by William Shakespeare
In the old age black was not counted fair, Or if it were it bore not beauty's name: But now is black beauty's successive heir, And beauty slandered with a bastard shame, For since each hand hath… Read the rest
Category: William Shakespeare
Sonnet 119
by William Shakespeare
What potions have I drunk of Siren tears Distilled from limbecks foul as hell within, Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears, Still losing when I saw my self to win! What wretched errors hath my… Read the rest
Sonnet 120
by William Shakespeare
That you were once unkind befriends me now, And for that sorrow, which I then did feel, Needs must I under my transgression bow, Unless my nerves were brass or hammered steel. For if you were by… Read the rest
Sonnet 121
by William Shakespeare
'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed, When not to be, receives reproach of being, And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemed, Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing. For why should others'… Read the rest
Sonnet 122
by William Shakespeare
Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain Full charactered with lasting memory, Which shall above that idle rank remain Beyond all date even to eternity. Or at the least, so long as brain and heart Have… Read the rest
Sonnet 123
by William Shakespeare
No! Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change, Thy pyramids built up with newer might To me are nothing novel, nothing strange, They are but dressings Of a former sight: Our dates are brief, and… Read the rest
Sonnet 124
by William Shakespeare
If my dear love were but the child of state, It might for Fortune's bastard be unfathered, As subject to time's love or to time's hate, Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gathered. No it was… Read the rest
Sonnet 125
by William Shakespeare
Were't aught to me I bore the canopy, With my extern the outward honouring, Or laid great bases for eternity, Which proves more short than waste or ruining? Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour… Read the rest
Sonnet 112
by William Shakespeare
Your love and pity doth th' impression fill, Which vulgar scandal stamped upon my brow, For what care I who calls me well or ill, So you o'er-green my bad, my good allow? You are my all… Read the rest
Sonnet 113
by William Shakespeare
Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind, And that which governs me to go about, Doth part his function, and is partly blind, Seems seeing, but effectually is out: For it no form delivers… Read the rest