Shakespeare
The Sonnets
William Shakespeare
Shakespeare
The Sonnets
William Shakespeare
G
P
Goretti Publications

Dozenal numeration is a syem of thinking of numbers in twelves, rather
than tens. Twelve is much more versatile, having four even divisors—, , ,
and —as opposed to only two for ten. This means that such hatefulness as
.. . . for
/
and “.. . . for
/
are things of the pa, replaced by
easy “;” (four twelfths) and “;” (two twelfths).
In dozenal, counting goes “one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine,
ten, elv, dozen; dozen one, dozen two, dozen three, dozen four, dozen five,
dozen six, dozen seven, dozen eight, dozen nine, dozen ten, dozen elv, two
dozen, two dozen one. . . It’s written as such: , , , , , , , , ,
,
, ,
, , , , , , , , ,
,
, , . . .
Dozenal counting is at once much more efficient and much easier than
decimal counting, and takes only a little bit of time to get used to. Further
information can be had from the dozenal societies (http://www.dozenal.org),
as well as in many other places on the Internet.
 (
) Donald P. Goodman III. Version .. The text is taken from
Google Books (http://books.google.com) and is in the public domain.
This document may be copied and diributed freely, as its text is in the public
domain.
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Contents
The Sonnets 
Sonnet
From faire creatures we desire increase . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
When fortie Winters shall beseige thy brow . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
Looke in thy glasse and tell the face thou vewe . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
Unthrifty lovelinesse why do thou spend . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
Those howers that with gentle worke did frame . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
Then let not winters wragged hand deface . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
Loe in the Orient when the gracious light . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
Mvsick to heare, why hear’ thou musick sadly . . . . . . . .
Sonnet
Is it for feare to wet a widdowes eye . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Sonnet
For shame deny that thou bear’ loue to any . . . . . . . . . .
Sonnet
As fa as thou shalt wane so fa thou grow’ . . . . . . . . .
Sonnet 
When I doe count the clock that tels the time . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
O That you were your selfe, but loue you are . . . . . . . . . . 
CONTENTS
Sonnet 
Not from the ars do I my iudgement plucke . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
When I consider euery thing that growes . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
But wherefore do not you a mightier waie . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Who will beleeue my verse in time to come . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Shall I compare thee to a Summers day . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Deuouring time blunt thou the Lyons pawes . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
A womans face with natures owne hand painted . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
So is it not with me as with that Muse . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
My glasse shall not perswade me I am ould . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
As an vnperfe aor on the age . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Mine eye hath play’d the painter and hath eeld . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Let those who are in fauor with their ars . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Lord of my loue, to whome in vassalage . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Weary with toyle, I haft me to my bed . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
How can I then returne in happy plight . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
When in disgrace with Fortune and mens eyes . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
When to the Sessions of sweet silent thought . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Thy bosome is indeared with all hearts . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
If thou suruiue my well contented daie . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
CONTENTS
Sonnet 
Full many a glorious morning haue I seene . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
Why did thou promise such a beautious day . . . . . . . . .
Sonnet
No more bee greeu’d at that which thou ha done . . . . . .
Sonnet 
Let me confesse that we two mu be twaine . . . . . . . . . .
Sonnet 
As a decrepit father takes delight . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Sonnet 
How can my Muse want subie to inuent . . . . . . . . . . .
Sonnet 
Oh how thy worth with manners may I singe . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Take all my loues, my loue, yea take them all . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
That thou ha her it is not all my griefe . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
When mo I winke then doe mine eyes be see . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
If the dull subance of my flesh were thought . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
The other two, slight ayre, and purging fire . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
Mine eye and heart are at a mortall warre . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is tooke . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
How carefull was I when I tooke my way . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Again that time (if euer that time come) . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
How heauie doe I iourney on the way . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Thus can my loue excuse the slow offence . . . . . . . . . . . 
CONTENTS
Sonnet 
So am I as the rich whose blessed key . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
What is your subance, whereof are you made . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Oh how much more doth beautie beautious seeme . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Not marble, nor the guilded monument . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Sweet loue renew thy force, be it not said . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Being your slaue what should I doe but tend . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
That God forbid, that made me fir your slaue . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
If their bee nothing new, but that which is . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Like as the waues make towards the pibled shore . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Is it thy wil, thy Image should keepe open . . . . . . . . . . .
Sonnet 
Sinne of selfe-loue possesseth al mine eie . . . . . . . . . . . .
Sonnet 
Again my loue shall be as I am now . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Sonnet 
When I haue seene by times fell hand defaced . . . . . . . . .
Sonnet 
Since brasse, nor one, nor earth, nor boundlesse sea . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Tyr’d with all these for refull death I cry . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Ah wherefore with infeion should he liue . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Thus is his cheeke the map of daies out-worne . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Those parts of thee that the world eye doth view . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
That thou are blamd shall not be thy defe . . . . . . . . . . 
CONTENTS
Sonnet
Noe longer mourne for me when I am dead . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
O lea the world should taske you to recite . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
That time of yeeare thou mai in me behold . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
But be contented when that fell are . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
So are you to my thoughts as food to life . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Why is my verse so barren of new pride . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Thy glasse will she thee how they beauties were . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
So oft haue I inuok’d thee for my Muse . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Whil I alone did call vpon thy ayde . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
O how I faint when I of you do write . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Or I shall liue your Epitaph to make . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
I grant thou wert not married to my Muse . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
I neuer saw that you did painting need . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Who is it that sayes mo, which can say more . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
My toung-tide Muse in manners holds her ill . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Was it the proud full saile of his great verse . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Farewell thou art too deare for my possessing . . . . . . . . .
Sonnet 
When thou shalt be dispode to set my light . . . . . . . . . . .
Sonnet 
Say that thou did forsake mee for some falt . . . . . . . . .
CONTENTS
Sonnet 
Then hate me when thou wilt, if euer, now . . . . . . . . . . .
Sonnet 
Some glory in their birth, some in their skill . . . . . . . . . .
Sonnet 
But doe thy wor to eale thy selfe away . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
So shall I liue, supposing thou art true . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
They that haue powre to hurt, and will doe none . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
How sweet and louely do thou make the shame . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonesse . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
How like a Winter hath my absence beene . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
From you haue I beene absent in the spring . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
The forward violet thus did I chide . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Where art thou Muse that thou forget so long . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Oh truant Muse what shalbe thy amends . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
My loue is rengthned though more weake in seeming . . . . 
Sonnet 
Alack what pouerty my Muse brings forth . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
To me faire friend you neuer can be old . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Let not my loue be cal’d Idolatrie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
When in the Chronicle of waed time . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
Not mine owne feares, nor the prophetick soule . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Whats in the braine that Inck may charaer . . . . . . . . . . 
CONTENTS
Sonnet 
O neuer say that I was false of heart . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Alas ’tis true, I haue gone here and there . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
O for my sake doe you with fortune chide . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Your loue and pittie doth th’impression fill . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Since I left you, mine eye is in my minde . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Or whether doth my minde being crownd with you . . . . . .
Sonnet 
Those lines that I before haue writ doe lie . . . . . . . . . . .
Sonnet 
Let me not to the marriage of true mindes . . . . . . . . . . .
Sonnet 
Accuse me thus, that I haue scanted all . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Sonnet
Like as to make our appetites more keene . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
What potions haue I drunke of Syren tears . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
That you were once vnkind be-friends mee now . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
Tis better to be vile then vile eeemed . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
Thy guift, thy tables, are within my braine . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
No! Time, thou shalt not bo that I doe change . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
Yf my deare loue were by the childe of ate . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
Wer’t ought to me I bore the canopy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
O thou my louely Boy who in thy power . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
In the ould age blacke was not counted faire . . . . . . . . . . 
CONTENTS
Sonnet
How oft when thou my musike musike play . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
Thexpence of Spirit in a wae of shame . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
My Mires eyes are nothing like the Sunne . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
Thou art as tiranous, so as thou art . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
Thine eies I loue, and they as pittying me . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groane . . . . . . 
Sonnet
So now I haue confe that he is thine . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
Who euer hath her wish, thou ha thy Will . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
If thy soule check thee that I come so neere . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
That blinde foole loue, what doo thou to mine eyes . . . . . 
Sonnet
When my loue sweares that she is made of truth . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
O call not me to iuifie the wrong . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet
Be wise as thou art cruell, do not presse . . . . . . . . . . . .
Sonnet
In faith I doe not loue thee with mine eyes . . . . . . . . . . .
Sonnet
Loue is my sinne, and thy deare vertue hate . . . . . . . . . .
Sonnet
Loe as a carefull huswife runnes to catch . . . . . . . . . . . .
Sonnet 
Two loues I haue of comfort and dispaire . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Those lips that Loues owne hand did make . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Poore soule the center of my sinfull earth . . . . . . . . . . . . 
CONTENTS
Sonnet 
My loue is as a feauer longing ill . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
O me! what eyes hath loue put in my head . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Can thou O cruell, say I loue thee not . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Oh from what powre ha thou this powrefull might . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Loue is too young to know what conscience is . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
In louing thee thou know’ I am forsworne . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
Cupid laid by his brand and fell a sleepe . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Sonnet 
The little Loue-God lying once a sleepe . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Introduction
T
he works of that poet
who, even after the passing of so many years,
and indeed of the very age of the language in which he wrote, is
ill referred to as simply “The Bard,” cannot be too carefully read
and valued. While his diion is archaic, his pronouns are unusual, and his
references outdated, his language is ill emphatically our language, and his
works are quite simply perfeion of their forms.
Indeed, William Shakespeare so thoroughly owned the literary form
of the sonnet that the particularly English-language form of that poem
which he produced has come to be known as the “Shakespearean sonnet.
(Originally, of course, the sonnet was pioneered by Petrarch, with a different
rhyming scheme more suitable to Petrarchs native tongue.) This set of 
(decimal ) sonnets is Shakespeares magnum opus, an incredible richness
of English-language poetry which can be profitably read and udied by the
modern citizen.
The sonnets in this work are reproduced more or less exaly from a fac-
simile edition produced by Oxford University in  (), a facsimile of
the original Quarto” edition published in London in
 (). This means
that the Bard’s poetry is reproduced in all its original splendor, including its
original foibles. A few notes about these foibles are appropriate.
