Escritas

Poems List

Sonnet 9: Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye

Sonnet 9: Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye

Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye,
That thou consum'st 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 children's eyes, her husband's shape in mind.
Look what an unthrift in the world doth spend
Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it;
But beauty's 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 murd'rous shame commits.
👁️ 269

Sonnet 88: When thou shalt be disposed to set me light

Sonnet 88: When thou shalt be disposed to set me light

When thou shalt be disposed to set me light

And place my merit in the eye of scorn,

Upon thy side, against myself I'll fight,

And prove thee virtuous, though thou art forsworn.

With mine own weakness being best acquainted,

Upon thy part I can set down a story

Of faults concealed, wherein I am attainted,

That thou in losing me shalt win much glory.

And I by this will be a gainer too;

For bending all my loving thoughts on thee,

The injuries that to myself I do,

Doing thee vantage, double-vantage me.
Such is my love, to thee I so belong,
That for thy right, myself will bear all wrong.
👁️ 325

Sonnet 86: Was it the proud full sail of his great verse

Sonnet 86: Was it the proud full sail of his great verse

Was it the proud full sail of his great verse,
Bound for the prize of all-too-precious you,
That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse,
Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew?
Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write
Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead?
No, neither he, nor his compeers by night
Giving him aid, my verse astonishèd.
He nor that affable familiar ghost
Which nightly gulls him with intelligence,
As victors of my silence cannot boast;
I was not sick of any fear from thence.


But when your countenance filled up his line,
Then lacked I matter, that enfeebled mine.
👁️ 305

Sonnet 84: Who is it that says most, which can say more

Sonnet 84: Who is it that says most, which can say more

Who is it that says most, which can say more,
Than this rich praise, that you alone, are you,
In whose confine immured is the store
Which should example where your equal grew?
Lean penury within that pen doth dwell
That to his subject lends not some small glory;
But he that writes of you, if he can tell
That you are you, so dignifies his story.
Let him but copy what in you is writ,
Not making worse what nature made so clear,
And such a counterpart shall fame his wit,
Making his style admired every where.
You to your beauteous blessings add a curse,
Being fond on praise, which makes your praises worse.
👁️ 294

Sonnet 83: I never saw that you did painting need

Sonnet 83: I never saw that you did painting need

I never saw that you did painting need,
And therefore to your fair no painting set;
I found, or thought I found, you did exceed
That barren tender of a poet's debt;
And therefore have I slept in your report,
That you yourself being extant well might show
How far a modern quill doth come too short,
Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow.
This silence for my sin you did impute,
Which shall be most my glory, being dumb,
For I impair not beauty, being mute,
When others would give life and bring a tomb.


There lives more life in one of your fair eyes,
Than both your poets can in praise devise.
👁️ 317

Sonnet 81: Or I shall live your epitaph to make

Sonnet 81: Or I shall live your epitaph to make

Or I shall live your epitaph to make,
Or you survive when I in earth am rotten,
From hence your memory death cannot take,
Although in me each part will be forgotten.
Your name from hence immortal life shall have,
Though I, once gone, to all the world must die;
The earth can yield me but a common grave,
When you entombèd in men's eyes shall lie.
Your monument shall be my gentle verse,
Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read,
And tongues to be your being shall rehearse
When all the breathers of this world are dead.


You still shall live—such virtue hath my pen—
Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men.
👁️ 288

Sonnet 8: Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?

Sonnet 8: Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?

Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?
Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy.
Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not gladly,
Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy?
If the true concord of well-tunèd sounds,
By unions married, do offend thine ear,
They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds
In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear.
Mark how one string, sweet husband to another,
Strikes each in each by mutual ordering,
Resembling sire and child and happy mother,
Who, all in one, one pleasing note do sing;


Whose speechless song being many, seeming one,
Sings this to thee: "Thou single wilt prove none."
👁️ 288

Sonnet 78: So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse

Sonnet 78: So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse

So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse,
And found such fair assistance in my verse
As every alien pen hath got my use,
And under thee their poesy disperse.
Thine eyes, that taught the dumb on high to sing,
And heavy ignorance aloft to fly,
Have added feathers to the learnèd's wing
And given grace a double majesty.
Yet be most proud of that which I compile,
Whose influence is thine, and born of thee.
In others' works thou dost but mend the style,
And arts with thy sweet graces gracèd be.


But thou art all my art, and dost advance
As high as learning my rude ignorance.
👁️ 315

Sonnet 76: Why is my verse so barren of new pride?

Sonnet 76: Why is my verse so barren of new pride?

Why is my verse so barren of new pride?

So far from variation or quick change?

Why with the time do I not glance aside

To new-found methods, and to compounds strange?

Why write I still all one, ever the same,

And keep invention in a noted weed,

That every word doth almost tell my name,

Showing their birth and where they did proceed?

O, know, sweet love, I always write of you,

And you and love are still my argument;

So all my best is dressing old words new,

Spending again what is already spent.
For as the sun is daily new and old,
So is my love still telling what is told.
👁️ 189

Sonnet 74: But be contented when that fell arrest

Sonnet 74: But be contented when that fell arrest

But be contented when that fell arrest
Without all bail shall carry me away;
My life hath in this line some interest,
Which for memorial still with thee shall stay.
When thou reviewest this, thou dost review
The very part was consecrate to thee,
The earth can have but earth, which is his due;
My spirit is thine the better part of me.
So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life,
The prey of worms, my body being dead,
The coward conquest of a wretch's knife,
Too base of thee to be rememberèd,


The worth of that is that which it contains,
And that is this, and this with thee remains.
👁️ 218

Comments (0)

Log in ToPostComment

NoComments