow'st. 
 So long as men can breath or eyes can see, 
 So long Hues this, and this giues life to thee, 
 
 19 
 
 DEVOVRING time blunt thou the Lyons pawes, 
 And make the earth deuoure her owne sweet brood, 
 Plucke the keene teeth from the fierce Tygers yawes, 
 And burne the long liu'd Phsenix in her blood. 
 Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleet'st. 
 And do what ere thou wilt swift-footed time 
 To the wide world and all her fading sweets : 
 But I forbid thee one most hainous crime, 
 O carue not with thy howers my loues faire brow, 
 Nor draw noe lines there with thine antique pen. 
 Him in thy course vntainted doe allow. 
 For beauties patterne to succeding men. 
 
 Yet doe thy worst ould Time, dispight thy wrong. 
 My loue shall in my verse euer liue young. 
 
Sonnets ly 
 
 20 
 
 AWOMANS face with natures owne hand painted. 
 Haste thou the Master Mistris of my passion, 
 A womans gentle hart but not acquainted 
 With shifting change as is false womens fashion. 
 An eye more bright then theirs, lesse false in rowling. 
 Gilding the obiect where-vpon it gazeth : 
 A man in hew all Hews in his controwling, 
 Which steales mens eyes and womens soules amaseth. 
 And for a woman wert thou first created. 
 Till nature as she wrought thee fell a dotinge. 
 And by addition me of thee defeated. 
 By adding one thing to my purpose nothing. 
 
 But since she prickt thee out for womens pleasure, 
 Mine be thy loue and thy loues vse their treasure. 
 
 21 
 
 SO it is not with me as with that Muse, 
 Stird by a painted beauty to his verse. 
 Who heauen it selfe for ornament doth vse. 
 And euery faire with his iaire doth reherse. 
 Making a coopelment of proud compare 
 With Sunne and Moone, with earth and seas rich gems. 
 With Aprills first borne flowers and all things rare. 
 That heauens ayre in this huge rondure hems. 
 O let me true in loue but truly write. 
 And then beleeue me, my loue is as iaire. 
 As any mothers childe, though not so bright 
 As those gould candells fixt in heauens ayer : 
 Let them say more that like of heare-say well, 
 I will not prayse that purpose not to sell. 
 
j6 Shakes pe ares 
 
 M 
 
 22 
 
 Y glasse shall not perswade me I am ould. 
 
 .So long as youth and thou are of one date. 
 But when in thee times forrwes I behould, 
 Then look I death my dales should expiate. 
 For all that beauty that doth couer thee. 
 Is but the seemely rayment of my heart, 
 Which in thy brest doth Hue, as thine in me. 
 How can I then be elder then thou art ? 
 O therefore loue be of thy selfe so wary. 
 As I not for my selfe, but for thee will. 
 Bearing thy heart which I will keepe so chary 
 As tender nurse her babe from faring ill. 
 
 Presume not on thy heart when mine is slaine. 
 Thou gau'st me thine not to giue backe againe. 
 
 23 
 
 AS an vnperfect actor on the stage, 
 Xi-Who with his feare is put besides his part. 
 Or some fierce thing repleat with too much rage. 
 Whose strengths abondance weakens his owne heart ; 
 So I for feare of trust, forget to say. 
 The perfect ceremony of loues right. 
 And in mine owne loues strength seeme to decay, 
 Ore-charg'd with burthen of mine owne loues might : 
 O let my books be then the eloquence. 
 And domb presagers of my speaking brest. 
 Who pleade for loue, and look for recompence. 
 More then that tonge that more hath more exprest. 
 O learne to read what silent loue hath writ. 
 To heare with eies belongs to loues fine wit. 
 
Sonnets 17 
 
 24 
 
 MINE eye hath play'd the painter and hath steeld. 
 Thy beauties forme in table of my heart, 
 My body is the frame wherein 'tis held. 
 And perspectiue it is best Painters art. 
 For through the Painter must you see his skill, 
 To finde where your true Image pictured lies. 
 Which in my bosomes shop is hanging stil, 
 That hath his windowes glazed with thine eyes : 
 Now see what good-turnes eyes for eies haue done, 
 Mine eyes haue drawne thy shape, and thine for me 
 Are windowes to my brest, where-through the Sun 
 Delights to peepe, to gaze therein on thee. 
 
 Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art. 
 They draw but what they see, know not the hart. 
 
 27 
 
 rET those who are in fauor with their stars, 
 ^ Of publike honour and proud titles host. 
 Whilst I whome fortune of such tryumph bars 
 Vnlookt for ioy in that I honour most ; 
 Great Princes fauorites their faire leaues spread. 
 But as the Marygold at the suns eye. 
 And in them-selues their pride lies buried. 
 For at a frowne they in their glory die. 
 The painefull warrier famosed for worth. 
 After a thousand victories once foild. 
 Is from the booke of honour rased quite, /4^^|4]() 
 And all the rest forgot for which he toild : 
 Then happy I that loue and am beloued 
 Where I may not remoue, nor be remoued. 
 
i8 Shakespeares 
 
 26 
 
 10RD of my loue, to whome in vassalage 
 JThy merrit hath my dutie strongly knit ; 
 To thee I send this written ambassage 
 To witnesse duty, not to shew my wit. 
 Duty so great, which wit so poore as mine 
 May make seeme bare, in wanting words to shew it • 
 But that I hope some good conceipt of thine 
 In thy soules thought (all naked) will bestow it : 
 Til whatsoeuer star that guides my mouing. 
 Points on me gratiously with faire aspect. 
 And puts apparrell on my tottered louing, 
 To show me worthy of thy sweet respect. 
 
 Then may I dare to boast how I doe loue thee. 
 
 Til then, not show my head where thou maist proue me. 
 
 27 
 
 WEARY with toyle, I hast me to my bed. 
 The deare repose for lims with trauaill tired, 
 But then begins a iourny in my head 
 To worke my mind, when boddies work's expired. 
 For then my thoughts (from far where I abide) 
 Intend a zelous pilgrimage to thee. 
 And keepe my drooping eye-lids open wide. 
 Looking on darknes which the blind doe see. 
 Saue that my soules imaginary sight 
 Presents thy shaddoe to my sightles view. 
 Which like a iewell (hunge in gastly night) 
 Makes blacke night beautious, and her old face new. 
 Loe thus by day my lims, by night my mind. 
 For thee, and for my selfe, noe quiet finde. 
 
Sonnets ip 
 
 28 
 
 How can I then returne in happy pUght 
 That am debard the benifit of rest ? 
 
 When daies oppression is not eazd by night. 
 
 But day by night and night by day oprest. 
 
 And each (though enimes to ethers raigne) 
 
 Doe in consent shake hands to torture me. 
 
 The one by toyle, the other to complaine 
 
 How far I toyle, still farther off from thee. 
 
 I tell the Day to please him thou art bright, 
 
 And do'st him grace when clouds doe blot the heauen : 
 
 So flatter I the swart complexiond night, 
 
 When sparkling stars twire not thou guild'st the eauen. 
 But day doth daily draw my sorrowes longer, 
 Andnightdothnightlymakegreefeslengthseeme stronger. 
 
 29 
 
 WHEN in disgrace with Fortune and mens eyes, 
 I all alone beweepe my out-cast state. 
 And trouble deafe heauen with my bootlesse cries. 
 And looke vpon my selfe and curse my fate. 
 Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, 
 Featured like him, like him with friends possest. 
 Desiring this mans art, and that mans skope. 
 With what I most inioy contented least, 
 Yet in these thoughts my selfe almost despising, 
 Haplye I thinke on thee, and then my state, 
 (Like to the Larke at breake of daye arising) 
 From sullen earth sings himns at Heauens gate. 
 For thy sweet loue remembred such welth brings. 
 That then I skorne to change my state with Kings. 
 c z 
 
20 Shakespeares 
 
 30 
 
 WHEN to the Sessions of sweet silent thought, 
 I sommon vp remembrance of things past, 
 I sigh the lacke of many a thing I sought. 
 And with old woes new waUe my deare times waste : 
 Then can I drowne an eye (vn-vs'd to flow) 
 For precious friends hid in deaths dateles night. 
 And weepe a fresh loues long since canceld woe. 
 And mone th' expence of many a vannisht sight. 
 Then can I greeue at greeuances fore-gon. 
 And heauily from woe to woe tell ore 
 The sad account of fore-bemoned mone, 
 Which I new pay as if not payd before. 
 
 But if the while I thinke on thee (deare friend) 
 All losses are restord, and sorrowes end. 
 
 31 
 
 THY bosome is indeared with all hearts. 
 Which I by lacking haue supposed dead. 
 And there raignes Loue and all Loues louing parts. 
 And all those friends which I thought buried. 
 How many a holy and obsequious teare 
 Hath deare religious loue stolne from mine eye. 
 As interest of the dead, which now appeare. 
 But things remou'd that hidden in there lie. 
 Thou art the graue where buried loue doth line, 
 Hung with the tropheis of my louers gon. 
 Who all their parts of me to thee did giue. 
 That due of many, now is thine alone. 
 Their images 1 lou'd, I view in thee. 
 And thou (all they) hast all the all of me. 
 
Sonnets 21 
 
 IF thou suruiue my well contented dale 
 When that churle death my bones with dust shall couer : 
 And shalt by fortune once more re-suruay 
 These poore rude lines of thy deceased Louer : 
 Compare them with the bett'ring of the time. 
 And though they be out-stript by euery pen, 
 Reserue them for my loue, not for their rime. 
 Exceeded by the hight of happier men. 
 Oh then voutsafe me but this louing thought. 
 Had my friends Muse growne with this growing age, 
 A dearer birth then this his loue had brought 
 To march in ranckes of better equipage : 
 But since he died and Poets better proue, 
 Theirs for their stile ile read, his for his loue. 
 
 33 
 
 FVLL many a glorious morning haue I seene. 
 Flatter the mountaine tops with soueraine eie. 
 Kissing with golden face the meddowes greene, 
 Guilding pale streames with heauenly alcumy : 
 Anon permit the basest cloudes to ride. 
 With ougly rack on his celestiall face. 
 And from the for-lome world his visage hide 
 Stealing vnseene to west with this disgrace : 
 Euen so my Sunne one early morne did shine. 
 With all triumphant splendor on my brow, 
 But out alack, he was but one houre mine. 
 The region cloude hath mask'd him from me now. 
 Yet him for this, my loue no whit disdaineth. 
 Suns of the world may staine, when heauens sun staineth. 
 
22 Shakespeares 
 
 34 
 
 WHY didst thou promise such a beautious day, 
 And make me trauaile forth without my cloake, 
 To let bace cloudes ore-take me in my way. 
 Hiding thy brau'ry in their rotten smoke. 
 Tis not enough that through the cloude thou breake. 
 To dry the raine on my storme-beaten face. 
 For no man well of such a salue can speake. 
 That heales the wound, and cures not the disgrace : 
 Nor can thy shame giue phisicke to my griefe, 
 Though thou repent, yet I haue still the losse, 
 Th' offenders sorrow lends but weake reliefe 
 To him that beares the strong offenses crosse. 
 
 Ah but those teares are pearle which thy loue sheeds, 
 And they are ritch, and ransome all ill deeds. 
 
 if 
 
 NO more bee greeu'd at that which thou hast done, 
 Roses haue thornes, and siluer fountaines mud, 
 Cloudes and eclipses staine both Moone and Sunne, 
 And loathsome canker liues in sweetest bud. 
 All men make faults, and euen I in this. 
 Authorizing thy trespas with compare. 
 My selfe corrupting saluing thy amisse. 
 Excusing their sins more then their sins are : 
 For to thy sensuall fault I bring in sence. 
 Thy aduerse party is thy Aduocate, 
 And gainst my selfe a lawflill plea commence : 
 Such ciuill war is in my loue and hate. 
 
 That I an accessary needs must be. 
 
 To that sweet theefe which sourely robs from me. 
 
Sonnets 23 
 
 IET me confesse that we two must be twaine, 
 J Although our vndeuided loues are one : 
 So shall those blots that do with me remaine, 
 Without thy helpe, by me be borne alone. 
 In our two loues there is but one respect. 
 Though in our liues a seperable spight. 
 Which though it alter not loues sole effect. 
 Yet doth it steale sweet houres from loues delight. 
 I may not euer-more acknowledge thee. 
 Least my bewailed guilt should do thee shame, 
 Nor thou with publike kindnesse honour me, 
 Vnlesse thou take that honour from thy name : 
 But doe not so, I loue thee in such sort. 
 As thou being mine, mine is thy good report. 
 
 37 
 
 AS a decrepit father takes delight, 
 
 XjLTo see his actiue childe do deeds of youth. 
 
 So I, made lame by Fortunes dearest spight 
 
 Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth. 
 
 For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit. 
 
 Or any of these all, or all, or more 
 
 Intitled in their parts, do crowned sit, 
 
 I make my loue ingrafted to this store : 
 
 So then I am not lame, poore, nor dispis'd, 
 
 Whilst that this shadow doth such substance giue. 
 
 That I in thy abundance am suffic'd, 
 
 And by a part of all thy glory liue : 
 
 Looke what is best, that best I wish in thee. 
 This wish I haue, then ten times happy me. 
 
24 Shakespeares 
 
 38 
 
 HOW can my Muse want subiect to inuent 
 While thou dost breath that poor'st into my verse, 
 Thine owne sweet argument, to excellent. 
 For euery vulgar paper to rehearse : 
 Oh giue thy selfe the thankes if ought in me. 
 Worthy perusal stand against thy sight. 
 For who's so dumbe that cannot write to thee. 
 When thou thy selfe dost giue inuention light ? 
 Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth 
 Then those old nine which rimers inuocate. 
 And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth 
 Eternal numbers to out-liue long date. 
 
 If my slight Muse doe please these curious dales. 
 The paine be mine, but thine shal be the praise. 
 
 39 
 
 OH how thy worth with maimers may I singe. 
 When thou art all the better part of me ? 
 What can mine owne praise to mine owne selfe bring ? 
 And what is't but mine owne when 1 praise thee ? 
 Euen for this, let vs deuided liue. 
 And our deare loue loose name of single one, 
 That by this seperation I may giue 
 That due to thee which thou deseru'st alone : 
 Oh absence what a torment wouldst thou proue. 
 Were it not thy soure leisure gaue sweet leaue. 
 To entertaine the time with thoughts of loue. 
 Which time and thoughts so sweetly dost deceiue. 
 And that thou teachest how to make one twaine. 
 By praising him here who doth hence remaine. 
 
Sonnets 2;- 
 
 40 
 
 TAKE all my loues, my loue, yea take them all. 
 What hast thou then more then thou hadst before ? 
 No loue, my loue, that thou maist true loue call. 
 All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more : 
 Then if for my loue, thou my loue receiuest, 
 I cannot blame thee, for my loue thou vsest. 
 But yet be blam'd, if thou this selfe deceauest 
 By wilfull taste of what thy selfe refusest. 
 I doe forgiue thy robb'rie gentle theefe 
 Although thou steale thee all my pouerty : 
 And yet loue knowes it is a greater griefe 
 To beare loues wrong, then hates knowne iniury. 
 Lasciuious grace, in whom all il wel showes. 
 Kill me with spights, yet we must not be foes. 
 
 THOSE pretty wrongs that liberty commits. 
 When I am some-time absent from thy heart. 
 Thy beautie, and thy yeares full well befits. 
 For still temptation followes where thou art. 
 Gentle thou art, and therefore to be wonne, 
 Beautious thou art, therefore to be assailed. 
 And when a woman woes, what womans sonne. 
 Will sourely leaue her till he haue preuailed ? 
 Aye me, but yet thou mighst my seate forbeare, 
 And chide thy beauty, and thy straying youth. 
 Who lead thee in their ryot euen there 
 Where thou art forst to breake a two-fold truth : 
 Hers by thy beauty tempting her to thee. 
 Thine by thy beautie beeing false to me. 
 
