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 When forty winters shall beseige thy brow
 Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest
 Unthrifty loveliness why dost thou spend
 Those hours that with gentle work did frame
 Then let not winter’s ragged hand deface
 Lo! in the orient when the gracious light
 Music to hear why hear’st thou music sadly?
 Is it for fear to wet a widow’s eye
 For shame! deny that thou bear’st love to any
 As fast as thou shalt wane so fast thou growest
 When I do count the clock that tells the time
 O that you were yourself! but love you are
 Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck;
 When I consider every thing that grows
 But wherefore do not you a mightier way
 Who will believe my verse in time to come
 Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
 Devouring Time blunt thou the lion’s paws
 A woman’s face with Nature’s own hand painted
 So is it not with me as with that Muse
 My glass shall not persuade me I am old
 As an unperfect actor on the stage
 Mine eye hath play’d the painter and hath stell’d
 Let those who are in favour with their stars
 Lord of my love to whom in vassalage
 Weary with toil I haste me to my bed
 How can I then return in happy plight
 When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes
 When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
 Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts
 If thou survive my well-contented day
 Full many a glorious morning have I seen
 Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day
 No more be grieved at that which thou hast done:
 Let me confess that we two must be twain
 As a decrepit father takes delight
 How can my Muse want subject to invent
 O how thy worth with manners may I sing

Shakespeare’s Sonnets
 Take all my loves my love yea take them all;
 Those petty wrongs that liberty commits
 That thou hast her it is not all my grief
 When most I wink then do mine eyes best see
 If the dull substance of my flesh were thought
 The other two slight air and purging fire
 Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war
 Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took
 How careful was I when I took my way
 Against that time if ever that time come
 How heavy do I journey on the way
 Thus can my love excuse the slow offence
 So am I as the rich whose blessed key
 What is your substance whereof are you made
 O how much more doth beauty beauteous seem
 Not marble nor the gilded monuments
 Sweet love renew thy force; be it not said
 Being your slave what should I do but tend
 That god forbid that made me first your slave
 If there be nothing new but that which is
 Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore

 Is it thy will thy image should keep open
 Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye
 Against my love shall be as I am now
 When I have seen by Time’s fell hand defaced
 Since brass nor stone nor earth nor boundless sea

 Tired with all these for restful death I cry
 Ah! wherefore with infection should he live
 Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn
 Those parts of thee that the world’s eye doth view
 That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect
 No longer mourn for me when I am dead
 O lest the world should task you to recite
 That time of year thou mayst in me behold
 But be contented: when that fell arrest
 So are you to my thoughts as food to life
 Why is my verse so barren of new pride
 Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear
 So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse

Shakespeare’s Sonnets
 Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid
 O how I faint when I of you do write
 Or I shall live your epitaph to make
 I grant thou wert not married to my Muse
 I never saw that you did painting need
 Who is it that says most? which can say more
 My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still
 Was it the proud full sail of his great verse
 Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing
 When thou shalt be disposed to set me light
 Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault
 Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever now;
 Some glory in their birth some in their skill
 But do thy worst to steal thyself away
 So shall I live supposing thou art true
 They that have power to hurt and will do none
 How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame
 Some say thy fault is youth some wantonness;
 How like a winter hath my absence been
 From you have I been absent in the spring
 The forward violet thus did I chide:
 Where art thou Muse that thou forget’st so long
 O tr  uant Muse what shall be thy amends
 My love is st  rengthen’d though more weak in seeming;

 Alack what poverty my Muse brings forth
 Tome fair friend you never can be old
 Let not my love be call’d idolatry
 When in the chronicle of wasted time
 Not  mine own fears nor the prophetic soul
 What’s in the brain that ink may character
 O never  say that I was false of heart
 Alas ’tis true I have gone here and there
 Ofor my sake do you with Fortune chide
 Your love and pity doth the impression fill
 Since I left you mine eye is in my mind;
 Orwhether doth my mind being crown’d with you

 Those lines that I before have writ do lie
 Let me not to the marriage of true minds
 Accuse me thus: that I have scanted all
 Like as to make our appetites more keen
Shakespeare’s Sonnets

 What potions have I drunk of Siren tears
 That you were once unkind befriends me now
 ’Tis  better to be vile than vile esteem’d
 Thy gift thy tables are within my brain
 No T  ime thou shalt not boast that I do change:
 If my  dear love were but the child of state
 Were’t  aught to me I bore the canopy
 Othou my lovely boy who in thy power
 Inthe old age black was not counted fair
 How  oft when thou my music music play’st
 The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
 Mymistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
 Thou art as tyrannous so as thou art
 Thine eyes I love and they as pitying me
 Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan
 So now I have  confess’d that he is thine
 Whoever hath her wish thou hast thy ‘Will’
 Ifthy soul cheque thee that I come so near
 Thou blind fool Love what dost thou to mine eyes

 When my love swears that she is made of truth
 Ocall not me to justify the wrong
 Be w  ise as thou art cruel; do not press
 In faith I do  not love thee with mine eyes
 Love is my  sin and thy dear virtue hate
 Lo! as a careful housewife runs to catch
 Two loves I have of  comfort and despair
 Those lips that Love’s own hand did make
 Poor soul the centre of my sinful earth
 My love is as a fever  longing still
 Ome what eyes hath Love put in my head
 Canst thou O cruel! say I love thee not
 O from w  hat power hast thou this powerful might

 Love is  too young to know what conscience is;
 In lo  ving thee thou know’st I am forsworn
 Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep:
 The little Love-god lying once asleep