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Sonnet 23

|XXIII. |
|As an unperfect actor on the stage |
|Who with his fear is put besides his part, |
|Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage, |
|Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart.|
| |
|So I, for fear of trust, forget to say |
|The perfect ceremony of love's rite, |
|And in mine own love's strength seem to decay, |
|O'ercharged with burden of mine own love's might.|
| |
|O, let my books be then the eloquence |
|And dumb presagers of my speaking breast, |
|Who plead for love and look for recompense |
|More than that tongue that more hath more |
|express'd. |
| O, learn to read what silent love hath writ: |
| To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 24

|XXIV. |
|Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath stell'd|
| |
|Thy beauty's form in table of my heart; |
|My body is the frame wherein 'tis held, |
|And perspective it is the painter's art. |
|For through the painter must you see his skill, |
|To find where your true image pictured lies; |
|Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still, |
|That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes. |
|Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done: |
|Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me |
|Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun |
|Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee; |
| Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art; |
| They draw but what they see, know not the |
|heart. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 25

|XXV. |
|Let those who are in favour with their stars |
|Of public honour and proud titles boast, |
|Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars, |
|Unlook'd for joy in that I honour most. |
|Great princes' favourites their fair leaves |
|spread |
|But as the marigold at the sun's eye, |
|And in themselves their pride lies buried, |
|For at a frown they in their glory die. |
|The painful warrior famoused for fight, |
|After a thousand victories once foil'd, |
|Is from the book of honour razed quite, |
|And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd: |
| Then happy I, that love and am beloved |
| Where I may not remove nor be removed. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 26

|XXVI. |
|Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage |
|Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit, |
|To thee I send this written embassage, |
|To witness duty, not to show my wit: |
|Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine |
|May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it, |
|But that I hope some good conceit of thine |
|In thy soul's thought, all naked, will bestow it;|
| |
|Till whatsoever star that guides my moving |
|Points on me graciously with fair aspect |
|And puts apparel on my tatter'd loving, |
|To show me worthy of thy sweet respect: |
| Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee; |
| Till then not show my head where thou mayst |
|prove me. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 27

|XXVII. |
|Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed, |
|The dear repose for limbs with travel tired; |
|But then begins a journey in my head, |
|To work my mind, when body's work's expired: |
|For then my thoughts, from far where I abide, |
|Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee, |
|And keep my drooping eyelids open wide, |
|Looking on darkness which the blind do see |
|Save that my soul's imaginary sight |
|Presents thy shadow to my sightless view, |
|Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night, |
|Makes black night beauteous and her old face new.|
| |
| Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind, |
| For thee and for myself no quiet find. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 28

|XXVIII. |
|How can I then return in happy plight, |
|That am debarr'd the benefit of rest? |
|When day's oppression is not eased by night, |
|But day by night, and night by day, oppress'd? |
|And each, though enemies to either's reign, |
|Do in consent shake hands to torture me; |
|The one by toil, the other to complain |
|How far I toil, still farther off from thee. |
|I tell the day, to please them thou art bright |
|And dost him grace when clouds do blot the |
|heaven: |
|So flatter I the swart-complexion'd night, |
|When sparkling stars twire not thou gild'st the |
|even. |
| But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer |
| And night doth nightly make grief's strength |
|seem stronger. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 29

|XXIX. |
|When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, |
|I all alone beweep my outcast state |
|And trouble deal heaven with my bootless cries |
|And look upon myself and curse my fate, |
|Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, |
|Featured like him, like him with friends |
|possess'd, |
|Desiring this man's art and that man's scope, |
|With what I most enjoy contented least; |
|Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, |
|Haply I think on thee, and then my state, |
|Like to the lark at break of day arising |
|From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate; |
| For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth |
|brings |
| That then I scorn to change my state with |
|kings. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 30

|XXX. |
|When to the sessions of sweet silent thought |
|I summon up remembrance of things past, |
|I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, |
|And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste: |
|Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, |
|For precious friends hid in death's dateless |
|night, |
|And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe, |
|And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight: |
|Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, |
|And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er |
|The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, |
|Which I new pay as if not paid before. |
| But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, |
| All losses are restored and sorrows end. |

|Sonnets of William Shakespeare |
|Sonnet 31 |
|XXXI. |
|Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts, |
|Which I by lacking have supposed dead, |
|And there reigns love and all love's loving parts, |
|And all those friends which I thought buried. |
|How many a holy and obsequious tear |
|Hath dear religious love stol'n from mine eye |
|As interest of the dead, which now appear |
|But things removed that hidden in thee lie! |
|Thou art the grave where buried love doth live, |
|Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone, |
|Who all their parts of me to thee did give; |
|That due of many now is thine alone: |
| Their images I loved I view in thee, |
| And thou, all they, hast all the all of me. |
| |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

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