Beschrijving
William Shakespeare THE SONNETS — FROM fairest creatures we desire increase, That thereby beautys Rose might never die, But as the riper should by time decease, His tender heir might bear his memory But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes, Feedst thy lights flame with self-substantial fuel, Making a famine where abundance lies, Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel. Thou that art now the worlds fresh ornament, And only herald to the gaudy spring, Within thine own bud buriest thy content, And, tender churl, makst waste in niggarding. Pity the world, or else this glutton be, To eat the worlds due, by the grave and thee. W HEN forty winters shall besiege thy brow, And dig deep trenches in thy beautys field, Thy youths proud livery, so gazd on now, Will be a totterd weed, of small worth held Then being askd where all thy beauty lies, Where all the treasure of thy lusty days To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes, Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise. How much more praise deservd thy beautys use, If thou couldst answer, This fair child of mine Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse, Proving his beauty by succession thine This were to be new made when thou art old, And see thy blood warm when thou feelst it cold. OOK in thy glass, and tell the face L thou viewest Now is the time that face should form another Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest, Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother. For where is she so fair whose uneard womb Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry Or who is he so fond will be the tomb Of his self-love, to stop posterity Thou art thy mothers glass, and she in thee Calls back the lovely April of her prime So thou through windowsof thine age shalt see, Despite ofwrinkles, this thy golden time. But if thou live, rememberd not to be, Die single, and thine image dies with thee. NTHRIFTY loveliness, why U dost thou spend Upon thyself thy beautys legacy Natures bequest gives nothing, but doth lend And, being frank, she lends to those are free. Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse The bounteous largess given thee to give Profitless usurer, why dost thou use So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live For having traffic with thyself alone, Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive. Then how, when kature calls thee to be gone, What acceptable audit canst thou leave Thy unused beauty must be tombd with thee, Which, used, lives th executor to be. HOSE hours, that with gentle work did rame T f The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell, Will play the tyrants to the very same, And that unfair which fairly doth excel For never-resting time leads summer on To hideous winter and confounds him there Sap checkt with frost, and lusty leaves quite gone, Beauty oersnowd, and bareness every where Then, were not summers distillation left, A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass, Beautys effect with beauty were bereft, Nor it, nor no remembrance what it was But flowers distilld, though they with winter meet, Leese but their show their substance still lives sweet. T HEN let not winters ragged hand deface In thee thy summer, ere thou be distilld Make sweet some vial treasure thou some place With beautys treasure, ere it be self-killd…
