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  • 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)

    I30
    MY Mistres eyes are nothing like the Sunne,
    Currall is farre more red, then her lips red,
    If snow be white, why then her brests are dun:
    1940If haires be wiers, black wiers grow on her head:
    I haue seene Roses damaskt, red and white,
    But no such Roses see I in her cheekes,
    And in some perfumes is there more delight,
    Then in the breath that from my Mistres reekes.
    1945I loue to heare her speake, yet well I know,
    That Musicke hath a farre more pleasing sound:
    I graunt I neuer saw a goddesse goe,
    My Mistres when shee walkes treads on the ground.
    And yet by heauen I thinke my loue as rare,
    1950As any she beli'd with false compare.
    I3I
    THou art as tiranous, so as thou art,
    As those whose beauties proudly make them cruell;
    For well thou know'st to my deare doting hart
    1955Thou art the fairest and most precious Iewell.
    Yet in good faith some say that thee behold,
    Thy face hath not the power to make loue grone;
    To say they erre, I dare not be so bold,
    Although I sweare it to my selfe alone.
    1960And to be sure that is not false I sweare
    A thousand grones but thinking on thy face,
    One on anothers necke do witnesse beare
    Thy blacke is fairest in my iudgements place.
    In nothing art thou blacke saue in thy deeds,
    1965And thence this slaunder as I thinke proceeds.
    I32
    THine eies I loue, and they as pittying me,
    Knowing thy heart torment me with disdaine,
    Haue put on black, and louing mourners bee,
    1970Looking with pretty ruth vpon my paine.
    And truly not the morning Sun of Heauen
    Better becomes the gray cheeks of th'East,
    Nor that full Starre that vshers in the Eauen
    Doth halfe that glory to the sober West
    1975As those two morning eyes become thy face:
    O let it then as well beseeme thy heart
    To mourne for me since mourning doth thee grace,
    And sute thy pitty like in euery part.
    Then will I sweare beauty her selfe is blacke,
    1980And all they foule that thy complexion lacke.
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