Elizabethan spelling was, to put it gently, a crapshoot; people more or
less spelled words they way they sounded to them, combined with some very
inconsient notions about silent final vowels and other rules that had not
yet been firmed into a syem. As a result, Shakespeares spelling is quite a
bit more difficult than even our modern English spelling, itself legendary
for its opacity. It’s important to keep this in mind when reading these works.
Often, for example, one will encounter a final “e” that appears to serve
no purpose; one of the mo common examples is in the word “selfe. It truly
does serve no purpose; the word is pronounced precisely as our word “self”
is. One will also often see contraions spelled as if they were independent
words. The fir-person singular pronoun is always capitalized when by
itself, for example; however, in Sonnet  (page ), “I will” is contraed to
“ile. Pay attention to the sound, rather than to the spelling; this praice will
often serve to clarify otherwise difficult passages.
Furthermore, spelling is quite inconsient, and one will frequently en-
counter the same word spelled different ways from one page of these poems

 Introduion
to another, or even in the same sonnet. A common example is “sweet,” some-
times spelled in our modern form and sometimes spelled with a final “e.
There is nothing in this; both forms are pronounced the same. It is merely
something the reader mu learn to read pa. In Sonnet  on page ,
the word “tomorrow” is spelled in one place “to morrow” and in another
“too morrow,” with no apparent reason for, or even notice of, the difference.
One mu simply look pa these inconsiencies; the concern for “proper”
spelling we have today simply did not exi at that time.
However, some of Shakespeares spellings, however odd they may appear
to us, were deliberate and quite correby the andards of his time. The
moprominent example in this edition are the letters “u” and “v. The
letter “u” had the capital “V,” as did the letter “v. In lowercase, however,
these two letters were more or less consiently reversed from our modern
praice. So the reader will frequently encounter “loue” (“love”) and “giue
(“give”), but “vse” (“use”) and “vn-” (“un-”).
A similar situation exis with the letters “i” and “j. Simply put, the
letter “j” did not exi for Shakespeare; it was used somewhat in medieval
Latin, but it will not be found in his English. So many words, like “joy” and
“injurious,” are spelled with “i” in place of “j,” thus: “ioy” and “iniurious.
One mu learn to read “i” in a consonantal position as a “j.
With a little praice, the reader will quickly op noticing these diinc-
tion.
We have not left quite all of Shakespeares original printing inta, how-
ever. For example, evidently the printer of the Quarto edition did not have a
capital “W” in his box; it is uniformly printed inead as “VV.” This edition,
not suffering from this problem, uses simply “W.” Furthermore, while the
Quarto consienty uses the “long s,” we have removed this glyph entirely,
replacing it with the “round s” (which readers will recognize as our modern
“s”) throughout. While the “long s” has a long pedigree, it is never used in
modern printing, and serves merely to confuse the modern reader, particu-
larly with words that contain both it and an “f,” such as the very common
word “selfe.
We have also eliminated some archaic abbreviations, which are mercifully
pretty rare in the Quarto. One common one is a tilde-like squiggly over a
vowel to indicate a following “m (or “n”); an example is the final line in
Sonnet  on page , where the Quarto has the line being “Makes S
˜
omers”.
We have resolved all such abbreviations; so this line in our addition begins
“Makes Sommers”.
With these notes, we leave the reader to his poetry; we hope that these
Introduion 
immortal scribings of the Bard will be as enjoyable and profitable to him as
they have been to us.
The Sonnets
Sonnet
From faire 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 contraed to thine owne bright eyes,
Feed’ thy lights flame with selfe subantial sewell,
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 burie thy content,
And tender chorle mak wa in niggarding:
Pitty the world, or else this glutton be,
To eate the worlds due, by the graue and thee.
Sonnet
When fortie Winters shall beseige thy brow,
And digge deep trenches in thy beauties field,
Thy youthes proud livery so gaz’d on now,
Wil be a totter’d weed of smal worth held:
Then being askt, where all thy beautie lies,
Where all the treasure of thy luy daies;
To say within thine owne deepe sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame, and thriftlesse praise.
How much more praise deseru’d thy beauties use,
If thou could answere this faire child or mine
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse
Proouing his beautie by succession thine.
This were to be new made when thou art ould,
And see thy blood warme when thou feel’ it could.
Sonnet
Looke in thy glasse and tell the face thou vewe,

 The Sonnets
Now is the time that face should forme an other,
Whose fresh repaire if now thou not renewe,
Thou doo beguile the world, unblesse some mother.
For where is she so faire whose vn-eard wombe
Disdaines the tillage of thy husbandry?
r who is he so fond will be the tombe,
Of his selfe loue to op poerity?
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 liue remembred not to be,
Die single and thine Image dies with thee.
Sonnet
Vnthrifty louelinesse why do thou spend,
Vpon thy selfe thy beauties legacy?
Natures beque giues nothing but doth lend,
And being franck she lends to those are free:
Then beautious nigard why doo thou abuse,
The bountious largesse giuen thee to giue?
Profitles vserer why doo thou use
So great a summe of summes yet can not liue?
For hauing traffike with thy selfe alone,
Thou of thy selfe thy sweet selfe do deceaue,
Then how when nature calls thee to be gone,
What acceptable Audit can thou leaue?
Thy vnus’d beauty mu be tomd with thee,
Which vsed liues thexecutor to be.
Sonnet
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 reing time leads Summer on,
The Sonnets 
To hidious winter and confounds him there,
Sap checkt with fro and luie leau’s quite gon,
Beauty ore-snow’d and barenes euery where.
Then were not summers diillation left
A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glasse,
Beauties effe with beauty were bereft,
Nor it nor noe remembrance what it was.
But flowers diil’d though they with winter meete,
Leese but their show, their subance ill liues sweet.
Sonnet
Then let not winters wragged hand deface,
In thee thy summer ere thou be diil’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:
Thats 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 or thine ten times refigur’d thee,
Then what could death doe if thou should’ depart,
Leauing thee liuing in poerity?
Be not selfe-wild for thou art much too faire,
To be deaths conque and make wormes thine heire.
Sonnet
Loe in the Orient when the gracious light,
Lifts vp his burning head, each vnder eye
Doth homage to his new appearing sight,
Seruing with lookes his scred maiey,
And hauing climbd the eepe vp heauenly hill,
Resembling rong youth in his middle age,
Yet mortall lookes adore his beauty ill,
Attending on his goulden pilgrimage:
But when from high-mo pich with wery car,
The Sonnets
Like feeble age he reeleth from the day,
The eyes (fore dutious) now conuerted are
From his low tra and looke an other way:
So thou, thy selfe out-going in thy noon:
Vnlokd on die vnlesse thou get a sonne.
Sonnet
Mvsick to heare, why hear’ thou musick sadly,
Sweets with sweets warre not, ioy delights in ioy:
Why lou than that which thou receau not gladly,
Or else receau’ 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’ beare.
Marke how one ring 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.
Sonnet
Is it for feare to wet a widdowes eye,
That thou consum 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 ill weepe,
That thou no forme of thee ha 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 ill the world inioyes it
But beauties wae hath in the world an end,
And kept vnvsde the vser so deroyes it:
The Sonnets
No loue toward others in that bosome sits
That on himselfe such murdrous shame commits.
Sonnet
For shame deny that thou bear’ 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’ is more euident:
For thou art so posse with murdrous hate,
That gain thy selfe thou ick 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 lea kind harted proue,
Make thee an other selfe for loue of me,
That beauty ill may liue in thine or thee.
Sonnet
As fa as thou shalt wane so fa thou grow,
In one of thine, from that which thou departe,
And that fresh bloud which yongly thou beow,
Thou mai call thine, when thou from youth conuerte,
Herein liues wisdom, beauty, and increase,
Without this follie, age, and could decay,
If all were minded so, the times should cease,
And threescoore yeare would make the world away:
Let those whom nature hath not made for ore,
Harsh, featurelesse, and rude, barrenly perrish,
Looke whom she be indowd, she gaue the more;
Which bountious guift thou should in bounty cherrish,
She caru’d thee for her seale, and ment therby,
Thou should print more, not let that coppy die.
 The Sonnets
Sonnet 
When l doe count the clock that tels the time,
And fee the braue day sunck in hidious night,
When I behold the violet pa prime,
And sable curls or siluer’d ore with white:
When lofty trees I see barren of leaues,
Which er from heat did canopie the herd
And Sommers greene all girded vp in sheaues
Borne on the beare with white and brily beard:
Then of thy beauty do I queion make
That thou among the waes of time mu goe,
Since sweets and beauties do them-selues forsake,
And die as fa as they see others grow,
And nothing gain Times sieth can make defence
Saue breed to braue him, when he takes thee hence.
Sonnet 
O That you were your selfe, but loue you are
No longer yours, then you your selfe here liue,
Again 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
You selfe again after your selfes decease,
When your sweet issue your sweet forme should beare.
Who lets so faire a house all to decay,
Which husbandry in honour might vphold,
Again the ormy gus of winters day
And barren rage of deaths eternall cold?
O none but vnthrifts, deare my loue you know,
You had a Father, let your Son say so.
Sonnet 
Not from the ars do I my iudgement plucke,
And yet me thinkes l haue Aronomy,
The Sonnets 
But not to tell of good, or euil lucke,
Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons quallity,
Nor can I fortune to breese mynuits tell;
Pointing to each his thunder, raine and winde,
Or say with Princes if it shal go wel
By oft predi that I in heauen finde.
But from thine eies my knowledge l deriue,
And conant ars in them I read such art
As truth and beautie shal together thriue
If from thy selfe, to ore thou would conuert
Or else of thee this I prognoicate,
Thy end is Truthes and Beauties doome and date.
Sonnet 
When I consider euery thing that growes
Holds in perfeion but a little moment.
That this huge age 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 ate out of memory.
Then the conceit of this inconant ay,
Sets you mo rich in youth before my sight,
Where wafull 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.
Sonnet 
But 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 and you on the top of happie houres,
 The Sonnets
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 pupil pen)
Neither in inward worth nor outward faire
Can make you liue yourselfe in eies of men.
To giue away your selfe, keeps your selfe ill,
And you mu liue drawn by your owne sweet skill.
Sonnet 
Who will beleeue my verse n time to come
If it were fild with your mo 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 faces.