2(j Shakespeares 
 
 42 
 
 THAT thou hast her it is not all my griefe. 
 And yet it may be said I louM her deerely, 
 That she hath thee is of my wayling cheefe, 
 A losse in loue that touches me more ncerely. 
 Louing offendors thus I will excuse yee. 
 Thou doost loue her, because thou knowst I loue her. 
 And for my sake euen so doth she abuse me, 
 Suflfring my friend for my sake to aprooue her. 
 If I loose thee, my losse is my loues gaine, 
 And loosing her, my friend hath found that losse. 
 Both finde each other, and I loose both twaine. 
 And both for my sake lay on me this crosse. 
 But here's the ioy, my friend and I are one, 
 Sweete flattery, then she loues but me alone. 
 
 43 
 
 WHEN most I winke then doe mine eyes best see. 
 For all the day they view things vnrespected. 
 But when I sleepe, in dreames they looke on thee. 
 And darkely bright, are bright in darke directed. 
 Then thou whose shaddow shaddowes doth make bright. 
 How would thy shadowes forme, forme happy show. 
 To the cleere day with thy much cleerer light. 
 When to vn-seeing eyes thy shade shines so ? 
 How would (I say) mine eyes be blessed made. 
 By looking on thee in the liuing day ? 
 When in dead night thy faire imperfect shade, 
 Through heauy sleepe on sightlesse eyes doth stay ? 
 All dayes are nights to see till I see thee, 
 And nights bright daies when dreams do shew thee me. 
 
Sonnets 27 
 
 44 
 
 IF the dull substance of my flesh were thought, 
 Iniurious distance should not stop my way, 
 For then dispight of space I would be brought. 
 From limits farre remote, where thou doost stay. 
 No matter then although my foote did stand 
 Vpon the furthest earth remoou'd from thee. 
 For nimble thought can iumpe both sea and land, 
 As soone as thinke the place where he would be. 
 But ah, thought kills me that I am not thought 
 To leape large lengths of miles when thou art gone. 
 But that so much of earth and water wrought, 
 I must attend times leasure with my mone. 
 Receiuing naught by elements so sloe. 
 But heauie teares, badges of eithers woe. 
 
 4i- 
 
 THE other two, slight ayre, and purging fire. 
 Are both with thee, where euer I abide. 
 The first my thought, the other my desire. 
 These present absent with swift motion slide. 
 For when these quicker Elements are gone 
 In tender Embassie of loue to thee. 
 My life being made of foure, with two alone, 
 Sinkes downe to death, opprest with melancholie. 
 Vntill Uues composition be recured. 
 By those swift messengers return'd from thee, 
 Who euen but now come back againe assured. 
 Of thy faire health, recounting it to me. 
 This told, I ioy, but then no longer glad, 
 I send them back againe and straight grow sad. 
 
28 Shakespeares 
 
 4(5 
 
 'INE eye and heart are at a morrall warre. 
 
 Ml 
 
 .How to deuide the conquest of thy sight. 
 Mine eye, my heart thy pictures sight would barre. 
 My heart, mine eye the freedome of that right. 
 My heart doth plead that thou in him doost lye, 
 (A closet neuer pearst with christall eyes) 
 But the defendant doth that plea deny, 
 And sayes in him thy faire appearance lyes. 
 To side this title is impannelled 
 A quest of thoughts, all tennants to the heart. 
 And by their verdict is determined 
 The cleere eyes moyitie, and the deare hearts part. 
 As thus, mine eyes due is thy outward part. 
 And my hearts right, thy inward loue of heart. 
 
 47 
 
 BETWIXT mine eye and heart a league is tooke. 
 And each doth good turnes now vnto the other. 
 When that mine eye is famisht for a looke. 
 Or heart in loue with sighes himselfe doth smother ■ 
 With my loues picture then my eye doth feast. 
 And to the painted banquet bids my heart : 
 An other time mine eye is my hearts guest. 
 And in his thoughts of loue doth share a part. 
 So either by thy picture or my loue. 
 Thy selfe away, are present still with me. 
 For thou nor farther then my thoughts canst moue. 
 And I am stUl with them, and they with thee. 
 Or if they sleepe, thy picture in my sight 
 Awakes my heart, to hearts and eyes delight. 
 
Sonnets 29 
 
 48 
 
 How careful! was I when I tooke my way, 
 Each trifle vnder truest barres to thrust, 
 That to my vse it might vn-vsed stay 
 From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust ? 
 But thou, to whom my iewels trifles are. 
 Most worthy comfort, now my greatest griefe. 
 Thou best of deerest, and mine onely care. 
 Art left the prey of euery vulgar theefe. 
 Thee haue I not lockt vp in any chest, 
 Saue where thou art not though I feele thou art, 
 Within the gentle closure of my brest. 
 From whence at pleasure thou maist come and part. 
 And euen thence thou wilt be stolne I feare. 
 For truth prooues theeuish for a prize so deare. 
 
 49 
 A GAINST that time (if euer that time come) 
 ji\_ When I shall see thee frowne on my defects. 
 When as thy loue hath cast his vtmost summe, 
 Cauld to that audite by aduis'd respects. 
 Against that time when thou shalt strangely passe. 
 And scarcely greete me with that sunne thine eye. 
 When loue conuerted from the thing it was 
 Shall reasons finde of setled grauitie. 
 Against that time do I insconce me here 
 Within the knowledge of mine owne desart. 
 And this my hand, against my selfe vpreare. 
 To guard the lawful] reasons on thy part. 
 
 To leaue poore me, thou hast the strength of lawes. 
 Since why to loue, I can alledge no cause. 
 
30 Shakespeares 
 
 HOW heauie doe I ioumey on the way. 
 When what I seeke (my wearie trauels end) 
 Doth teach that ease and that repose to say 
 Thus farre the miles are measurde from thy friend. 
 The beast that beares me, tired with my woe. 
 Plods duly on, to beare that waight in me. 
 As if by some instinct the wretch did know 
 His rider lou'd not speed being made from thee : 
 The bloody spurre cannot prouoke him on, 
 That some-times anger thrusts into his hide. 
 Which heauily he answers with a grone. 
 More sharpe to me then spurring to his side. 
 
 For that same grone doth put this in my mind. 
 My greefe lies onward and my ioy behind. 
 
 THVS can my loue excuse the slow offence. 
 Of my dull bearer, when from thee I speed. 
 From where thou art, why should I hast me thence, 
 Till I returne of posting is noe need. 
 O what excuse will my poore beast then find. 
 When swift extremity can seeme but slow ? 
 Then should I spurre though mounted on the wind. 
 In winged speed no motion shall I know, 
 Then can no horse with my desire keepe pace. 
 Therefore desire (of perfect loue being made) 
 Shall naigh noe dull flesh in his fiery race. 
 But loue, for loue, thus shall excuse my iade. 
 Since from thee going, he went wilftill slow. 
 Towards thee ile run, and giue him leaue to goe. 
 
Sonnets 31 
 
 SO am I as the rich whose blessed key. 
 Can bring him to his sweet vp-Iocked treasure, 
 The which he will not eu'ry hower suruay. 
 For blunting the fine point of seldome pleasure. 
 Therefore are feasts so sollemne and so rare. 
 Since sildom comming in the long yeare set. 
 Like stones of worth they thinly placed are. 
 Or captaine lewells in the carconet. 
 So is the time that keepes you as my chest. 
 Or as the ward-robe which the robe doth hide. 
 To make some speciall instant speciall blest. 
 By new vnfoulding his imprison'd pride. 
 
 Blessed are you whose worthinesse giues skope. 
 Being had to tryumph, being lackt to hope. 
 
 WHAT is your substance, whereof are you made. 
 That millions of strange shaddowes on you tend ? 
 
 Since euery one, hath euery one, one shade. 
 
 And you but one, can euery shaddow lend : 
 
 Describe Adonis and the counterfet. 
 
 Is poorely immitated after you. 
 
 On Hellens cheeke all art of beautie set. 
 
 And you in Grecian tires are painted new : 
 
 Speake of the spring, and foyzon of the yeare. 
 
 The one doth shaddow of your beautie show. 
 
 The other as your bountie doth appeare. 
 
 And you in euery blessed shape we know. 
 In all externall grace you haue some part. 
 But you like none, none you for constant heart. 
 
32 Shakespeares 
 
 r4 
 
 OH how much more doth beautie beautious seeme, 
 By that sweet ornament which truth doth giue. 
 The Rose lookes faire, but fairer we it deeme 
 For that sweet odor, which doth in it liue : 
 The Canker bloomes haue full as deepe a die. 
 As the perfumed tincture of the Roses, 
 Hang on such thornes, and play as wantonly. 
 When sommers breath their masked buds discloses; 
 But, for their virtue only is their show. 
 They Hue vnwoo'd, and vnrespected fade. 
 Die to themselues. Sweet Roses doe not so. 
 Of their sweet deathes, are sweetest odors made : 
 And so of you, beautious and louely youth. 
 When that shall vade, by verse distils your truth. 
 
 sr 
 
 NOT marble, nor the guilded monuments. 
 Of Princes shall out-liue this powrefuU rime. 
 But you shall shine more bright in these contents 
 Then vnswept stone, besmeer'd with sluttish time. 
 When wastefull warre shall Statues ouer-turne. 
 And broiles roote out the worke of masonry. 
 Nor Mars his sword, nor warres quick fire shall burne 
 The liuing record of your memory. 
 Gainst death, and all-obliuious enmity 
 Shall you pace forth, your praise shall stil finde roome, 
 £uen in the eyes of all posterity 
 That weare this world out to the ending doome. 
 So til the iudgement that your selfe arise. 
 You liue in this, and dwell in louers eies. 
 
Sonnets 33 
 
 SWEET loue renew thy force, be it not said 
 Thy edge should blunter be then apetite, 
 Which but too daie by feeding is alaied. 
 To morrow sharpned in his former might. 
 So loue be thou, although too daie thou fill 
 Thy hungrie eies, euen till they winck with fulnesse. 
 Too morrow see againe, and doe not kill 
 The spirit of Loue, with a perpetual dulnesse : 
 Let this sad Intrim like the Ocean be 
 Which parts the shore, where two contracted new, 
 Come daily to the banckes, that when they see 
 Returne of loue, more blest may be the view. 
 As cal it Winter, which being ful of care. 
 Makes Sommers welcome, thrice more wish'd, more rare. 
 
 f7 
 
 BEING your slaue what should I doe but tend, 
 Vpon the houres, and times of your desire ? 
 I haue no precious time at al to spend j 
 Nor seruices to doe til you require. 
 Nor dare I chide the world without end houre. 
 Whilst I (my soueraine) watch the clock for you. 
 Nor thinke the bitternesse of absence sowre. 
 When you haue bid your seruant once adieue. 
 Nor dare I question with my iealious thought. 
 Where you may be, or your affaires suppose. 
 But like a sad slaue stay and thinke of nought 
 Saue, where you are, how happy you make those. 
 So true a foole is loue, that in your Will, 
 (Though you doe any thing) he thinkes no ill. 
 
 SLC D 
 
34 Shakespeares 
 
 J8 
 
 THAT God forbid, that made me first your slaue, 
 I should in thought controule your times of pleasure. 
 
 Or at your hand th' account of hcJures to craue. 
 
 Being your vassail bound to staie your leisure. 
 
 Oh let me suffer (being 4t your beck) 
 
 Th' imprison'd absence of your libertie. 
 
 And patience tame to sufferance bide each check. 
 
 Without accusing you of iniury. 
 
 Be where you list, your charter is so strong, 
 
 That you your selfe may priuiledge your time 
 
 To what you will, to you it doth belong, 
 
 Your selfe to pardon of selfe-doing crime. 
 I am to waite, though waiting so be hell. 
 Not blame your pleasure be it ill or well. 
 
 T9 
 
 IF their bee nothing new, but that which is. 
 Hath beene before, how are our braines beguild. 
 Which laboring for inuention beare amisse 
 The second burthen of a former child ? 
 Oh that record could with a back-ward looke, 
 Euen of fine hundreth courses of the Sunne, 
 Show me your image in some antique booke. 
 Since minde at first in carrecter was done. 
 That I might see what the old world could say. 
 To this composed wonder of your frame. 
 Whether we are mended, or where better they. 
 Or whether reuolution be the same. 
 
 Oh sure I am the wits of former daies. 
 
 To subiects worse haue giuen admiring praise. 
 
Sonnets 3/ 
 
 / '° 
 
 I I KE as the wa u es make towar ds the pibled shore, 
 ^So do our rrunuites Lasten to their end,~~~" 
 Each chan g i n g pJacf with that which goes before, 
 Jn sequent toile all forwards do contend, 
 ■^ atiuity'once in the maine of lig ht, 
 Crawles to maturity, wherewith being crown'd. 
 Crooked eclipses gam^tlEis^ory tigTvF; " — * 
 > ^And time that ga ue, doth now his^iff c onf oun d . 
 ^T une doth tfaSs Sx the fl orish set on you th, 
 nd d ^ues the paralelsiiu beaijties brow . 
 eedesnn the Mjities7)f natu reajruth. 
 ■^And nothing ^ands but for ' ^ &eth to mow. 
 
 And yet to times in ho-^^ . , ^ v^erse shall stand 
 Praising thy worth, dispight nis cruell hand. 
 
 6i 
 
 IS it thy wil, thy Image should keepe open 
 My heauy eielids to the weary night ? 
 
 Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken. 
 
 While shadowes like to thee do mocke my sight ? 
 
 Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee 
 
 So farre from home into my deeds to prye. 
 
 To find out shames and idle houres in me, 
 
 The skope and tenure of thy lelousie ? 
 
 O no, thy loue though much, is not so great. 
 
 It is my loue that keepes mine eie awake. 
 
 Mine owne true loue that doth my rest defeat. 
 
 To plaie the watch-man euer for thy sake. 
 
 For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake elsewhere. 
 From me farre of, with others all to neere. 
 
3<f Shakespeares 
 
 SINNE of selfe-loue possesseth al mine eie. 
 And all my soule, and al my euery part j 
 And for this sinne there is no remedie. 
 It is so grounded inward in my heart. 
 Me thinkes no face so gratious is as mine, 
 No shape so true, no truth of such account. 
 And for my selfe mine owne worth do define. 
 As 1 all other in all worths surmount. 
 But when my glasse shewes me my selfe indeed 
 Beated and chopt with tand antiflui^ ^ 
 Mine owne selfe loue quite contrary I read, 
 Selfe, so selfe louing, wer^ iniquity. „ 
 
 'Tis thee (my selfe) that for my selfe I praise. 
 Painting my age with beauty of thy daies. 
 
 AGAINST my loue shall be as I am now 
 jLVWith times iniurious hand chrusht and ore-worne, 
 When houres haue dreind his blood and fild his brow 
 With lines and wrincles, when his youthfull morne 
 Hath trauaild on to Ages steeple night. 
 And all those beauties whereof now he's King 
 Are vanishing, or vanisht out of sight. 
 Stealing away the treasure of his Spring. 
 For such a time do I now fortifie 
 Against confounding Ages cruell knife. 
 That he shall neuer cut from memory 
 My sweet loues beauty, though my louers life. 
 
 His beautie shall in these blacke lines be scene, 
 And they shall liue, and he in them still greene. 
 
Sonnets 37 
 
 WHEN I haue scene by times fell hand defaced 
 The rich proud cost of outworne buried age, 
 
 When sometime loftie towers I see downe rased. 
 
 And brasse eternall slaue to mortall rage. 
 
 When I haue scene the hungry Ocean gaine 
 
 Aduantage on the Kingdome of the shoare. 
 
 And the firme soile win of the watry maine. 
 
