I. FROM fairest creatures we desire increase,
II. When forty winters shall beseige thy brow,
III. Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest
IV. Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
V. Those hours, that with gentle work did frame
VI. Then let not winter’s ragged hand deface
VII. Lo! in the orient when the gracious light
VIII. Music to hear, why hear’st thou music sadly?
IX. Is it for fear to wet a widow’s eye
X. For shame! deny that thou bear’st love to any,
XI. As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou growest
XII. When I do count the clock that tells the time,
XIII. O, that you were yourself! but, love, you are
XIV. Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck;
XV. When I consider every thing that grows
XVI. But wherefore do not you a mightier way
XVII. Who will believe my verse in time to come,
XVIII. Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
XIX. Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion’s paws,
XX. A woman’s face with Nature’s own hand painted
XXI. So is it not with me as with that Muse
XXII. My glass shall not persuade me I am old,
XXIII. As an unperfect actor on the stage
XXIV. Mine eye hath play’d the painter and hath
XXV. Let those who are in favour with their stars
XXVI. Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage
XXVII. Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
XXVIII. How can I then return in happy plight,
XXIX. When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,
XXX. When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
XXXI. Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts,
XXXII. If thou survive my well-contented day,
XXXIII. Full many a glorious morning have I seen
XXXIV. Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day,
XXXV. No more be grieved at that which thou hast done:
XXXVI. Let me confess that we two must be twain,
XXXVII. As a decrepit father takes delight
XXXVIII. How can my Muse want subject to invent,
XXXIX. O, how thy worth with manners may I sing,
XL. Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all;
XLI. Those petty wrongs that liberty commits,
XLII. That thou hast her, it is not all my grief,
XLIII. When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see,
XLIV. If the dull substance of my flesh were thought,
XLV. The other two, slight air and purging fire,
XLVI. Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war
XLVII. Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took,
XLVIII. How careful was I, when I took my way,
XLIX. Against that time, if ever that time come,
L. How heavy do I journey on the way,
LI. Thus can my love excuse the slow offence
LII. So am I as the rich, whose blessed key
LIII. What is your substance, whereof are you made,
LIV. O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem
LV. Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
LVI. Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said
LVII. Being your slave, what should I do but tend
LVIII. That god forbid that made me first your slave,
LIX. If there be nothing new, but that which is
LX. Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
LXI. Is it thy will thy image should keep open
LXII. Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye
LXIII. Against my love shall be, as I am now,
LXIV. When I have seen by Time’s fell hand defaced
LXV. Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
LXVI. Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,
LXVII. Ah! wherefore with infection should he live,
LXVIII. Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn,
LXIX. Those parts of thee that the world’s eye doth view
LXX. That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect,
LXXI. No longer mourn for me when I am dead
LXXII. O, lest the world should task you to recite
LXXIII. That time of year thou mayst in me behold
LXXIV. But be contented: when that fell arrest
LXXV. So are you to my thoughts as food to life,
LXXVI. Why is my verse so barren of new pride,
LXXVII. Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear,
LXXVIII. So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse
LXXIX. Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid,
LXXX. O, how I faint when I of you do write,
LXXXI. Or I shall live your epitaph to make,
LXXXII. I grant thou wert not married to my Muse
LXXXIII. I never saw that you did painting need
LXXXIV. Who is it that says most? which can say more
LXXXV. My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her
LXXXVI. Was it the proud full sail of his great verse,
LXXXVII. Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing,
LXXXVIII. When thou shalt be disposed to set me light,
LXXXIX. Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault,
XC. Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now;
XCI. Some glory in their birth, some in their skill,
XCII. But do thy worst to steal thyself away,
XCIII. So shall I live, supposing thou art true,
XCIV. They that have power to hurt and will do none,
XCV. How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame
XCVI. Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness;
XCVII. How like a winter hath my absence been
XCVIII. From you have I been absent in the spring,
XCIX. The forward violet thus did I chide:
C. Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget’st so long
CI. O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends
CII. My love is strengthen’d, though more weak in seeming;
CIII. Alack, what poverty my Muse brings forth,
CIV. To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
CV. Let not my love be call’d idolatry,
CVI. When in the chronicle of wasted time
CVII. Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul
CVIII. What’s in the brain that ink may character
CIX. O, never say that I was false of heart,
CX. Alas, ’tis true I have gone here and there
CXI. O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide,
CXII. Your love and pity doth the impression fill
CXIII. Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind;
CXIV. Or whether doth my mind, being crown’d with you,
CXV. Those lines that I before have writ do lie,
CXVI. Let me not to the marriage of true minds
CXVII. Accuse me thus: that I have scanted all
CXVIII. Like as, to make our appetites more keen,
CXIX. What potions have I drunk of Siren tears,
CXX. That you were once unkind befriends me now,
CXXI. ‘Tis better to be vile than vile esteem’d,
CXXII. Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain
CXXIII. No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change:
CXXIV. If my dear love were but the child of state,
CXXV. Were ‘t aught to me I bore the canopy,
CXXVI. O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power
CXXVII. In the old age black was not counted fair,
CXXVIII. How oft, when thou, my music, music play’st,
CXXIX. The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
CXXX. My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
CXXXI. Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art,
CXXXII. Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me,
CXXXIII. Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan
CXXXIV. So, now I have confess’d that he is thine,
CXXXV. Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy ‘Will,’
CXXXVI. If thy soul cheque thee that I come so near,
CXXXVII. Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes,
CXXXVIII. When my love swears that she is made of truth
CXXXIX. O, call not me to justify the wrong
CXL. Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press
CXLI. In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes,
CXLII. Love is my sin and thy dear virtue hate,
CXLIII. Lo! as a careful housewife runs to catch
CXLIV. Two loves I have of comfort and despair,
CXLV. Those lips that Love’s own hand did make
CXLVI. Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,
CXLVII. My love is as a fever, longing still
CXLVIII. O me, what eyes hath Love put in my head,
CXLIX. Canst thou, O cruel! say I love thee not,
CL. O, from what power hast thou this powerful might
CLI. Love is too young to know what conscience is;
CLII. In loving thee thou know’st I am forsworn,