So should my papers (yellowed with their age)
Be scornd, like old men of lesse truth then tongue,
And your true rights be termd a Poets rage,
And retched miter of an Antique song.
But were some childe of yours aliue that time,
You should liue twise in it, and in my rime.
Sonnet 
Shall I compare thee to a Summers day?
Thou art more louely and more temperate:
Rough windes do shake the darling buds of Maie,
And Sommers lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heauen shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmd,
And euery faire from faire some-time declines,
By chance, or natures changing course vntrimd:
The Sonnets 
But thy eternall Sommer shall not fade,
Nor loose possession of that faire thou ow’,
Nor shall death brag thou wandr’ in his shade,
When in eternall lines to time thou grow’,
So long as men can breath or eyes can see,
So long liues this, and this giues life to thee,
Sonnet 
Deuouring 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 Phænix in her blood,
Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleet’,
And do what ere thou wilt swift-footed time
To the wide world and all her fading sweets:
But I forbid thee one mo 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 wor ould Time dispight thy wrong,
My loue shall in my verse euer liue young.
Sonnet 
A Womans face with natures owne hand painted,
Hae thou the Maer Miris 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 obie where-vpon it gazeth,
A man in hew all Hews in his controwling,
Which eales mens eyes and womens soules amaseth,
And for a woman wert thou fir created,
Till nature as she wrought thee fell a dotinge,
And by addition me of thee defeated,
 The Sonnets
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.
Sonnet 
So is it 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 faire doth reherse,
Making a coopelment of proud compare
With Sunne and Moone, with earth and seas rich gems:
With Aprills fir borne flowers and all things rare,
That heauens ayre in this huge rondure hems,
let me true in loue but truly write,
And then beleeue me, my loue is as faire,
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.
Sonnet
My 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 daies should expiate.
For all that beauty that doth couer thee,
ls but the seemely rayment of my heart,
Which in thy bre doth liue, 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’ me thine not to giue backe againe.
The Sonnets 
Sonnet
As an vnperfe aor on the age,
Who with his fear is put besides his part,
Or some fierce thing repleat with too much rage,
Whose rengths abondance weakens his owne heart;
So I for feare of tru, forget to say,
The perfe ceremony of loues right,
And in mine owne loues rength 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 bre,
Who pleade for loue, and look for recompence,
More then that tonge that more hath more expre.
O learne to read what silent loue hath writ,
To heare wit eies belongs to loues fine wit.
Sonnet 
Mine eye hath play’d the painter and hath eeld,
by beauties forme in table of my heart,
My body is the frame wherein ti’s held,
And perspeiue it is be Painters art.
For through the Painter mu you see his skill,
To finde where your true Image piur’d lies,
Which in my bosomes shop is hanging il,
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 bre, 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.
Sonnet 
Let those who are in fauor with their ars,
 The Sonnets
Of publike honour and proud titles bo,
Whil I whome fortuen of such tryumph bars
Vnlookt for ioy in that I honour mo;
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 viories once foild,
Is from the booke of honour rased quite,
And all the re forgot for which he toild:
Then happy I that loue and am beloued
Where I may not remoue, nor be remoued.
Sonnet 
Lord of my loue, to whome in vassalage
Thy merrit hath my dutie rongly 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 seem bare, in wanting words to show it;
But that I hope some good conceipt of thine
In thy soules thought (all naked) will beow it:
Til whatsoeuer ar that guides my mouing,
Points on me gratiously with faire aspe,
And puts apparrell on my tottered louing,
To show me worthy of their sweet respe,
Then may I dare to boa how I doe loue thee,
Til then, not show my head where thou mai proue me.
Sonnet 
Weary with toyle, I haft 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.
The Sonnets 
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 their shaddoe to my sightles view,
Which like a iewell (hunge in galy 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.
Sonnet 
How can I then returne in happy plight
That am debard the benifit of re?
When daies oppression is not eazd by night,
But day by night and night by day opre.
And each (though enimes oto ethers raigne)
Doe in consent shake hands to torture me,
The one by toyle, the other to complaine
How far I toyle, ill farther off from thee.
I tell the Day to please him thou art bright,
And do him grace when clouds doe blot the heauen:
So flatter I the swart complexiond night,
When sparkling ars twire not thou guil’ th’ eauen.
But day doth daily draw my sorrowes longer,
And night doth nightly make greefes length seeme ronger.
Sonnet 
When in disgrace with Fortune and mens eyes,
I all alone beweepe my out-ca ate,
An I 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,
Featur’d like him, like him with friends posse,
Desiring this mans art, and that mans skope,
 The Sonnets
With what I mo inioy contented lea,
Yet in these thoughts my selfe almo despising,
Haplye I thinke on thee, and then my ate,
(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 ate with Kings.
Sonnet 
When to the Sessions of sweet silent thought,
I sommon vp remembrance of things pa,
I sigh the lacke of many a hing I sought,
And with old woes new waile my deare times wae:
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 thexpence 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 reord, and sorrowes end.
Sonnet 
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 olne from mine eye,
As intere of the dead, which now appeare,
But things remou’d that hidden in there lie,
Thou art the graue where buried loue doth liue,
Hung with the tropheis of my louers gon,
Who all their parts of me to thee did giue,
The Sonnets 
That due of many, now is thine alone.
Their images I lou’d, I view in thee,
And thou (all they) ha all the all of me.
Sonnet 
If thou suruiue my well contented daie,
When that churle death my bones with du 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-ript 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 than this his loue had brought
To march in ranckes of better equipage:
But since he died and Poets better proue,
Theirs for their ile ile read, his for his loue.
Sonnet 
Full many a glorious morning haue I seene,
Flatter the mountaine tops with soueraine eie,
Kissing with golden face the meddowes greene;
Guilding pale reames with heauenly alcumy:
Anon permit the base cloudes to ride,
With ougly rack on his celeiall face,
And from the for-lorne world his visage hide
Stealing vnseene to we 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 aine, when heauens sun aineth.
The Sonnets
Sonnet
Why did 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 orme-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 ill the losse,
Th’ offenders sorrow lends but weake reliefe
To him tat beares the rong offenses losse.
Ah but those teares are pearle which thu loue sheeds,
And they are ritch, and ransome all ill deeds.
Sonnet
No more bee greeu’d at that which thou ha done,
Roses haue thornes, and siluer fountaines mud,
Cloudes and eclipses aine both Moone and Sunne,
And loathsome canker liues in sweete 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 than their sins are:
For to thy sensuall fault I bring in sence,
Thy aduerse party is thy Aduocate,
And gain my selfe a lawfull plea commence,
Such ciuill war is in my loue and hate,
That I an accessary needs mu be,
To that sweet theefe which sourely robs from me,
Sonnet 
Let me confesse that we two mu be twaine,
The Sonnets
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 respe,
Though in our liues a seperable spight,
Which though it alter not loues sole effe,
Yet doth it eale sweet houres from loues delight,
I may not euer-more acknowledge thee,
Lea 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.
Sonnet 
As a decrepit father takes delight,
To see his aiue childe do deeds of youth,
So I, made lame by Fortunes deare spight
Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth.
For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit,
Or any of these allk, or all, or more
Intitled in their parts, do crowned fit,
I make my loue ingrafted to this ore:
So then I am not lame, poore, nor dispis’d,
Whil that this shadow doth such subance giue,
That I in thy abundance am suffic’d,
And by a part of all thy glory liue:
Looke what is be, that be I wish in thee,
This wish I haue, then ten times happy me.
Sonnet 
How can my Muse want subie to inuent
While thou do breath that poor’ into my verse,
Thine owne sweet argument, to excellent,
For euery vulgar paper to rehearse:
 The Sonnets
Oh giue thy selfe the tankes if ought in me,
Worthy perusal and again thy sight,
For whos so dumbe that cannot write to te,
When thou thy selfe do giue inuention light?
Be thou the enth Muse, ten times more in worth
Then those old nine which rimer 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 daies,
The paine be mine, but thine shall be the praise.
Sonnet 
Oh how thy worth with manners 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 I praise thee,
Euen for this, let vs deuided liue,
And our deare loue loose name of single one,
That by this separation I may giue:
That due to thee which thou deseru’ alone:
Oh absence what a tormet would 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 do deceiue.
And that thou teache how to make one twaine,
By praising him here who doth hence remaine.
Sonnet 
Take all my loues, my loue, yea take them all,
What ha thou then more then thou had before?
No loue, my loue, that thou mai true loue call,
All mine was thine, before thou ha this more:
Then if for my loue, thou my loue receiue,
I cannot blame thee, for my loue thou vse,
But yet be blamd, if thou this selfe deceaue
The Sonnets 
By wilfull tae of what thy selfe refuse.
I doe forgiue thy robb’rie gentle theefe
Although thou eale 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 mu not be foes.
Sonnet 
Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits,
When I am some-time absent from thy heart,
Thy beautie, and thy yeares full well befits,
For ill temptacion 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 migh my seate forbeare,
And chide thy beauty, and thy raying youth,
Who lead thee in their ryot euen there
Where thou art for to breake a two-fold truth:
Hers by thy beauty tempting her to thee,
Thine by thy beautie beeing false to me.
Sonnet 
That thou ha her it is not all my griefe,
And yet it may be said I lou’d her deerely,
That she hath thee is of my wayling cheefe,
A losse in loue that touches me more neerely.
Louing offendors thus I will excuse yee,
Thou doo loue her, because thou know I loue her,
And for my sake euen so doth she abuse me,
Suffring 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,
 The Sonnets
Both finde each other, and I loose both twaine,
And both for my sake lay on me this crosse,
But heres the ioy, my friend and I are one,
Sweete flattery, then she loues but me alone.
Sonnet 
When mo I winke then doe mine eyes be see,
For all the day they view things vnrespeed,
But when I sleepe, in dreames they looke on thee,
And darkely bright, are bright in darke direed.
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?
hen in dead night their faire imperfe shade,
Through heauy sleepe on sightlesse eyes doth ay?
All dayes are nights to see till I see thee,
And nights bright daies when dreams do shew thee me,
Sonnet 
If the dull subance of my flesh were thought,
Iniurious diance should not op my way,
For then dispight of space I would be brought,
From limits farre remote, where thou doo ay,
No matter then although my foote did and
Vpon the farthe 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 mu attend, times leasure with my mone.
Receiuing naughts by elements so sloe,
But heauie teares, badges of eithers woe.