 Increasing store with losse, and losse with store. 
 
 When I haue scene such interchange of state. 
 
 Or state it selfe confounded, to decay, 
 
 Ruine hath taught me thus to ruminate 
 
 That Time will come and take rny loue away. 
 
 This thought is as a death which cannot choose 
 But weepe to haue, that which it feares to loose. 
 
 SINCE brasse, nor stone, nor earth nor boundlesse sea. 
 But sad mortallity ore-swaies their power, 
 
 How with this rage shall beautie hold a plea. 
 
 Whose action is no stronger then a flower ? 
 
 O how shall summers hunny breath hold out. 
 
 Against the wrackfull siedge of battring dayes. 
 
 When rocks impregnable are not so stoute. 
 
 Nor gates of Steele so strong but time decayes ? 
 
 O fearefull meditation, where alack. 
 
 Shall times best lewell from times chest lie hid ? 
 
 Or what strong hand can hold his swift footc back. 
 
 Or who his spoile of beautie can forbid ? 
 O none, vnlcsse this miracle haue might. 
 That in black inck my loue may still shine bright. 
 
3? Shakespeares 
 
 66 
 
 TYR'D with all these for restfiill death I cry. 
 As to behold desert a begger borne, 
 And needie Nothing trimd in iollitie. 
 And purest faith vnhappily forsworne. 
 And gilded honor shamefully misplast. 
 And maiden vertue rudely strumpeted. 
 And right perfection wrongfully disgrac'd. 
 And strength by limping sway disabled. 
 And arte made tung-tide by authoritie. 
 And Folly (Doctor-like) controuling skill. 
 And simple Truth miscalde Simplicitie, 
 And captiue good attending Captaine ill. 
 
 Tyr'd with all these, from these would I be gcMie, 
 Saue that to dye, I leaue my loue alone. 
 
 67 
 
 AH wherefore with infection should he liue, 
 XjL And with his presence grace impietie, 
 That sinne by him aduantage should atchiue. 
 And lace it selfe with his societie ? 
 Why should false painting immitate his cheeke. 
 And steale dead seeing of his lining hew ? 
 Why should poore beautie indirectly seeke, 
 Roses of shaddow, since his Rose is true ? 
 Why should he liue, now nature banckrout is, 
 Beggerd of blood to blush through liuely vaines. 
 For she hath no exchecker now but his. 
 And proud of many, Hues vpon his gaines ? 
 
 O him she stores, to show what welth she had. 
 In daies long since, before these last so bad. 
 
Sonnets 39 
 
 6i 
 
 THVS is his cheeke the map of daies out-worne, 
 When beauty liu'd and dy'ed as flowers do now. 
 
 Before these bastard signes of faire were borne. 
 
 Or durst inhabit on a liuing brow : 
 
 Before the goulden tresses of the dead, 
 
 The right of sepulchers, were shome away. 
 
 To liue a second life on second head j 
 
 Ere beauties dead fleece made another gay : 
 
 In him those holy antique howers are scene. 
 
 Without all ornament, it selfe and true. 
 
 Making no summer of an others greene. 
 
 Robbing no ould to dresse his beauty new, 
 And him as for a map doth Nature store. 
 To shew faulse Art what beauty was of yore. 
 
 69 
 
 THOSE parts of thee that the worlds eye doth view, 
 Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend : 
 All toungs (the voice of soules) giue thee that due, 
 Vttring bare truth, euen so as foes commend. 
 Thy outward thus with outward praise is crownd. 
 But those same toungs that giue thee so thine owne, 
 In other accents doe this praise confound 
 By seeing farther then the eye hath showne. 
 They looke into the beauty of thy mind, 
 And that in guesse they measure by thy deeds. 
 Then churls their thoughts (although their eies were kind) 
 To thy faire flower ad the rancke smell of weeds. 
 But why thy odor matcheth not thy show. 
 The soyle is this, that thou doest common grow. 
 
40 Shakespeares 
 
 70 
 
 THAT thou are blam'd shall not be thy defect. 
 For slanders marke was euer yet the faire, 
 The ornament of beauty is suspect, 
 A Crow that flies in heauens sweetest ayre. 
 So thou be good, slander doth but approue, 
 Thy worth the greater beeing woo'd of time, 
 For Canker vice the sweetest buds doth loue. 
 And thou present'st a pure vnstayined prime. 
 Thou hast past by the ambush of young daies. 
 Either not assayld, or victor beeing charg'd. 
 Yet this thy praise cannot be soe thy praise. 
 To tye vp enuy, euermore inlarged. 
 
 If some suspect of ill maskt not thy show. 
 
 Then thou alone kingdomes of hearts shouldst owe. 
 
 71 
 
 NOE longer mourne for me when I am dead. 
 Then you shall heare the surly sullen bell 
 Giue warning to the world that I am fled 
 From this vile world with vildest wormes to dwell : 
 Nay if you read this line, remember not. 
 The hand that writ it, for I loue you so. 
 That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot. 
 If thinking on me then should make you woe. 
 O if (I say) you looke vpon this verse. 
 When I (perhaps) compounded am with clay. 
 Do not so much as my poore name reherse ; 
 But Jet your loue euen with my life decay. 
 
 Least the wise world should looke into your mone, 
 And mocke you with me after I am gon. 
 
Sonnets 41 
 
 72 
 
 O LEAST the world should taske you to recite, 
 What merit liu'd in me that you should loue. 
 
 After my death (deare loue) forget me quite. 
 
 For you in me can nothing worthy proue. 
 
 Vnlesse you would deuise some vertuous lye. 
 
 To doe more for me then mine owne desert, 
 
 And hang more praise vpon deceased I, 
 
 Then nigard truth would willingly impart : 
 
 O least your true loue may seeme fake in this. 
 
 That you for loue speake well of me vntrue, 
 
 My name be buried where my body is. 
 
 And Hue no more to shame nor me, nor you. 
 For I am shamd by that which I bring forth. 
 And so should you, to loue things nothing worth. 
 
 73 
 
 THAT time of yeeare thou maist in me behold. 
 When yellow leaues, or none, or few doe hange 
 
 Vpon those boughes which shake against the could. 
 
 Bare ruin'd quiers, where late the sweet birds sang. 
 
 In me thou seest the twi-light of such day, 
 
 As after Sun-set fadeth in the West, 
 
 Which by and by blacke night doth take away. 
 
 Deaths second selfe that seals vp all in rest. 
 
 In me thou seest the glowing of such fire. 
 
 That on the ashes of his youth doth lye. 
 
 As the death bed, whereon it must expire, 
 
 Consum'd with that which it was nurrisht by. 
 
 This thou perceu'st, which makes thy loue more strong. 
 To loue that well, which thou must leaue ere long. 
 
42 Shakespeares 
 
 74 
 
 BVT be contented : when that fell arest. 
 Without ail bayle shall carry me away. 
 My life hath in this line some interest. 
 Which for memoriall still with thee shall stay. 
 When thou reuewest this, thou doest reuew. 
 The very part was consecrate to thee. 
 The earth can haue but earth, which is his due. 
 My spirit is thine the better part of me. 
 So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life. 
 The pray of wormes, my body being dead. 
 The coward conquest of a wretches knife. 
 To base of thee to be remembred. 
 
 The worth of that, is that which it containes. 
 And that is this, and this with thee remaines. 
 
 7/ 
 
 SO are you to my thoughts as food to life. 
 Or as sweet season'd shewers are to the ground : 
 And for the peace of you I hold such strife. 
 As twixt a miser and his wealth is found. 
 Now proud as an inioyer, and anon 
 Doubting the filching age will steale his treasure. 
 Now counting best to be with you alone. 
 Then betterd that the world may see my pleasure. 
 Some-time all ful with feasting on your sight. 
 And by and by cleane starued for a looke. 
 Possessing or pursuing no delight 
 Saue what is had, or must from you be tooke. 
 Thus do I pine and surfet day by day, 
 Or gluttoning on all, or all away. 
 
Sonnets 43 
 
 76 
 
 WHY is my verse so barren of new pride ? 
 So far from variation or quicke change ? 
 Why with the time do I not glance aside 
 To new found methods, and to compounds strange ? 
 Why write I still all one, euer the same. 
 And keepe inuention in a noted weed. 
 That euery word doth almost tel my name. 
 Shewing their birth, and where they did proceed ? 
 O know sweet loue I alwaies write of you, 
 And you and loue are still my argument : 
 So all my best is dressing old words new. 
 Spending againe what is already spent : 
 
 For as the Sun is daily new and old. 
 
 So is my loue still telling what is told. 
 
 77 
 
 THY glasse will shew thee how thy beauties were. 
 Thy dyall how thy pretious mynuits waste. 
 The vacant leaues thy mindes imprint will beare, 
 And of this booke, this learning maist thou taste. 
 The wrinckles which thy glasse will truly show. 
 Of mouthed graues will glue thee memorie. 
 Thou by thy dyals shady stealth maist know. 
 Times theeuish progresse to eternitie. 
 Looke what thy memorie cannot containe. 
 Commit to these waste blancks, and thou shalt finde 
 Those children nurst, deliuerd from thy braine. 
 To take a new acquaintance of thy minde. 
 These offices, so oft as thou wilt looke. 
 Shall profit thee, and much inrich thy booke. 
 
44 Shakespeares 
 
 7% 
 
 SO oft haue I inuok'd thee for my Muse, 
 And found such faire assistance in my verse. 
 As euery Alien pen hath got my vse. 
 And vnder thee their poesie disperse. 
 Thine eyes, that taught the dumbe on high to sing. 
 And heauie ignorance aloft to flie, 
 Haue added fethers to the learneds wing, 
 And giuen grace a double Maiestie. 
 Yet be most proud of that which I compile. 
 Whose influence is thine, and borne of thee, 
 In others workes thou doost but mend the stile. 
 And Arts with thy sweete graces graced be. 
 But thou art all my art, and doost aduance 
 As high as learning, my rude ignorance. 
 
 79 
 
 WHILST I alone did call vpon thy ayde. 
 My verse alone had all thy gentle grace. 
 But now my gracious numbers are decayde. 
 And my sick Muse doth giue an other place. 
 I grant (sweet loue) thy louely argument 
 Deserues the trauaile of a worthier pen. 
 Yet what of thee thy Poet doth inuent. 
 He robs thee of, and payes it thee againe. 
 He lends thee vertue, and he stole that word. 
 From thy behauiour, beautie doth he giue 
 And found it in thy cheeke : he can afFoord 
 No praise to thee, but what in thee doth Hue. 
 
 Then thanke him not for that which he doth say. 
 Since what he owes thee, thou thy selfe doost pay. 
 
Sonnets 45- 
 
 80 
 
 OHOW I faint when I of you do write, 
 Knowing a better spirit doth vse your name, 
 
 And in the praise thereof spends all his might. 
 
 To make me toung-tide speaking of your fame. 
 
 But since your worth (wide as the Ocean is) 
 
 The humble as the proudest saile doth beare, 
 
 My sawsie barke (inferior farre to his) 
 
 On your broad maine doth wilfully appeare. 
 
 Your shallowest helpe will hold me vp a floate. 
 
 Whilst he vpon your soundlesse deepe doth ride. 
 
 Or (being wrackt) I am a worthlesse bote. 
 
 He of tall building, and of goodly pride. 
 Then if he thriue and I be cast away. 
 The worst was this, my loue was my decay. 
 
 81 
 
 OR I shall liue your Epitaph to make. 
 Or you suruiue when 1 in earth am rotten. 
 From hence your memory death cannot take. 
 Although in me each part will be forgotten. 
 Your name from hence immortall life shall haue, 
 Though I (once gone) to all the world must dye. 
 The earth can yeeld me but a common graue. 
 When you intombed in mens eyes shall lye. 
 Your monument shall be my gentle verse. 
 Which eyes not yet created shall ore-read. 
 And toungs to be, your beeing shall rehearse. 
 When all the breathers of this world are dead. 
 You still shall liue (such vertue hath my Pen) 
 Where breath most breaths, euen in the mouths of men. 
 
4<f Shakespeares 
 
 82 
 
 I GRANT thou wert not married to my Muse, 
 And therefore maiest without attaint ore-looke 
 The dedicated words which writers vse 
 Of their faire subiect, blessing euery booke. 
 Thou art as faire in knowledge as in hew. 
 Finding thy worth a limmit past my praise. 
 And therefore art inforc'd to seeke anew, 
 Some fresher stampe of the time bettering dayes. 
 And do so loue, yet when they haue deuisde, 
 What strained touches Rhethorick can lend. 
 Thou truly faire, wert truly simpathizde. 
 In true plaine words, by thy true telling friend. 
 And their grosse painting might be better vs'd. 
 Where cheekes need blood j in thee it is abus'd. 
 
 I NEVER saw that you did painting need. 
 And therefore to your faire no painting set, 
 I found (or thought I found) you did exceed. 
 The barren tender of a Poets debt : 
 And therefore haue I slept in your report, 
 That you your selfe being extant well might show. 
 How farre a moderne quill doth come to short. 
 Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow. 
 This silence for my sinne you did impute, 
 Which shall be most my glory being dombe. 
 For I impaire not beautie being mute. 
 When others would giue life, and bring a tombe. 
 There Hues more life in one of your faire eyes. 
 Then both your Poets can in praise deuise. 
 
Sonnets 47 
 
 84 
 
 WHO is it that sayes most, which can say more. 
 Then this rich praise, that you alone, are you ? 
 
 In whose confine immured is the store, 
 
 Which should example where your equall grew. 
 
 Leane penurie within that Pen doth dwell. 
 
 That to his subiect 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 coppy what in you is writ. 
 
 Not making worse what nature made so cleere. 
 
 And such a counter-part shall fame his wit. 
 
 Making his stile admired euery where. 
 
 You to your beautious blessings adde a curse. 
 
 Being fond on praise, which makes your praises worse. 
 
 8/ 
 
 MY toung-tide Muse in manners holds her still, 
 While comments of your praise richly compil'd, 
 
 Reserue their Character with goulden quill. 
 
 And precious phrase by all the Muses fil'd. 
 
 I thinke good thoughts, whilst other write good wordes. 
 
 And like vnlettered clarke still crie Amen, 
 
 To euery Himne that able spirit affords. 
 
 In polisht forme of well refined pen. 
 
 Hearing you praisd, I say 'tis so, 'tis true, 
 
 And to the most of praise adde some-thing more. 
 
 But that is in my thought, whose loue to you 
 
 (Though words come hind-most) holds his ranke before. 
 Then others, for the breath of words respect, 
 Me for my dombe thoughts, speaking in effect. 
 
48 Shakespeares 
 
 85 
 
 WAS it the proud full saile of his great verse, 
 Bound for the prize of (all to precious) you. 
 
 That did my ripe thoughts in my braine inhearce. 
 
 Making their tombe the wombe wherein they grew ? 
 
 Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write, 
 
 Aboue a mortall pitch, that struck me dead ? 
 
 No, neither he, nor his compiers by night 
 
 Giuing him ayde, my verse astonished. 
 
 He nor that aflable familiar ghost 
 
 Which nightly gulls him with intelligence. 
 
 As victors of my silence cannot boast, 
 
 I was not sick of any feare from thence. 
 
 But when your countinance fild vp his line. 
 Then lackt 1 matter, that infeebled mine. 
 
 87 
 
 FAREWELL thou art too deare for my possessing. 
 And like enough thou knowst thy estimate. 
 The Charter of thy worth giues thee releasing : 
 My bonds in thee are all determinate. 
 For how do I hold thee but by thy granting. 
 And for that ritches where is my deseruing ? 
 The cause of this faire guift in me is wanting. 
 And so my pattent back againe is sweruing. 
 Thy selfe thou gau'st, thy owne worth then not knowing, 
 Or mee to whom thou gau'st it, else mistaking. 
 So thy great guift vpon misprision growing. 
 Comes home againe, on better iudgement making. 
 Thus haue I had thee as a dreame doth flatter. 
 In sleepe a King, but waking no such matter. 
 
