The Sonnets CI - O truant Muse what shall be thy amends

O truant Muse what shall be thy amends
For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyd?
Both truth and beauty on my love depends;
So dost thou too, and therein dignified.
Make answer Muse: wilt thou not haply say,
Truth needs no colour, with his colour fixd;
Beauty no pencil, beautys truth to lay;
But best is best, if never intermixd?
Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb?
Excuse not silence so, fort lies in thee
To make him much outlive a gilded tomb
And to be praisd of ages yet to be.
Then do thy office, Muse; I teach thee how
To make him seem long hence as he shows now.

William Shakespeare

William Shakespeare was an English playwright, poet, and actor, regarded as the greatest writer in the English language and the world's greatest dramatist. Known as the 'Bard of Avon,' his extant works include approximately 39 plays, 154 sonnets, two long narrative poems, and a few other verses. His plays have been translated into every major living language and are performed more often than those of any other playwright.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets CXXVI - O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets CXIV - Or whether doth my mind, being crownd with you

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets I - From fairest creatures we desire increase

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets LXXIII - That time of year thou mayst in me behold

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

English

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The Sonnets C - Where art thou Muse that thou forgetst so long

Where art thou Muse that thou forgetst so long,
To speak of that which gives thee all thy might?
Spendst thou thy fury on some worthless song,
Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light?
Return forgetful Muse, and straight redeem,
In gentle numbers time so idly spent;
Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem
And gives thy pen both skill and argument.
Rise, resty Muse, my loves sweet face survey,
If Time have any wrinkle graven there;
If any, be a satire to decay,
And make times spoils despised every where.
Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life,
So thou preventst his scythe and crooked knife.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets XXI - So is it not with me as with that Muse

So is it not with me as with that Muse,
Stirrd by a painted beauty to his verse,
Who heaven itself for ornament doth use
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse,
Making a couplement of proud compare,
With sun and moon, with earth and seas rich gems,
With Aprils first-born flowers, and all things rare,
That heavens air in this huge rondure hems.
O! let me, true in love, but truly write,
And then believe me, my love is as fair
As any mothers child, though not so bright
As those gold candles fixd in heavens air:
Let them say more that like of hearsay well;
I will not praise that purpose not to sell.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets XXXIV - Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day

Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day,
And make me travel forth without my cloak,
To let base clouds oertake me in my way,
Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke?
Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break,
To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face,
For no man well of such a salve can speak,
That heals the wound, and cures not the disgrace:
Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief;
Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss:
The offenders sorrow lends but weak relief
To him that bears the strong offences cross.
Ah! but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds,
And they are rich and ransom all ill deeds.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets XXXVIII - How can my muse want subject to invent

How can my muse want subject to invent,
While thou dost breathe, that pourst into my verse
Thine own sweet argument, too excellent
For every vulgar paper to rehearse?
O! give thy self the thanks, if aught in me
Worthy perusal stand against thy sight;
For whos so dumb that cannot write to thee,
When thou thy self dost give invention light?
Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth
Than those old nine which rhymers invocate;
And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth
Eternal numbers to outlive long date.
If my slight muse do please these curious days,
The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets XLI - Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits

Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits,
When I am sometime absent from thy heart,
Thy beauty, and thy years full well befits,
For still temptation follows where thou art.
Gentle thou art, and therefore to be won,
Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assaild;
And when a woman woos, what womans son
Will sourly leave her till he have prevaild?
Ay me! but yet thou mightst my seat forbear,
And chide thy beauty and thy straying youth,
Who lead thee in their riot even there
Where thou art forced to break a twofold truth:
Hers by thy beauty tempting her to thee,
Thine by thy beauty being false to me.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets LXXXV - My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still

My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still,
While comments of your praise richly compild,
Reserve their character with golden quill,
And precious phrase by all the Muses fild.
I think good thoughts, whilst others write good words,
And like unlettered clerk still cry Amen
To every hymn that able spirit affords,
In polishd form of well-refined pen.
Hearing you praised, I say tis so, tis true,
And to the most of praise add something more;
But that is in my thought, whose love to you,
Though words come hindmost, holds his rank before.
Then others, for the breath of words respect,
Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect.

William Shakespeare