The Sonnets 
Sonnet 
The other two, slight ayre, and purging fire,
Are both with thee, where euer I abide,
The fir 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, appre with melancholie.
Vntill liues composition be recured,
By those swift messengers returnd from thee,
Who euen but now come back againe assured,
Of their faire health, recounting it to me.
This told, I ioy, but then no longer glad,
I send them back againe and raight grow sad.
Sonnet
Mine eye and heart are at a mortall warre,
How to deuide the conque of thy sight,
Mine eye, my heart their piures sight would barre,
My heart, mine eye the freeedome of that right,
My heart doth plead that thou in him doo lye,
(A closet neuer pear with chriall eyes)
But the defendant doth that plea deny,
And sayes in him their faire appearance lyes.
To side this title is impannelled
A que of thoughts, all tennants to the heart,
And by their verdi is determined
The cleere eyes moyitie, and the deare hearts part.
As thus, mine eyes due is their outward part,
And my hearts right, their inward loue of heart.
Sonnet
Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is tooke,
 The Sonnets
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 piure then my eye doth fea,
And to the painted banquet bids my hearts
An other time mine eye is my hearts gue,
And in his thoughts of loue doth share a part.
So either by thy piure or my loue,
Thy seife away, are present ill with me,
For thou nor farther then my thoughts can moue,
And I am ill with them, and they with thee.
Or if they sleepe, thy piure in my sight
Awakes my heart, to hearts and eyes delight.
Sonnet 
How carefull was I when I tooke my way,
Each trifle vnder true barres to thru,
That to my vse it might vn-vsed ay
From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of tru?
But thou, to whom my iewels trifles are,
Mo worthy comfort, now my greate griefe,
Thou be of deere, and mine onely care,
Art left the prey of euery vulgar theefe.
Thee haue I not lockt vp in any che,
Saue where thou art not though I feele thou art,
Within the gentle closure of my bre,
From whence at pleasure thou mai come and part,
And euen thence thou wilt be olne I feare,
For truth prooues theeuish for a prize so deare.
Sonnet 
Again that time (if euer that time come)
When I shall see thee frowne on my defes,
When as thy loue hath ca his vtmo summe,
Cauld to that audite by aduis’d respes,
The Sonnets 
Again that time when thou shalt rangely passe,
And scarcely greete me with that sunne thine eye,
When loue couerted from the thing it was
Shall reasons finde of setled grauitie.
Again that time do I insconce me here
Within the knowledge of mine owne desart,
And this my hand, again my selfe vpreare,
To guard the lawfull reasons on thy part,
To leaue poore me, thou ha the rength of lawes,
Since why to loue, I can alledge no cause.
Sonnet 
How heauie doe I iourney on the way,
When what I seeke (my wearie trauels end)
Doth teach hat ease and that repose to say
Thus farre the miles are measurde from thy friend.
The bea that beares me, tired with my woe,
Plods duly on, to beare that waight in me,
As if by some inin 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 thrus 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.
Sonnet 
Thus can my loue excuse the slow offence,
Of my dull bearer, when from thee I speed,
From where thou art, why shoulld I ha me thence,
Till I returne of poing is noe need.
O what excuse will my poore bea then find,
When swift extremity can seeme but slow,
Then should I spurre though mounted on the wind,
 The Sonnets
In winged speed no motion shall I know,
Then can no horse with my desire keepe pace,
Therefore desire (of perfes 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 wilfull slow,
Toward thee ile run, and giue him leaue to goe.
Sonnet 
So am I as the rich whose blessed key,
Can bring him to his sweet vp-locked treasure,
The which he will not eu’ry hower suruay,
For blunting the fine point of seldome pleasure.
Therefore are feas so sollemne and so rare,
Since sildom comming in the long yeare set,
Like ones of worth they thinly placed are,
Or captaine Iewells in the carconet.
So is the time that keepes you as my che,
Or as the ward-robe which the robe doth hide,
To make some speciall inant speciall ble,
By new vnfoulding his imprisond pride.
Blessed are you whose worthinesse giues skope,
Being had to tryumph, being lackt to hope.
Sonnet 
What is your subance, whereof are you made,
That millions of range 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 Sonnets 
The other are 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 conant heart.
Sonnet 
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 tinure 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 liue vnwood, and unrespeed fade,
Die to themselues. Sweet Roses doe not so,
Of their sweet deathes, are sweete odors made:
And so of you, beautious and louely youth,
When that shall vade, by verse diils your truth.
Sonnet 
Not marble, nor the guilded monument,
Of Princes shall out-liue this powrefull rime,
But you shall shine more bright in these contents
Then vnswept one, besmeer’d with sluttish time.
When waefull 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.
Gain death, and all obliuious emnity
Shall you pace forth, your praise shall il find roome,
Euen in the eyes of all poerity
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.
 The Sonnets
Sonnet 
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, which two contraed new,
Come daily to the banckes, that when they see:
Returne of loue, more ble may be the view.
As cal it Winter, which being ful of care,
Makes Sommers welcome, thrice more wishd, more rare.
Sonnet 
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;
Nor seruices to doe til you require.
Nor dare I chide the world without end houre,
Whil 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 queion with my iealious thought,
Where you may be, or your affaires suppose,
But like a sad slaue ay 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.
Sonnet
That God forbid, that made me fir your slaue,
I should in thought controule your times of pleasure,
The Sonnets 
Or at your hand th’ account of houres to craue,
Being your vassail bound to aie your leisure.
Oh let me suffer (being at your beck)
Th’ imprisond absence of your libertie,
And patience tame, to sufferance bide each check,
Without accusing you of iniury.
Be where you li, your charter is so rong,
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.
Sonnet
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 wack-ward looke,
Euen of fiue hundreth courses of the Sunne,
Show me your image in some antique booke,
Sine minde at fir in carreer wsa done.
That I might see what the old world could say,
To this composed wonder of your frame,
Whether we are mended, or hwere better they,
Or whether reuolution be the same.
Oh sure I am the wits of former daies,
To subies worse haue giuen admiring praise.
Sonnet 
Like as the waues make towards the pibled shore,
So do our minuites haen to their end,
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toiloe all forwards do contend.
Natiuity once in the maine of light,
The Sonnets
Crawles to maturity, where with being crownd,
Crooked eclipses gain his glory fight,
And time that gaue, doth now his gift confound.
Time doth transfixe the florish set on youth,
And delues the paralels in beauties brow,
Feedes on the rarities of natures truth,
Andnothing ands but for his sieth to mow.
And yet to times in hope, my verse shall and
Praising thy worth, dispight his cruell hand.
Sonnet 
Is it thy wil, thy Image should keepe open
My heauy eielids to the weary night?
Do thou desire my slumbers should be broken,
While shadowes like to thee do mocke my sight?
Is it thy spirit that thou send’ 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 Ielousie?
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 re defeat,
To plaie the watch-man euer for thy sake,
For thee watch I, whil thou do wake elsewhere,
For me farre of, with others all to neere.
Sonnet 
Sinne of selfe-loue possesseth al mine eie,
And all my soule, and al my euery part;
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 I all other in all worths surmount.
But when my glasse shewes me my selfe indeed
The Sonnets
Beated and chopt with tand antiquitie,
Mine owne selfe loue quite contrary I read
Selfe, so selfe louing were iniquity,
Tis thee (my selfe) that for my selfe I praise,
Painting my age with beauty of thy daies,
Sonnet 
Again my loue shall be as I am now
With 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 eepie night,
And all those beauties whereof now hes King
Are vanishing, or vanisht out of sight,
Stealing away the treasure of his Spring.
For such a time do I now fortifie
Again 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 seene,
And they shall liue, and he in them ill greene.
Sonnet 
When I haue seene by times fell hand defaced
The rich proud co of outworne buried age,
When sometime loftie towers I see downe rased,
And brasse eternall slaue to mortall rage.
When I haue seene the hungry Ocean gaine
Aduantage on he kingdome of the shoare,
And the firme soile win of the warry maine,
Increasing ore with losse, and losse with ore,
When I haue scene such interchange of ate,
Or ate it selfe confounded, to decay,
Ruine hath taught me thus to ruminate
That Time will come and take my loue away,
 The Sonnets
This thought is as a death which cannot choose
But weepe to haue, that which it feares to loose.
Sonnet 
Since brasse, nor one, nor earth,nor boundlesse sea,
But sad mortallin ore-swaies their power,
How with this rage shall beautie hold a plea,
Whose aion is no ronger than a flower?
O how shall summers hunny breath hold out,
Again the wrackfull siedge of battring dayes,
When rocks impregnable are not so oute,
Nor gates of eele so rong but time decayes?
O fearefull meditation, whose alack,
Shall times be Iewell from times che lie hid?
Or what rong hand can hold his swift foote back,
Or who his spoile or beautie can forbid?
O none, vnlesse this miracle haue might,
That in black inck my loue may ill shine bright.
Sonnet 
Tyr’d with all these for refull death I cry,
As to behold desert a begger borne,
And needie Nothing trimd in iollitie,
And pure faith vnhappily forsworne,
And gilded honor shamefully mispla,
And maiden vertue rudely rumpeted,
And right perfeion wrongfully disgrac’d,
And rength by limping sway disabled,
And arte made tung-tide by authoritie.
And Folly (Door-like) controuling skill,
And simple-Truth miscalde Simplicitie,
And captiue-good attending Captaine ill.
Tyr’d with all these, from these would I be gone,
Saue that to dye, I leaue my loue alone.
The Sonnets 
Sonnet 
Ah wherefore with infeion should he liue,
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 cheeks,
And eale dead seeing of his liuing hew?
Why should poore beautie indirely 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, liues vpon his gaines?
O him she ores, to show what welth she had,
In daies long since, before these la so bad.
Sonnet 
Thus is his cheeke the map of daies out-worne,
When beauty liu’d and dy’ed as flowers do now,
Before these-baard signes of faire were borne,
Or dur inhabit on a liuing brow:
Before the goulden tresses of the dead,
The right of sepulchers, were shorne away,
To liue a scond life on second head,
Ere beauties dead fleece made another gay:
In him those holy antique howers are seene,
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 ore,
To shew faulse Art what beauty was of yore.
Sonnet 
Those parts of thee that the worlds eye doth view,
 The Sonnets
Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend:
All toungs (the voice of soules giue thee that end,
Vttring bare truth, euen so as foes Commend.
