The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works

by William Shakespeare

  Myself corrupting salving thy amiss,

  Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are;

  For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense—

  Thy adverse party is thy advocate—

  And ’gainst myself a lawful plea commence.

  Such civil war is in my love and hate

  That I an accessory needs must be

  To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me.

  36

  Let me confess that we two must be twain

  Although our undivided loves are one;

  So shall those blots that do with me remain

  Without thy help by me be borne alone.

  In our two loves there is but one respect,

  Though in our lives a separable spite

  Which, though it alter not love’s sole effect,

  Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love’s delight.

  I may not evermore acknowledge thee

  Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame,

  Nor thou with public kindness honour me

  Unless thou take that honour from thy name.

  But do not so. I love thee in such sort

  As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report.

  37

  As a decrepit father takes delight

  To see his active child do deeds of youth,

  So I, made lame by fortune’s dearest spite,

  Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth;

  For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit,

  Or any of these all, or all, or more,

  Entitled in thy parts do crowned sit,

  I make my love engrafted to this store.

  So then I am not lame, poor, nor despised,

  Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give

  That I in thy abundance am sufficed

  And by a part of all thy glory live.

  Look what is best, that best I wish in thee;

  This wish I have, then ten times happy me.

  38

  How can my muse want subject to invent

  While thou dost breathe, that pour’st into my verse

  Thine own sweet argument, too excellent

  For every vulgar paper to rehearse?

  O, give thyself the thanks if aught in me

  Worthy perusal stand against thy sight;

  For who’s so dumb that cannot write to thee,

  When thou thyself dost give invention light?

  Be thou the tenth muse, ten times more in worth

  Than those old nine which rhymers invocate,

  And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth

  Eternal numbers to outlive long date.

  If my slight muse do please these curious days,

  The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise.

  39

  O, how thy worth with manners may I sing

  When thou art all the better part of me?

  What can mine own praise to mine own self bring,

  And what is’t but mine own when I praise thee?

  Even for this let us divided live,

  And our dear love lose name of single one,

  That by this separation I may give

  That due to thee which thou deserv’st alone.

  O absence, what a torment wouldst thou prove

  Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave

  To entertain the time with thoughts of love,

  Which time and thoughts so sweetly doth deceive,

  And that thou teachest how to make one twain

  By praising him here who doth hence remain!

  40

  Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all:

  What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?

  No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call—

  All mine was thine before thou hadst this more.

  Then if for my love thou my love receivest,

  I cannot blame thee for my love thou usest;

  But yet be blamed if thou this self deceivest

  By wilful taste of what thyself refusest.

  I do forgive thy robb’ry, gentle thief,

  Although thou steal thee all my poverty;

  And yet love knows it is a greater grief

  To bear love’s wrong than hate’s known injury.

  Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,

  Kill me with spites, yet we must not be foes.

  41

  Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits

  When I am sometime absent from thy heart

  Thy beauty and thy years full well befits,

  For still temptation follows where thou art.

  Gentle thou art, and therefore to be won;

  Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assailed;

  And when a woman woos, what woman’s son

  Will sourly leave her till he have prevailed?

  Ay me, but yet thou mightst my seat forbear,

  And chide thy beauty and thy straying youth

  Who lead thee in their riot even there

  Where thou art forced to break a two-fold troth:

  Hers, by thy beauty tempting her to thee,

  Thine, by thy beauty being false to me.

  42

  That thou hast her, it is not all my grief,

  And yet it may be said I loved her dearly;

  That she hath thee is of my wailing chief,

  A loss in love that touches me more nearly.

  Loving offenders, thus I will excuse ye:

  Thou dost love her because thou know‘st I love her,

  And for my sake even so doth she abuse me,

  Suff’ring my friend for my sake to approve her.

  If I lose thee, my loss is my love’s gain,

  And losing her, my friend hath found that loss:

  Both find each other, and I lose both twain,

  And both for my sake lay on me this cross.

  But here’s the joy: my friend and I are one.

  Sweet flattery! Then she loves but me alone.

  43

  When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see,

  For all the day they view things unrespected;

  But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee,

  And, darkly bright, are bright in dark directed.

  Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright,

  How would thy shadow’s form form happy show

  To the clear day with thy much clearer light,

  When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines sol

  How would, I say, mine eyes be blessed made

  By looking on thee in the living day,

  When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade

  Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay!

