The Sonnets CXXIX - The expense of spirit in a waste of shame

The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
Is lust in action: and till action, lust
Is perjurd, murderous, bloody, full of blame,
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust;
Enjoyd no sooner but despised straight;
Past reason hunted; and no sooner had,
Past reason hated, as a swallowd bait,
On purpose laid to make the taker mad:
Mad in pursuit and in possession so;
Had, having, and in quest, to have extreme;
A bliss in proof, and provd, a very woe;
Before, a joy proposd; behind a dream.
All this the world well knows; yet none knows well
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.

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 CXIX - What potions have I drunk of Siren tears

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets XII - When I do count the clock that tells the time

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets LIX - If there be nothing new, but that which is

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets CLII - In loving thee thou knowst I am forsworn

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

The Sonnets X - For shame! deny that thou bearst love to any

For shame! deny that thou bearst love to any,
Who for thy self art so unprovident.
Grant, if thou wilt, thou art belovd of many,
But that thou none lovst is most evident:
For thou art so possessd with murderous hate,
That gainst thy self thou stickst not to conspire,
Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate
Which to repair should be thy chief desire.
O! change thy thought, that I may change my mind:
Shall hate be fairer lodgd than gentle love?
Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind,
Or to thyself at least kind-hearted prove:
Make thee another self for love of me,
That beauty still may live in thine or thee.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets CXLII - Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate

Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate,
Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving:
O! but with mine compare thou thine own state,
And thou shalt find it merits not reproving;
Or, if it do, not from those lips of thine,
That have profand their scarlet ornaments
And seald false bonds of love as oft as mine,
Robbd others beds revenues of their rents.
Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lovst those
Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee:
Root pity in thy heart, that, when it grows,
Thy pity may deserve to pitied be.
If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide,
By self-example mayst thou be denied!

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets XCV - How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame

How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame
Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose,
Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name!
O! in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose.
That tongue that tells the story of thy days,
Making lascivious comments on thy sport,
Cannot dispraise, but in a kind of praise;
Naming thy name, blesses an ill report.
O! what a mansion have those vices got
Which for their habitation chose out thee,
Where beautys veil doth cover every blot
And all things turns to fair that eyes can see!
Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege;
The hardest knife ill-usd doth lose his edge.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets CXLVI - Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth

Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,
My sinful earth these rebel powers array,
Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth,
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay?
Why so large cost, having so short a lease,
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend?
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,
Eat up thy charge? Is this thy bodys end?
Then soul, live thou upon thy servants loss,
And let that pine to aggravate thy store;
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross;
Within be fed, without be rich no more:
So shall thou feed on Death, that feeds on men,
And Death once dead, theres no more dying then.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets CXLIV - Two loves I have of comfort and despair

Two loves I have of comfort and despair,
Which like two spirits do suggest me still:
The better angel is a man right fair,
The worser spirit a woman colourd ill.
To win me soon to hell, my female evil,
Tempteth my better angel from my side,
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil,
Wooing his purity with her foul pride.
And whether that my angel be turnd fiend,
Suspect I may, yet not directly tell;
But being both from me, both to each friend,
I guess one angel in anothers hell:
Yet this shall I neer know, but live in doubt,
Till my bad angel fire my good one out.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets CXXI - Tis better to be vile than vile esteemd

Tis better to be vile than vile esteemd,
When not to be receives reproach of being;
And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemd
Not by our feeling, but by others seeing:
For why should others false adulterate eyes
Give salutation to my sportive blood?
Or on my frailties why are frailer spies,
Which in their wills count bad what I think good?
No, I am that I am, and they that level
At my abuses reckon up their own:
I may be straight though they themselves be bevel;
By their rank thoughts, my deeds must not be shown;
Unless this general evil they maintain,
All men are bad and in their badness reign.

William Shakespeare