The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, William Shakespeare [book recommendations based on other books txt] 📗

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 thy self the thanks if aught in me, Worthy perusal stand against thy sight, For who’s so dumb that cannot write to thee, When thou thy self 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 thy self deceivest By wilful taste of what thy self refusest.

I do forgive thy robbery gentle thief

Although thou steal thee all my poverty: And yet love knows it is a greater grief To bear greater 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 twofold truth: 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 so!

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 nought 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 of 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 side this title is impanelled

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,

Thy self away, art present still with me, For thou not 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, When as 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 my self 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 case 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 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.

 

52

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 that 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