So, now I have confess'd that he is thine, And I myself am mortgaged to thy will, Myself I'll forfeit, so that other mine Thou wilt restore, to be my comfort still: But thou wilt not, nor he will not be

Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan For that deep wound it gives my friend and me! Is't not enough to torture me alone, But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be? Me from myself thy cruel

Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all, What hast thou then more than thou hadst before? No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call, All mine was thine before thou hadst this more. Then if

Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye And all my soul and all my every part, And for this sin there is no remedy, It is so grounded inward in my heart. Methinks no face so gracious is as mine, No shape

Alack, what poverty my Muse brings forth, That having such a scope to show her pride, The argument all bare is of more worth Than when it hath my added praise beside! O, blame me not, if I no more can

Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn, When beauty lived and died as flowers do now, Before the bastard signs of fair were born, Or durst inhabit on a living brow, Before the golden tresses of the

Some glory in their birth, some in their skill, Some in their wealth, some in their bodies' force, Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill, Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse, And

If the dull substance of my flesh were thought, Injurious distance should not stop my way, For then despite of space I would be brought, From limits far remote where thou dost stay. No matter then although

So, now I have confess'd that he is thine, And I myself am mortgaged to thy will, Myself I'll forfeit, so that other mine Thou wilt restore, to be my comfort still: But thou wilt not, nor he will not be

When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see, For all the day they view things unrespected, But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee, And darkly bright are bright in dark directed. Then thou, whose

Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all, What hast thou then more than thou hadst before? No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call, All mine was thine before thou hadst this more. Then if

Your love and pity doth the impression fill Which vulgar scandal stamp'd upon my brow, For what care I who calls me well or ill, So you o'er-green my bad, my good allow? You are my all the world, and I

Alack, what poverty my Muse brings forth, That having such a scope to show her pride, The argument all bare is of more worth Than when it hath my added praise beside! O, blame me not, if I no more can

Against my love shall be, as I am now, With Time's injurious hand crush'd and o'er-worn, When hours have drain'd his blood and fill'd his brow With lines and wrinkles, when his youthful morn Hath travell'd

So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse And found such fair assistance in my verse As every alien pen hath got my use And under thee their poesy disperse. Thine eyes that taught the dumb on high to sing

When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see, For all the day they view things unrespected, But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee, And darkly bright are bright in dark directed. Then thou, whose

Let not my love be call'd idolatry, Nor my beloved as an idol show, Since all alike my songs and praises be To one, of one, still such, and ever so. Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind, Still constant

Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend, All tongues, the voice of souls, give thee that due, Uttering bare truth, even so as foes commend. Thy

They that have power to hurt and will do none, That do not do the thing they most do show, Who, moving others, are themselves as stone, Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow, They rightly do inherit heaven's

In the old age black was not counted fair, Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name, But now is black beauty's successive heir, And beauty slander'd with a bastard shame: For since each hand hath put on