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    Not Peer Reviewed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)

    Lo, in the Orient when the gracious light
    Lifts up his burning head, each under eye
    Doth homage to his new-appearing sight,
    Serving with looks his sacred majesty;
    95And having climbed the steep-up heavenly hill,
    Resembling strong youth in his middle age,
    Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,
    Attending on his golden pilgrimage:
    But when from highmost pitch with weary car,
    100Like feeble age he reeleth from the day,
    The eyes, fore-duteous, now converted are
    From his low tract, and look another way:
    So thou, thyself out-going in thy noon,
    Unlooked on diest, unless thou get a son.
    Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?
    Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy;
    Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not gladly,
    Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy?
    110If the true concord of well-tunèd sounds
    By unions married, do offend thine ear,
    They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds
    In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear:
    Mark how one string, sweet husband to another,
    115Strikes each in each by mutual ordering,
    Resembling sire, and child, and happy mother,
    Who all in one, one pleasing note do sing:
    Whose speechless song being many, seeming one,
    Sings this to thee: 'Thou single wilt prove none.'
    Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye
    That thou consum'st thyself in single life?
    Ah, if thou issueless shalt hap to die,
    The world will wail thee like a mateless wife;
    125The world will be thy widow, and still weep
    That thou no form of thee hast left behind,
    When every private widow well may keep,
    By children's eyes, her husband's shape in mind:
    Look what an unthrift in the world doth spend,
    130Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it;
    But beauty's waste hath in the world an end,
    And kept unused the user so destroys it:
    No love toward others in that bosom sits
    That on himself such murd'rous shame commits.