Sonnet CXXVI.

“O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power”

O THOU, my lovely boy, who in thy power   
Dost hold Time’s fickle glass, his sickle hour;   
Who hast by waning grown, and therein show’st   
Thy lovers withering as thy sweet self grow’st;   
If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack,            5
As thou goest onwards, still will pluck thee back,   
She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill   
May time disgrace and wretched minutes kill.   
Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure!   
She may detain, but not still keep, her treasure:     10
  Her audit, though delay’d, answer’d must be,   
  And her quietus is to render thee.   
   
   

Sonnet CXXVII.

“In the old age black was not counted fair”

IN the old age black was not counted fair   
Or if it were, it bore not beauty’s name;   
But now is black beauty’s successive heir,   
And beauty slander’d with a bastard’s shame:   
For since each hand hath put on Nature’s power,            5
Fairing the foul with Art’s false borrow’d face,   
Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy bower,   
But is profan’d, if not lives in disgrace.   
Therefore my mistress’ brows are raven black,   
Her eyes so suited, and they mourners seem     10
At such who, not born fair, no beauty lack,   
Sland’ring creation with a false esteem:   
  Yet so they mourn, becoming of their woe,   
  That every tongue says beauty should look so.   

Sonnet CXXVIII.

“How oft when thou, my music, music play’st”

HOW oft when thou, my music, music play’st   
Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds   
With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway’st   
The wiry concord that mine ear confounds,   
Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap            5
To kiss the tender inward of thy hand,   
Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest reap,   
At the wood’s boldness by thee blushing stand!   
To be so tickl’d, they would change their state   
And situation with those dancing chips,     10
O’er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait,   
Making dead wood more bless’d than living lips.   
  Since saucy jacks so happy are in this,   
  Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.   

Sonnet CXXIX.

“The expense of spirit in a waste of shame”

THE EXPENSE of spirit in a waste of shame   
Is lust in action; and till action, lust   
Is perjur’d, murderous, bloody, full of blame,   
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust;   
Enjoy’d no sooner but despised straight;            5
Past reason hunted; and no sooner had,   
Past reason hated, as a swallow’d bait,   
On purpose laid to make the taker mad:   
Mad in pursuit, and in possession so;   
Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme;     10
A bliss in proof,—and prov’d, a very woe;   
Before, a joy propos’d; behind, a dream.   
  All this the world well knows; yet none knows well   
  To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.   

Sonnet CXXX.

“My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun”

MY mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun   
Coral is far more red than her lips’ red:   
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;   
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.   
I have seen roses damask’d, red and white,            5
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;   
And in some perfumes is there more delight   
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.   
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know   
That music hath a far more pleasing sound:     10
I grant I never saw a goddess go,—   
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:   
  And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare   
  As any she belied with false compare.   

Sonnet CXXXI.

“Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art”

THOU art as tyrannous, so as thou art   
As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel;   
For well thou know’st to my dear doting heart   
Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel.   
Yet, in good faith, some say that thee behold,            5
Thy face hath not the power to make love groan:   
To say they err I dare not be so bold,   
Although I swear it to myself alone.   
And to be sure that is not false I swear,   
A thousand groans, but thinking on thy face,     10
One on another’s neck, do witness bear   
Thy black is fairest in my judgment’s place.   
  In nothing art thou black save in thy deeds,   
  And thence this slander, as I think, proceeds.   

Sonnet CXXXII.

“Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me”

THINE eyes I love, and they, as pitying me   
Knowing thy heart torment me with disdain,   
Have put on black and loving mourners be,   
Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain.   
And truly not the morning sun of heaven            5
Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east,   
Nor that full star that ushers in the even,   
Doth half that glory to the sober west,   
As those two mourning eyes become thy face:   
O! let it then as well beseem thy heart     10
To mourn for me, since mourning doth thee grace,   
And suit thy pity like in every part.   
  Then will I swear beauty herself is black,   
  And all they foul that thy complexion lack.   

Sonnet CXXXIII.

“Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan”

BESHREW that heart that makes my heart to groan   
For that deep wound it gives my friend and me!   
Is ’t not enough to torture me alone,   
But slave to slavery my sweet’st friend must be?   
Me from myself thy cruel eye hath taken,            5
And my next self thou harder hast engross’d:   
Of him, myself, and thee, I am forsaken;   
A torment thrice threefold thus to be cross’d.   
Prison my heart in thy steel bosom’s ward,   
But then my friend’s heart let my poor heart bail;     10
Whoe’er keeps me, let my heart be his guard;   
Thou canst not then use rigour in my jail:   
  And yet thou wilt; for I, being pent in thee,   
  Perforce am thine, and all that is in me.   

Sonnet CXXXIV.

“So, now I have confess’d that he is thine”

SO, now I have confess’d that he is thine   
And I myself am mortgag’d to thy will,   
Myself I ’ll forfeit, so that other mine   
Thou wilt restore, to be my comfort still:   
But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free,            5
For thou art covetous and he is kind;   
He learn’d but surety-like to write for me,   
Under that bond that him as fast doth bind.   
The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take,   
Thou usurer, that putt’st forth all to use,     10
And sue a friend came debtor for my sake;   
So him I lose through my unkind abuse.   
  Him have I lost; thou hast both him and me:   
  He pays the whole, and yet am I not free.   

Sonnet CXXXV.

“Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy Will”

WHOEVER hath her wish, thou hast thy Will   
And Will to boot, and Will in over-plus;   
More than enough am I that vex thee still,   
To thy sweet will making addition thus.   
Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious,            5
Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine?   
Shall will in others seem right gracious,   
And in my will no fair acceptance shine?   
The sea, all water, yet receives rain still,   
And in abundance addeth to his store;     10
So thou, being rich in Will, add to thy Will   
One will of mine, to make thy large Will more.   
  Let no unkind ‘No’ fair beseechers kill;   
  Think all but one, and me in that one Will.