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About this text

  • Title: Shake-speares Sonnets (Quarto 1, 1609)
  • Editors: Hardy M. Cook, Ian Lancashire

  • Copyright Hardy M. Cook and Ian Lancashire. This text may be freely used for educational, non-profit purposes; for all other uses contact the Editor.
    Author: William Shakespeare
    Editors: Hardy M. Cook, Ian Lancashire
    Peer Reviewed

    Shake-speares Sonnets (Quarto 1, 1609)


    Drawne after you, you patterne of all those.
    Yet seem'd it Winter still, and you away,
    As with your shaddow I with these did play.


    THe forward violet thus did I chide,
    Sweet theefe whence didst thou steale thy sweet that smels
    If not from my loues breath, the purple pride,

    Which on thy soft cheeke for complexion dwells?

    1475In my loues veines thou hast too grosely died,
    The Lillie I condemned for thy hand,
    And buds of marierom had stolne thy haire,
    The Roses fearefully on thornes did stand,
    Our blushing shame, an other white dispaire:
    1480A third nor red, nor white, had stolne of both,
    And to his robbry had annext thy breath,
    But for his theft in pride of all his growth
    A vengfull canker eate him vp to death.
    More flowers I noted, yet I none could see,
    1485 But sweet, or culler it had stolne from thee.


    VVHere art thou Muse that thou forgetst so long,
    To speake of that which giues thee all thy might?
    Spendst thou thy furie on some worthlesse songe,
    1490Darkning thy powre to lend base subiects light.
    Returne forgetfull Muse, and straight redeeme,
    In gentle numbers time so idely spent,
    Sing to the eare that doth thy laies esteeme,
    And giues thy pen both skill and argument.
    1495Rise resty Muse, my loues sweet face suruay,
    If time haue any wrincle grauen there,
    If any, be a Satire to decay,
    And make times spoiles dispised euery where.
    Giue my loue fame faster then time wasts life,
    1500So thou preuenst his sieth, and crooked knife.


    OH truant Muse what shalbe thy amends,