Sonnets 45, 
 
 88 
 
 WHEN thou shalt be disposde to set me light. 
 And place my merrit in the eie of skorne, 
 Vpon thy side, against my selfe ile fight. 
 And proue thee virtuous, though thou art fbrsworne : 
 With mine owne weakenesse being best acquainted, 
 Vpon thy part I can set downe a story 
 Of faults conceald, wherein I am attainted : 
 That thou in loosing me, shall win much glory : 
 And I by this wil be a gainer too. 
 For bending all my louing thoughts on thee. 
 The iniuries that to my selfe I doe. 
 Doing thee vantage, duble vantage me. 
 Such is my loue, to thee I so belong. 
 That for thy right, my selfe will beare all wrong. 
 
 89 
 
 SAY that thou didst forsake mee for some fait. 
 And I will comment vpon that oflPence, 
 Speake of my lamenesse, and I straight will halt : 
 Against thy reasons making no defence. 
 Thou canst not (loue) disgrace me halfe so ill, 
 To set a forme vpon desired change. 
 As ile my selfe disgrace • knowing thy wil, 
 I will acquaintance strangle and looke strange : 
 Be absent from thy walkes ; and in my tongue. 
 Thy sweet beloued name no more shall dwell. 
 Least I (too much prophane) should do it wronge : 
 And haplie of our old acquaintance tell. 
 For thee, against my selfe ile vow debate. 
 For I must nere loue him whom thou dost hate. 
 
|-o Shakespeares 
 
 90 
 
 THEN hate me when thou wilt, if euer, now. 
 Now while the world is bent my deeds to crosse, 
 loyne with the spight of fortune, make me bow. 
 And doe not drop in for an after losse : 
 ~Ah doe not, when my heart hath scapte this sorrow. 
 Come in the rereward of a conquerd woe, 
 Giue not a windy night a rainie morrow. 
 To linger out a purposd ouer-throw. 
 "Ifthou wilt leaue me, do not leaue me last, 
 When other pettie griefes haue done their spight, 
 But in the onset come, so shall I taste 
 _At fir st the very worst of fortunes might. 
 
 And other straines of woe, which now seeme woe, 
 Compar'd with losse of thee, will not seeme so. 
 
 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 Hawkes and Hounds, some in their Horse. 
 And euery humor hath his adiunct pleasure. 
 Wherein it findes a ioy aboue the rest, 
 f But these perticulers are not my measure. 
 All these I better in one generall best. 
 Thy loue is better then high birth to me. 
 Richer then wealth, prouder then garments cost. 
 Of more delight then Hawkes or Horses bee : 
 And hauing thee, of all mens pride I boast. 
 
 Wretched in this alone, that thou maist take. 
 All this away, and me most wretched make. 
 
Sonnets ^i 
 
 BVT doe thy worst to steak thy selfe away, 
 For tearme of life thou art assured mine. 
 And life no longer then thy loue will stay. 
 For it depends vpon that loue of thine. 
 Then need I not to feare the worst of wrongs. 
 When in the least of them my life hath end, 
 I see, a better state to me belongs 
 Then that, which on thy humor doth depend. 
 Thou canst not vex me with inconstant minde. 
 Since that my life on thy reuolt doth He, 
 Oh what a happy title do I finde, 
 Happy to haue thy loue, happy to die ! 
 
 But whats so blessed faire that feares no blot ? 
 
 Thou maist be fake, and yet I know it not. 
 
 s 
 
 93 
 
 O shall I liue, supposing thou art true. 
 Like a deceiued husband : so loues face. 
 
 May still seeme loue to me, though alter'd new : 
 Thy lookes with me, thy heart in other place. 
 For their can liue no hatred in thine eye. 
 Therefore in that I cannot know thy change. 
 In manies lookes, the fake hearts history 
 Is writ in moods and frounes and wrinckles strange. 
 But heauen in thy creation did decree, 
 That in thy face sweet loue should euer dwell. 
 What ere thy thoughts, or thy hearts workings be, 
 Thy lookes should nothing thence, but sweetnesse tell. 
 How like Eaues appk doth thy beauty grow. 
 If thy sweet vertue answere not thy show. 
 E z 
 
fz Shakespeares 
 
 94 
 
 THEY that haue powre to hurt, and will doe none. 
 That doe not do the thing, they most do showe. 
 Who mouing others, are themselues as stone, 
 Vnmooued, could, and to temptation slow : 
 They rightly do inherrit heauens graces. 
 And husband natures ritches from expence. 
 They are the Lords and owners of their faces. 
 Others, but stewards of their excellence : 
 The sommers flowre is to the sommer sweet. 
 Though to it selfe, it onely liue and die. 
 But if that flowre with base infection meete. 
 The basest weed out-braues his dignity : 
 
 For sweetest things turne sowrest by their deedes, 
 Lillies that fester, smell far worse then weeds. 
 
 9T 
 
 HOW sweet and louely dost thou make the shame. 
 Which like a canker in the fragrant Rose, 
 Doth spot the beautie of thy budding name ! 
 Oh in what sweets doest thou thy sinnes inclose ! 
 That tongue that tells the story of thy dales, 
 (Making lasciuious comments on thy sport) 
 Cannot dispraise, but in a kinde of praise. 
 Naming thy name, blesses an ill report. 
 Oh what a mansion haue those vices got. 
 Which for their habitation chose out thee. 
 Where beauties vaile doth couer euery blot. 
 And all things turnes to faire that eies can see ! 
 Take heed (deare heart) of this large priuiledge, 
 The hardest knife ill vs'd doth loose his edge. 
 
Sonnets 5-3 
 
 SOME say thy fault is youth, some wantonesse, 
 Some say thy grace is youth and gentle sport, 
 Both grace and faults are lou'd of more and lesse : 
 Thou makst faults graces, that to thee resort : 
 As on the finger of a throned Queene, 
 The basest lewell wil be well esteem'd : 
 So are those errors that in thee are scene. 
 To truths translated, and for true things deem'd. 
 How many Lambs might the steme Wolfe betray, 
 ¥ like a Lambe he could his lookes translate. 
 How many gazers mighst thou lead away. 
 If thou wouldst vse the strength of all thy state ! 
 But doe not so, I loue thee in such sort. 
 As thou being mine, mine is thy good report. 
 
 97 
 
 HOW like a Winter hath my absence beehe 
 From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting yeare ! 
 What freezings haue I felt, what darke daies scene ! 
 What old Decembers barenesse euery where ! 
 And yet thi s time r emou'd was sommers timCj 
 The teeming Autumne Mg-with ritch increase. 
 Bearing the wanton burthen of the prime. 
 Like widdQwed wombes after their Lords decease :- 
 Yet this aboundant issue seem'd to me. 
 But hope of Orphans, and vn-fathered fruite. 
 For Sommer and his pleasures waite on thee. 
 And thou away, the very birds are mute. 
 Or if they sing, tis with so dull a cheere. 
 That leaues looke pale, dreading the Winters neere. 
 
5'4 Shakespeares 
 
 98 
 
 FROM you haue I beene absent in the spring, 
 When proud pide Aprill (drest in all his trim) 
 Hath put a spirit of youth in euery thing : 
 That heauie Saturne laught and leapt with him. 
 Yet nor the laies of birds, nor the sweet smell 
 Of diflFerent flowers in odor and in hew. 
 Could make me any summers story tell : 
 Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew : 
 Nor did I wonder at the Lillies white. 
 Nor praise the deepe vermillion in the Rose, 
 They weare but sweet, but figures of delight : 
 Drawne after you, you patterne of all those. 
 Yet seem'd it Winter still, and you away, 
 As with your shaddow I with these did play. 
 
 99 
 
 THE forward violet thus did I chide. 
 Sweet theefe whence didst thou steale thy sweet that 
 If not from my loues breath ? The purple pride, (smels 
 Which on thy soft cheeke for complexion dwells. 
 In my loues veines thou hast too grosely died. 
 The Lillie I condemned for thy hand. 
 And buds of marierom had stolne thy haire. 
 The Roses fearefuUy on thornes did stand. 
 One blushing shame, an other white dispaire : 
 A third nor red, nor white, had stolne of both. 
 And to his robbry had annext thy breath. 
 But for his theft in pride of all his growth 
 A vengfuU canker eate him vp to death. 
 
 More flowers I noted, yet I none could see, 
 But sweet, or culler it had stolne from thee. 
 
Sonnets ^^ 
 
 100 
 
 WHERE art thou Muse that thou forgetst so long, 
 To speake of that which giues thee all thy might ? 
 Spendst thou thy furie on some worthlesse songe, 
 Darkning thy powre to lend base subiects light ? 
 Returne forgetfull Muse, and straight redeeme, 
 In gentle numbers time so idely spent. 
 Sing to the eare that doth thy laies esteeme. 
 And giues thy pen both skill and argument. 
 Rise resty Muse, my loues sweet fi,ce suruay. 
 If time haue any wrincle grauen there, 
 If any, be a Satire to decay. 
 And make times spoiles dispised euery where. 
 
 Giue my loue fame faster then time wasts life, {. 
 
 So thou preuenst his sieth, and crooked knife. J 
 
 lOI 
 
 OH truant Muse what shalbe thy amends. 
 For thy neglect of truth in beauty di'd ? 
 
 Both truth and beauty on my loue depends : 
 
 So dost thou too, and therein dignifi'd : 
 
 Make answere Muse, wilt thou not haply sale. 
 
 Truth needs no collour with his coUour fixt, 
 
 Beautie no penseU, beauties truth to lay : 
 
 But best is best, if neuer intermixt. 
 
 Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb } 
 
 Excuse not silence so, for't lies in thee. 
 
 To make him much out-Hue a gilded tombe : 
 
 And to be praisd of ages yet to be. 
 
 Then do thy office Muse, I teach thee how. 
 To make him seeme long hence, as he showes now. 
 
 9 
 
j6 Shakespeares 
 
 102 
 
 MY loue is strengthned though more weake in seem- 
 I loue not lesse, thogh lesse the show appeare, (ing, 
 
 That loue is marchandiz'd, whose ritch esteeming. 
 
 The owners tongue doth publish euery where. 
 
 Our loue was new, and then but in the spring, 
 
 When I was wont to greet it with my laies. 
 
 As Phllomell in summers front doth singe. 
 
 And stops his pipe in growth of riper dales : 
 
 Not that the summer is lesse pleasant now 
 
 Then when her mournefull himns did hush the night. 
 
 But that wild musick burthens euery bow. 
 
 And sweets growne common loose their deare delight. 
 Therefore like her, I some-time hold my tongue : 
 Because I would not dull you with my songe. 
 
 103 
 ALACK what pouerty my Muse brings forth, 
 
 JLjLThat hauing such a skope to show her pride. 
 
 The argument all bare is of more worth 
 
 Then when it hath my added praise beside. 
 
 Oh blame me not if I no more can write ! 
 
 Looke in your glasse and there appeares a face. 
 
 That ouer-goes my blunt inuention quite. 
 
 Dulling my lines, and doing me disgrace. 
 
 Were it not sinfull then striuing to mend. 
 
 To marre the subiect that before was well. 
 
 For to no other passe my verses tend. 
 
 Then of your graces and your gifts to tell. 
 
 And more, much more then in my verse can sit. 
 Your owne glasse showes you, when you looke in it. 
 
Sonnets yj 
 
 104 
 
 TO me faire friend you neuer can be old ; 
 For as you were when first your eye I eyde, 
 Such seemes your beautie still : Three Winters colde, 
 Haue from the forrests shooke three summers pride. 
 Three beautious springs to yellow Autumne turn'd. 
 In processe of the seasons haue I seene. 
 Three Aprill perfumes in three hot lunes bum'd. 
 Since first I saw you fresh which yet are greene. 
 Ah yet doth beauty like a Dyall hand, 
 Steale from his figure, and no pace perceiu'd. 
 So your sweete hew, which me thinkes still doth stand 
 Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceaued. 
 For feare of which, heare this thou age vnbred. 
 Ere you were borne was beauties summer dead. 
 
 IET not my loue be card Idolatrie, 
 -/Nor my beloued as an Idoll show. 
 Since all alike my songs and praises be 
 To one, of one, still such, and euer so. 
 Kinde is my loue to day, to morrow kinde. 
 Still constant in a wondrous excellence, 
 Therefore my verse to constancie confin'de, 
 One thing expressing, leaues out difference. 
 Faire, kinde, and true, is all my argument, 
 Faire, kinde and true, varrying to other words. 
 And in this change is my inuention spent. 
 Three theams in one, which wondrous scope affords. 
 Faire, kinde, and true, haue often liu'd alone. 
 Which three till now, neuer kept seate in one. 
 
f8 Shakespeares 
 
 io6 
 
 "HEN in the Chronicle of wasted time, 
 
 Wl 
 
 I see discriptions of the fairest wights. 
 And beautie making beautifull old rime, 
 In praise of Ladies dead, and lonely Knights, 
 Then in the blazon of sweet beauties best. 
 Of hand, of foote, of lip, of eye, of brow, 
 I see their antique Pen would haue exprest, 
 Euen such a beauty as you maister now. 
 So all their praises are but prophesies 
 Of this our time, all you prefiguring, 
 And for they look'd but with deuining eyes. 
 They had not still enough your worth to sing : 
 For we which now behold these present dayes, 
 Haue eyes to wonder, but lack toungs to praise. 
 
 lO 
 
 NOT mine owne feares, nor the prophetick soule. 
 Of the wide world, dreaming on things to come. 
 Can yet the lease of my true loue controule, 
 Supposde as forfeit to a confin'd doome. 
 The mortall Moone hath her eclipse indur'de. 
 And the sad Augurs mock their owne presage, 
 Incertenties now crowne them-selues assur'de. 
 And peace proclaimes Oliues of endlesse age. 
 Now with the drops of this most balmie time. 
 My loue lookes fresh, and death to me subscribes j 
 Since spight of him He Hue in this poore rime. 
 While he insults ore dull and speachlesse tribes. 
 And thou in this shalt finde thy monument. 
 When tyrants crests and tombs of brasse are spent. 
 
Sonnets ^9 
 
 io8 
 
 WHAT'S in the braine that Inck may character, 
 Which hath not figur'd to thee my true spirit, 
 
 What's new to speake, what now to register. 
 
 That may expresse my loue, or thy deare merit ? 
 
 Nothing sweet boy, but yet like prayers diuine, 
 
 I must each day say ore the very same, 
 
 Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine, 
 
 Euen as when first I hallowed thy faire name. 
 
 So that eternal! loue in loues fresh case, 
 
 Waighes not the dust and iniury of age. 
 
 Nor giues to necessary wrinckles place. 
 
 But makes antiquitie for aye his page. 
 
 Finding the first conceit of loue there bred. 
 Where time and outward forme would shew it dead. 
 
 109 
 
 O NEVER say that I was false of heart. 
 Though absence seem'd my flame to quallifie. 
 As easie might I from my selfe depart. 
 As from my soule which in thy brest doth lye : 
 That is my home of loue ; if I haue rang'd. 
 Like him that trauels 1 returne againe, 
 lust to the time, not with the time exchang'd. 
 So that my selfe bring water for my staine. 
 Neuer beleeue though in my nature raign'd. 
 All irailties that besiege all kindes of blood. 
 That it could so preposterouslie be stain'd. 
 To leaue for nothing aU thy summe of good : 
 For nothing this wide Vniuerse I call, 
 Saue thou my Rose, in it thou art my all. 
 
