Internet Shakespeare Editions

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  • 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    Not Peer Reviewed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)

    If my dear love were but the child of state
    It might for Fortune's bastard be unfathered,
    As subject to time's love or to time's hate,
    1850Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gathered.
    No, it was builded far from accident;
    It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls
    Under the blow of thrallèd discontent,
    Whereto th'inviting time our fashion calls:
    1855It fears not policy, that heretic,
    Which works on leases of short-numbered hours,
    But all alone stands hugely politic,
    That it nor grows with heat, nor drowns with showers.
    To this I witness call the fools of time,
    1860 Which die for goodness, who have lived for crime.
    Were't aught to me I bore the canopy,
    With my extern the outward honoring,
    Or laid great bases for eternity,
    1865Which proves more short than waste or ruining?
    Have I not seen dwellers on form and favor
    Lose all, and more, by paying too much rent,
    For compound sweet forgoing simple savor,
    Pitiful thrivers, in their gazing spent?
    1870No, let me be obsequious in thy heart,
    And take thou my oblation, poor but free,
    Which is not mixed with seconds, knows no art,
    But mutual render, only me for thee.
    Hence, thou suborned informer, a true soul
    1875 When most impeached, stands least in thy control.
    O thou my lovely boy who in thy power
    Dost hold time's fickle glass, his sickle hour,
    Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st
    1880Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow'st.
    If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack,
    As thou goest onwards still will pluck thee back,
    She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill
    May time disgrace, and wretched minutes kill.
    1885Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure:
    She may detain, but not still keep, her treasure!
    Her audit, though delayed, answered must be,
    And her quietus is to render thee.
    1890 ----------------