Sonnet 108: What's in the brain that ink may character
What’s in the brain that ink may character Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit? What’s new to speak, what now to register, That may express my love, or thy dear merit?
Sonnet 146: Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth
Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth, My sinful earth these rebel powers array, Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth, Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? Why so large cost,
Sonnet 101: O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends
O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed? Both truth and beauty on my love depends; So dost thou too, and therein dignified. Make answer, Muse.
Sonnet 43: When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see
When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see, For all the day they view things unrespected; But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee, And darkly bright, are bright in
Sonnet 27: Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed
Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed, The dear respose for limbs with travel tirèd; But then begins a journey in my head To work my mind, when body’s work’s expirèd. For
Sonnet XXXVI
Let me confess that we two must be twain, Although our undivided loves are one: So shall those blots that do with me remain Without thy help by me be borne alone. In our
Sonnet 60: Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end; Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Nativity once
Sonnet 34: Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day
Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day And make me travel forth without my cloak, To let base clouds o’ertake me in my way, Hiding thy brav’ry in their rotten smoke? ‘Tis not
Fear No More
Fear no more the heat o’ the sun; Nor the furious winter’s rages, Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages; Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney
Sonnet 32: If thou survive my well-contented day
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 deceasèd lover, Compare them with
Sonnet CLI
Love is too young to know what conscience is; Yet who knows not conscience is born of love? Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss, Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove:
Sonnet XCVIII
From you have I been absent in the spring, When proud-pied April dress’d in all his trim Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing, That heavy Saturn laugh’d and leap’d with him.
Sonnets xx
POOR soul, the centre of my sinful earth My sinful earth these rebel powers array Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth, Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? Why so large cost,
Sonnet LVII
Being your slave, what should I do but tend Upon the hours and times of your desire? I have no precious time at all to spend, Nor services to do, till you require. Nor
Sonnets xix
TH’ expense of Spirit in a waste of shame Is lust in action; and till action, lust Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame, Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust; Enjoy’d no sooner