The Sonnets and Other Poems

by William Shakespeare

  ‘And therefore would he put his bonnet on,

  Under whose brim the gaudy1088 sun would peep.

  The wind would blow it off and, being gone,

  Play with his locks, then would Adonis weep,

  And straight1091, in pity of his tender years,

  They both would strive who first should dry his tears.

  ‘To see his face the lion walked along

  Behind some hedge because he would not fear1094 him.

  To recreate himself when he hath sung1095,

  The tiger would be tame and gently hear him.

  If he had spoke, the wolf would leave his prey

  And never fright the silly1098 lamb that day.

  ‘When he beheld his shadow1099 in the brook,

  The fishes spread on it their golden gills,

  When he was by1101, the birds such pleasure took

  That some would sing, some other in their bills

  Would bring him mulberries and ripe red cherries:

  He fed them with his sight, they him with berries.

  ‘But this foul, grim1105 and urchin-snouted boar,

  Whose downward1106 eye still looketh for a grave,

  Ne’er saw the beauteous livery1107 that he wore:

  Witness the entertainment that he gave.

  If he did see his face, why then I know

  He thought to kiss him and hath killed him so.

  ‘ ’Tis true, ’tis true! Thus was Adonis slain:

  He ran upon the boar with his sharp spear,

  Who did not whet1113 his teeth at him again

  But by a kiss thought to persuade him there1114,

  And, nuzzling1115 in his flank, the loving swine

  Sheathed unaware the tusk in his soft groin.

  ‘Had I been toothed like him, I must confess,

  With kissing him I should have killed him first,

  But he is dead and never did he bless

  My youth with his1119 — the more am I accurst.’

  With this, she falleth in the place she stood

  And stains her face with his congealèd blood.

  She looks upon his lips and they are pale,

  She takes him by the hand and that is cold

  She whispers in his ears a heavy tale,

  As if they heard the woeful words she told.

  She lifts the coffer1127-lids that close his eyes,

  Where, lo, two lamps burnt out in darkness lies:

  Two glasses1129, where herself herself beheld

  A thousand times and now no more reflect,

  Their virtue1131 lost wherein they late excelled,

  And every beauty robbed of his1132 effect.

  ‘Wonder of time,’ quoth she, ‘this is my spite,

  That, thou being dead, the day should yet be light.

  ‘Since thou art dead, lo, here I prophesy

  Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend:

  It shall be waited on with jealousy,

  Find sweet beginning but unsavoury end,

  Ne’er settled equally, but high or low1139,

  That all love’s pleasure shall not match his woe.

  ‘It shall be fickle, false and full of fraud,

  Bud and be blasted1142 in a breathing while,

  The bottom poison and the top o’erstrawed1143

  With sweets1144 that shall the truest sight beguile:

  The strongest body shall it make most weak,

  Strike the wise dumb and teach the fool to speak.

  ‘It shall be sparing1147 and too full of riot,

  Teaching decrepit age to tread the measures1148.

  The staring1149 ruffian shall it keep in quiet,

  Pluck down the rich, enrich the poor with treasures.

  It shall be raging mad and silly1151 mild,

  Make the young old, the old become a child.

  ‘It shall suspect where is1153 no cause of fear,

  It shall not fear where it should most mistrust,

  It shall be merciful and too severe,

  And most deceiving when it seems most just1156,

  Perverse1157 it shall be where it shows most toward,

  Put fear to1158 valour, courage to the coward.

  ‘It shall be cause of war and dire events

  And set dissension ’twixt the son and sire1160,

  Subject and servile to all discontents1161,

  As dry combustious1162 matter is to fire:

  Sith1163 in his prime death doth my love destroy,

  They that love best their loves shall not enjoy.’

  By this, the boy that by her side lay killed

  Was melted like a vapour from her sight,

  And in his blood that on the ground lay spilled,

  A purple1168 flower sprung up, chequered with white,

  Resembling well his pale cheeks and the blood

  Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood.

  She bows her head, the new-sprung flower to smell,

  Comparing it to her Adonis’ breath,

  And says within her bosom it shall dwell,

  Since he himself is reft1174 from her by death.

  She crops the stalk and in the breach1175 appears

  Green dropping sap, which she compares to tears.

  ‘Poor flower,’ quoth she, ‘this was thy father’s guise1177,

  Sweet issue1178 of a more sweet-smelling sire,

  For every little grief to wet his eyes.

  To grow unto himself1180 was his desire,

  And so ’tis thine: but know, it is as good

  To wither in my breast as in his blood.

  ‘Here was thy father’s bed, here in my breast,

  Thou art the next of blood1184, and ’tis thy right.

  Lo, in this hollow cradle1185 take thy rest,

  My throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night.

  There shall not be one minute in an hour

  Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love’s flower.’