(Jo Shakespeares 
 
 no 
 
 ALAS 'tis true, I haue gone here and there, 
 JrjLAnd made my selfe a motley to the view, 
 Gor'd mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most deare, 
 Made old offences of aflFections new. 
 Most true it is, that I haue lookt on truth 
 Asconce and strangely : But by all aboue. 
 These blenches gaue my heart an other youth. 
 And worse essaies prou'd thee my best of loue. 
 Now all is done, haue what shall haue no end, 
 Mine appetite I neuer more will grinde 
 On newer proofe, to trie an older friend, 
 A God in loue, to whom I am confin'd. 
 
 Then glue me welcome, next my heauen the best, 
 Euen to thy pure and most most louing brest. 
 
 Ill 
 
 OFOR my sake doe you with fortune chide, 
 The guUtie goddesse of my harmfull deeds. 
 That did not better for my life prouide, 
 Then publick meanes which publick manners breeds. 
 Thence comes it that my name receiues a brand. 
 And almost thence my nature is subdu'd 
 To what it workes in, like the Dyers hand, 
 Pitty me then, and wish I were renu'de. 
 Whilst like a willing pacient I will drinke. 
 Potions of Eysell gainst my strong infection. 
 No bitternesse that I will bitter thinke. 
 Nor double pennance to correct correction. 
 
 Pittie me then deare friend, and I assure yee, 
 Euen that your pittie is enough to cure mee. 
 
 -■^ 
 
 IC-v'' 
 
Sonnets <ji 
 
 YOVR loue and pittie doth th'impression fill. 
 Which vulgar scandall stampt vpon my brow 
 
 For what care I who calles me well or ill. 
 
 So you ore-greene my bad, my good alow ? 
 
 You are my All the world, and I must striue. 
 
 To know my shames and praises from your tounge, 
 
 None else to me, nor I to none aliue. 
 
 That my steel'd sence or changes right or wrong. 
 
 In so profound ^bisme I throw all care 
 
 Of others voyces, that my Adders sence. 
 
 To cryttick and to flatterer stopped are : 
 
 Marke how with my neglect I doe dispence. 
 You are so strongly in my purpose bred. 
 That all the world besides me thinkes y'are dead. 
 
 113 
 
 SINCE I left you, mine eye is in my minde. 
 And that which gouemes me to goe about. 
 Doth part his function, and is partly blind, 
 Seemes seeing, but effectually is out : 
 For it no forme deliuers to the heart 
 Of bird, of flowre, or shape which it doth latch. 
 Of his quick obiects hath the minde no part. 
 Nor his owne vision houlds what it doth catch : 
 For if it see the rud'st or gentlest sight. 
 The most sweet sauor or deformedst creature. 
 The mountaine, or the sea, the day, or night : 
 The Croe, or Done, it shapes them to your feature. 
 Incapable of more, repleat with you. 
 My most true minde thus maketh mine vntrue. 
 
62 Shakespeares 
 
 114 
 
 OR whether doth my minde being crowa'd with you 
 Drinke vp the monarks plague this flattery ? 
 Or whether shall I say mine eie saith true. 
 And that your loue taught it this Alcumte ? 
 To make of monsters, and things indigest. 
 Such cherubines as your sweet selfe resemble. 
 Creating euery bad a perfect best 
 As fast as obiects to his beames assemble : 
 Oh tis the first, tis flatry in my seeing. 
 And my great minde most kingly drinkes it vp. 
 Mine eie well knowes what with his gust is greeing, 
 And to his pallat doth prepare the cup. 
 If it be poison'd, tis the lesser sinne, 
 That mine eye loues it and doth first beginne. 
 
 THOSE lines that I before haue writ doe lie, 
 Euen those that said I could not loue you deerer. 
 Yet then my iudgement knew no reason why. 
 My most full flame should afterwards burne cleerer. 
 But reckening time, whose milliond accidents 
 Creepe in twixt vowes, and change decrees of Kings, 
 Tan sacred beautie, blunt the sharp' st intents, 
 Diuert strong mindes to th' course of altring things : 
 Alas why fearing of times tiranie. 
 Might I not then say now I loue you best. 
 When I was certaine ore in-certainty. 
 Crowning the present, doubting of the rest : 
 Loue is a Babe, then might I not say so 
 To giue full growth to that which still doth grow. 
 
Sonnets 6^ 
 
 ii(J 
 
 IET me not to the marriage of true mindes 
 J Admit impediments, loue is not loue 
 Which alters when it alteration findes. 
 Or bends with the remouer to remoue. 
 O no, it is an euer fixed marke 
 That lookes on tempests and is neuer shaken j 
 It is the star to euery wandring barke. 
 Whose worths vnknowne, although his higth be taken. 
 Lou's not Times foole, though rosie lips and cheeks 
 Within his bending sickles compasse come, 
 Loue alters not with his breefe houres and weekes. 
 But beares it out euen to the edge of doome : 
 If this be error and vpon me proued, 
 I neuer writ, nor no man euer loued. 
 
 117 
 ACCVSE me thus, that I haue scanted all, 
 XJL Wherein I should your great deserts repay. 
 Forgot vpon your dearest loue to call, 
 Whereto al bonds do tie me day by day. 
 That I haue frequent binne with vnknown mindes. 
 And giuen to time your owne deare purchas'd right, 
 That I haue hoysted saile to al the windes 
 Which should transport me farthest from your sight. 
 Booke both my wilfulnesse and errors downe. 
 And on iust proofe surmise accumilate. 
 Bring me within the leuel of your frowne, 
 But shoote not at me in your wakened hate : 
 
 Since my appeale saies I did striue to prooue 
 
 The constancy and virtue of your loue. 
 
(J4 Shakespeares 
 
 ii8 
 
 I IKE as to make our appetites more keene 
 J With eager compounds we our pallat vrge. 
 As to preuent our malladies vnseene. 
 We sicken to shun sicknesse when we purge : 
 Euen so being full of your nere cloying sweetnesse. 
 To bitter sawces did I frame my feeding ; 
 And sicke of wel-fare found a kind of meetnesse. 
 To be diseas'd ere that there was true needing. 
 Thus poUicie in loue f anticipate 
 The ills that were not, grew to faults assured. 
 And brought to medicine a healthfull state 
 Which rancke of goodnesse would by ill be cured. 
 But thence I learne and find the lesson true. 
 Drugs poyson him that so fell sicke of you. 
 
 (S) 
 
 WHAT potions haue I drunke of Sytrex teares 
 Distil'd from Lymbecks foule as hell within. 
 Applying feares to hopes, and hopes to feares, 
 Still loosing when I saw my selfe to win ? 
 What wretched errors hath my heart committed. 
 Whilst it hath thought it selfe so blessed neuer ? 
 How haue mine eies out of their Spheares bene fitted 
 In the distraction of this madding feuer ? 
 O benefit of ill, now I find true 
 That better is by euil still made better. 
 And ruin'd loue when it is built anew 
 Growes fairer then at first, more strong, fer greater. 
 
 So I returne rebukt to my content. 
 
 And gaine by ills thrise more then I haue spent. 
 
Sonnets df 
 
 I20 
 
 THAT you were once vnkind be-friends mee now, 
 And for that sorrow, which I then didde feele, 
 Needes must I vnder my transgression bow, 
 Vnlesse my Nerues were brasse or hammered Steele. 
 For if you were by my vnkindnesse shaken 
 As I by yours, y'haue past a hell of Time, 
 And I a tyrant haue no leasure taken 
 To waigh how once I suffered in your crime. 
 
 that our night of wo might haue remembred 
 My deepest sence, how hard true sorrow hits, 
 And soone to you, as you to me then tendred 
 The humble salue, which wounded bosomes fits ! 
 
 But that your trespasse now becomes a fee, 
 
 Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransome mee. 
 
 jl2lj 
 
 TIS better to be vile^hen vUe esteemed, 
 When not to be, receiues reproach of being. 
 And the iust pleasure lost, which is so deemed. 
 Not by our feeling, but by others seeing. 
 For why should others false adulterat eyes 
 Giue salutation to my sportiue blood ? 
 Or on my frailties why are frailer spies ■ 
 Which in their wils count bad what I think good ? 
 Noe, I am that I am, and they that leuell 
 At my abuses, reckon vp their owne, 
 
 1 may be straight though they them-selues be beuel. 
 
 By their rancke thoughtes, my deedes must not be shown : 
 Vnlesse this generall euill they maintaine. 
 All men are bad and in their badnesse raigne. 
 
66 Shakespeares 
 
 122 
 
 THY guift, thy tables, are within my braine 
 Full characterd with lasting memory. 
 Which shall aboue that idle rancke remaine 
 Beyond all date euen to eternity. 
 Or at the least, so long as braine and heart 
 Haue facultie by nature to subsist. 
 Til each to raz'd obliuion yeeld his part 
 Of thee, thy record neuer can be mist : 
 That poore retention could not so much hold. 
 Nor need I tallies thy deare loue to skore. 
 Therefore to giue them from me was I bold, 
 To trust those tables that receaue thee more, 
 To keepe an adiunckt to remember thee. 
 Were to import forgetfulnesse in mee. 
 
 123 
 
 NO ! Time, thou shalt not host that I doe change. 
 Thy pyramyds buylt vp with newer might 
 To me are nothing nouell, nothing strange ; 
 They are but dressings of a former sight : 
 Our dates are breefe, and therefor we admire. 
 What thou dost foyst vpon vs that is ould. 
 And rather make them borne to our desire. 
 Then thinke that we before haue heard them tould : 
 Thy registers and thee I both defie, 
 Not wondring at the present, nor the past. 
 For thy records, and what we see doth lye, 
 Made more or les by thy continuall hast : 
 This I doe vow and this shall euer be, 
 I will be true dispight thy syeth and thee. 
 
Sonnets 67 
 
 124 
 
 YF my deare loue were but the childe of state. 
 It might for fortunes basterd be vnfathered, 
 
 As subiect to times loue, or to times hate, 
 
 Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gatherd. 
 
 No it was buylded far from accident. 
 
 It sufiFers not in smilinge pomp, nor falls 
 
 Vnder the blow of thralled discontent. 
 
 Whereto th'inuiting time our fashion calls : 
 
 It feares not policy that Heriticke^ 
 
 Which workes on leases of short numbred howers, 
 
 But all alone stands hugely poUitick, 
 
 That it nor growes with heat, nor drownes with showres. 
 To this I witnes call the fbles of time. 
 Which die for goodnes, who haue liu'd for crime. 
 
 WER'T ought to me I bore the canopy. 
 With my extern the outward honoring. 
 
 Or layd great bases for eternity. 
 
 Which proues more short then wast or ruining ? 
 
 Haue I not seene dwellers on forme and fauor 
 
 Lose all, and more, by paying too much rent 
 
 For compound sweet ; Forgoing simple sauor, 
 
 PittifuU thriuors in their gazing spent. 
 
 Noe, let me be obsequious in thy heart. 
 
 And take thou my oblacion, poore but free. 
 
 Which is not mixt with seconds, knows no art. 
 
 But mutuall render, onely me for thee. 
 
 Flence, thou subbornd Informer, a trew soule 
 When most impeacht, stands least in thy controule. 
 F z 
 
6% Shakespeares 
 
 126 
 
 OTHOV my louely Boy who in thy power, 
 Doest hould times fickle glasse, his sickle, hower : 
 Who hast by wayning growne, and therein shou'st, 
 Thy louers withering, as thy sweet selfe grow'st. 
 If Nature (soueraine misteres ouer wrack) 
 As thou goest onwards still will plucke thee backe. 
 She keepes thee to this purpose, that her skill. 
 May time, disgrace, and wretched mynuits kill. 
 Yet feare her O thou miimion of her pleasure. 
 She may detaine, but not still keepe her tresure ! 
 Her Audite (though delayd) answer'd must be. 
 And her Quietus is to render thee. 
 
 127 
 
 IN the ould age blacke was not counted feire. 
 Or if it weare it bore not beauties name : 
 But now is blacke beauties successiue heire. 
 And Beautie slanderd with a bastard shame : 
 For since each hand hath put on Natures power. 
 Fairing the foule with Arts faulse borrow'd fece. 
 Sweet beauty hath no name no holy boure, 
 But is prophan'd, if not Hues in disgrace. 
 Therefore my Mistresse eyes are Rauen blacke. 
 Her eyes so suted, and they mourners seeme. 
 At such who not borne faire no beauty lack, 
 Slandring Creation with a false esteeme. 
 
 Yet so they mourne becomming of their woe. 
 That euery toung saies beauty should looke so. 
 
Sonnets <J5> 
 
 128 
 
 HOW oft when thou my musike musike playst, 
 Vpon that blessed wood whose motion sounds 
 With thy sweet fingers when thou gently swayst. 
 The wiry concord that mine eare confounds. 
 Do I enuie those lackes that nimble leape, 
 To kisse the tender inward of thy hand. 
 Whilst my poore lips which should that haruest reape, 
 At the woods bouldnes by thee blushing stand. 
 To be so tikled they would change their state. 
 And situation with those dancing chips, 
 Ore whome thy fingers walke with gentle gate. 
 Making dead wood more blest then liuing lips. 
 Since sausie lackes so happy are in this, 
 Giue them thy fingers, me thy lips to kisse. 
 
 129 
 
 TH' expence of Spirit in a waste of shame 
 Is lust in action, and till action, lust 
 
 Is periurd, murdrous, blouddy, full of blame, 
 
 Sauage, extreame, rude, cruell, not to trust, 
 
 Inioyd no sooner but dispised straight. 
 
 Past reason hunted, and no sooner had 
 
 Past reason hated as a swollowed bayt. 
 
 On purpose layd to make the taker mad. 
 
 Madde in pursut and in possession so. 
 
 Had, hauing, and in quest to haue, extreame, 
 
 A blisse in proofe and proud a very wo. 
 
 Before a ioy proposd behind a dreame. 
 
 All this the world well knowes yet none knowes well, 
 To shun the heauen that leads men to this hell. 
 
70 Shakespeares 
 
 130 
 
 MY Mistres eyes are nothing like the Sunne, 
 Currall is farre more red, then her lips red. 
 If snow be white, why then her brests are dun : 
 If haires be wiers, black wiers grow on her head : 
 I haue seene Roses damaskt, red and white. 
 But no such Roses see I in her cheekes. 
 And in some perfumes is there more delight. 
 Then in the breath that from my Mistres reekes. 
 I loue to heare her speake, yet well I know. 
 That Musicke hath a farre more pleasing sound : 
 I graunt I neuer saw a goddesse goe. 
 My Mistres when shee walkes treads on the ground. 
 
 And yet by heauen I thinke my loue as rare. 
 
 As any she beli'd with false compare. 
 
 131 
 
 THOV art as tiranous, so as thou art. 
 As those whose beauties proudly make them cruell ; 
 For well thou know'st to my deare doting hart 
 Thou art the fairest and most precious lewell. 
 Yet in good faith some say that thee behold. 
 Thy face hath not the power to make loue grone j 
 To say they erre, I dare not be so bold. 
 Although I sweare it to my selfe alone. 
 And to be sure that is not false I sweare 
 A thousand grones but thinking on thy face. 
 One on anothers necke do witnesse beare 
 Thy blacke is fairest in my iudgements place. 
 In nothing art thou blacke saue in thy deeds. 
 And thence this slaunder as I thinke proceeds. 
 
Sonnets 71 
 
 132 
 
 THINE eies I loue, and they as pittying me, 
 Knowing thy heart torments me with disdaine, 
 
 Haue put on black, and louing mourners bee. 
 
 Looking with pretty ruth vpon my paine. 
 
 And truly not the morning Sun of Heauen 
 
 Better becomes the gray cheeks of the East, 
 
 Nor that full Starre that vshers in the Eauen 
 
 Doth halfe that glory to the sober West 
 
 As those two morning eyes become thy ft.ce : 
 
 O let it then as well beseeme thy heart 
 
 To mourne for me since mourning doth thee grace. 
 
