|Against that time, if ever that time come, |
|When I shall see thee frown on my defects, |
|When as thy love hath cast his utmost sum, |
|Call'd to that audit by advised respects; |
|Against that time when thou shalt strangely pass |
|And scarcely greet me with that sun thine eye, |
|When love, converted from the thing it was, |
|Shall reasons find of settled gravity,-- |
|Against that time do I ensconce me here |
|Within the knowledge of mine own desert, |
|And this my hand against myself uprear, |
|To guard the lawful reasons on thy part: |
| To leave poor me thou hast the strength of |
|laws, |
| Since why to love I can allege no cause. |
Sonnets of William Shakespeare
Sonnet 50
|L. |
|How heavy do I journey on the way, |
|When what I seek, my weary travel's end, |
|Doth teach that ease and that repose to say |
|'Thus far the miles are measured from thy |
|friend!' |
|The beast that bears me, tired with my woe, |
|Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me, |
|As if by some instinct the wretch did know |
|His rider loved not speed, being made from thee: |
|The bloody spur cannot provoke him on |
|That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide; |
|Which heavily he answers with a groan, |
|More sharp to me than spurring to his side; |
| For that same groan doth put this in my mind; |
| My grief lies onward and my joy behind. |
Sonnets of William Shakespeare
Sonnet 51
|LI. |
|Thus can my love excuse the slow offence |
|Of my dull bearer when from thee I speed: |
|From where thou art why should I haste me thence?|
| |
|Till I return, of posting is no need. |
|O, what excuse will my poor beast then find, |
|When swift extremity can seem but slow? |
|Then should I spur, though mounted on the wind; |
|In winged speed no motion shall I know: |
|Then can no horse with my desire keep pace; |
|Therefore desire of perfect'st love being made, |
|Shall neigh--no dull flesh--in his fiery race; |
|But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade; |
| Since from thee going he went wilful-slow, |
| Towards thee I'll run, and give him leave to |
|go. |
Sonnets of William Shakespeare
Sonnet 52
|LII. |
|So am I as the rich, whose blessed key |
|Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure, |
|The which he will not every hour survey, |
|For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure. |
|Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare, |
|Since, seldom coming, in the long year set, |
|Like stones of worth they thinly placed are, |
|Or captain jewels in the carcanet. |
|So is the time that keeps you as my chest, |
|Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide, |
|To make some special instant special blest, |
|By new unfolding his imprison'd pride. |
| Blessed are you, whose worthiness gives scope, |
| Being had, to triumph, being lack'd, to hope. |
|Sonnets of William Shakespeare |
|Sonnet 53 |
|LIII. |
|What is your substance, whereof are you made, |
|That millions of strange shadows on you tend? |
|Since every one hath, every one, one shade, |
|And you, but one, can every shadow lend. |
|Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit |
|Is poorly imitated after you; |
|On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set, |
|And you in Grecian tires are painted new: |
|Speak of the spring and foison of the year; |
|The one doth shadow of your beauty show, |
|The other as your bounty doth appear; |
|And you in every blessed shape we know. |
| In all external grace you have some part, |
| But you like none, none you, for constant heart. |
| |
Sonnets of William Shakespeare
Sonnet 54
|LIV. |
|O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem |
|By that sweet ornament which truth doth give! |
|The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem |
|For that sweet odour which doth in it live. |
|The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye |
|As the perfumed tincture of the roses, |
|Hang on such thorns and play as wantonly |
|When summer's breath their masked buds discloses:|
| |
|But, for their virtue only is their show, |
|They live unwoo'd and unrespected fade, |
|Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so; |
|Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made: |
| And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth, |
| When that shall fade, my verse distills your |
|truth. |
Sonnets of William Shakespeare
Sonnet 55
|LV. |
|Not marble, nor the gilded monuments |
|Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme; |
|But you shall shine more bright in these contents|
| |
|Than unswept stone besmear'd with sluttish time. |
|When wasteful war shall statues overturn, |
|And broils root out the work of masonry, |
|Nor Mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall |
|burn |
|The living record of your memory. |
|'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity |
|Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still |
|find room |
|Even in the eyes of all posterity |
|That wear this world out to the ending doom. |
| So, till the judgment that yourself arise, |
| You live in this, and dwell in lover's eyes. |
Sonnets of William Shakespeare
Sonnet 56
|LVI. |
|Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said |
|Thy edge should blunter be than appetite, |
|Which but to-day by feeding is allay'd, |
|To-morrow sharpen'd in his former might: |
|So, love, be thou; although to-day thou fill |
|Thy hungry eyes even till they wink with |
|fullness, |
|To-morrow see again, and do not kill |
|The spirit of love with a perpetual dullness. |
|Let this sad interim like the ocean be |
|Which parts the shore, where two contracted new |
|Come daily to the banks, that, when they see |
|Return of love, more blest may be the view; |
| Else call it winter, which being full of care |
| Makes summer's welcome thrice more wish'd, more|
|rare. |
|Sonnets of William Shakespeare |
|Sonnet 57 |
|LVII. |
|Being your slave, what should I do but tend |
|Upon the hours and times of your desire? |
|I have no precious time at all to spend, |
|Nor services to do, till you require. |
|Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour |
|Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you, |
|Nor think the bitterness of absence sour |
|When you have bid your servant once adieu; |
|Nor dare I question with my jealous thought |
|Where you may be, or your affairs suppose, |
|But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought |
|Save, where you are how happy you make those. |
| So true a fool is love that in your will, |
| Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill. |
| |
|Sonnets of William Shakespeare |
|Sonnet 58 |
|LVIII. |
|That god forbid that made me first your slave, |
|I should in thought control your times of pleasure, |
|Or at your hand the account of hours to crave, |
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