Sonnets 1-154

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Sonnets 1-154 er skrevet av William Shakespeare og inneholder disse sonettene:

From fairest creatures we desire increase

When forty winters shall besiege thy brow

Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest

Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend

Those hours, that with gentle work did frame

Then let not winter's ragged hand deface

Lo! in the orient when the gracious light

Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?

Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye

For shame! deny that thou bear'st love to any

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

When I do count the clock that tells the time

O! that you were yourself; but, love you are

Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck

When I consider every thing that grows

But wherefore do not you a mightier way

Who will believe my verse in time to come

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws

A woman's face with Nature's own hand painted

So is it not with me as with that Muse

My glass shall not persuade me I am old

As an unperfect actor on the stage

Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath stell'd

Let those who are in favour with their stars

Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed

How can I then return in happy plight

When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought

Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts

If thou survive my well-contented day

Full many a glorious morning have I seen

Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day

No more be griev'd at that which thou hast done

Let me confess that we two must be twain

As a decrepit father takes delight

How can my Muse want subject to invent

O! how thy worth with manners may I sing

Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all

Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits

That thou hast her, it is not all my grief

When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see

If the dull substance of my flesh were thought

The other two, slight air and purging fire

Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war

Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took

How careful was I when I took my way

Against that time, if ever that time come

How heavy do I journey on the way

Thus can my love excuse the slow offence

So am I as the rich, whose blessed key

What is your substance, whereof are you made

O! how much more doth beauty beauteous seem

Not marble, nor the gilded monuments

Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said

Being your slave, what should I do but tend

That god forbid that made me first your slave

If there be nothing new, but that which is

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore

Is it thy will thy image should keep open

Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye

Against my love shall be, as I am now

When I have seen by Time's fell hand defac'd

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea

Tir'd with all these, for restful death I cry

Ah! wherefore with infection should he live

Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn

Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view

That thou art blam'd shall not be thy defect

No longer mourn for me when I am dead

O! lest the world should task you to recite

That time of year thou mayst in me behold

But be contented: when that fell arrest

So are you to my thoughts as food to life

Why is my verse so barren of new pride

Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear

So oft have I invok'd thee for my Muse

Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid

O! how I faint when I of you do write

Or I shall live your epitaph to make

I grant thou wert not married to my Muse

I never saw that you did painting need

Who is it that says most? which can say more

My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still

Was it the proud full sail of his great verse

Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing

When thou shalt be dispos'd to set me light

Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault

Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now

Some glory in their birth, some in their skill

But do thy worst to steal thyself away

So shall I live, supposing thou art true

They that have power to hurt and will do none

How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame

Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness

How like a winter hath my absence been

From you have I been absent in the spring

The forward violet thus did I chide

Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long

O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends

My love is strengthen'd, though more weak in seeming

Alack! what poverty my Muse brings forth

To me, fair friend, you never can be old

Let not my love be call'd idolatry

When in the chronicle of wasted time

Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul

What 's in the brain, that ink may character

O! never say that I was false of heart

Alas! 'tis true I have gone here and there

O! for my sake do you with Fortune chide

Your love and pity doth the impression fill

Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind

Or whether doth my mind, being crown'd with you

Those lines that I before have writ do lie

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Accuse me thus: that I have scanted all

Like as, to make our appetites more keen

What potions have I drunk of Siren tears

That you were once unkind befriends me now

'Tis better to be vile than vile esteem'd

Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain

No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change

If my dear love were but the child of state

Were 't aught to me I bore the canopy

O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power

In the old age black was not counted fair

How oft when thou, my music, music play'st

The expense of spirit in a waste of shame

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun

Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art

Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me

Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan

So, now I have confess'd that he is thine

Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy Will

If thy soul check thee that I come so near

Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes

When my love swears that she is made of truth

O! call not me to justify the wrong

Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press

In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes

Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate

Lo, as a careful housewife runs to catch

Two loves I have of comfort and despair

Those lips that Love's own hand did make

Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth

My love is as a fever, longing still

O me! what eyes hath Love put in my head

Canst thou, O cruel! say I love thee not

O! from what power hast thou this powerful might

Love is too young to know what conscience is

In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn

Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep

The little Love-god lying once asleep