 And sute thy pitty like in euery part. 
 
 Then will I sweare beauty her selfe is blacke, 
 And all they foule that thy complexion lacke. 
 
 BESHREW that heart that makes my heart to groane 
 For that deepe wound it giues my friend and me ; 
 I'st not ynough to torture me alone. 
 But slaue to slauery my sweefst friend must be. 
 Me from my selfe thy cruell eye hath taken. 
 And my next selfe thou harder hast ingrossed. 
 Of him, my selfe, and thee 1 am forsaken, 
 A torment thrice three-fold thus to be crossed : 
 Prison my heart in thy Steele bosomes warde. 
 But then my friends heart let my poore heart bale, 
 Who ere keepes me, let my heart be his garde. 
 Thou canst not then vse rigor in my laUe, 
 And yet thou wUt, for I being pent in thee. 
 Perforce am thine and all that is in me. 
 
72 Shakespeares 
 
 134 
 
 So now I haue confest that he is thine, 
 And I my selfe am morgag'd to thy will. 
 My selfe He forfeit, so that other mine. 
 Thou wilt restore to be my comfort still : 
 But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free. 
 For thou art couetous, and he is kinde. 
 He learnd but suretie-like to write for me, 
 Vnder that bond that him as fast doth binde. 
 The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take. 
 Thou vsurer that put'st forth all to vse. 
 And sue a friend, came debter for my sake. 
 So him I loose through my vnkinde abuse. 
 
 Him haue I lost, thou hast both him and me. 
 He paies the whole, and yet am I not free. 
 
 WHO euer hath her wish, thou hast thy Will, 
 And Will too boote, and Will in ouer-plus. 
 More then enough am I that vexe thee still. 
 To thy sweet will making addition thus. 
 Wilt thou whose will is large and spatious. 
 Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine, 
 Shall will in others seeme right gracious. 
 And in my will no faire acceptance shine : 
 The sea all water, yet receiues raine still. 
 And in aboundance addeth to his store. 
 So thou beeuig rich in Will adde to thy Will, 
 One will of mine to make thy large Will more. 
 Let no vnkinde, no faire beseechers kill, 
 Thinke all but one, and me in that one Will. 
 
Sonnets 73 
 
 IF thy soule check thee that I come so neere, 
 Sweare to thy blind soule that I was thy Will, 
 And will thy soule knowes is admitted there. 
 Thus farre for loue, my loue-sute sweet fullfill. 
 Will, will fulfill the treasure of thy loue, 
 I fill it full with wils, and my will one, 
 In things of great receit with ease we prooue. 
 Among a number one is reckoned none. 
 Then in the number let me passe vntold. 
 Though in thy stores account I one must be. 
 For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold. 
 That nothing me, a some-thing sweet to thee. 
 
 Make but my name thy loue, and loue that still. 
 And then thou louest me for my name is Will. 
 
 THOV blinde foole loue, what doost thou to mine eyes. 
 That they behold and see not what they see : 
 
 They know what beautie is, see where it lyes. 
 
 Yet what the best is, take the worst to be. 
 
 If eyes corrupt by ouer-partiall lookes. 
 
 Be anchord in the baye where all men ride. 
 
 Why of eyes falsehood hast thou forged hookes. 
 
 Whereto the iudgement of my heart is tide ? 
 
 Why should my heart thinke that a seuerall plot. 
 
 Which my heart knowes the wide worlds common place ? 
 
 Or mine eyes seeing this, say this is not. 
 
 To put faire truth vpon so foule a face ? 
 
 In things right true my heart and eyes haue erred. 
 And to this false plague are they now transferred. 
 
74 Shakespeares 
 
 138 
 
 WHEN my loue sweares that she is made of truth, 
 I do beleeue her though I know she lyes. 
 That she might thinke me some vntuterd youth, 
 Viilearned in the worlds false subtilties. 
 Thus vainely thinking that she thinkes me young. 
 Although she knowes my dayes are past the best. 
 Simply I credit her false speaking tongue. 
 On both sides thus is simple truth supprest : 
 But wherefore sayes she not she is vniust? 
 And wherefore say not I that I am old ? 
 O loues best habit is in seeming trust, 
 And age in loue, loues not to haue yeares told. 
 Therefore I lye with her, and she with me. 
 And in our faults by lyes we flattered be. 
 
 139 
 
 OCALL not me to iustifie the wrong, 
 That thy vnkindnesse layes vpon my heart, 
 Wound me not with thine eye but with thy toung, 
 Vse power with power, and slay me not by Art, 
 Tell me thou lou'st else-where ^ but in my sight, 
 Deare heart forbeare to glance thine eye aside, 
 What needst thou wound with cunning when thy might 
 Is more then my ore-prest defence can bide ? 
 Let me excuse thee ; ah my loue well knowes, 
 Her prettie lookes liaue beene mine enemies. 
 And therefore from my face she turnes my foes, 
 That they else-where might dart their iniuries : 
 Yet do not so, but since I am neere slaine. 
 Kill me out-right with lookes, and rid my paine. 
 
Sonnets 75- 
 
 140 
 
 BE wise as thou art cruell, do not presse 
 My toung-tide patience with too much disdaine : 
 Least sorrow lend me words and words expresse. 
 The manner of my pittie-wanting paine. 
 If I might teach thee witte better it weare. 
 Though not to loue, yet loue to tell me so. 
 As testie sick-men when their deaths be neere, 
 No newes but health from their Phisitions know. 
 For if I should dispaire I should grow madde. 
 And in my madnesse might speake ill of thee. 
 Now this ill wresting world is growne so bad, 
 Madde slanderers by madde eares beleeued be. 
 
 That I may not be so, nor thou belyde, 
 
 Beare thine eyes straight, though thy proudheartgoe wide. 
 
 141 
 
 IN faith I doe not loue thee with mine eyes. 
 For they in thee a thousand errors note. 
 
 But 'tis my heart that loues what they dispise, 
 
 Who in dispight of view is pleasd to dote. 
 
 Nor are mine eares with thy toungs tune delighted. 
 
 Nor tender feeling to base touches prone. 
 
 Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be inuited 
 
 To any sensuall feast with thee alone : 
 
 But my fiue wits, nor my fiue sences can 
 
 Diswade one foolish heart from seruing thee, 
 
 Who leaues vnswai'd the likenesse of a man. 
 
 Thy proud hearts slaue and vassall wretch to be : 
 Onely my plague thus farre I count my gaine, 
 That she that makes me sinne, awards me paine. 
 
7(J Shakespeares 
 
 142 
 
 IOVE is my sinne, and thy deare vertue hate, 
 ^Hate of my sinne, grounded on sinful! louing, 
 O but with mine, compare thou thine owne state. 
 And thou shalt finde it merrits not reproouing, 
 Or if it do, not from those lips of thine. 
 That haue prophan'd their scarlet ornaments, 
 And seald false bonds of loue as oft as mine, 
 Robd others beds reuenues of their rents. 
 Be it lawfull I loue thee as thou lou'st those, 
 Whome thine eyes wooe as mine importune thee, 
 Roote pittie in thy heart that when it growes. 
 Thy pitty may deserue to pittied bee. 
 
 If thou doost seeke to haue what thou doost hide. 
 By selfe example mai'st thou be denide. 
 
 143 
 
 IOE as a carefuU huswife runnes to catch, 
 _i One of her fethered creatures broake away. 
 Sets downe her babe and makes all swift dispatch 
 In pursuit of the thing she would haue stay : 
 Whilst her neglected child holds her in chace. 
 Cries to catch her whose busie care is bent. 
 To follow that which flies before her face : 
 Not prizing her poore infants discontent ; 
 So runst thou after that which flies from thee. 
 Whilst I thy babe chace thee a farre behind. 
 But if thou catch thy hope turne back to me : 
 And play the mothers part, kisse me, be kind. 
 So will I pray that thou maist haue thy Will, 
 If thou turne back and my loude crying still. 
 
Sonnets jj 
 
 144 
 
 TWO loues I haue of comfort and dispaire. 
 Which like two spirits do sugiest me still : 
 
 The better angell is a man right faire. 
 
 The worser spirit a woman collour'd il. 
 
 To win me soone to hell my femall euill, 
 
 Tempteth my better angel from my side. 
 
 And would corrupt my saint to be a diuel : 
 
 Wooing his purity with her fowle pride. 
 
 And whether that my angel be turn'd finde. 
 
 Suspect I may, yet not directly tell. 
 
 But being both from me both to each friend, 
 
 I gesse one angel in an others hel. 
 
 Yet this shal I nere know but Hue in doubt, 
 Till my bad angel fire my good one out. 
 
 145* 
 
 THOSE lips that Loues owne hand did make, 
 Breath'd forth the sound that said I hate. 
 To me that languisht for her sake : 
 But when she saw my woflill state. 
 Straight in her heart did mercie come. 
 Chiding that tongue that euer sweet. 
 Was vsde in giuing gentle dome : 
 And tought it thus a new to greete : 
 I hate she alterd with an end. 
 That follow'd it as gentle day. 
 Doth follow night who like a fiend 
 From heauen to hell is flowne away. 
 
 I hate, from hate away she threw. 
 
 And sauM my life saying not you. 
 
78 Shakespeares 
 
 POORE sou]e the center of my sinfull earth. 
 My sinfiill earth these rebbell powres that thee array, 
 
 Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth 
 
 Painting thy outward walls so costlie gay ? 
 
 Why so large cost hauing so short a lease. 
 
 Dost thou vpon thy feding mansion spend ? 
 
 Shall wormes inheritors of this excesse 
 
 Eate vp thy charge ? is this thy bodies end ? 
 
 Then soule liue thou vpon thy seruants losse. 
 
 And let that pine to aggrauat thy store j 
 
 Buy tearmes diuine in selling houres of drosse : 
 
 Within be fed, without be rich no more, 
 
 So shalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men. 
 And death once dead, ther's no more dying then. 
 
 MY loue is as a feauer longing still. 
 For that which longer nurseth the disease. 
 
 Feeding on that which doth preserue the ill, 
 
 Th'vncertaine sicklie appetite to please : 
 
 My reason the Phisition to my loue. 
 
 Angry that his prescriptions are not kept 
 
 Hath left me, and I desperate now approoue. 
 
 Desire is death, which Phisick did except. 
 
 Past cure I am, now Reason is past care. 
 
 And frantick madde with euer-more vnrest. 
 
 My thoughts and my discourse as mad mens are. 
 
 At randon from the truth vainely exprest. 
 
 For I haue sworne thee faire, and thought thee bright. 
 Who art as black as hell, as darke as night. 
 
Sonnets 79 
 
 148 
 
 OME ! what eyes hath loue put in my head, 
 Which haue no correspondence with true sight, 
 
 Or if they haue, where is my iudgment fled. 
 
 That censures falsely what they see aright ? 
 
 If that be faire whereon my false eyes dote, 
 
 What meanes the world to say it is not so ? 
 
 If it be not, then loue doth well denote, 
 
 Loues eye is not so true as all mens : no, 
 
 How can it ? O how can loues eye be true. 
 
 That is so vext with watching and with teares ? 
 
 No maruaUe then though I mistake my view. 
 
 The sunne it selfe sees not, till heauen cleeres. 
 
 O cunning loue, with teares thou keepst me blinde. 
 Least eyes well seeing thy foule faults should finde. 
 
 149 
 
 CANST thou O cruell, say I loue thee not. 
 When I against my selfe with thee pertake : 
 
 Doe I not thinke on thee when I forgot 
 
 Am of my selfe, all tirant for thy sake ? 
 
 Who hateth thee that I doe call my friend. 
 
 On whom froun'st thou that I doe faune vpon. 
 
 Nay if thou lowrst on me doe I not spend 
 
 Reuenge vpon my selfe with present mone ? 
 
 What merrit do I in my selfe respect. 
 
 That is so proude thy seruice to dispise. 
 
 When all my best doth worship thy defect. 
 
 Commanded by the motion of thine eyes? 
 
 But loue hate on for now I know thy minde. 
 Those that can see thou lou'st, and I am blind. 
 
8o Shakespeares 
 
 ij-o 
 
 OH from what powre hast thou this powrefull might. 
 With insufficiency my heart to sway. 
 To make me giue the lie to my true sight, 
 And swere that brightnesse doth not grace the day ? 
 Whence hast thou this becomming of things il. 
 That in the very refuse of thy deeds. 
 There is such strength and warrantise of skill. 
 That in my minde thy worst all best exceeds ? 
 Who taught thee how to make me loue thee more, 
 The more I heare and see iust cause of hate ? 
 Oh though I loue what others doe abhor. 
 With others thou shouldst not abhor my state. 
 
 If thy vnworthinesse raisd loue in me. 
 
 More worthy I to be belou'd of thee. 
 
 10VE is too young to know what conscience is, 
 u Yet who knowes not conscience is borne of loue ? 
 Then gentle cheater vrge not my amisse. 
 Least guilty of my feults thy sweet selfe proue. 
 For thou betraying me, I doe betray 
 My nobler part to my grose bodies treason, 
 My soule doth tell my body that he may. 
 Triumph in loue, flesh staies no farther reason. 
 But rysing at thy name doth point out thee. 
 As his triumphant prize, proud of this pride. 
 He is contented thy poore drudge to be 
 To stand in thy affaires, fall by thy side. 
 No want of conscience hold it that I call. 
 Her loue, for whose deare loue I rise and fall. 
 
Sonnets 8i 
 
 1/2 
 
 IN louing thee thou know'st I am fbrsworne, 
 But thou art twice forsworne to me loue swearing. 
 In act thy bed-vow broake and new faith tome, 
 In vowing new hate after new loue bearing : 
 But why of two othes breach doe I accuse thee. 
 When I breake twenty : I am periur'd most. 
 For all my vowes are othes but to misuse thee : 
 And all my honest faith in thee is lost. 
 For I haue swome deepe othes of thy deepe kindnesse : 
 Othes of thy loue, thy truth, thy constancie. 
 And to inlighten thee gaue eyes to blindnesse, 
 Or made them swere against the thing they see. 
 For I haue sworne thee faire : more periurde eye. 
 To swere against the truth so foule a lie. 
 
 CyPID laid by his brand and fell a sleepe, 
 A maide of DyaTts this aduantage found. 
 
 And his loue-kindling fire did quickly steepe 
 
 In a could vallie-fountaine of that ground : 
 
 Which borrowd from this holie fire of loue, 
 
 A datelesse liuely heat still to indure. 
 
 And grew a seething bath which yet men proue. 
 
 Against Strang malladies a soueraigne cure : 
 
 But at my mistres eie loues brand new fired. 
 
 The boy for triall needes would touch my brest, 
 
 I sick withall the helpe of bath desired, 
 
 And thether hied a sad distemperd guest. 
 
 But found no cure, the bath for my helpe lies, 
 Where Cupd got new fire ; my mistres eyes. 
 
82 Shakespeares Sonnets 
 
 THE little Loue-Cjbd-lylng once a sleepe, 
 Laid by his side his heart inflaming brand. 
 Whilst many Nymphes that vou'd chast life to keep, 
 Came tripping by ; but in her niaiden hand. 
 The fayrest votary tooke vp that fire. 
 Which many Legions of true hearts had warm'd. 
 And so the Generall of hot desire. 
 Was sleeping by a Virgin hand disarm'd. 
 This brand she quenched in a coole Well by. 
 Which from loues fire tooke heat perpetuall. 
 Growing a bath and healthfull remedy. 
 For men diseasd ; but I my Mistrisse thrall. 
 Came there for cure and this by that I proue, 
 Loues fire heates water, water cooles not loue. 
 
 Finis. 
 
