Sonnet 68: Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn
Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn, When beauty lived and died as flowers do now, Before these bastard signs of fair were born, Or durst inhabit on a living brow; Before
Sonnet CXV
Those lines that I before have writ do lie, Even those that said I could not love you dearer: Yet then my judgment knew no reason why My most full flame should afterwards burn
Sonet LIV
O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem By that sweet ornament which truth doth give! The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem For that sweet odour which doth in it live.
Sonnet XXXII
If thou survive my well-contented day, When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover, And shalt by fortune once more re-survey These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover, Compare them with
Sonnet CIV
To me, fair friend, you never can be old, For as you were when first your eye I eyed, Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold Have from the forests shook three summers’
Sonnet CL
O, from what power hast thou this powerful might With insufficiency my heart to sway? To make me give the lie to my true sight, And swear that brightness doth not grace the day?
The Quality of Mercy
The quality of mercy is not strain’d. It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest: It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes. ‘Tis mightiest
Sonnet 150: O from what power hast thou this powerful might
O, from what power hast thou this powerful might With insufficiency my heart to sway? To make me give the lie to my true sight, And swear that brightness doth not grace the day?
Sonnet XIX
Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion’s paws, And make the earth devour her own sweet brood; Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger’s jaws, And burn the long-lived phoenix in her blood; Make
Sonnets vi
O HOW much more doth beauty beauteous seem By that sweet ornament which truth doth give! The Rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem For that sweet odour which doth in it live.
Sonnet II: When Forty Winters Shall Besiege Thy Brow
When forty winters shall besiege thy brow, And dig deep trenches in thy beauty’s field, Thy youth’s proud livery, so gazed on now, Will be a tatter’d weed, of small worth held: Then being
Sonnet LXVII
Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn, When beauty lived and died as flowers do now, Before the bastard signs of fair were born, Or durst inhabit on a living brow; Before
Three Songs
Come unto these yellow sands, And then take hands: Court’sied when you have, and kiss’d, The wild waves whist Foot it featly here and there; And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear. Hark, hark! Bow,
Sonnet 47: Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took
Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took, And each doth good turns now unto the other, When that mine eye is famished for a look, Or heart in love with sighs himself
Sonnet 51: Thus can my love excuse the slow offence
Thus can my love excuse the slow offence Of my dull bearer, when from thee I speed: From where thou art, why should I haste me thence? Till I return, of posting is no