Their 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 solye is this, that thou doe common grow.
Sonnet
That thou are blamd shall not be thy defe,
For slanders marke was euer yet the faire,
The ornament of beauty is suspe,
A Crow that flies in heauens sweete ayre.
So thou be good, slander doth but approue,
Their worth the greater beeing wood of time,
For Canker vice the sweete buds doth loue,
And thou present’ a pure vnayined prime.
Thou ha pa by the ambush of young daies,
Either not assayld, or vior beeing charg’d,
Yet this thy praise cannot be soe thy praise,
To tye vp enuuy, euermore inlarged,
If some suspe of ill maskt not thy show,
Then thou alone kingdomes of hearts should owe.
Sonnet
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 vilde wormes to dwell:
The Sonnets 
Nay if you read this line, remember not,
The hand that writ it, for I loue you so,
That I in your sweet thoughts woudl 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 let your loue euen with my life decay.
Lea the wise world should looke into your mone,
And mocke you with me after I am gon.
Sonnet 
O lea the world should taske you to recite,
What merit liu’d in me that you should loue
After my death (deare loue) for get me quite,
For you i 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 lea your true loue may seeme falce in this,
That you for loue speake well of me vntrue,
My name be buried where my body is,
And liue 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.
Sonnet 
That time of yeeare thou mai in me behold,
When yellow leaues, or none, or few doe hange
Vpon those boughes which shake again the could,
Bare rn’wd quiers, where late the sweet birds sange,
In me thou see the twi-light of such day,
As after Sun-set fadeth in the We,
Which by and by blacke night doth take away,
 The Sonnets
Deaths second selfe that seals vp all in re.
In me thou see the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lye,
As the death bed, whereon it mu expire,
Consumd with that which it was nurrisht by.
This thou perceu’, which makes thy loue more rong,
To loue that well, which thou mu leaue ere long.
Sonnet 
But be contented when that fell are,
With out all bayle shall carry me away,
My life hath in this line some intere,
Which for memoriall ill with thee shall ay.
When thou reuewe this, thou doe reuew,
The very part was consecrate to thee,
The earth can haue but earth, which is hie due,
My spirit is thine the better part of me,
So then thou ha but lo the dregs of life,
The pray of wormes, my body being dead,
The coward conque 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.
Sonnet 
So are you to my thoughts as food to life,
Or as sweet seasond showers are to the ground;
And for the peace of you I hold such rife,
As twixt a miser and his wealth is found.
Now proud as an inioyer, and anon
Doubting the filching age will eale his treasure,
Now counting be to be with you alone,
Then betterd that the world may see my pleasure,
Some-time all ful with feaing on your sight,
And by and by cleane arued for a looke,
Possessing or pursuing no delight
The Sonnets 
Saue what is had, or mu from you be tooke.
Thus do I pine and surfet day by day,
Or gluttoning on all, or all away.
Sonnet 
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 range?
Why write I ill all one, euer the same,
And keepe inuention in a noted weed,
That euery word doth almo fel my name,
Shewing their birth, and where they did proceed?
O know sweet loue I alwaies write of you,
And you and loue are ill my arguments
So all my be is dressing old words new,
Spending againe what is already spents
For as the Sun is daily new and old,
So is my loue ill telling what is told,
Sonnet 
Thy glasse will she thee how they beauties were,
Thy dyall how thy pretious mynuits wae,
The vacant leaues thy mindes imprint will beare,
And of this booke, this learning mai thou tae,
The wrinckles which thy glasse will truly show,
Of mouthed graues will giue thee memorie,
Thou by thy dyals shady ealth mai know,
Times theeuish progresse to eternitie.
Looke what thy memorie cannot containe,
Commit to these wae blacks, and thou shalt finde
Those children nur, 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.
 The Sonnets
Sonnet 
So oft haue I inuok’d thee for my Muse,
And found such faire assiance 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 tethers to the learneds wing,
And giuen grace a double Maieie.
Yet be mo proud of that which I compile,
Whose influence is thine, and borne of thee,
In others workes thou doo but mend the ile,
And Arts with thy sweete graces graced be.
But thou art all my art, and doo aduance
As high as learning, my rude ignorance.
Sonnet 
Whil I alone did call vpon thy aude,
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 is thee againe,
He lends thee vertue, and he ole 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 liue.
Then thanke him not for that which he doth say,
Since what he owes thee, thou thy selfe doo pay.
Sonnet 
O how I faint when I of you do write,
The Sonnets 
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 proude saile doth beare,
My sawsie barke (inferior farre to his)
On your broad maine doth wilfully appeare.
Your shallowe helpe will hold me vp a floate,
Whil 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 ca away,
The wor was this, loue was my decay.
Sonnet 
Or I shall liue your Epitaph to make,
Or you suruiue when I 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 worlde mu 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 ill shall liue (such vertue hath my Pen)
Where breath mo breaths, euen in the mouths of men.
Sonnet
I grant thou wert not married to my Muse,
And therefore maie without attaint ore-looke
The dedicated words which writers vse
Of their faire subie, blessing euery booke.
Thou art as faire in knoweldge as in hew,
 The Sonnets
Finding thy worth a limmit pa my praise,
And therefore art inforc’d to seeke anew,
Some fresher ampe of the time bettering dayes.
And do so loue, yet when they haue deuisde,
What rained touches Rhethorick can lend,
Thou truly faire, wert truly simpathizde,
In tru eplaine words, by thy true telling friend.
And their grosse painting might be better vs’d,
Where cheekes need blood, in thee it is abus’d.
Sonnet
I neuer 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 repor,
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 mo my glory being dombe,
For I impaire not beautie being mute,
When others would giue life, and bring a tombe.
There liues more life in one of your faire eyes,
Then both your Poets can in praise deuise.
Sonnet 
Who is it that sayes mo, which can say more,
Then this rich praise, that you alone, are you,
In whose confine immured is the ore,
Which should example where your equall grew,
Leane penurie within that Pen doth dwell,
That to his subie lends not some small glory,
But he that writes of you, if he can tell,
That you are you, so dignifies his ory.
Let him but coppy what in you is writ,
The Sonnets 
Not making worse what nature made so cleere,
And such a counter-part shall fame his wit,
Making his ile admired euery where.
You to your beautious blessings adde a curse,
Being fond on praise, which makes your praises worse.
Sonnet 
My toung-tide Muse in manners holds her ill,
While comments of your praise richly compil’d,
Reserue their Charaer with goulden quill,
And precious phrase by all the Muses fil’d.
I thinke good thougths, whil other write good wordes,
And like vnlettered clarke ill crie Amen,
To euery Himne that able spirit affords,
In polisht forme of well refined pen.
Hearing your praisd, I say ’tis so, ’tis true,
And to the mo of praise adde some-thing more,
But that is in my thought, whose loue to you
(Though words come hind-mo) holds his ranke before,
Then others, for he breath of words respe,
Me for my dombe thoughts, speaking in effe.
Sonnet 
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 ruck me dead?
No, neither he, not his compiers by night
Giuing him ayde, my verse aonished.
He nor that affable familiar gho
Which nightly gulls him with intelligence,
As viors of my silence cannot boa,
I was not sick of any feare from thence.
The Sonnets
But when your countinance fild vp his line,
Then lackt I matter, that infeebled mine.
Sonnet 
Farewell thou art too deare for my possessing,
And like enough thou know thy eimate,
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’, thy owne worth then not knowing,
Or mee to whom thou gau’ it, else miaking,
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,k but waking no such matter.
Sonnet 
When thou shalt be dispode to set me light,
And place my merrit in the eie of skorne,
Vpon thy side, again my selfe ile fight,
And proue thee virtuous, though thou art forsworne:
With mine owne weakenesse being be acquainted,
Vpon thy part I can set downe a ory
Of faults conceald, wherein I am attainted:
That thou in loosing me shall win my glory:
And I by this will 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.
The Sonnets
Sonnet 
Say that thou did forsake mee for some falt,
And I will comment vpon that offence,
Speake of my lamenesse, and I raight will halt:
Again thy reasons making no defence.
Thou can 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 rangle and looke range:
Be absent from thy walkes and in my tongue,
Thy sweet beloued name no more shall dwell,
Lea I (too much prophane) should do it wronge:
And haplie of our old acquaintance tell.
For thee, again my selfe ile vow debate,
For I mu nere loue him whom thou do hate.
Sonnet 
Then hate me when thou wilt, if euer, now,
Now while the world is bent my deeds to crosse,
Ioyne 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.
If thou wilt leaue me, do not leaue me la,
When other pettie griefes haue done their spight,
But in the onset come, so all I tae
At fir the very wor of fortunes might.
And other raines of woe, which now seeme woe,
Compar’d with losse of thee, will not seeme so.
Sonnet 
Some glory in their birth, some in their skill,
Some in their wealth, some in their bodies force,
 The Sonnets
Some in their garments though new-fangled ill:
Some in the Hawkes and Hounds, some in their Horse.
And euery humor hath his adiun pleasure,
Wherein it findes a ioy aboue the re,
But these perticulers are not my measure,
All these I better in one generall be.
Thy loue is bitter then high birth to me,
Richer than wealth, prouder than garments coft,
Of more delight then Hawkes or Horses bee:
And hauing thee, of all mens pride I boa.
Wretched in this alone, that thou mai take,
All this away, and me mo wretched make.
Sonnet 
But doe thy wor to eale thy selfe away,
For tearme of life thou art assured mine,
And life no longer then thy loue will ay,
For it depends vpon that loue of thine.
Then need I not to feare the wor of wrongs,
When in the lea of them my life hath end,
I see, a better ate to me belongs
Then that, which on thy humor doth depend.
Thou can not vex me with inconant minde,
Since that my life on thy reuolt doth lie,
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 mai be falce, and yet I know it not.
Sonnet 
So shall I live, supposing thou art true,
Like a deceiued husband so loues face,
May ill 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,
The Sonnets 
Therefore in that I cannot know thy change,
In manies lookes, the falce hearts hiory
Is writ in moods and frounes and wrinckles range.
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 apple doth thy beauty grow,
If thy sweet vertue answere not thy show.
Sonnet
They that haue powre to hurt, and will doe none,
That doe not do the thing, they mo do showe,
Who mouing others, are themselues as one,
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 ewards 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 infeion meete,
The base weed out-braues his dignity:
For sweete things turne sowre by their deeds,
Lillies that feer, smell far worse than weeds.
