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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An invitation to Marriage. [Sonnet VIII / Sonnet IX / Sonnet X / Sonnet XI / Sonnet XII]
Mvsick to heare, why hear'st thou musick sadly,
Sweets with sweets warre not, joy delights in joy:
Why lov'st thou that which thou receavst not gladly,
Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy?
If the true concord of well tuned sounds,
By unions married do offend thine eare,
They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds
In singlenesse the parts that thou should'st beare:
Marke how one string sweet husband to another,
Strikes each in each by mutuall ordering;
Resembling sier, and child, and happy mother,
Who all in one, one pleasing note do sing:
Whose speechlesse song being many, seeming one,
Sings this to thee thou single wilt prove none.
It is for feare to wet a widdowes eye
That thou consum'st thy selfe in single life?
Ah! if thou issulesse shalt hap to die,
The world will waile thee like a makelesse wife,
The world will be thy widdow and still weepe,
That thou no forme of thee hast left behind,
When every privat widdow well may keepe,
By childrens eyes, her husbands shape in minde:
Looke what an unthrift in the world doth spend
Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoyes it
-- --
But beauties waste hath in the world an end,
And kept unus'd the user so destroyes it:
No love toward others in that bosome sits
That on himselfe such murdrous shame commits.
For shame deny that thou bear'st love to any
Who for thy selfe art so unprovident
Grant if thou wilt, thou art belov'd of many,
But that thou none lov'st is most evident:
For thou art so possest with murdrous hate,
That gainst thy selfe thou stickst not to conspire,
Seeking that beautious roofe to ruinate
Which to repaire should be thy chiefe desire:
O change thy thought, that I may change my minde.
Shall hate be fairer log'd then gentle love?
Be as thy presence is gracious and kind,
Or to thy selfe at least kind hearted prove,
Make thee another selfe for love of me,
That beautie still may live in thine or thee.
As fast as thou shalt wane so fast thou grow'st,
In one of thine, from that which thou departest,
And that fresh blood which yongly thou bestow'st,
Thou maist call thine, when thou from youth convertest,
Herein lives wisedome, beautie, and increase,
Without this folly, age, and cold decay,
If all were minded so, the times should cease,
And threescore yeares would make the world away:
Let those whom nature hath not made for store,
Harsh, featurelesse, and rude, barrenly perish,
Looke whom she best indow'd, she gave the more;
Which bountious gift thou shouldst in bountie cherrish,
She carv'd thee for her seale; and ment thereby,
Thou shouldst print more, not let that coppy die.
-- --
When I doe count the clock that tels the time,
And see the brave day sunck in hidious night,
When I behold the violet past prime,
And sable curls or silver'd ore with white:
When loftie trees I see barren of leaves,
Which erst from heat did canopie the herd
And Sommers greene all girded up in sheaves
Borne on the beare with white and bristly beard:
Then of thy beautie doe I question make
That thou among the wasts of time must goe,
Since sweets and beauties doe themselves forsake,
And die as fast as they see others grow,
And nothing gainst Times sithe can make defence
Save breed to brave him, when he takes thee hence.
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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