A LOVERS COMPLAINT 
 
 Br 
 
 William Shakespeare 
 
 FROM oflF a hill whose concaue wombe reworded, 
 A plaintfull story from a sistring vale 
 My spirrits t'attend this doble voyce accorded. 
 And downe I laid to list the sad tun'd tale, 
 Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale 
 Tearing of papers breaking rings a twaine. 
 Storming her world with sorrowes, wind and raine. 
 
 Vpon her head a plattid hiue of straw. 
 
 Which fortified her visage from the Sunne, 
 
 Whereon the thought might thinke sometime it saw 
 
 The carkas of a beauty spent and donne. 
 
 Time had not sithed all that youth begun. 
 
 Nor youth all quit, but spight of heauens fell rage. 
 
 Some beauty peept, through lettice of sear'd age. 
 
 Oft did she heaue her Napkin to her eyne. 
 Which on it had conceited charecters : 
 Laundring the silken figures in the brine. 
 That seasoned woe had pelleted in teares. 
 And often reading what contents it beares : 
 As often shriking vndistinguisht wo. 
 In clamours of all size both high and low. 
 
 G 1 
 
84 A Lovers 
 
 Some-times her leueld eyes their carriage ride, 
 As they did battry to the spheres intend : 
 Sometime diuerted their poore balls are tide. 
 To th'orbed earth ; sometimes they do extend. 
 Their view right on, anon their gases lend. 
 To euery place at once and no where fixt. 
 The mind and sight distractedly commixt. 
 
 Her haire nor loose nor ti'd in formall plat, 
 
 Proclaimd in her a carelesse hand of pride ; 
 
 For some vntuck'd descended her sheu'd hat. 
 
 Hanging her pale and pined cheeke beside. 
 
 Some in her threeden fillet still did bide. 
 
 And trew to bondage would not breake from thence. 
 
 Though slackly braided in loose negligence. 
 
 A thousand fauours from a maund she drew. 
 
 Of amber christall and of bedded let. 
 
 Which one by one she in a riuer threw, 
 
 Vpon whose weeping margent she was set. 
 
 Like vsery applying wet to wet. 
 
 Or Monarches hands that lets not bounty fall. 
 
 Where want cries some ; but where excesse begs all. 
 
 Of folded schedulls had she many a one. 
 Which she perus'd, sighd, tore and gaue the flud, 
 Crackt many a ring of Posied gold and bone. 
 Bidding them find their Sepulchers in mud. 
 Found yet mo letters sadly pend in blood. 
 With sleided silke, feate and affectedly 
 Enswath'd and seald to curious secrecy. 
 
Complaint 8^ 
 
 These often bath'd she in her fluxiue eies, 
 
 And often kist, and often gaue to teare. 
 
 Cried O false blood thou register of lies, 
 
 What vnapproued witnes doost thou beare ! 
 
 Inke would haue seem'd more blacke and damned heare ! 
 
 This said in top of rage the lines she rents, 
 
 Big discontent, so breaking their contents. 
 
 A reuerend man that graz'd his catell ny. 
 Sometime a blusterer that the ruffle knew 
 Of Court of Cittie, and had let go by 
 The swiftest houres obserued as they flew. 
 Towards this afflicted fancy fastly drew : 
 And priuiledg'd by age desires to know 
 In breefe the grounds and motiues of her wo. 
 
 So slides he downe vppon his greyned bat ; 
 And comely distant sits he by her side. 
 When hee againe desires her, being satte. 
 Her greeuance with his hearing to deuide : 
 If that from him there may be ought applied 
 Which may her suffering extasie asswage 
 Tis promist in the charitie of age. 
 
 Father she saies, though in mee you behold 
 The iniury of many a blasting houre 5 
 Let it not tell your ludgement I am old, 
 Not age, but sorrow, ouer me hath power ; 
 I might as yet haue bene a spreading flower 
 Fresh to my selfe, if I had selfe applyed 
 Loue to my selfe, and to no Loue beside. 
 
8(f A Lovers 
 
 But wo is mee, too early I attended 
 A youthfull suit, it was to gaine my grace ; 
 O one by natures outwards so commended, 
 That maidens eyes stucke ouer all his face, 
 Loue lackt a dwelling and made him her place. 
 And when in his faire parts shee didde abide, 
 Shee was new lodg'd and newly Deified. 
 
 His browny locks did hang in crooked curies. 
 
 And euery light occasion of the wind 
 
 Vpon his lippes their silken parcels hurles, 
 
 Whats sweet to do, to do wil aptly find. 
 
 Each eye that saw him did inchaunt the minde : 
 
 For on his visage was in little drawne. 
 
 What largenesse thinkes in parradise was sawne. 
 
 Smal shew of man was yet vpon his chinne. 
 His phenix downe began but to appeare 
 Like vnshorne veluet, on that termlesse skin 
 Whose bare out-brag'd the web it seem'd to were. 
 Yet shewed his visage by that cost more deare. 
 And nice affections wauering stood in doubt 
 If best were as it was, or best without. 
 
 His qualities were beautious as his forme. 
 
 For maiden tongu'd he was and thereof free ; 
 
 Yet if men mou'd him, was he such a storme 
 
 As oft twixt May and Aprill is to see. 
 
 When windes breath sweet, vnruly though they bee. 
 
 His rudenesse so with his authoriz'd youth. 
 
 Did liuery falsenesse in a pride of truth. 
 
Complaint 87 
 
 Wei could hee ride, and often men would say 
 
 That horse his mettell from his rider takes 
 
 Proud of subiection, noble by the swaie. 
 
 What rounds, what bounds, whatcourse,what stop hemakes ! 
 
 And controuersie hence a question takes. 
 
 Whether the horse by him became his deed 
 
 Or he his mannadg, by th' wel doing Steed. 
 
 But qiiickly on this side the verdict went 
 His reall habitude gaue life and grace 
 To appertainings and to ornament, 
 Accomplisht in him-selfe not in his case : 
 All ayds them-selues made fairer by their place, 
 Can for addicions, yet their purpos'd trimme 
 Peec'd not his grace but were al grac'd by him. 
 
 So on the tip of his subduing tongue 
 All kiiide of arguments and question deepe, 
 Al replication prompt, and reason strong 
 For his aduantage still did wake and sleep. 
 To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weepe : 
 He had the dialect and different skil. 
 Catching al passions in his craft of will. 
 
 That hee didde in the general bosome raigne 
 Of young, of old, and sexes both inchanted. 
 To dwel with him in thoughts, or to remaine 
 In personal duty, following where he haunted. 
 Consent's bewitcht, ere he desire haue granted. 
 And dialogu'd for him what he would say, 
 Askt their own wils and made their wils obey. 
 
88 A Lovers 
 
 Many there were that did his picture gette 
 
 To serue their eies, and in it put their mind, 
 
 Like fooles that in th' imagination set 
 
 The goodly obiects which abroad they find 
 
 Of lands and mansions, theirs in thought assign'd. 
 
 And labouring in moe pleasures to bestow them. 
 
 Then the true gouty Land-lord which doth owe them. 
 
 So many haue that neuer toucht his hand 
 Sweetly suppos'd them mistresse of his heart : 
 My woiiill selfe that did in freedome stand. 
 And was my owne fee simple (not in part) 
 What with his art in youth and youth in art 
 Threw my affections in his charmed power, 
 Reseru'd the stalke and gaue him al my flower. 
 
 Yet did I not as some my equals did 
 Demaund of him, nor being desired yeelded. 
 Finding my selfe in honour so forbidde. 
 With safest distance I mine honour sheelded. 
 Experience for me many bulwarkes builded 
 Of proofs new bleeding which remaind the foUe 
 Of this false lewell, and his amorous spoile. 
 
 But ah who euer shun'd by precedent. 
 
 The destin'd ill she must her selfe assay. 
 
 Or forc'd examples gainst her owne content 
 
 To put the by-past perrils in her way ? 
 
 Counsaile may stop a while what will not stay : 
 
 For when we rage, aduise is often seene 
 
 By blunting vs to make our wits more keene. 
 
Complaint 89 
 
 Nor giues it satisfaction to our blood, 
 That wee must curbe it vppon others proofe. 
 To be forbod the sweets that seemes so good. 
 For feare of harmes that preach in our behoofe ; 
 O appetite from iudgement stand aloofe ! 
 The one a pallate hath that needs will taste. 
 Though reason weepe and cry it is thy last. 
 
 For further I could say this mans vntrue. 
 And knew the patternes of his foule beguiling. 
 Heard where his plants in others Orchards grew. 
 Saw how deceits were guilded in his smiling. 
 Knew vowes were euer brokers to defiling. 
 Thought Characters and words meerly but art, 
 And bastards of his foule adulterat heart. 
 
 And long vpon these termes I held my Citty, 
 Till thus hee gan besiege me : Gentle maid 
 Haue of my suflFering youth some feeling pitty 
 And be not of my holy vowes affraid, 
 Thats to ye sworne to none was euer said. 
 For feasts of loue I haue bene call'd vnto 
 Till now did nere inuite nor neuer vow. 
 
 All my oflFences that abroad you see 
 
 Are errors of the blood none of the mind : 
 
 Loue made them not, with acture they may be. 
 
 Where neither Party is nor trew nor kind. 
 
 They sought their shame that so their shame did find. 
 
 And so much lesse of shame in me remaines, 
 
 By how much of me their reproch containes. 
 
po A Lovers 
 
 Among the many that mine eyes haue seene. 
 
 Not one whose flame my hart so much as warmed, 
 
 Or my affection put to th' smallest teene, 
 
 Or any of my leisures euer Charmed, 
 
 Harme haue 1 done to them but nere was harmed, 
 
 Kept hearts in liueries, but mine owne was free. 
 
 And raignd commaunding in his monarchy. 
 
 Looke heare what tributes wounded fancies sent me. 
 
 Of palyd pearles and rubies red as blood : 
 
 Figuring that they their passions likewise lent me 
 
 Of greefe and blushes, aptly vnderstood 
 
 In bloodlesse white, and the encrimson'd mood. 
 
 Effects of terror and deare modesty, 
 
 Encampt in hearts but fighting outwardly. 
 
 And Lo behold these tallents of their heir. 
 With twisted mettle amorously empleacht 
 I haue receau'd from many a seueral faire. 
 Their kind acceptance, wepingly beseecht, 
 With th' annexions of faire gems inricht, 
 And deepe brain'd sonnets that did amplifie 
 Each stones deare Nature, worth and quallity. 
 
 The Diamond ? why twas beautifiill and hard. 
 Whereto his inuis'd properties did tend. 
 The deepe greene Emrald in whose fresh regard, 
 Weake sights their sickly radience do amend. 
 The heauen hewd Saphir and the Opall blend 
 With obiects manyfold ; each seuerall stone. 
 With wit well blazond smil'd or made some mone. 
 
Complaint 91 
 
 Lo all these trophies of affections hot, 
 
 Of pensiu'd and subdew'd desires the tender, 
 
 Nature hath chargd me that I hoord them not. 
 
 But yeeld them vp where 1 my selfe must render : 
 
 That is to you my origin and ender : 
 
 For these of force must your oblations be. 
 
 Since I their Aulter, you enpatrone me. 
 
 Oh then aduance (of yours) that phraseles hand, 
 Whose white weighes downe the airy scale of praise. 
 Take all these similies to your owne command. 
 Hollowed with sighes that burning lunges did raise : 
 What me your minister for you obaies 
 Workes vnder you, and to your audit comes 
 Their distract parcells, in combined summes. 
 
 Lo this deuice was sent me from a Nun, 
 Or Sister sanctified of holiest note. 
 Which late her noble suit in court did shun. 
 Whose rarest hauings made the blossoms dote. 
 For she was sought by spirits of ritchest cote. 
 But kept cold distance, and did thence renioue. 
 To spend her liuing in eternall loue. 
 
 But oh my sweet what labour ist to leaue. 
 The thing we haue not, mastring what not striues. 
 Playing the Place which did no forme receiue. 
 Playing patient sports in vnconstraind giues. 
 She that her fame so to her selfe contriues. 
 The scarres of battaile scapeth by the flight. 
 And makes her absence valiant, not her might. 
 
92 A Lovers 
 
 Oh pardon me in that my boast is true, 
 The accident which brought me to her eie, 
 Vpon the moment did her force subdewe. 
 And now she would the caged cloister flie : 
 Religious loue put out religions eye : 
 Not to be tempted would she be emur'd. 
 And now to tempt all liberty procur'd. 
 
 How mightie then you are. Oh heare me tell. 
 
 The broken bosoms that to me belong, 
 
 Haue emptied all their fountaines in my well : 
 
 And mine I powre your Ocean all amonge : 
 
 I strong ore them and you ore me being strong. 
 
 Must for your victorie vs all congest. 
 
 As compound loue to phisick your cold brest. 
 
 My parts had powre to charme a sacred Sunne^ 
 Who disciplined I dieted in grace, 
 Beleeu'd her eies, when they t' assaile begun. 
 All vowes and consecrations giuing place : 
 O most potentiall loue, vowe, bond, nor space 
 In thee hath neither sting, knot, nor confine 
 For thou art all and all things els are thine. 
 
 When thou impressest what are precepts worth 
 
 Of stale example ? when thou wilt inflame. 
 
 How coldly those impediments stand forth 
 
 Of wealth of filliall feare, lawe, kindred feme, (shame 
 
 Loues armes are peace, gainst rule, gainst fence, gainst 
 
 And sweetens in the suftring pangues it beares. 
 
 The Allots of all forces, shockes and feares. 
 
Complaint 
 
 Now all these hearts that doe on mine depend, 
 Feeling it breake, with bleeding groanes they pine. 
 And supplicant their sighes to you extend 
 To leaue the battrie that you make gainst mine. 
 Lending soft audience, to my sweet designe. 
 And credent soule, to that strong bonded oth, 
 That shall preferre and vndertake my troth. 
 
 This said, his watrie eies he did dismount. 
 Whose sightes till then were leaueld on my face. 
 Each cheeke a riuer running from a fount. 
 With brynish currant downe-ward flowed a pace : 
 Oh how the channell to the streame gaue grace ! 
 Who glaz'd with Christall gate the glowing Roses, 
 That flame through water which their hew incloses. 
 
 Oh Mher, what a hell of witch-craft lies. 
 In the small orb of one perticular teare ? 
 But with the invndation of the eies. 
 What rocky heart to water will not weare ? 
 What brest so cold that is not warmed heare, 
 O cleft effect, cold modesty hot wrath : 
 Both fire from hence, and chill extincture hath. 
 
 For loe his passion but an art of craft, 
 
 £uen there resolu'd my reason into teares, 
 
 There my white stole of chastity I daft, 
 
 Shooke off my sober gardes, and ciuill feares, 
 
 Appeare to him as he to me appeares : 
 
 All melting, though our drops this diflTrence bore. 
 
 His poison'd me, and mine did him restore, 
 
 95 
 
94 A Lovers Complaint 
 
 In him a plenitude of subtle matter, 
 
 Applied to Cautills, all straing formes receiues. 
 
 Of burning blushes, or of weeping water. 
 
 Or sounding palenesse : and he takes and leaues. 
 
 In eithers aptnesse as it best deceiues : 
 
 To blush at speeches ranck, to weepe at woes 
 
 Or to turne white and sound at tragick showes. 
 
 That not a heart which in his leuell came. 
 
 Could scape the haile of his all hurting ayme. 
 
 Shewing faire Nature is both kinde and tame : 
 
 And vaild in them did winne whom he would maime. 
 
 Against the thing he sought, he would exclaime. 
 
 When he most burnt in hart-wisht luxurie, 
 
 He preacht pure maide, and praisd cold chastitie. 
 
 Thus meerely with the garment of a grace. 
 The naked and concealed feind he couerd. 
 That th'vnexperient gaue the tempter place. 
 Which like a Cherubin aboue them houerd. 
 Who young and simple would not be so louerd. 
 Aye me I fell, and yet do question make, 
 What 1 should doe againe for such a sake. 
 