Sonnet
How sweet and louely do thou make the same,
Which like a canker in the fragrant Rose,
Doth spot the beautie of thy budding name?
Oh in what sweets doe thou thy sinnes inclose!
That tongue that tells the ory of thy daies,
(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,
 The Sonnets
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 harde knife ill vs’d doth loose his edge.
Sonnet 
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 mak faults graces, that to thee resort:
As on the finger of a throned Queene,
The base Iewell will be well eeemd:
So are those errors that in thee are seene,
To truths translated, and for true things deemd.
How many Lambs might the erne Wolfe betray,
If like a Lambe he could his lookes translate.
How many gazers migh thou lead away,
If thou would vse the rength of all thy ate?
But doe not so, I loue thee in such sort,
As thou being mine, mine is thy good report.
Sonnet 
How like a Winter hath my absence beene
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting yeare?
What freezings haue I felt, what darke daies seene?
What old Decembers barenesse euery where?
And yet this time remou’d was sommers time,
The teeming Autumne big with ritch increase,
Bearing the wanton burthen of the prime,
Like widdowed wombes after their Lords decease:
Yet this aboundant issue seemd 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.
The Sonnets 
Or if they sing, tis with so dull a cheere,
That leaues looke pale, dreading the Winters neere.
Sonnet 
From you haue I beene absent in the spring,
When proud pide Aprill (dre in all his trim)
Hath put a spirit of youth in euery thing:
That heauie Saturne laugt and leapt with him.
Yet nor the laies of birds, nor the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odor and in hew,
Could make me any summers ory 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 seemd it Winter ill, and you away,
As with your shaddow I with these did play.
Sonnet 
The forward violet thus did I chide,
Sweet theese whence did thou eale thy sweet that smels
If not from my loues breath, the purple pride,
Which on thy soft cheeke for complexion dwells?
In my loues veines thou ha too grosely died,
The Lillie I condemned for thy hand,
And buds of marierom had olne thy haire,
The Roses fearefully on thornes did and,
Our bleshing shame an other white dispaire:
A third nor red, nor white, had olne of both,
And to his robbry had annext thy breath,
But for his theft in pride of all his growth
A vengfull canker eate him vp to death.
More flowers I noted, yet I none could see,
But sweet, or culler it had olne from thee.
 The Sonnets
Sonnet 
Where art thou Muse that thou forget so long,
To speake of that which giues thee all thy might?
Spend thou thy furie on some worthlesse songe,
Darkning thy powre to lend base subies light.
Returne forgetfull Muse, and raight redeeme,
In gentle numbers time so idely spent,
Sing to the eare that doth thy laies eeeme,
And giues thy pen both skill and argument.
Rise rey Muse, my loues sweet face 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 faer then time was life,
So thou preuen his sieth, and crooked knife,
Sonnet 
Oh truant Muse what shalbe thy amends,
For thy negle of truth in beauty di’d?
Both truth and beauty on my loue depends:
So do thou too, and therein dignifi’d:
Make answere Muse, wilt thou not haply saie,
Truth needs no collour with his collour fixt,
Beautie no pensell, beauties truth to lay:
But be is be, 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-liue 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.
Sonnet 
My loue is rengthned though more weake in seeming
The Sonnets 
I loue not lesse, thogh lesse the show appeare,
That loue is marchandiz’d, whose ritch eeeming,
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 Philomell in summers front doth singe,
And ops his pipe in growth of riper daies:
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.
Sonnet 
Alack what pouerty my Muse brings forth,
That 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 riuing to mend,
To marre the subie 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,
And your owne glasse showes you, when you looke in it.
Sonnet 
To me faire friend you neuer can be old,
For as you were when fir your eye I eyde,
Such seemes your beautie ill: Three Winters colde,
Haue from the forres shooke three summers pride,
 The Sonnets
Three beautious springs to yellow Autumne turnd,
In processe of the seasons haue I seene,
Three Aprill perfumes in three hot Iunes burnd,
Since fir 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 ill doth and
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.
Sonnet 
Let not my loue be cal’d Idolatrie,
Nor my beloued as an Idoll show,
Since all alike my songs and praises be
To one, of one, ill such, and euer so.
Kinde is my loue to day, to morrow kinde,
Still conant in a wondrous excellence,
Therefore my verse to conancie confinde,
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.
Sonnet
When in the Chronicle of waed time,
I see discriptions of the faire wights,
And beautie making beautifull old rime,
In praise of Ladies dead, and louely Knights,
Then in the blazon of sweet beauties be,
Of hand, of foote, of lip, of eye, of brow,
I see their antique Pen would haue expre,
The Sonnets 
Euen such a beauty as you maier 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 ill enough your worth to sing:
For we which now behold these present dayes,
Haue eyes to wonder, but lack toungs to praise.
Sonnet
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 confind 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 mo balmie time,
My loue lookes fresh, and death to me subscribes,
Since spight of him Ile liue in this poor rime,
While he insults ore dull and speachlesse tribes.
And thou in this shalt finde thy monument,
When tyrants cres and tombs of brasse are spent.
Sonnet 
Whats in the braine that Inck may charaer,
Which hath not figur’d to thee my true spirit,
Whats new to speake, what now to regier,
That may expresse my loue, or thy deare merit?
Nothing sweet boy, but yet like prayers diuine,
I mu each day say ore the very same,
Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine,
Euen as when fir I hallowed thy faire name.
So that eternall loue in loues fresh case,
Waighes not the du and iniury of age,
 The Sonnets
Nor giues to necessary wrinckles place,
But makes antiquities for aye his page,
Finding the fir conceit of loue there bred,
Where time and outward forme would shew it dead.
Sonnet 
O neuer say that I was false of heart,
Though absence seemd my flame to quallifie,
As easie might I from my selfe depart,
As from my soule which in thy bre doth lye:
That is my home of loue, if I haue rang’d,
Like him that trauels I returne againe,
Iu to the time, not with the time exchang’d,
So that my selfe bring water for my aine,
Neuer beleeue though in my nature raignd,
All frailties that besiege all kindes of blood,
That it could so prepoerouslie be aind,
To leaue for nothing all thy summe of good:
For nothing this wide Vniuerse I call,
Saue thou my Rose, in it thou art my all.
Sonnet 
Alas ’tis true, I haue gone here and there,
And made my selfe a motley to the view,
Gor’d mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is mo deare,
Made old offences of affeions new.
Mo true it is, that I haue lookt on truth
Asconce and rangely: But by all aboue,
These blenches gaue my heart an other youth,
And worse essaies prou’d thee my be 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 confind.
Then giue me welcome, next my heauen the be,
Euen to thy pure and mo mo louing bre.
The Sonnets 
Sonnet 
O for my sake doe you with fortune chide,
The guiltie 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 almo thence my nature is subdu’d
To what it workes in, like the Dyers hand,
Pitty me then, and wish I were renu’de,
Whil like a willing pacient I will drinke,
Potions of Eysell gain my rong infeion,
No bitternesse that I will bitter thinke,
Nor double pennance to corre correion.
Pittie me then deare friend, and I assure yee,
Euen that your pittie is enough to cure mee.
Sonnet 
Your loue and pittie doth th’impression fill,
Which vulgar scandall ampt 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 mu riue,
To know my shames and praises from your tounge,
None else to me, nor I to none aliue,
That my eel’d sence or changes right or wrong,
In so profound Abisme I through all care
Of others voyces, that my Adders sence,
To cryttick and to flatterer opped are:
Marke how with my negle I doe dispence.
You are so rongly in my purpose bred,
That all the world besides me thinkes y’are dead.
Sonnet 
Since I left you, mine eye is in my minde,
The Sonnets
And that which gouernes me to goe about,
Doth part his funion, and is partly blind,
Seemes seeing, but effeually is out:
For it no forme deliuers to the heart
Of bird, of flowre, or shape which it doth lack,
Of his quick obies hath the minde no part,
Nor his owne vision houlds what it doth catch:
For if it see the rud’ or gentle fight,
The mo sweet-savor or deformed creature,
The mountaine, or the sea, the day, or night:
The Croe, or Doue, it shapes them to your feature.
Incapable of more repleat, with you,
My mo true minde thus maketh mine vntrue.
Sonnet 
Or whether doth my minde being crownd 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 Alcumie?
To make of moners, and things indige,
Such cherubines as your sweet selfe resemble,
Creating euery bad a perfe be
As fa as obies to his beames assemble:
Oh tis the fir, tis glatry in my seeing,
And my great minde mo kingly drinkes it vp,
Mine eie well knowes what with his gu is greeing,
And to his pallat doth prepare the cup.
If it be poisond, tis the lesser sinne,
That mine eye loues it and doth fir beginne.
Sonnet 
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 mo full flame should afterwards burne cleerer.
The Sonnets
But reckening time, whose milliond accidents
Creepe in twixt vowes, and change decrees of Kings,
Tan sacred beautie, blunt the sharp intents,
Diuert rong mindes to th’ course of altring things:
Alas why fearing of times tiranie,
Might I not then say now I loue you be,
When I was certaine ore in-certainty,
Crowning the present, doubting of the re:
Loue is a Babe, then might I not say so
To giue full growth to that which ill doth grow.
Sonnet 
Let me not to the marriage of true mindes
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 tempes and is neuer shaken;
It is the ar 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 my proued,
I neuer writ, not no man euer loued.
Sonnet 
Accuse me thus, that I haue scanted all,
Wherein I should your great deserts repay,
Forgot vpon your deare 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 hoied saile to al the windes
Which should transport me farthe from your sight.
 The Sonnets
Booke both my wilfulnesse and errors downe,
And on iu 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 riue to prooue
The conancy and virtue of your loue.
Sonnet
Like as to make our appetites more keene
With eagr 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 pollitie in loue tanticipate
The ills that were, not grew to faults assured,
And brought to medicine a healthfull ate
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.
Sonnet
What potions haue I drunke of Syren teares
Diil’d from Lymbecks soule as hell within,
Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to feares,
Still loosing when I saw my selfe to win?
What wretched errors hath my heart committed,
Whil it hath thought it selfe so blessed neuer?
How haue mine eies out of their Spheares bene fitted
In the diraion of this madding feuer?