  Thus weary of the world, away she hies1189

  And yokes her silver doves, by whose swift aid

  Their mistress, mounted, through the empty skies

  In her light chariot quickly is conveyed,

  Holding their course to Paphos1193, where their queen

  Means to immure1194 herself and not be seen.

  THE RAPE OF LUCRECE

  TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLEY,

  Earl of Southampton and Baron of Titchfield

  The love I dedicate to your lordship is without end: whereof this pamphlet without beginning is but a superfluous moiety. The warrant I have of your honourable disposition, not the worth of my untutored lines, makes it assured of acceptance. What I have done is yours, what I have to do is yours, being part in all I have, devoted yours. Were my worth greater, my duty would show greater: meantime, as it is, it is bound to your lordship, to whom I wish long life still lengthened with all happiness.

  Your lordship’s in all duty,

  William Shakespeare

  THE ARGUMENT

  Lucius Tarquinius (for his excessive pride surnamed Superbus) after he had caused his own father-in-law, Servius Tullius, to be cruelly murdered and, contrary to the Roman laws and customs, not requiring or staying for the people’s suffrages, had possessed himself of the kingdom, went, accompanied with his sons and other noblemen of Rome, to besiege Ardea. During which siege the principal men of the army meeting one evening at the tent of Sextus Tarquinius, the king’s son, in their discourses after supper every one commended the virtues of his own wife: among whom Collatinus extolled the incomparable chastity of his wife Lucretia. In that pleasant humour they posted to Rome, and intending by their secret and sudden arrival to make trial of that which every one had before avouched, only Collatinus finds his wife, though it were late in the night, spinning amongst her maids: the other ladies were all found dancing and revelling or in several disports, whereupon the noblemen yielded Collatinus the victory and his wife the fame. At that time Sext
us Tarquinius, being inflamed with Lucrece’ beauty yet smothering his passions for the present, departed with the rest back to the camp, from whence he shortly after privily withdrew himself and was, according to his estate, royally entertained and lodged by Lucrece at Collatium. The same night he treacherously stealeth into her chamber, violently ravished her and early in the morning speedeth away. Lucrece, in this lamentable plight, hastily dispatcheth messengers, one to Rome for her father, another to the camp for Collatine. They came, the one accompanied with Junius Brutus, the other with Publius Valerius, and, finding Lucrece attired in mourning habit, demanded the cause of her sorrow. She, first taking an oath of them for her revenge, revealed the actor and whole manner of his dealing and withal suddenly stabbed herself. Which done, with one consent they all vowed to root out the whole hated family of the Tarquins, and bearing the dead body to Rome, Brutus acquainted the people with the doer and manner of the vile deed with a bitter invective against the tyranny of the king: wherewith the people were so moved that, with one consent and a general acclamation, the Tarquins were all exiled and the state government changed from kings to consuls.

  From the besiegèd Ardea all in post1,

  Borne by the trustless2 wings of false desire,

  Lust-breathèd3 Tarquin leaves the Roman host

  And to Collatium bears the lightless4 fire

  Which, in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire5

  And girdle6 with embracing flames the waist

  Of Collatine’s fair love, Lucrece the chaste.

  Haply8 that name of ‘chaste’ unhapp’ly set

  This bateless9 edge on his keen appetite,

  When Collatine unwisely did not let10

  To praise the clear unmatchèd red and white11,

  Which triumphed in that sky of his delight12,

  Where mortal stars13, as bright as heaven’s beauties,

  With pure aspects14 did him peculiar duties.

  For he the night before in Tarquin’s tent

  Unlocked the treasure of his happy state:

  What priceless wealth the heavens had him lent

  In the possession of his beauteous mate,

  Reck’ning his fortune at such high proud rate19

  That kings might be espousèd20 to more fame,

  But21 king nor peer to such a peerless dame.

  O, happiness enjoyed but of22 a few

  And, if possessed, as soon decayed and done23

  As is the morning’s silver-melting dew

  Against25 the golden splendour of the sun,

  An expired date, cancelled ere well begun26.

  Honour and beauty in the owner’s arms

  Are weakly fortressed28 from a world of harms.

  Beauty itself doth of29 itself persuade

  The eyes of men without an orator:

  What needeth then apology31 be made

  To set forth that which is so singular32?

  Or why is Collatine the publisher33

  Of that rich jewel he should keep unknown

  From thievish ears because it is his own?

  Perchance36 his boast of Lucrece’ sov’reignty

  Suggested37 this proud issue of a king,

  For by our ears our hearts oft tainted be.

  Perchance that envy of so rich a thing,

  Braving compare40, disdainfully did sting

  His high-pitched41 thoughts that meaner men should vaunt

  That golden hap42 which their superiors want.

