If I lose thee, my loss is my love's gain, Why should my heart think that a several plot, That you yourself, being extant, well might show Which shall above that idle rank remain, And to be sure that is not false I swear, The first edition of the novel was published in 1609, and was written by William Shakespeare. Why write I still all one, ever the same, whereof are you made, Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' cost, Robbing no old to dress his beauty new; Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness; And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind; But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse, in time to come, Is it for fear to wet day, And wherefore say not I that I am old? Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest, Now with the drops of this most balmy time, If my dear love were but the child of state, And that in guess they measure by thy deeds; Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow. For that sweet odour, which doth in it live. And such a counterpart shall fame his wit, In true plain words, by thy true-telling friend; Suspect I may, yet not directly tell; And make Time's spoils despised every where. Ay me! More than enough am I that vexed thee still, But sad mortality o'ersways their power, That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, Lest I, too much profane, should do it wrong, Pity the world, or else this glutton be, And, tender churl, mak'st waste in niggarding: Receiving nought by elements so slow And art made tongue-tied by authority, Let this sad interim like the ocean be And, constant stars, in them I read such art When I was certain o'er incertainty, To truths translated, and for true things deem'd. Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day; I should in thought control your times of pleasure, And all they foul that thy complexion lack. And rather make them born to our desire in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose. Who art as black as hell, as dark as night. The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting, I see their antique pen would have expressed But now my gracious numbers are decayed, When The more I hear and see just cause of hate? Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind, Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat, Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary Hath been before, how are our brains beguil'd, Check out our Terms of Use! Which in their wills count bad what I think good? The basest weed outbraves his dignity: A loss in love that touches me more nearly. I In process of the seasons have I seen, For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, Exceeded by the height of happier men. On your broad main doth wilfully appear. Then do thy office, Muse; I teach thee how A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart; Thus can my love excuse the slow offence Yet then my judgment knew no reason why But let your love even with my life decay; Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise, But sweet, or colour it had stol'n from thee. Why should false painting imitate his cheek, In other accents do this praise confound Thy registers and thee I both defy, For slander's mark was ever yet the fair; In the old age black was not counted fair, Full charactered with lasting memory, The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise. And Will to boot, and Will in over-plus; forty winters shall besiege thy brow, Without this folly, age, and cold decay: At random from the truth vainly expressed; She carved thee for her seal, and meant thereby, The world will be thy widow and still weep And proud of many, lives upon his gains. Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived: I see descriptions of the fairest wights, The owner's tongue doth publish every where. No want of conscience hold it that I call ... ... ... these rebel powers that thee array Each file type presents different advantages depending on your needs, whether you are a reader, student, educator, researcher, theater professional, or digital developer. How oft when thou, my music, music play'st, Points on me graciously with fair aspect, Nor did I wonder at the lily's white, Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye, And yet this time removed was summer's time; That he shall never cut from memory This silence for my sin you did impute, me to my bed, Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide, And every fair from fair sometime declines, If ten of thine ten times refigured thee: Which hath not figured The ills that were not, grew to faults assured, Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name; For nothing this wide universe I call, Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud: Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour From fairest creatures we desire increase, That thereby beauty's rose might never die, But as the riper should by time decease, His tender heir might bear his memory: But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes, Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel, Making a … As on the finger of a throned queen And thou present'st a pure unstained prime. But thou art twice forsworn, to me love swearing; When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie. Which for memorial still with thee shall stay. Or durst inhabit on a living brow; Too base of thee to be remembered. No love toward others in that bosom sits Let not my love be called idolatry, Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate And all my honest faith in thee is lost: And your true rights be termed a poet's rage But when from highmost pitch, with weary car, but with mine compare thou thine own state, Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire The age to come would say 'This poet lies; Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind, Are vanishing, or vanished out of sight, And yet methinks I have Astronomy, How would thy shadow's form form happy show 2: When fortie Winters shall beseige thy brow When fortie Winters shall beseige thy brow, And digge deep trenches in thy beauties field, Thy youthes proud liuery so gaz’d on now, Wil be a totter’d weed of smal worth held: Since saucy jacks so happy are in this, One thing expressing, leaves out difference. And being frank she lends to those are free: him she stores, to show what wealth she had O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait, a true soul For still temptation follows where thou art. As from my soul which in thy breast doth lie: in the orient when By unions married, do offend thine ear, From you have I been absent in the spring, You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes. Thou art thy mother's glass and she in thee Needs must I under my transgression bow, Wooing his purity with her foul pride. Against that time when thou shalt strangely pass, Thy beauty's form in table of my heart; 'Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age, No news but health from their physicians know; Nor that full star that ushers in the even, Drawn after you, you pattern of all those. To say, within thine own deep sunken eyes, Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease: Dulling my lines, and doing me disgrace. And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven: So should my papers, yellowed with their age, Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead? The forward violet thus did I chide: Yet, do thy worst old Time: despite thy wrong, Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars ), HTML, TXT (i.e., plain text), XML, and TEI Simple. So is it not with me as with that Muse, But when she saw my woeful state, Since why to love I can allege no cause. Like to the lark at break of day arising And brass eternal slave to mortal rage; To love that well, which thou must leave ere long. That looks on tempests and is never shaken; My love is as a fever longing still, that you were your self; but, love, you are Giving him aid, my verse astonished. 'tis the first, 'tis flattery in my seeing, Ah! But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes, When proud pied April, dressed in all his trim, Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious, Shall hate be fairer lodged than gentle love? But that is in my thought, whose love to you, That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell; And though they be outstripped by every pen, The uncertain sickly appetite to please. And there reigns Love, and all Love's loving parts, To kiss the tender inward of thy hand, This thought is as a death which cannot choose And him as for a map doth Nature store, If I could write the beauty of your eyes, To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way, The bounteous largess given thee to give? So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live? And for they looked but with divining eyes, And stretched metre of an antique song: Can yet the lease of my true love control, Then look I death my days should expiate. Desire is death, which physic did except. Even those that said I could not love you dearer: O! As, to prevent our maladies unseen, If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth; Then should I spur, though mounted on the wind, And yet to times in hope, my verse shall stand The mountain or the sea, the day or night, As any she belied with false compare. That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide, Who taught thee how to make me love thee more, And arts with thy sweet graces graced be; And almost thence my nature is subdued then she loves but me alone. The offender's sorrow lends but weak relief Can make you live your self in eyes of men. The world will wail thee like a makeless wife; Nor need I tallies thy dear love to score; Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater. What potions have I drunk of Siren tears, For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee, And to his palate doth prepare the cup: But my five wits nor my five senses can And therefore mayst without attaint o'erlook Since my appeal says I did strive to prove But makes antiquity for aye his page; So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, No praise to thee, but what in thee doth live. One on another's neck, do witness bear And Death once dead, there's no more dying then. Whose speechless song being many, seeming one, how can Love's eye be true, No, I am that I am, and they that level Painting my age with beauty of thy days. thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind, Download Shakespeare’s Plays, Sonnets, and... Do you have questions or feedback for the Folger Shakespeare team? The earth can yield me but a common grave, Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? Which nightly gulls him with intelligence, That you yourself may privilege your time For that which longer nurseth the disease; That they elsewhere might dart their injuries: But do not so, I love thee in such sort, But since your worth, wide as the ocean is, Unless my nerves were brass or hammered steel. The clear eye's moiety, and the dear heart's part: To march in ranks of better equipage: With ugly rack on his celestial face, Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited