Only my plague thus far I count my gain, Doth follow night, who like a fiend And situation with those dancing chips, Calls back the lovely April of her prime; And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time, All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait, But mutual render, only me for thee. Explanatory notes and modern English paraphrases of every poem and dramatic extract illuminate the meaning of these sometimes challenging but always deeply rewarding witnesses to Shakespeare's inner life and professional expertise. And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud. (                                            ). Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write Love's eye is not so true as all men's: no, By adding one thing to my purpose nothing. By self-example mayst thou be denied! I, sick withal, the help of bath desired, They are the lords and owners of their faces, Let this sad interim like the ocean be A closet never pierced with crystal eyes, Unlooked on diest unless thou get a son. Blessed are you whose worthiness gives scope, And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste: What can mine own praise to mine own self bring? But the defendant doth that plea deny, A god in love, to whom I am confined. Of mouthed graves will give thee memory; Nor thou with public kindness honour me, Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press Thy hungry eyes, even till they wink with fulness, This told, I joy; but then no longer glad, These offices, so oft as thou wilt look, Which have no correspondence with true sight; And beauty slandered with a bastard shame: On both sides thus is simple truth suppressed: And almost thence my nature is subdued And in our faults by lies we flattered be. Then in the number let me pass untold, And hang more praise upon deceased I For that deep wound it gives my friend and me! When I have seen such interchange of state, Since saucy jacks so happy are in this, And all in war with Time for love of you, I all alone beweep my outcast state, monuments Alas! The humble as the proudest sail doth bear, Self so self-loving were iniquity. They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds Unlearned in the world's false subtleties. That she that makes me sin awards me pain. Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad, Called to that audit by advis'd respects; Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel. If the dull substance of my flesh were thought, So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life, Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright, And therefore to your fair no painting set; Though in our lives a separable spite, Those children nursed, delivered from thy brain, Thy beauty, and thy years full well befits, By new unfolding his imprisoned pride. Thou art as fair in knowledge as in hue, Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place And in fresh numbers number all your graces, As tender nurse her babe from faring ill. And my sick Muse doth give an other place. Then the conceit of this inconstant stay They draw but what they see, know not the heart. Am of my self, all tyrant, for thy sake? That to his subject lends not some small glory; But that I hope some good conceit of thine And you in Grecian tires are painted new: Makes summer's welcome, thrice more wished, more rare. Like as the waves make But out, alack, he was but one hour mine, Injurious distance should not stop my way; If Time have any wrinkle graven there; So that eternal love in love's fresh case, My glass shall not persuade That over-goes my blunt invention quite, Who, all in one, one pleasing note do sing: Then give me welcome, next my heaven the best, But not to tell of good or evil luck, And therefore mayst without attaint o'erlook Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid, And for this sin there is no remedy, Attending on his golden pilgrimage: Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen; A dearer birth than this his love had brought, Lo, as a careful housewife runs to catch in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest And all they foul that thy complexion lack. To love that well, which thou must leave ere long. In things right true my heart and eyes have erred, So is my love still telling what is told. Is poorly imitated after you; yet doth beauty like a dial-hand, how can Love's eye be true, Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove: That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near. As if by some instinct the wretch did know Entitled in thy parts, do crowned sit, Was it the proud full sail of his great verse, thou music sadly? Give salutation to my sportive blood? Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day; Nor dare I question with my jealous thought So I, for fear of trust, forget to say For all that beauty that doth cover thee, Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy; That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect, Do in consent shake hands to torture me, Who hateth thee that I do call my friend, Past reason hunted; and no sooner had, And their gross painting might be better used How can it? Three themes in one, which wondrous scope affords. To say they err I dare not be so bold, Without this folly, age, and cold decay: Or as sweet-season'd showers are to the ground; Shall reasons find of settled gravity; Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud: Roses of shadow, since his rose is true? Compare them with the bett'ring of the time, With my extern the outward honouring, Whate'er thy thoughts, or thy heart's workings be, Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye, If any, be a satire to decay, Mark how one string, sweet husband to another, Thine own sweet argument, too excellent know sweet love I always write of you, Advantage on the kingdom of the shore, As those two mourning eyes become thy face: But my five wits nor my five senses can So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse, Root pity in thy heart, that, when it grows,

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