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    Shakespeare's Sonnets
    Shakespeare's Sonnets
    Shakespeare's Sonnets
    Ebook132 pages1 hour

    Shakespeare's Sonnets

    By William Shakespeare

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    About this ebook

    This prize-winning work provides a facsimile of the 1609 Quarto printed in parallel with a conservatively edited, modernized text, as well as commentary that ranges from brief glosses to substantial critical essays. Stephen Booth's notes help a modern reader toward the kind of understanding that Renaissance readers brought to the works.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherStart Publishing LLC
    Release dateJun 28, 2013
    ISBN9781627932240
    Author

    William Shakespeare

    William Shakespeare was born in April 1564 in the town of Stratford-upon-Avon, on England’s Avon River. When he was eighteen, he married Anne Hathaway. The couple had three children—an older daughter Susanna and twins, Judith and Hamnet. Hamnet, Shakespeare’s only son, died in childhood. The bulk of Shakespeare’s working life was spent in the theater world of London, where he established himself professionally by the early 1590s. He enjoyed success not only as a playwright and poet, but also as an actor and shareholder in an acting company. Although some think that sometime between 1610 and 1613 Shakespeare retired from the theater and returned home to Stratford, where he died in 1616, others believe that he may have continued to work in London until close to his death.

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    • 4/5
      This is one of the books about William Shakespeare. This book describe the life of William Shakespeare in the view of his friend,Toby.
    • 4/5
      I had to read it for school. It was overanalysed.

    Book preview

    Shakespeare's Sonnets - William Shakespeare

    THE SONNETS

    by William Shakespeare

    Start Publishing LLC

    Copyright © 2013 by Start Publishing LLC

    All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

    First Start Publishing eBook edition October 2013

    Start Publishing is a registered trademark of Start Publishing LLC

    Manufactured in the United States of America

    10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

    ISBN 978-1-62793-224-0

    1

    From fairest creatures we desire increase,

    That thereby beauty's rose might never die,

    But as the riper should by time decease,

    His tender heir might bear his memory:

    But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes,

    Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel,

    Making a famine where abundance lies,

    Thy self thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel:

    Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament,

    And only herald to the gaudy spring,

    Within thine own bud buriest thy content,

    And tender churl mak'st waste in niggarding:

    Pity the world, or else this glutton be,

    To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.

    2

    When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,

    And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,

    Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now,

    Will be a tattered weed of small worth held:

    Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies,

    Where all the treasure of thy lusty days;

    To say within thine own deep sunken eyes,

    Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.

    How much more praise deserved thy beauty's use,

    If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine

    Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse'

    Proving his beauty by succession thine.

    This were to be new made when thou art old,

    And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.

    3

    Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest,

    Now is the time that face should form another,

    Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,

    Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.

    For where is she so fair whose uneared womb

    Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?

    Or who is he so fond will be the tomb,

    Of his self-love to stop posterity?

    Thou art thy mother's glass and she in thee

    Calls back the lovely April of her prime,

    So thou through windows of thine age shalt see,

    Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time.

    But if thou live remembered not to be,

    Die single and thine image dies with thee.

    4

    Unthrifty loveliness why dost thou spend,

    Upon thy self thy beauty's legacy?

    Nature's bequest gives nothing but doth lend,

    And being frank she lends to those are free:

    Then beauteous niggard why dost thou abuse,

    The bounteous largess given thee to give?

    Profitless usurer why dost thou use

    So great a sum of sums yet canst not live?

    For having traffic with thy self alone,

    Thou of thy self thy sweet self dost deceive,

    Then how when nature calls thee to be gone,

    What acceptable audit canst thou leave?

    Thy unused beauty must be tombed with thee,

    Which used lives th' executor to be.

    5

    Those hours that with gentle work did frame

    The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell

    Will play the tyrants to the very same,

    And that unfair which fairly doth excel:

    For never-resting time leads summer on

    To hideous winter and confounds him there,

    Sap checked with frost and lusty leaves quite gone,

    Beauty o'er-snowed and bareness every where:

    Then were not summer's distillation left

    A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass,

    Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft,

    Nor it nor no remembrance what it was.

    But flowers distilled though they with winter meet,

    Leese but their show, their substance still lives sweet.

    6

    Then let not winter's ragged hand deface,

    In thee thy summer ere thou be distilled:

    Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place,

    With beauty's treasure ere it be self-killed:

    That use is not forbidden usury,

    Which happies those that pay the willing loan;

    That's for thy self to breed another thee,

    Or ten times happier be it ten for one,

    Ten times thy self were happier than thou art,

    If ten of thine ten times refigured thee:

    Then what could death do if thou shouldst depart,

    Leaving thee living in posterity?

    Be not self-willed for thou art much too fair,

    To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir.

    7

    Lo in the orient when the gracious light

    Lifts up his burning head, each under eye

    Doth homage to his new-appearing sight,

    Serving with looks his sacred majesty,

    And having climbed the steep-up heavenly hill,

    Resembling strong youth in his middle age,

    Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,

    Attending on his golden pilgrimage:

    But when from highmost pitch with weary car,

    Like feeble age he reeleth from the day,

    The eyes (fore duteous) now converted are

    From his low tract and look another way:

    So thou, thy self out-going in thy noon:

    Unlooked on diest unless thou get a son.

    8

    Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?

    Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy:

    Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not gladly,

    Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy?

    If the true concord of well-tuned sounds,

    By unions married do offend

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