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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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A disconsolation. [Sonnet XXVII / Sonnet XXVIII / Sonnet XIX]
Weary with toyle, I haste me to my bed,
The deare repose for lims with travaile tired,
But then begins a journey in my head
To worke my minde, when bodies work's expired.
For then my thoughts (from far where I abide)
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keepe my drooping eye-lids open wide,
Looking on darkenesse which the blind doe see.
Save that my soules imaginary sight
Presents their shaddow to my sightlesse view,
Which like a jewell (hunge in gastly night)
Makes blacke night beautious and her old face new.
  Loe thus by day my lims, by night my mind,
  For thee, and for my selfe, no quiet finde.
How can I then returne in happy plight
That am debard the benefit of rest?
When dayes oppression is not eazd by night,
But day by night and night by day opprest.
And each (though enemies to others raigne)
Doe in consent shake hands to torture me,
The one by toyle, the other to complaine
How far I toyle, still farther off from thee.
I tell the Day to please him thou art bright,
And do'st him grace when clouds doe blot the heaven:
So flatter I the swart complexiond night,
When sparkling stars twire, not thou guil'st th'even.
  But day doth daily draw my sorrowes longer,
  And night doth nightly make greefes length seeme. stronger

-- --

When in disgrace with Fortune and mens eyes,
I all alone be weepe my out-cast state,
And trouble deafe heaven with my bootlesse cries,
And looke upon my selfe and curse my fate.
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featur'd like him, like him with friends possest,
Desiring this mans art, and that mans skope,
With what I most injoy contented least,
Yet in these thoughts my selfe almost despising,
Haply I thinke on thee, and then my state,
(Like to the Larke at breake of day arising)
From sullen earth sings himns at Heavens gate,
For thy sweet love remembred such wealth brings,
That then I scorne to change my state with Kings.
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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].