Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view

Sonnet 69

Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view

«William Shakespeare»



Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view
Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend;
All tongues, the voice of souls, give thee that due,
Uttering bare truth, even so as foes commend.
Thy outward thus with outward praise is crown'd;
But those same tongues that give thee so thine own
In other accents do this praise confound
By seeing farther than the eye hath shown.
They look into the beauty of thy mind,
And that, in guess, they measure by thy deeds;
Then, churls, their thoughts, although their eyes were kind,
To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds:
But why thy odour matcheth not thy show,
The solve is this, that thou dost common grow.

That thou art blam'd shall not be thy defect

Sonnet 70

That thou art blam'd shall not be thy defect

«William Shakespeare»

That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect,

For slander's mark was ever yet the fair,

The ornament of beauty is suspect,

A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air.

So thou be good, slander doth but approve,

Thy worth the greater, being woo'd of time,

For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love,

And thou present'st a pure unstained prime.

Thou hast pass'd by the ambush of young days,

Either not assail'd or victor being charged,

Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise,

To tie up envy evermore enlarged,

If some suspect of ill mask'd not thy show,

Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts shouldst owe.

No longer mourn for me when I am dead

Sonnet 71

No longer mourn for me when I am dead

«William Shakespeare»

No longer mourn for me when I am dead,

Then you shall hear the surly sullen bell

Give warning to the world that I am fled

From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell:

Nay, if you read this line, remember not,

The hand that writ it; for I love you so,

That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,

If thinking on me then should make you woe.

O, if, I say, you look upon this verse,

When I perhaps compounded am with clay,

Do not so much as my poor name rehearse;

But let your love even with my life decay.

Lest the wise world should look into your moan

And mock you with me after I am gone.

O! lest the world should task you to recite

Sonnet 72

O! lest the world should task you to recite

«William Shakespeare»

O lest the world should task you to recite,

 What merit lived in me that you should love

 After my death (dear love) forget me quite,

 For you in me can nothing worthy prove.

 Unless you would devise some virtuous lie,

 To do more for me than mine own desert,

 And hang more praise upon deceased I,

 Than niggard truth would willingly impart:

 O lest your true love may seem false in this,

 That you for love speak well of me untrue,

 My name be buried where my body is,

 And live no more to shame nor me, nor you.

 For I am shamed by that which I bring forth,

 And so should you, to love things nothing worth

That time of year thou mayst in me behold

Sonnet 73

That time of year thou mayst in me behold

«William Shakespeare»

That time of year thou mayst in me behold,

 When yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang

 Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,

 Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.

 In me thou seest the twilight of such day,

 As after sunset fadeth in the west,

 Which by and by black night doth take away,

 Death's second self that seals up all in rest.

 In me thou seest the glowing of such fire,

 That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,

 As the death-bed, whereon it must expire,

 Consumed with that which it was nourished by.

 This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,

 To love that well, which thou must leave ere long.

But be contented: when that fell arrest

Sonnet 74

But be contented: when that fell arrest

«William Shakespeare»

But be contented when that fell arrest,

 Without all bail shall carry me away,

 My life hath in this line some interest,

 Which for memorial still with thee shall stay.

 When thou reviewest this, thou dost review,

 The very part was consecrate to thee,

 The earth can have but earth, which is his due,

 My spirit is thine the better part of me,

 So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life,

 The prey of worms, my body being dead,

 The coward conquest of a wretch's knife,

 Too base of thee to be remembered,

 The worth of that, is that which it contains,

 And that is this, and this with thee remains.

So are you to my thoughts as food to life

Sonnet 75

So are you to my thoughts as food to life

«William Shakespeare»

So are you to my thoughts as food to life,

 Or as sweet-seasoned showers are to the ground;

 And for the peace of you I hold such strife

 As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found.

 Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon

 Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure,

 Now counting best to be with you alone,

 Then bettered that the world may see my pleasure,

 Sometime all full with feasting on your sight,

 And by and by clean starved for a look,

 Possessing or pursuing no delight

 Save what is had, or must from you be took.

 Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day,

 Or gluttoning on all, or all away.

Why is my verse so barren of new pride

Sonnet 76

Why is my verse so barren of new pride

«William Shakespeare»

Why is my verse so barren of new pride?

 So far from variation or quick change?

 Why with the time do I not glance aside

 To new-found methods, and to compounds strange?

 Why write I still all one, ever the same,

 And keep invention in a noted weed,

 That every word doth almost tell my name,

 Showing their birth, and where they did proceed?

 O know sweet love I always write of you,

 And you and love are still my argument:

 So all my best is dressing old words new,

 Spending again what is already spent:

 For as the sun is daily new and old,

 So is my love still telling what is told.