Internet Shakespeare Editions

About this text

  • Title: The Sonnets (Modern)
  • Editor: Michael Best

  • Copyright Internet Shakespeare Editions. This text may be freely used for educational, non-proift purposes; for all other uses contact the Coordinating Editor.
    Author: William Shakespeare
    Editor: Michael Best
    Not Peer Reviewed

    The Sonnets (Modern)

    Those lines that I before have writ do lie,
    Even those that said I could not love you dearer;
    Yet then my judgment knew no reason why
    1715My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer.
    But reckoning time, whose millioned accidents
    Creep in 'twixt vows, and change decrees of kings,
    Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp'st intents,
    Divert strong minds to th'course of alt'ring things;
    1720Alas, why, fearing of time's tyranny,
    Might I not then say, "Now I love you best,"
    When I was certain o'er incertainty,
    Crowning the present, doubting of the rest?
    Love is a babe; then might I not say so,
    1725 To give full growth to that which still doth grow?
    Let me not to the marriage of true minds
    Admit impediments; love is not love
    Which alters when it alteration finds,
    1730Or bends with the remover to remove.
    Oh no, it is an ever-fixèd mark,
    That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
    It is the star to every wand'ring bark,
    Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
    1735Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
    Within his bending sickle's compass come;
    Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
    But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
    If this be error and upon me proved,
    1740 I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
    Accuse me thus: that I have scanted all
    Wherein I should your great deserts repay,
    Forgot upon your dearest love to call,
    1745Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day;
    That I have frequent been with unknown minds,
    And given to time your own dear-purchased right;
    That I have hoisted sail to all the winds
    Which should transport me farthest from your sight.
    1750Book both my wilfulness and errors down,
    And on just proof surmise accumulate;
    Bring me within the level of your frown,
    But shoot not at me in your wakened hate:
    Since my appeal says I did strive to prove
    1755 The constancy and virtue of your love.