| For as the sun is daily new and old, |
| So is my love still telling what is told. |
Sonnets of William Shakespeare
Sonnet 77
|LXXVII. |
|Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear, |
|Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste; |
|The vacant leaves thy mind's imprint will bear, |
|And of this book this learning mayst thou taste. |
|The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show |
|Of mouthed graves will give thee memory; |
|Thou by thy dial's shady stealth mayst know |
|Time's thievish progress to eternity. |
|Look, what thy memory can not contain |
|Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find|
| |
|Those children nursed, deliver'd from thy brain, |
|To take a new acquaintance of thy mind. |
| These offices, so oft as thou wilt look, |
| Shall profit thee and much enrich thy book. |
Sonnets of William Shakespeare
Sonnet 78
|LXXVIII. |
|So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse |
|And found such fair assistance in my verse |
|As every alien pen hath got my use |
|And under thee their poesy disperse. |
|Thine eyes that taught the dumb on high to sing |
|And heavy ignorance aloft to fly |
|Have added feathers to the learned's wing |
|And given grace a double majesty. |
|Yet be most proud of that which I compile, |
|Whose influence is thine and born of thee: |
|In others' works thou dost but mend the style, |
|And arts with thy sweet graces graced be; |
| But thou art all my art and dost advance |
| As high as learning my rude ignorance. |
Sonnets of William Shakespeare
Sonnet 79
|LXXIX. |
|Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid, |
|My verse alone had all thy gentle grace, |
|But now my gracious numbers are decay'd |
|And my sick Muse doth give another place. |
|I grant, sweet love, thy lovely argument |
|Deserves the travail of a worthier pen, |
|Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent |
|He robs thee of and pays it thee again. |
|He lends thee virtue and he stole that word |
|From thy behavior; beauty doth he give |
|And found it in thy cheek; he can afford |
|No praise to thee but what in thee doth live. |
| Then thank him not for that which he doth say, |
| Since what he owes thee thou thyself dost pay. |
Sonnets of William Shakespeare
Sonnet 80
|LXXX. |
|O, how I faint when I of you do write, |
|Knowing a better spirit doth use your name, |
|And in the praise thereof spends all his might, |
|To make me tongue-tied, speaking of your fame! |
|But since your worth, wide as the ocean is, |
|The humble as the proudest sail doth bear, |
|My saucy bark inferior far to his |
|On your broad main doth wilfully appear. |
|Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat, |
|Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride; |
|Or being wreck'd, I am a worthless boat, |
|He of tall building and of goodly pride: |
| Then if he thrive and I be cast away, |
| The worst was this; my love was my decay. |
|Sonnets of William Shakespeare |
|Sonnet 81 |
|LXXXI. |
|Or I shall live your epitaph to make, |
|Or you survive 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 immortal life shall have, |
|Though I, once gone, to all the world must die: |
|The earth can yield me but a common grave, |
|When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie. |
|Your monument shall be my gentle verse, |
|Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read, |
|And tongues to be your being shall rehearse |
|When all the breathers of this world are dead; |
| You still shall live--such virtue hath my pen-- |
| Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men. |
| |
Sonnets of William Shakespeare
Sonnet 82
|LXXXII. |
|I grant thou wert not married to my Muse |
|And therefore mayst without attaint o'erlook |
|The dedicated words which writers use |
|Of their fair subject, blessing every book |
|Thou art as fair in knowledge as in hue, |
|Finding thy worth a limit past my praise, |
|And therefore art enforced to seek anew |
|Some fresher stamp of the time-bettering days |
|And do so, love; yet when they have devised |
|What strained touches rhetoric can lend, |
|Thou truly fair wert truly sympathized |
|In true plain words by thy true-telling friend; |
| And their gross painting might be better used |
| Where cheeks need blood; in thee it is abused. |
Sonnets of William Shakespeare
Sonnet 83
|LXXXIII. |
|I never saw that you did painting need |
|And therefore to your fair no painting set; |
|I found, or thought I found, you did exceed |
|The barren tender of a poet's debt; |
|And therefore have I slept in your report, |
|That you yourself being extant well might show |
|How far a modern quill doth come too short, |
|Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow. |
|This silence for my sin you did impute, |
|Which shall be most my glory, being dumb; |
|For I impair not beauty being mute, |
|When others would give life and bring a tomb. |
| There lives more life in one of your fair eyes |
| Than both your poets can in praise devise. |
Sonnets of William Shakespeare
Sonnet 84
|LXXXIV. |
|Who is it that says most? which can say more |
|Than this rich praise, that you alone are you? |
|In whose confine immured is the store |
|Which should example where your equal grew. |
|Lean penury within that pen doth dwell |
|That to his subject lends not some small glory; |
|But he that writes of you, if he can tell |
|That you are you, so dignifies his story, |
|Let him but copy what in you is writ, |
|Not making worse what nature made so clear, |
|And such a counterpart shall fame his wit, |
|Making his style admired every where. |
| You to your beauteous blessings add a curse, |
| Being fond on praise, which makes your praises |
|worse. |
Sonnets of William Shakespeare
Sonnet 85
|LXXXV. |
|My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still, |
|While comments of your praise, richly compiled, |
|Reserve their character with golden quill |
|And precious phrase by all the Muses filed. |
|I think good thoughts whilst other write good |
|words, |
|And like unletter'd clerk still cry 'Amen' |
|To every hymn that able spirit affords |
|In polish'd form of well-refined pen. |
|Hearing you praised, I say ''Tis so, 'tis true,' |
|And to the most of praise add something more; |
|But that is in my thought, whose love to you, |
|Though words come hindmost, holds his rank |
|before. |
| Then others for the breath of words respect, |
| Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect. |
Sonnets of William Shakespeare
Sonnet 86
|LXXXVI. |
|Was it the proud full sail of his great verse, |
|Bound for the prize of all too precious you, |
|That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse, |
|Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew? |
|Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write |
|Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead? |
|No, neither he, nor his compeers by night |
|Giving him aid, my verse astonished. |
|He, nor that affable familiar ghost |
|Which nightly gulls him with intelligence |
|As victors of my silence cannot boast; |
|I was not sick of any fear from thence: |
| But when your countenance fill'd up his line, |
| Then lack'd I matter; that enfeebled mine. |
Sonnets of William Shakespeare
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