  All days are nights to see till I see thee,

  And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.

  44

  If the dull substance of my flesh were thought,

  Injurious distance should not stop my way;

  For then, despite of space, I would be brought

  From limits far remote where thou dost stay.

  No matter then although my foot did stand

  Upon the farthest earth removed from thee;

  For nimble thought can jump both sea and land

  As soon as think the place where he would be.

  But ah, thought kills me that I am not thought,

  To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone,

  But that, so much of earth and water wrought,

  I must attend time’s leisure with my moan,

  Receiving naught by elements so slow

  But heavy tears, badges of either’s woe.

  45

  The other two, slight air and purging fire,

  Are both with thee wherever I abide;

  The first my thought, the other my desire,

  These present-absent with swift motion slide;

  For when these quicker elements are gone

  In tender embassy o
f love to thee,

  My life, being made of four, with two alone

  Sinks down to death, oppressed with melancholy,

  Until life’s composition be recured

  By those swift messengers returned from thee,

  Who even but now come back again assured

  Of thy fair health, recounting it to me.

  This told, I joy; but then no longer glad,

  I send them back again and straight grow sad.

  46

  Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war

  How to divide the conquest of thy sight.

  Mine eye my heart thy picture’s sight would bar,

  My heart, mine eye the freedom of that right.

  My heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie,

  A closet never pierced with crystal eyes;

  But the defendant doth that plea deny,

  And says in him thy fair appearance lies.

  To ’cide this title is empanellèd

  A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart,

  And by their verdict is determined

  The clear eye’s moiety and the dear heart’s part,

  As thus: mine eye’s due is thy outward part,

  And my heart’s right thy inward love of heart.

  47

  Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took,

  And each doth good turns now unto the other.

  When that mine eye is famished for a look,

  Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother,

  With my love’s picture then my eye doth feast,

  And to the painted banquet bids my heart.

  Another time mine eye is my heart’s guest.

  And in his thoughts of love doth share a part.

  So either by thy picture or my love,

  Thyself away art present still with me;

  For thou no farther than my thoughts canst move,

  And I am still with them, and they with thee;

  Or if they sleep, thy picture in my sight

  Awakes my heart to heart’s and eye’s delight.

  48

  How careful was I when I took my way

  Each trifle under truest bars to thrust,

  That to my use it might unused stay

  From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust.

  But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are,

  Most worthy comfort, now my greatest grief,

  Thou best of dearest and mine only care

  Art left the prey of every vulgar thief.

  Thee have I not locked up in any chest

  Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art—

  Within the gentle closure of my breast,

  From whence at pleasure thou mayst come and part;

  And even thence thou wilt be stol’n, I fear,

  For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear.

  49

  Against that time—if ever that time come—

  When I shall see thee frown on my defects,

  Whenas thy love hath cast his utmost sum,

  Called 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.

  50

  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.

  51

  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 rein 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.

  52

  So am I as the rich whose blessèd key

  Can bring him to his sweet up-lockèd treasure,

  The which he will not ev’ry 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 imprisoned pride.

  Blessed are you whose worthiness gives scope,

  Being had, to triumph; being lacked, to hope.

  53

  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.

  54

  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 unwooed 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, by verse distils your truth.

  55

  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 besmeared 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 judgement that yourself arise,

  You live in this, and dwell in lovers’ eyes.

  56

  Sweet love, renew thy force. Be it not said

  Thy edge should blunter be than appetite,

  Which but today by feeding is allayed,

  Tomorrow sharpened in his former might.

  So, love, be thou; although today thou fill

  Thy hungry eyes even till they wink with fullness,

  Tomorrow see again, and do not kill

  The spirit of love with a perpetual dullness.

  Let this sad int’rim 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 blessed may be the view;

  Or call it winter, which, being full of care,

  Makes summer’s welcome, thrice more wished, more rare.

  57

  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 naught

  Save, where you are, how happy you make those.

  So true a fool is love that in your will,

  Though you do anything, he thinks no ill.

  58

  That god forbid, that made me first your slave,

  I should in thought control your times of pleasure,

  Or at your hand th’account of hours to crave,

  Being your vassal bound to stay your leisure.