 O that infected moysture of his eye, 
 O that false fire which in his cheeke so glowd : 
 O that forc'd thunder from his heart did flye, 
 O that sad breath his spungie lungs bestowed, 
 O all that borrowed motion seeming owed. 
 Would yet againe betray the fore-betrayed. 
 And new peruert a reconciled Maide. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
Notes 
 
 2 1. 1 1 excuse :] excuse O 
 1. 14 could.] could, O 
 
 3 1. 8 loue,] loue O 
 
 y 1. 7 gon,] gon. Q^ (ut -vid.) 
 
 I. 8 where.] where, O {ut vid.) 
 
 6 I. 4 beauties] beautits b 
 
 7 1. J steepe-vp] steepe vp O 
 I. 1 3 noon,] noon : O 
 
 S \. 6 married,] married O 
 9 1. 10 it,] it O 
 
 10 1. I For shame] It Is tuual to put a point after ih^vae s but is 
 is not certain that this is not to corrupt the sense. 
 
 1. 2 vnprouident,] vnprouident O 
 
 11 1. 12 cherrish.] cherrish, p 
 
 12 L 4 all] or O 
 
 13 I. 7 Your selfe] You selfe O 
 
 14 1. 4 quallity ;] quallity, p 
 I J tell,] tell ; ^ 
 
 If 1. 2 moment :] moment, p 
 
 16 1. 14 skill.] skill, Q^ 
 
 17 1. 14 twise,] twise p it] it, _Q^ 
 
 18 1. 14 thee.] thee, _^ 
 
 19 1. J fleet'st] fleets conj. Dyce 
 1. 13 Time,] Time O^ 
 
 20 1. J rowling,] row ling : Q 
 1. 6 gazeth :] gazeth, p 
 
5>(f NOTES 
 
 21 I. 6 gems,] gems : O^ 
 1. 8 hems.] hems, O 
 
 23 1. 9 books] looks conj. Sewell 
 
 1. 14 with . . . wit] wit . . . wiht _p 
 
 24 1. I steeld] usually corrected to stelled. Cf. Lucrece 1444, 
 fenus and adonis 37^, and Mr. Wyndham's notes. 
 
 1. 3 'tis] ti's _p (rhefractice is not consistent j cf. 6z I. 13, 
 T'is; 97 L 13, 114 //. 9, 13, 121 /. X, tisj 8j /. 9, 'tis.) 
 I. 12 thee.] thee O ' 
 1. 13 art,] art Q 
 
 2 J U. 9, II worth . . . quite O; Theobald proposed to read 
 fight . . . quite or worth . . . forth The former emendation has been 
 universally accepted s but neither can be regarded as certain. 
 
 16 \. 12 thy] their O 
 
 I. 14 me.] me O 
 
 27 1. 10 thy] their O 
 
 28 1. 12 guild'st the eauen] guil'st th* eauen O (guildest th' 
 eauen seems less likely). 
 
 1.14 length] strength Otfc// iT/S. stronger.] stronger O 
 
 29 1. 4 fate,] fate. O 
 
 II. II, 12 Most editors remove the parentheses and punctuate 
 after earth ^ but the text is defensible. Brackets are often used in p 
 to guard against a grammatical ambiguity {cf. 30/. J ). 
 
 3 1 1. 8 there O: usually corrected to thee 
 
 3 2 1. 2 couer :] couer O 
 
 1. 3 re-suruay] re-suruay : Q 
 
 33 1, 3 greene,] greene O 
 
 1. 14 staineth] stainteh () 
 
 34 1. 12 crosse. Capell MS. : losse. O 
 3 J 1. 1 1 commence :] commence, Q 
 
 1. 14 me.] me, O 
 3^ 1. 8 delight.] delight, O 
 
NOTES 97 
 
 37 1. 7 their] thy Capell MS., and so most editors. The authority 
 of ^^on this particular point is extremely slight ^ but Mr. Wyndham 
 shows that their may he right here ,• see his note. 
 
 39 1. 3 bring?] bring; Oiut -vid.) 
 1. 4 thee ?] thee, O 
 
 1. 7 giue] giue : O 
 
 1. 1 2 dost] doth conj. Malone 
 
 40 1. 7 this] thy edd. 
 
 1. 14 spights,] spights Q^ 
 
 41 1. 8 he] she conj. Malone preuailed ?] preuailed. Q 
 1. 9 mighst] cf. g6 L 11 mighst, 100 /. 14 preuenst. 
 
 41 1. 8 her.] her, Q 
 
 43 1. 1 1 thy] their ^ 
 
 44 1. 4 stay.] stay, ^ 
 
 1. iz attend] attend, _0 
 1. 13 naught] naughts _0 
 
 4 J 1. 12 thy] their ^ 
 4(J 1. 3 thy] their ^ 
 
 1. 4 freedome] freeedome _Q^ 
 
 ]. 8 thy] their ^ 
 
 1. 1 3 thy] their O^ 
 
 1. 14 thy] their ^ 
 47 1. 10 are] perhaps a printer's error for art 
 
 1. II nor] usually corrected to not or no,- the change is 
 gratuitous. 
 
 49 1. 12 part.] part, ^ 
 5 1 1. 3 should] shoulld ^ 
 
 1. 6 slow ?] slow, ^ 
 
 ]. 10 perfect] perfects ^ perfect'st is also possible. 
 54 1. 14 by] my Capell MS., followed by modern editors ^ but 
 there seems no reason why distils should not be used intransitively. 
 
 5 J 1. I monuments,] monument, Q^ 
 
98 NOTES 
 
 y y 1. 7 burne] burne : _p 
 
 1. 9 all-obliuious] all obliuious p enmity] emnity O 
 
 ^6 1. II see] see : Q 
 
 1. 1 3 As] Or conj. Malone : Else conj. Palgrave s the text 
 is frobahly corrupt, but can be made to yield a meaning. 
 57 1. II SaueJ Saue Q 
 f 8 1. 7 tame] tame, Q 
 
 59 1. II where] jc;7. whether 
 
 60 I. f light,] light, p 
 6z 1. II read,] read Q 
 
 1. 12 louing,] loning Q iniquity.] iniquity Q 
 
 1.13 'Tis] T'is p^(c/. o» 14 /. 3) 
 
 6') 1. 12 oi con]. Malone : ot Q {it is just possible that ov = QXt 
 = o'er) 
 
 66 I. II simple Truth] simple-Truth O 
 
 1. 1 2 captiue good] captiue-good O 
 
 6% \. 7 a second] a scond Q head ;] head, Q 
 
 69 1. 3 due Tyrwhitt : end p 
 
 L 4 commend] Commend p 
 
 1. y Thy] Their p^ 
 
 1. 12 weeds.] weeds, Q 
 
 1. 14 soyle] solye p. rfce »/»«/ reading is solve j- but 
 soyle (which has the same sense, see quotations in Mr. JVyndham's note^ 
 is the simpler change. 
 
 70 h 6 Thy] Their O 
 
 1. 1 2 inlarged.] inlarged, O 
 
 7 1 1. I longer] Longer O 
 
 72 1. 2 loue,] loue O 
 
 73 1. 4 rnin'd] rn'wd O 
 
 74 1. I contented :] contented O 
 
 I. 12 remembred.] remembred, O 
 7$ 1. 14 away.] away, Q 
 
NOTES ^^ 
 
 76 1. 7 tel] fel Qj spell conj. Nkholsm. 
 1. 14 told.] told, Q 
 
 77 I 3 The] These Gife// MS. 
 1. 10 blancks] blacks p 
 
 79 1- 14 pay-] pay, p 
 
 80 1. 13 if] If^ 
 
 81 1. 8 lye.] lye, p 
 
 82 1. 14 blood;] blood, p 
 
 83 1. 8 grow.] grow, O 
 
 84 11. 1-2 .fl/dwjy e<i;V(,rj /»«« a mark^ of interrogation after most 
 in I. I ,- hut this gives the wrong sense. 
 
 1. 2 you ?] you, Q 
 
 1. 4 grew.] grew, Q^often punctuated grew ? But whose w 
 /. 3 is relative not interrogative') 
 8y I. 12 before.] before, Q 
 
 88 1. I disposde] dispode p 
 
 I. 8 shall] The correction shalt seems unnecessary. 
 
 89 1. 7 disgrace;] disgrace, p 
 1. 9 walkes ;] walkes Q 
 
 90 1. 3 bow,] bow. p (»« ■:/>(£.) 
 I. n shall] stall p* 
 
 91 1. 9 better] bitter Q 
 
 92 1. 13 blot'] blot, p 
 
 93 1. 2 husband :] husband p («» vid.') 
 
 9 J 1. 3 name !] name ; Q (but cf. U. 4, 12) 
 9^ 1. 1 1 mighst] See o» 4 1 /. 9 
 
 1. 1 2 state !] state ? p 
 97 11. 2—4 yeare ! . . . seene ! . . . where !] yeare ? . . . seene ; 
 . . . where ? Q (! seems to be normal in p, though sometimes replaced by ?) 
 <)^ I. 3 breath ? The] breath, the Q^ 
 
 L J died.] died, Q^ 
 
 1. 9 One] Our (^ 
 
100 NOTES 
 
 100 1. 4 light?] light. ^ 
 
 1. 14 preuenst] See o» 41 /. 9 
 
 102 I. I seeming,] seeming _0 
 
 1. 8 his] her conj. ffousman (183 f) 
 
 106' 1. li still] skill Cafell MS. s the emendation has been almost 
 universally accepted ; but the text may be sound s see Mr. Wyndham's 
 note. 
 
 108 1.3 now^ ferhafs a frint:rs error fornevf 
 
 109 1. y loue ;] loue, O 
 
 1. 8 staine.] staine, Q 
 
 no I. 8 loue.] loue, Q 
 
 1. 10 grinde] grin'de O 
 
 III 1. I with] wish O 
 
 1. 8 renu'de.J renu'de, O 
 
 III 1. 14 is usually corrected to TDethinks a.re dead or the likf s but 
 the result is not 'very satisfactory, and the text of O may be right. 
 
 113 1.6 htdaconj. Malone: Izck Q(cf. Macbeth,lV.m. i^^^ 
 
 I. 10 sweet sauor] sweet-sauor O 
 
 1. 13 more, repleat] more repleat O 
 
 117 1. 10 surmise] surmise, O 
 1. 14 loue.] loue Q 
 
 118 I. 4 purge :] purge. Q 
 
 1. 10 were not,] were, not Q 
 
 119 1. 10 is] is, Q better,] better. Q 
 
 121 1. II beuel,] beuel _p 
 
 122 1. I THY] T Thy Q^(ref eating T after the initial) 
 1 2 J \. 6 more,] more Q 
 
 I. 7 sweet ; Forgoing] sweet forgoing most editors j there 
 seems no suficient reason for altering the text. 
 
 1x6 after I. 12 O has double brackfts, as if to indicate the omission 
 of a couplet. 
 
 1. 2 sickle, hower] variously emended, but with no great success. 
 
NOTES 101 
 
 12^ 1. 7 skill,] skill. ^ 
 
 1. 8 time,] time ^ mynuits] mynuit O 
 
 127 1-4 shame :] shame, O 
 
 I. 9 Mistresse] Mistersse Q 
 
 II. 9-10 eyes . . . eyes] hairsj wires, brows, etc. have been 
 conjectured for eyes in I. 9 or in 1. 10. 
 
 128 1. II thy] their O 
 
 1. 1 1 thy fingers] their fingers p 
 
 129 ]. 3 blouddy,] blouddy O 
 
 1. 9 Madde] Made ^ in pursut] In pursut O 
 1. 1 1 proud a] proud and O 
 1. 12 dreame.] dreame, O 
 132 1. 2 torments 1^40 : torment p 
 I. 6 the East] th' East p 
 
 136 1.6 I] «;7. Ay 
 
 137 1- II notj] not p 
 
 1. 1 2 face ?] face, O 
 
 138 The version in The Passionate Pilgrim // as foUorvs : — 
 
 WHen my Loue sweares that she is made of truth, 
 I doe beleeue her (though I know she lies) 
 
 That she might thinke me some vntutor'd youth, 
 
 Vnskilfiill in the worlds false forgeries. 
 
 Thus vainly thinking that she thinkes me young. 
 
 Although I know my yeares be past the best : 
 
 I smiling, credite her false speaking toung, 
 
 Out facing faults in Loue, with loues ill rest. 
 
 But wherefore sayes my Loue that she is young ? 
 
 And wherefore say not I, that I am old ? 
 
 O, Loues best habite is a soothing toung. 
 
 And Age (in Loue) loues not to haue yeares told. 
 
 Therfore He lye with Loue, and Loue with me. 
 Since that our faults in Loue thus smother'd be. 
 
102 NOTES 
 
 138 1. 1 1 to haue 1J99 : t' haue ^ 
 140 1. 4 pittie-wanting] pittie wanting O^ 
 1. 1 3 belyde] be lyde O^ 
 
 143 1. II part,] part O^ 
 
 144 The -version in The Passionate Pilgrim it at foUotDt : — 
 
 TWo loues I haue, of Comfort, and Despaire, 
 That like two Spirits, do suggest me still : 
 My better Angell is a man (right faire) 
 My worser spirite a Woman (colonr'd ill.) 
 To winne me soone to hell, my Female euill 
 Tempteth my better Angell from my side. 
 And would corrupt my Saint to be a Diuell, 
 Wooing his purity with her faire pride. 
 And whether that my Angell be tumde feend. 
 Suspect I may (yet not directly tell : 
 For being both to me : both, to each friend, 
 I ghesse one Angell in anothers hell : 
 
 The truth I shall not know, but liue in doubt. 
 
 Till my bad Angell fire my good one out. 
 
 1. z still :] still, p 
 1. 3 faire,] faire ; O 
 1. 6 side 1J99 : sight O 
 14^ 11. l-z cannot be restored vith certainty i most editors regard 
 My sinfull earth in 1. 2 as due to dittografhy ; suf flying the gap rvith 
 some such words as Fool'd by (^Malone\ Foil'd by (^Palgrave"), etc. 
 Massey, followed by Wyndham, reads My sinful earth these rebel 
 powers array. See Mr. Dowden's note. 
 149 1. II eyes ?] eyes. Q 
 1 y I 1. 1 loue ;] loue, O 
 
 I J I 1-13 eye] usually corrected to I j but Q may possibly be 
 right, cf. 11. II, 12. 
 
KOTES 103 
 
 15:3 1. 14 eyes] eye O 
 154 1. 4 by;] by, (^ 
 
 I. 1 2 diseasd ;] diseasd, O 
 
 A Lover s Complaint 
 
 p. 83 1, 7 sorrowes {scil, sorrow's)] sorrowes, O 
 p. 84 1. 7 commixt] commxit O 
 p. 86 1. I attended] atttended Q^ 
 
 I. 2 suit,] suit p 
 p. 87 1. 4 course,] course p 
 
 1. 7 mannadg («>/. manege)] mannad'g Q th'] 'th p 
 makes !] makes p 
 p. 89 1. 12 vowes] vowes, P 
 
 1. 2 1 vow (vow) p : woo con], Dyce 
 
 1. 28 containes.] containes, p 
 p. 90 1. 3 th'] th, ^ 
 
 L 19 the] th' p 
 p. 92 II. 6, 7 emur'd . . . procur'd] enur'd . . . procure p. For 
 the form emure (=immure, Sildon's conjecture^ cf. Love's Labour's 
 Lost, III. i. 18. 
 
 1. 1 5 Sunne] nun conj. Malone 
 p. ^i 1. 17 But] Put P {ut -vid.) eyes,] eyes : p 
 
 1. 20 O] Or ^ 
 
Oxford 
 
 Printed at the Clarendon Press 
 
 By Horace Hart, M.A. 
 
 Printer to the University