O benefit of ill, now I find true
That better is, by euil ill made better.
And ruind loue when it is built anew
The Sonnets 
Growes fairer then at fir, more rong, far greater.
So I returne rebukt to my content,
And gaine by ills thrise more than I haue spent.
Sonnet
That you were once vnkind be-friends mee now,
And for that sorrow, which I then didde feele,
Needes mu I vnder my transgression bow,
Vnlesse my Nerues were brasse or hammered eele.
For if you were by my vnkindnesse shaken
As I by yours, y’haue pa a hell of Time,
And I a tyrant haue no leasure taken
To waigh how once I suffered in your crime.
O that our night of wo might haue remembred
My deepe 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 mu ransome mee.
Sonnet
Tis better to be vile then vile eeemed,
When not to be, receiues reproach of being,
And the iu pleasure lo, 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,
I may be raight though they them-selues be beuel
By their rancke thoughtes, my deeds mu not be shown
Vnlesse this generall euill they maintaine,
All men are bad and in their badnesse raigne.
 The Sonnets
Sonnet
Thy guift, thy tables, are within my braine
Full charaerd with laing memory,
Which shall aboue that idle rancke remaine
Beyond all date euen to eternity.
Or at the lea, so long as braine and heart
Haue facultie by nature to subsi,
Til each to raz’d obliuion yeeld his part
Of thee, thy record neuer can be mi:
That poor 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 tru those tables that receaue thee more,
To keepe an adiunckt to remember thee,
Were to import forgetfulnesse in mee.
Sonnet
No! Time, thou shalt not bo that I doe change,
Thy pyramyds buylt vp with newer might
To me are nothing nouell, nothing range,
They are but dressings of a former sight:
Our dates are breefe, and therefor we admire,
What thou do foy vpon vs that it ould,
And rather make them borne to our desire,
Then thinke that we before haue heard them tould:
Thy rgiers and thee I both defie,
Not wondring at the present, nor the pa.
For thy records, and what we see doth lye,
Made more or les by thy continuall ha:
This I doe vow and this shall euer be,
I will be true dispight thy syeth and thee.
Sonnet
Yf my deare loue were but the childe of ate,
The Sonnets 
It might for fortunes baerd be vnfathered,
As subie to times loue, or to times hate,
Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gatherd,
No it was buylded far from accident,
It suffers not in smilinge pomp, nor falls
Vnder the blow of thralled discontent,
Whereto th’inuiting time our fashion calls:
It fears that policy that Heriticke,
Which workes on leases of short numbred howers,
But all alone ands hugely pollitick,
That it nor growes with heat, nor drownes with showres.
To this I witnes call the foles of time,
Which die for goodnes, who haue liu’d for crime.
Sonnet
Wer’t ought to me I bore the canopy,
With my extern the outward honoring,
Or laid great bases for eternity,
Which proues more short than wa or ruining?
Haue I not seene dweelers one forme and fauor
Lose all, and more by paying too much rent
For compound sweet; Forgoing simple sauor,
Pittifull thriuors in their gazing spent.
Noe, let me be obsequious in thy heart,
And take thou my oblaccion, poore but free,
Which is not mixt with seconds, knows no art,
But mutuall render, onely me for thee.
Hence, thou subbornd Informer, a trew soule
When mo impeacht, ands lea in thy controule.
Sonnet
O thou my louely Boy who in thy power,
Doe hould times sickle glasse, his sickle, hower:
Who ha by wayning growne, and therein shou’,
Thy louers withering, as thy sweet selfe grow’.
 The Sonnets
If Nature (soueraine mieres ouer wrack)
As thou goe onwards ill will plucke thee backe,
She keepes thee to this purpose, that her skill,
May time disgrace, and wretched mynuit kill.
Yet fear her O thou minnion of her pleasure,
She may detaine, but not ill keepe her tresure!
Her Audite (though delayd) answer’d mu be,
And her Quietus is to render thee.
( )
( )
Sonnet
In the ould age blacke was not counted faire,
Or if it weare it bore not beauties name:
But now is blacke beauties successiue heire,
And Beautie slanderd with a baard shame,
For since each hand hath put on Natures power,
Fairing the foule with Arts faulse borrow’d face,
Sweet beauty has no name no holy boure,
But is prophand, if not liues in disgrace.
Therefore my Miersse 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 eeeme,
Yet so they mourne becomming of their woe,
That euery toung saies beauty should looke so.
Sonnet
How oft when thou my musike musike play,
Vpon that blessed wood whose motion sounds
With thy sweet fingers when thou gentle sway,
The wiry concord that mine eare confounds,
Do I enuie those Iackes that nimble leape,
To kisse the tender inward of thy hand,
Whil my poore lips which should that harue reape,
The Sonnets 
At the woods bouldnes by thee blushing and.
To be so tikled they would change their ate,
And situation with those dancing chips,
Ore whome their fingers walke with gentle gate,
Making dead wood more ble than liuing lips,
Since saucy Iackes so happy are in this,
Giue them their fingers, me thy lips to kisse.
Sonnet
Thexpence of Spirit in a wae of shame
Is lu in aion, and till aion, lu
Is periurd, murdrous, blouddy full of blame,
Sauage extreame, rude, cruell, not to tru,
Inioyd no sooner but dispised raight,
Pa reason hunted, and no sooner had
Pa reason hated as a swollowed bayt,
On purpose layd to make the taker mad.
Made In pursut and in possession so,
Had, hauing, and in que, to haue extreame,
A blisse in proofe and proud and 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.
Sonnet
My mires eyes are nothing like the Sunne,
Curral is farre more red, then her lips red,
If snow be white why then her bres 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 purfumes is there more delight,
Then in the breath that from my Mires 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,
 The Sonnets
My Mires 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.
Sonnet
Thou art as tiranous, so as thou art,
As those whose beauties proudly make them cruell;
For well thou know’ to my deare doting hart
Thou art the faire and mo precious Iewell.
Yet in good faith some say that thee behold,
Thy face hath not the power to make loue grone;
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 faire in my iudgements place.
In nothing art thou blacke saue in thy deeds,
And thence this slaunder as I thinke proceeds.
Sonnet
Thine eies I loue, and they as pittying me,
Knowing thy heart torment 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 th’ Ea,
Nor that full Starre that vshers in the Eauen
Doth halfe that glory to the sober We
As those two morning eyes become thy face:
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.
The Sonnets 
Sonnet
Beshrew that heart that makes my aert to groane
For that deepe wound it giues my friend and me;
I’ not ynough to torture me alone,
But slaue to slauery my sweet friend mu be.
Me from my selfe thy cruell eye hath taken,
And my next selfe thou harder ha ingrossed,
Of him, my selfe, and thee I am forsaken,
A torment thrice three-fold thus to be crossed:
Prison my heart in thy eele bosomes warde,
But then my friends heart let my poore heart bale,
Who ere keepes me, let my heart be his garde,
Thou can not then vse rigor in my Iaile.
And yet thou wilt, for I being pent in thee,
Perforce am thine and all that is in me.
Sonnet
So now I haue confe that he is thine,
And I my selfe am morgag’d to thy will,
My selfe Ile forfeit, so that other mine,
Thou wilt reore to be my comfort ill:
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 fa doth binde.
The atute of thy beauty thou wilt take,
Thou vsurer that put forth all to vse,
And sue a friend, came debter for my sake,
So him I loose through my vnkinde abuse.
Him haue I lo, thou ha both him and me,
He paies the whole, and yet am I not free.
Sonnet
Who euer hath her wish, thou ha thy Will,
And Will too boote, and Will in ouer-plus,
 The Sonnets
More then enough am I that vexe thee ill,
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 not faire acceptance shine:
The sea all water, yet receiues raine ill,
And in aboundance addeth to his ore,
So thou beeing 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.
Sonnet
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 reckond none.
Then in the number let me passe vntold,
Though in thy ores account I one mu 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 ill,
And then thou loue me for my name is Will.
Sonnet
That blinde foole loue, what doo 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 be is, take the wor to be.
If eyes corrupt by ouer-partiall lookes,
Be anchord in the baye where all men ride,
The Sonnets 
Why of eyes falsehood ha thou forged hookes,
Whereto the iudgement of my heart is tide?
Why should my heart thinke that a seuerall plot,
Whihc my herat 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.
Sonnet
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,
Vnlearned in the worlds false subtilties.
Thus vainely thinking that she thinkes me young,
Although she knowes my dayes are pa the be,
Simply a credit her false speaking tongue,
On both sides thus is simple truth suppre:
But wherefore sayes she not she is vniu?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O loues be habit is in seeming tru,
And age in loue, loues not t’haue yeares told.
Therefore I lye with her, and she with me,
And in our faults by lyes we flattered be.
Sonnet
O call not me to iuifie 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’ else-where; but in my sight,
Deare heart forbeare to glance thine eye aside,
What need thou wound with cunning when thy might
Is more then my ore-pre defence can bide?
Let me excuse thee, ah my loue well knowes,
The Sonnets
Her prettie lookes haue 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.
Sonnet
Be wise as thou art cruell, do not presse
My toung-tide patience with too much disdaine:
Lea 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 teie 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 wring world is growne so bad,
Madde slanderers by madde eares beleeued be.
That I may not be so, nor thou by lyde,
Beare thine eyes raight, though thy proud heart goe wide.
Sonnet
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 tae, nor smell, desire to be inuited
To any sensuall fea with thee alone:
But my fiue wits, nor my fiue sences can
Diswade one foolish heart for seruing thee,
Who leaues vnswai’d the likenesse of a man,
Thy proud hearts slaue and vassall wretch to be:
The Sonnets
Onely my pleague thus farre I count my gaine,
That she that makes me sinne, awards me paine.
Sonnet
Loue is my sinne, and thy deare vertue hate,
Hate of my sinne, grounded on sinfull louing,
O but with mine, compare thou thine owne ate,
And thou shalt finde it merrits not reproouing,
Or if it do, not from those lips of thine,
That haue prophand 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’ 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 doo seeke to haue what thou doo hide,
By selfe example mai’ thou be denide.
Sonnet
Loe as a carefull huswife runnes to catch,
One of her fethered creatures broake away,
Sets downe her babe and makes all swift dispatch
In pursuit of the thing she would haue ay:
Whil her negleed 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 run thou after that which flies from thee,
Whil 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 mai haue thy Will,
If thou turne back and my loude crying ill.
