The Sonnets of William Shakespeare (Wisehouse Classics Edition). William Shakespeare

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ 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.

X

       For shame! deny that thou bear’st love to any,

      Who for thy self art so unprovident.

      Grant, if thou wilt, thou art belov’d of many,

      But that thou none lov’st is most evident:

      For thou art so possess’d with murderous hate,

      That ‘gainst thy self thou stick’st not to conspire,

      Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate

      Which to repair should be thy chief desire.

      O! change thy thought, that I may change my mind:

      Shall hate be fairer lodg’d than gentle love?

      Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind,

      Or to thyself at least kind-hearted prove:

      Make thee another self for love of me,

      That beauty still may live in thine or thee.

XI

       As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow’st,

      In one of thine, from that which thou departest;

      And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow’st,

      Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth convertest,

      Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase;

      Without this folly, age, and cold decay:

      If all were minded so, the times should cease

      And threescore year would make the world away.

      Let those whom nature hath not made for store,

      Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish:

      Look, whom she best endow’d, she gave thee more;

      Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty cherish:

      She carv’d thee for her seal, and meant thereby,

      Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die.

XII

       When I do count the clock that tells the time,

      And see the brave day sunk in hideous night;

      When I behold the violet past prime,

      And sable curls, all silvered o’er with white;

      When lofty trees I see barren of leaves,

      Which erst from heat did canopy the herd,

      And summer’s green all girded up in sheaves,

      Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard,

      Then of thy beauty do I question make,

      That thou among the wastes of time must go,

      Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake

      And die as fast as they see others grow;

      And nothing ‘gainst Time’s scythe can make defence

      Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.

XIII

       O! that you were your self; but, love you are

      No longer yours, than you your self here live:

      Against this coming end you should prepare,

      And your sweet semblance to some other give:

      So should that beauty which you hold in lease

      Find no determination; then you were

      Yourself again, after yourself’s decease,

      When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear.

      Who lets so fair a house fall to decay,

      Which husbandry in honour might uphold,

      Against the stormy gusts of winter’s day

      And barren rage of death’s eternal cold?

      O! none but unthrifts. Dear my love, you know,

      You had a father: let your son say so.

XIV

       Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck;

      And yet methinks I have astronomy,

      But not to tell of good or evil luck,

      Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons’ quality;

      Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,

      Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind,

      Or say with princes if it shall go well

      By oft predict that I in heaven find:

      But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,

      And constant stars in them I read such art

      As ‘Truth and beauty shall together thrive,

      If from thyself, to store thou wouldst convert’;

      Or СКАЧАТЬ