William Shakespeare, 1564-1616 [1640], Poems: vvritten by Wil. Shake-speare. Gent (Printed... by Tho. Cotes, and are to be sold by Iohn Benson [etc.], London) [word count] [S11600].
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Injurious Time. [Sonnet LX / Sonnet LXIII / Sonnet LXIV / Sonnet LXV / Sonnet LXVI]
Like as the waves make towards the pibled shore,
So doe our minutes hasten to their end,
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toile all forwards do contend.
Nativitie once in the maine of light.
Crawles to maturitie, wherewith being crown'd,
Crooked eclipses gainst his glory fight,
And time that gave, doth now his gift confound.
Time doth transfixe the florish set on youth,
And delves the paralels in beauties brow,
Feedes on the rarities of natures truth,
And nothing stands but for his Sithe to mow,
And yet to times in hope, my verse shall stand
Praysing thy worth, dispight his cruell hand.
Against my love shall be as I am now
With times injurious hand chrusht and ore-worne,
When houres have dreind his blood and fild his brow
With lines and wrincles, when his youthfull morne
Hath travaild on to Ages steepie night,
And all those beauties whereof now he's King
Are vanishing, or vanisht out of sight,
Stealing away the treasure of his Spring.
For such a time doe I now fortifie
Against confounding Ages cruell knife,
That he shall never cut from memory
My sweet loves beautie, though my lovers life.
His beautie shall in these blacke lines be seene,
And they shall live, and he in them still greene.
-- --
When I have seene by times fell hand defaced
The rich proud cost of outworne buried age,
When sometime loftie towers I see downe rased,
And brasle eternall slave to mortall rage.
When I have seene the hungry Ocean gaine
Advantage on the Kingdome of the shoare,
And the firme soile win of the watry maine,
Increasing store with losse, and losse with store.
When I have seene such interchange of state,
Or state it selfe confounded, to decay,
Ruine hath taught me thus to ruminate
That time will come and take my love away.
This thought is as a death which cannot choose
But weepe to have, that which it feares to loose.
Since brasse, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundlesse sea,
But sad mortallity ore-swaies their power,
How with this rage shall beautie hold a plea,
Whose action is no stronger then a flower?
O how shall sommers hungry breath hold out,
Against the wrackfull siedge of battring dayes,
When rocks impregnable are not so stoute,
Nor gates of steele so strong but time decayes?
O fearefull meditation, where a lack
Shall times best Iewell from times chest lie hid?
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foote back,
Or who his spoile or beautie can forbid?
O none, unlesse this miracle have might,
That in black inck my love may still shine bright.
Tyr'd with all these for restfull death I cry,
As to behold desart a begger borne,
And needie Nothing trimd in jollitie,
And purest faith unhappily forsworne,
-- --
And gilded honour shamefully misplast,
And maiden vertue rudely strumpeted,
And right perfection wrongfully disgrac'd,
And strength by limping sway disabled,
And Art made tung-tide by authoritie,
And Folly (Doctor-like) controuling skill,
And simple-Truth miscalde Simplicitie,
And captive-good attending Captaine ill.
Tyr'd with all these, from these would I be gone,
Save that to dye, I leave my love alone.
William Shakespeare, 1564-1616 [1640], Poems: vvritten by Wil. Shake-speare. Gent (Printed... by Tho. Cotes, and are to be sold by Iohn Benson [etc.], London) [word count] [S11600].
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