  But some untimely43 thought did instigate

  His all-too-timeless44 speed, if none of those:

  His honour, his affairs, his friends, his state45,

  Neglected all, with swift intent46 he goes

  To quench the coal which in his liver47 glows.

  O rash false heat48, wrapped in repentant cold,

  Thy hasty spring still blasts49 and ne’er grows old!

  When at Collatium this false lord arrived,

  Well was he welcomed by the Roman dame,

  Within whose face Beauty and Virtue strived

  Which of them both should underprop53 her fame.

  When Virtue bragged, Beauty would blush for shame,

  When Beauty boasted blushes, in despite55

  Virtue would stain that o’er with silver white.

  But Beauty, in that white intitulèd57,

  From Venus’ doves58 doth challenge that fair field.

  Then Virtue claims from Beauty Beauty’s red59,

  Which Virtue gave the golden age60 to gild

  Their silver cheeks and called it then their shield61,

  Teaching them thus to use it in the fight:

  When shame assailed63, the red should fence the white.

  This heraldry64 in Lucrece’ face was seen,

  Argued65 by Beauty’s red and Virtue’s white:

  Of either’s colour was the other queen,

  Proving from world’s minority67 their right.

  Yet their ambition makes them still68 to fight,

  The sov’reignty of either being so great

  That oft they interchange each other’s seat70.

  This silent war of lilies and of roses,

  Which Tarquin viewed in her fair face’s field,

  In their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses73,

  Where, lest between them both it should be killed,

  The coward captive vanquishèd doth yield

  To those two armies that would let him go

  Rather than triumph in77 so false a foe.

  Now thinks he that her husband’s shallow tongue,

  The niggard prodigal79 that praised her so,

  In that high task hath done her beauty wrong,

  Which far exceeds his barren skill to show.

  Therefore that praise, which Collatine doth owe82,

  Enchanted Tarquin answers83 with surmise,

  In silent wonder of still-gazing84 eyes.

  This earthly saint, adorèd by this devil,

  Little suspecteth the false worshipper:

  For unstained thoughts do seldom dream on evil.

  Birds never limed88 no secret bushes fear:

  So guiltless she securely89 gives good cheer

  And reverend90 welcome to her princely guest,

  Whose inward ill no outward harm expressed.

  For that92 he coloured with his high estate,

  Hiding base sin in pleats93 of majesty,

  That94 nothing in him seemed inordinate,

  Save sometime too much wonder of his eye,

  Which, having all, all could not satisfy;

  But, poorly rich, so wanteth in his store97

  That, cloyed with much, he pineth98 still for more.

  But she that never coped99 with stranger eyes

  Could pick no meaning from their parling100 looks,

  Nor read the subtle shining secrecies101

  Writ in the glassy margents102 of such books:

  She touched no103 unknown baits, nor feared no hooks,

  Nor could she moralize104 his wanton sight

  More than his eyes were opened to the light105.

  He stories106 to her ears her husband’s fame,

  Won in the fields of fruitful Italy,

  And decks108 with praises Collatine’s high name,

  Made glorious by his manly chivalry

  With bruisèd arms110 and wreaths of victory.

  Her joy with heaved-up111 hand she doth express,

  And wordless so greets112 heaven for his success.

  Far from the purpose of his coming thither,

  He makes excuses for his being there.

  No cloudy show of stormy blust’ring weather

  Doth yet in his fair116 welkin once appear

  Till sable117 night, mother of dread and fear,

  Upon the world dim darkness doth display

  And in her vaulty119 prison stows the day.

  For then is Tarquin brought unto his bed,

  Intending121 weariness with heavy sprite,


  For after supper long he questionèd122

  With modest Lucrece and wore out123 the night.

  Now leaden slumber with life’s strength doth fight

  And everyone to rest themselves betake125,

  Save thieves and cares126 and troubled minds that wake.

  As one of which doth Tarquin lie revolving127

  The sundry128 dangers of his will’s obtaining,

  Yet ever to obtain his will resolving,

  Though weak-built hopes130 persuade him to abstaining:

  Despair to gain doth traffic oft for gaining131

  And when great treasure132 is the meed proposed,

  Though death be adjunct133, there’s no death supposed.

  Those that much covet are with gain so fond134

  That what they have not, that which they possess

  They scatter and unloose it from their bond135,

  And so by hoping137 more they have but less,

  Or gaining more, the profit of excess

  Is but to surfeit139, and such griefs sustain

  That they prove bankrupt in this poor rich gain.

  The aim of all is but to nurse the life

  With honour, wealth and ease in waning age,

  And in this aim there is such thwarting strife,

  That one for all or all for one we gage144:

  As145 life for honour in fell battle’s rage,

  Honour for wealth and oft that wealth doth cost