Shake-speares Sonnets (Quarto 1, 1609)

Author: William Shakespeare

Editors: Hardy M. Cook, Ian Lancashire

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The Sonnets (Modern)
- Work
- Poem
  1. Dedication
  2. 1 — 3
  3. 4 — 6
  4. 7 — 9
  5. 10 — 12
  6. 13 — 15
  7. 16 — 18
  8. 19 — 21
  9. 22 — 24
  10. 25 — 27
  11. 28 — 30
  12. 31 — 33
  13. 34 — 36
  14. 37 — 39
  15. 40 — 42
  16. 43 — 45
  17. 46 — 48
  18. 49 — 51
  19. 52 — 54
  20. 55 — 57
  21. 58 — 60
  22. 61 — 63
  23. 64 — 66
  24. 67 — 69
  25. 70 — 72
  26. 73 — 75
  27. 76 — 78
  28. 79 — 81
  29. 82 — 84
  30. 85 — 87
  31. 88 — 90
  32. 91 — 93
  33. 94 — 96
  34. 97 — 99
  35. 100 — 102
  36. 103 — 105
  37. 106 — 108
  38. 109 — 111
  39. 112 — 114
  40. 115 — 117
  41. 118 — 120
  42. 121 — 123
  43. 124 — 126
  44. 127 — 129
  45. 130 — 132
  46. 133 — 135
  47. 136 — 138
  48. 139 — 141
  49. 142 — 144
  50. 145 — 147
  51. 148 — 150
  52. 151 — 153
  53. 154
Shake-speares Sonnets (Quarto 1, 1609)
- Work
- Poem
  1. Titlepage
  2. Dedication
  3. 1 — 3
  4. 4 — 6
  5. 7 — 9
  6. 10 — 12
  7. 13 — 15
  8. 16 — 18
  9. 19 — 21
  10. 22 — 24
  11. 25 — 27
  12. 28 — 30
  13. 31 — 33
  14. 34 — 36
  15. 37 — 39
  16. 40 — 42
  17. 43 — 45
  18. 46 — 48
  19. 49 — 51
  20. 52 — 54
  21. 55 — 57
  22. 58 — 60
  23. 61 — 63
  24. 64 — 66
  25. 67 — 69
  26. 70 — 72
  27. 73 — 75
  28. 76 — 78
  29. 79 — 81
  30. 82 — 84
  31. 85 — 87
  32. 88 — 90
  33. 91 — 93
  34. 94 — 96
  35. 97 — 99
  36. 100 — 102
  37. 103 — 105
  38. 106 — 108
  39. 109 — 111
  40. 112 — 114
  41. 115 — 117
  42. 118 — 120
  43. 121 — 123
  44. 124 — 126
  45. 127 — 129
  46. 130 — 132
  47. 133 — 135
  48. 136 — 138
  49. 139 — 141
  50. 142 — 144
  51. 145 — 147
  52. 148 — 150
  53. 151 — 153
  54. 154
- Page
  1. 1
  2. 2
  3. 3
  4. 4
  5. 5
  6. 6
  7. 7
  8. 8
  9. 9
  10. 10
  11. 11
  12. 12
  13. 13
  14. 14
  15. 15
  16. 16
  17. 17
  18. 18
  19. 19
  20. 20
  21. 21
  22. 22
  23. 23
  24. 24
  25. 25
  26. 26
  27. 27
  28. 28
  29. 29
  30. 30
  31. 31
  32. 32
  33. 33
  34. 34
  35. 35
  36. 36
  37. 37
  38. 38
  39. 39
  40. 40
  41. 41
  42. 42
  43. 43
  44. 44
  45. 45
  46. 46
  47. 47
  48. 48
  49. 49
  50. 50
  51. 51
  52. 52
  53. 53
  54. 54
  55. 55
  56. 56
  57. 57
  58. 58
  59. 59
  60. 60
  61. 61
  62. 62
  63. 63
  64. 64
  65. 65
  66. 66
  67. 67
  68. 68
  69. 69

¶I30
¶MY Mistres eyes are nothing like the Sunne, 
¶Currall is farre more red,_then her lips red, 
¶If snow be white,_why then her brests are dun: 
1940If haires be wiers,_black wiers grow on her head: 
¶I haue seene Roses damaskt,_red and white, 
¶But no such Roses see I in her cheekes, 
¶And in some perfumes is there more delight, 
¶Then in the breath that from my Mistres reekes. 
1945I loue to heare her speake,_yet well I know, 
¶That Musicke hath a farre more pleasing sound: 
¶I graunt I neuer saw a goddesse goe, 
¶My Mistres when shee walkes treads on the ground. 
¶_And yet by heauen I thinke my loue as rare, 
1950As any she beli'd with false compare. 

¶I3I
¶THou art as tiranous,_so as thou art, 
¶As those whose beauties proudly make them cruell; 
¶For well thou know'st to my deare doting hart 
1955Thou art the fairest and most precious Iewell. 
¶Yet in good faith some say that thee behold, 
¶Thy face hath not the power to make loue grone; 
¶To say they erre,_I dare not be so bold, 
¶Although I sweare it to my selfe alone. 
1960And to be sure that is not false I sweare 
¶A thousand grones but thinking on thy face, 
¶One on anothers necke do witnesse beare 
¶Thy blacke is fairest in my iudgements place. 
¶_In nothing art thou blacke saue in thy deeds, 
1965And thence this slaunder as I thinke proceeds. 

¶I32
¶THine eies I loue,_and they as pittying me, 
¶Knowing thy heart torment me with disdaine, 
¶Haue put on black,_and louing mourners bee, 
1970Looking with pretty ruth vpon my paine. 
¶And truly not the morning Sun of Heauen 
¶Better becomes the gray cheeks of th'East, 
¶Nor that full Starre that vshers in the Eauen 
¶Doth halfe that glory to the sober West 
1975As those two morning eyes become thy face: 
¶O let it then as well beseeme thy heart 
¶To mourne for me since mourning doth thee grace, 
¶And sute thy pitty like in euery part. 
¶_Then will I sweare beauty her selfe is blacke, 
1980And all they foule that thy complexion lacke. 

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Shake-speares Sonnets (Quarto 1, 1609)