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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)

    I45
    THose lips that Loues owne hand did make,
    Breath'd forth the sound that said I hate,
    To me that languisht for her sake:
    2165But when she saw my wofull state,
    Straight in her heart did mercie come,
    Chiding that tongue that euer sweet,
    Was vsde in giuing gentle dome:
    And tought it thus a new to greete:
    2170I hate she alterd with an end,
    That follow'd it as gentle day,
    Doth follow night who like a fiend
    From heauen to hell is flowne away.
    I hate, from hate away she threw,
    2175And sau'd my life saying not you.
    I46
    POore soule the center of my sinfull earth,
    My sinfull earth these rebbell powres that thee array,
    Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth
    2180Painting thy outward walls so costlie gay?
    Why so large cost hauing so short a lease,
    Dost thou vpon thy fading mansion spend?
    Shall wormes inheritors of this excesse
    Eate vp thy charge? is this thy bodies end?
    2185Then soule liue thou vpon thy seruants losse,
    And let that pine to aggrauat thy store;
    Buy tearmes diuine in selling houres of drosse:
    Within be fed, without be rich no more,
    So shalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men,
    2190And death once dead, ther's no more dying then.
    I47
    MY loue is as a feauer longing still,
    For that which longer nurseth the disease,
    Feeding on that which doth preserue the ill,
    2195Th'vncertaine sicklie appetite to please:
    My reason the Phisition to my loue,
    Angry that his prescriptions are not kept
    Hath left me, and I desperate now approoue,
    Desire is death, which Phisick did except.
    2200Past cure I am, now Reason is past care,
    And frantick madde with euer-more vnrest,
    My thoughts and my discourse as mad mens are,
    At randon from the truth vainely exprest.
    For I haue sworne thee faire, and thought thee bright,
    2205Who art as black as hell, as darke as night.