4umi William Shakespeare : Sonnets

Shakespeare's Sonnets

The 1609 edition
Title page of the first edition:
Neuer before imprinted.
At London
By G. Eld for T. T. and are to be solde by William Appley.
The 1640 edition
Title page of the 1640 edition, "Printed at London by Tho. Cotes, and are to be sold by Iohn Benson, dwelling in St. Dunstans Church-yard.", with a introductory sonnet "Of Mr. William Shakespeare" by an otherwise unknown John Warren and (not shown) another by editor Leonard Digges (1588-1635).
- --oOo-- -
 William Shakespeare Ariel Hamlet Horatio Iago King Lear MacBeth Ophelia Polonius Prospero Romeo and Juliet Shylock Yorick Plays Poems Sonnets From fairest creatures When forty winters Look in thy glass Unthrifty loveliness Those hours, that with gentle Then let not winter's ragged Lo! in the orient Music to hear Is it for fear to wet For shame! deny As fast as thou shalt wane When I do count the clock O, that you were yourself! Not from the stars When I consider every thing But wherefore do not you Who will believe my verse Shall I compare thee Devouring time, blunt thou A woman's face So is it not with me My glass shall not persuade As an unperfect actor Mine eye hath played Let those who are in favour Lord of my love, to whom Weary with toil, I haste How can I then return When in disgrace with When to the sessions Thy bosom is endeared If thou survive my Full many a glorious morning Why didst thou promise such No more be grieved at that Let me confess that we two As a decrepit father takes How can my muse want subject O how thy worth with manners Take all my loves Those petty wrongs That thou hast her it is not When most I wink, then do If the dull substance The other two, slight air Mine eye and heart are at Betwixt mine eye and heart How careful was I when Against that time, if ever How heavy do I journey Thus can my love excuse So am I as the rich What is your substance O! how much more doth Not marble, nor the gilded Sweet love, renew thy force Being your slave what should That God forbid, that made me If there be nothing new Like as the waves make Is it thy will, thy image Sin of self-love possesseth all Against my love shall be When I have seen by Time's Since brass, nor stone Tired with all these Ah! wherefore with infection Thus is his cheek the map Those parts of thee that That thou art blam'd shall not No longer mourn for me O! lest the world should task That time of year thou mayst But be contented: when So are you to my thoughts Why is my verse so barren Thy glass will show thee So oft have I invoked thee Whilst I alone did call O! how I faint when I Or I shall live your epitaph I grant thou wert not married I never saw that you did Who is it that says most My tongue-tied Muse in Was it the proud full sail Farewell! thou art too dear When thou shalt be dispos'd Say that thou didst forsake Then hate me when thou wilt Some glory in their birth But do thy worst to steal So shall I live, supposing They that have power to hurt How sweet and lovely dost Some say thy fault is youth How like a winter hath my From you have I been absent The forward violet thus Where art thou Muse O truant Muse what shall My love is strengthen'd Alack! what poverty To me, fair friend, you Let not my love be When in the chronicle Not mine own fears What 's in the brain O! never say that I was Alas! 'tis true, I have O! for my sake do you Your love and pity doth Since I left you, mine eye Or whether doth my mind Those lines that I before Let me not to the marriage Accuse me thus: that I Like as to make our appetite What potions have I drunk That you were once unkind 'Tis better to be vile Thy gift, thy tables No, Time, thou shalt not If my dear love were but Were't aught to me I O thou, my lovely boy In the old age black How oft when thou, my music The expense of spirit My mistress' eyes are Thou art as tyrannous Thine eyes I love Beshrew that heart So, now I have confess'd Whoever hath her wish If thy soul check thee Thou blind fool, Love When my love sweares O! call not me to justify Be wise as thou art cruel In faith I do not love thee Love is my sin, and thy dear Lo, as a careful housewife Two loves I have of comfort Those lips that Love's own Poor soul, the centre of my My love is as a fever O me! what eyes hath Love Canst thou, O cruel! say O! from what power hast thou Love is too young to know In loving thee thou know'st Cupid laid by his brand The little Love-god lying Last will