The Sonnets IV - Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend

Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
Upon thy self thy beautys legacy?
Natures bequest gives nothing, but doth lend,
And being frank she lends to those are free:
Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse
The bounteous largess given thee to give?
Profitless usurer, why dost thou use
So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live?
For having traffic with thy self alone,
Thou of thy self thy sweet self dost deceive:
Then how when nature calls thee to be gone,
What acceptable audit canst thou leave?
Thy unused beauty must be tombed with thee,
Which, used, lives th executor to be.

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 CXVII - Accuse me thus: that I have scanted all

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets CVII - Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets XXXIII - Full many a glorious morning have I seen

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets XXXI - Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts

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 I - From fairest creatures we desire increase

From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beautys rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory:
But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feedst thy lights flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thy self thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel:
Thou that art now the worlds fresh ornament,
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content,
And tender churl makst waste in niggarding:
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the worlds due, by the grave and thee.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets VI - Then let not winters ragged hand deface

Then let not winters ragged hand deface,
In thee thy summer, ere thou be distilld:
Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place
With beautys treasure ere it be self-killd.
That use is not forbidden usury,
Which happies those that pay the willing loan;
Thats for thy self to breed another thee,
Or ten times happier, be it ten for one;
Ten times thy self were happier than thou art,
If ten of thine ten times refigurd thee:
Then what could death do if thou shouldst depart,
Leaving thee living in posterity?
Be not self-willd, for thou art much too fair
To be deaths conquest and make worms thine heir.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets IX - Is it for fear to wet a widows eye

Is it for fear to wet a widows eye,
That thou consumst thy self in single life?
Ah! if thou issueless shalt hap to die,
The world will wail thee like a makeless wife;
The 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 childrens eyes, her husbands shape in mind:
Look! what an unthrift in the world doth spend
Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it;
But beautys 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 murdrous shame commits.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets XVI - But wherefore do not you a mightier way

But wherefore do not you a mightier way
Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time?
And fortify your self in your decay
With means more blessed than my barren rhyme?
Now stand you on the top of happy hours,
And many maiden gardens, yet unset,
With virtuous wish would bear you living flowers,
Much liker than your painted counterfeit:
So should the lines of life that life repair,
Which this, Times pencil, or my pupil pen,
Neither in inward worth nor outward fair,
Can make you live your self in eyes of men.
To give away yourself, keeps yourself still,
And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets XIII - O! that you were your self; but, love you are

O! that you were your self; but, love you are
No longer yours, than you your self here live:
Against this coming end you should prepare,
And your sweet semblance to some other give:
So should that beauty which you hold in lease
Find no determination; then you were
Yourself again, after yourselfs decease,
When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear.
Who lets so fair a house fall to decay,
Which husbandry in honour might uphold,
Against the stormy gusts of winters day
And barren rage of deaths eternal cold?
O! none but unthrifts. Dear my love, you know,
You had a father: let your son say so.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets CVI - When in the chronicle of wasted time

When in the chronicle of wasted time
I see descriptions of the fairest wights,
And beauty making beautiful old rime,
In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights,
Then, in the blazon of sweet beautys best,
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,
I see their antique pen would have expressd
Even such a beauty as you master now.
So all their praises are but prophecies
Of this our time, all you prefiguring;
And for they looked but with divining eyes,
They had not skill enough your worth to sing:
For we, which now behold these present days,
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.

William Shakespeare