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Internet Shakespeare Editions

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)

    4503I
    Thy bosome is indeared with all hearts,
    Which I by lacking haue supposed dead,
    And there raignes Loue and all Loues louing parts,
    And all those friends which I thought buried.
    455How many a holy and obsequious teare
    Hath deare religious loue stolne from mine eye,
    As interest of the dead, which now appeare,
    But things remou'd that hidden in there lie.
    Thou art the graue where buried loue doth liue,
    460Hung with the tropheis of my louers gon,
    Who all their parts of me to thee did giue,
    That due of many, now is thine alone.
    Their images I lou'd, I view in thee,
    And thou(all they)hast all the all of me.
    46532
    IF thou suruiue my well contented daie,
    When that churle death my bones with dust shall couer
    And shalt by fortune once more re-suruay:
    These poore rude lines of thy deceased Louer:
    470Compare them with the bett'ring of the time,
    And though they be out-stript by euery pen,
    Reserue them for my loue, not for their rime,
    Exceeded by the hight of happier men.
    Oh then voutsafe me but this louing thought,
    475Had my friends Muse growne with this growing age,
    A dearer birth then this his loue had brought
    To march in ranckes of better equipage:
    But since he died and Poets better proue,
    Theirs for their stile ile read, his for his loue.
    48033
    FVll many a glorious morning haue I seene,
    Flatter the mountaine tops with soueraine eie,
    Kissing with golden face the meddowes greene;
    Guilding pale streames with heauenly alcumy:
    485Anon permit the basest cloudes to ride,
    With ougly rack on his celestiall face,
    And from the for-lorne world his visage hide
    Stealing vnseene to west with this disgrace:
    Euen so my Sunne one early morne did shine,
    490With all triumphant splendor on my brow,
    But out alack, he was but one houre mine,
    The region cloude hath mask'd him from me now.
    Yet him for this, my loue no whit disdaineth,
    Suns of the world may staine, whē heauens sun stainteh.