 The Sonnets
Sonnet 
Two loues I haue of comfort and dispaire,
Which like two spirits do sugie me ill,
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 fight,
And would corrupt my saint to be a diuel:
Wooing his purity with her fowle pride.
And whether that my angel be turnd finde,
Suspe I may yet not direly 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 liue in doubt,
Till my bad angel fire my good one out.
Sonnet 
Those lips that Loues owne hand did make,
Breathd forth the sound that said I hate,
To me that languisht for her sake:
But when she saw my wofull ate,
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 sau’d my lief saying not you.
Sonnet 
Poore soule the center of my sinfull earth,
The Sonnets 
My sinfull earth these rebbell powres that thee array,
Why do thou pine within and suffer dearth
Painting thy outward walls so colie gay?
Why so large co hauing so short a lease,
Do thou vpon thy fading mansion spend?
Shall wormes inheritors of the excesse,
Eate vp thy charge? is this thy bodies end?
Then soule liue thou vpon thy seruants losse,
And let that pine to aggravat thy ore;
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, theres no more dying then.
Sonnet 
My loue is as a feauer longing ill,
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.
Pa cure I am, now Reason is pa care,
And frantick madde with euer-more vnre,
My thoughts and my discourse as mad mens are,
At randon from the truth vainely expre,
For I haue sworne thee faire, and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as darke as night.
Sonnet 
O me! 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?
 The Sonnets
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 an loues eye be true,
That is so vext with watching and with teares?
No marvaile then though I miake my view,
The sunne it selfe sees not, till heauen cleeres.
O cunning loue, with teares thou keep me blinde,
Lea eyes well seeing thy soule faults should finde.
Sonnet 
Can thou O cruell, say I loue thee not,
When I again 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 thou that I doe faune vpon,
Nay if thou lowr on me doe I not spend
Reuenge vpon y selfe with present mone?
What merrit do I in my selfe respe,
That is so proude thy seruice to dispise,
When all my be doth worship thy defe,
Commanded by the motion of thine eies.
But loue hate on for now I know thy minde,
Those that can see thou lou’, and I am blind.
Sonnet 
Oh from what powre ha 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 ha thou this decomming of things il,
That in the very refuse of thy deeds,
There is such rength and warrantise of skill,
That in my minde thy wor all be exceeds?
The Sonnets 
Who taught thee how to make me loue thee more,
The more I heare and see iu-cause of hate,
Oh though I loue what othes doe abhor,
With others thou should not abhor my ate.
If thy vnworthinesse raisd loue in me,
More worthy I to be belou’d of thee.
Sonnet 
Loue is too young to know what conscience is,
Yet who knowes not conscience is borne of loue,
Then gentle cheater vrge not my amisse,
Lea guilty of my faults 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 aies 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 and 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.
Sonnet 
In louing thee thou know’ I am forsworne,
But that art twice forsworne to me loue swearing,
In a thy bed-vow broake and new faith torne,
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 mo,
For all my vowes are othes but to misuse thee:
And all my hone faith in thee is lo.
For I haue sworne deepe othes of thy deepe kindnesse:
Othes of thy loue, thy truth, thy conancie,
And to inlighten thee gaue eyes to blindnesse,
Or made them swere again the thing they see.
 The Sonnets
For I haue sworne thee faire: more periurde eye,
To swere again the truth so foule a lie.
Sonnet 
Cupid laid by his brand and fell a sleepe,
A maide of Dyans this aduantage found,
And loue-kindling fire did quickly eepe
In a could vallie-fountaine of that ground:
Which borrowd from this holie fire of loue,
A datelesse lively heat ill to indure,
And grew a seething bath which yet men proue,
Again rang malladies a soueraigne cure:
But at my mires eie loues brand new fired,
The boy for triall needes would touch my bre,
I sick withall the helpe of bath desired,
And thether hied a sad diemperd gue.
But found no cure, the bath for my help lies,
Where Cupid got new fire; my mires eye.
Sonnet 
The little Loue-God lying once a sleepe,
Laid by his side his heart inflaming brand,
Whil many Nymphes that vow’d cha life to keep,
Came tripping by, but in her maiden hand,
The fayre votary tooke vp that fire,
Which many Legions of true hearts had warmd,
And so the Generall of hot desire,
Was sleeping by a Virgin hand disarmd.
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 Mirisse thrall,
Came there for cure and this by that I proue,
Loues fire heates water, water cooles not loue.
Index of First Lines
A womans face with natures owne hand painted . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Again that time (if euer that time come). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Ah wherefore with infeion should he liue . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Alack what pouerty my Muse brings forth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Alas ’tis true, I haue gone here and there. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
As an vnperfe aor on the age . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Being your slaue what should I doe but tend . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groane . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is tooke. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
But be contented when that fell are . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
But doe thy wor to eale thy selfe away . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
But wherefore do not you a mightier waie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Can thou O cruell, say I loue thee not . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Cupid laid by his brand and fell a sleepe. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Deuouring time blunt thou the Lyons pawes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
From faire creatures we desire increase . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
From you haue I beene absent in the spring . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Full many a glorious morning haue I seene . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
How can I then returne in happy plight. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
How carefull was I when I tooke my way . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
How heauie doe I iourney on the way . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
How like a Winter hath my absence beene . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
How oft when thou my musike musike play. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
How sweet and louely do thou make the shame . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

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I grant thou wert not married to my Muse . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
I neuer saw that you did painting need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
If the dull subance of my flesh were thought . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
If their bee nothing new, but that which is . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
If thou suruiue my well contented daie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
If thy soule check thee that I come so neere . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
In louing thee thou know’ I am forsworne. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
In the ould age blacke was not counted faire . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Let not my loue be cal’d Idolatrie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Let those who are in fauor with their ars . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Like as the waues make towards the pibled shore . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Like as to make our appetites more keene . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Loe in the Orient when the gracious light . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Looke in thy glasse and tell the face thou vewe . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Lord of my loue, to whome in vassalage. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Loue is too young to know what conscience is. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Mine eye and heart are at a mortall warre. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Mine eye hath play’d the painter and hath eeld. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
My glasse shall not perswade me I am ould . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
My loue is as a feauer longing ill . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
My loue is rengthned though more weake in seeming . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
My Mires eyes are nothing like the Sunne . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
My toung-tide Muse in manners holds her ill . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
No! Time, thou shalt not bo that I doe change . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Noe longer mourne for me when I am dead . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Not from the ars do I my iudgement plucke . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Not marble, nor the guilded monument. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Not mine owne feares, nor the prophetick soule . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
O call not me to iuifie the wrong . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
O for my sake doe you with fortune chide . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
O how I faint when I of you do write. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
O lea the world should taske you to recite . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
O me! what eyes hath loue put in my head . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
O neuer say that I was false of heart . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
O That you were your selfe, but loue you are. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
O thou my louely Boy who in thy power . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Index of Fir Lines 
Oh from what powre ha thou this powrefull might . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Oh how much more doth beautie beautious seeme . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Oh how thy worth with manners may I singe . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Oh truant Muse what shalbe thy amends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Or I shall liue your Epitaph to make . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Poore soule the center of my sinfull earth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Shall I compare thee to a Summers day . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Since brasse, nor one, nor earth, nor boundlesse sea . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Since I left you, mine eye is in my minde . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
So am I as the rich whose blessed key . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
So are you to my thoughts as food to life . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
So is it not with me as with that Muse . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
So now I haue confe that he is thine . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
So oft haue I inuok’d thee for my Muse . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
So shall I liue, supposing thou art true . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonesse. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Sweet loue renew thy force, be it not said . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Take all my loues, my loue, yea take them all . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Thexpence of Spirit in a wae of shame . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
That blinde foole loue, what doo thou to mine eyes. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
That God forbid, that made me fir your slaue . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
That thou are blamd shall not be thy defe. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
That thou ha her it is not all my griefe . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
That time of yeeare thou mai in me behold . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
That you were once vnkind be-friends mee now . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
The forward violet thus did I chide . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
The little Loue-God lying once a sleepe . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
The other two, slight ayre, and purging fire . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Then let not winters wragged hand deface . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
They that haue powre to hurt, and will doe none . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Thine eies I loue, and they as pittying me . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Those howers that with gentle worke did frame . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Those lips that Loues owne hand did make . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Those parts of thee that the world eye doth view . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Thou art as tiranous, so as thou art . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Thus can my loue excuse the slow offence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
 Index of Fir Lines
Thus is his cheeke the map of daies out-worne . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Thy bosome is indeared with all hearts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Thy glasse will she thee how they beauties were . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Thy guift, thy tables, are within my braine . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Tis better to be vile then vile eeemed. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
To me faire friend you neuer can be old . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Two loues I haue of comfort and dispaire . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Tyr’d with all these for refull death I cry . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Unthrifty lovelinesse why do thou spend. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Was it the proud full saile of his great verse . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Weary with toyle, I haft me to my bed . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Wer’t ought to me I bore the canopy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
What is your subance, whereof are you made . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
What potions haue I drunke of Syren tears . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Whats in the braine that Inck may charaer . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
When fortie Winters shall beseige thy brow . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
When I consider euery thing that growes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
When I doe count the clock that tels the time . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
When in disgrace with Fortune and mens eyes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
When in the Chronicle of waed time . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
When mo I winke then doe mine eyes be see. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
When my loue sweares that she is made of truth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
When to the Sessions of sweet silent thought. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Where art thou Muse that thou forget so long . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Whil I alone did call vpon thy ayde . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Who euer hath her wish, thou ha thy Will . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Who is it that sayes mo, which can say more. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Who will beleeue my verse in time to come . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Why is my verse so barren of new pride. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Yf my deare loue were by the childe of ate . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Your loue and pittie doth th’impression fill . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
Colophon
On page
in Sonnet , the quarto edition printed ainteh” in the la
line, which seems pretty clearly a typographical error. It has been correed
to “aineth.
On page  in Sonnet
, the lettrine is “T” immediately followed by “T”;
I can’t see how this is not a printing error, and it has therefore been correed
to have only one “T.
Otherwise, the text is identical to that in the facsimile edition referenced
in the Introduion of this work. It here newly typeset using the
L
A
T
E
X
ε
document preparation syem, using the Kepler Oldyle fonts in /.