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|LXXX. |
|O, how I faint when I of you do write, |
|Knowing a better spirit doth use your name, |
|And in the praise thereof spends all his might, |
|To make me tongue-tied, speaking of your fame! |
|But since your worth, wide as the ocean is, |
|The humble as the proudest sail doth bear, |
|My saucy bark inferior far to his |
|On your broad main doth wilfully appear. |
|Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat, |
|Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride; |
|Or being wreck'd, I am a worthless boat, |
|He of tall building and of goodly pride: |
| Then if he thrive and I be cast away, |
| The worst was this; my love was my decay. |

|Sonnets of William Shakespeare |
|Sonnet 81 |
|LXXXI. |
|Or I shall live your epitaph to make, |
|Or you survive when I in earth am rotten; |
|From hence your memory death cannot take, |
|Although in me each part will be forgotten. |
|Your name from hence immortal life shall have, |
|Though I, once gone, to all the world must die: |
|The earth can yield me but a common grave, |
|When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie. |
|Your monument shall be my gentle verse, |
|Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read, |
|And tongues to be your being shall rehearse |
|When all the breathers of this world are dead; |
| You still shall live--such virtue hath my pen-- |
| Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men. |
| |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 82

|LXXXII. |
|I grant thou wert not married to my Muse |
|And therefore mayst without attaint o'erlook |
|The dedicated words which writers use |
|Of their fair subject, blessing every book |
|Thou art as fair in knowledge as in hue, |
|Finding thy worth a limit past my praise, |
|And therefore art enforced to seek anew |
|Some fresher stamp of the time-bettering days |
|And do so, love; yet when they have devised |
|What strained touches rhetoric can lend, |
|Thou truly fair wert truly sympathized |
|In true plain words by thy true-telling friend; |
| And their gross painting might be better used |
| Where cheeks need blood; in thee it is abused. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 83

|LXXXIII. |
|I never saw that you did painting need |
|And therefore to your fair no painting set; |
|I found, or thought I found, you did exceed |
|The barren tender of a poet's debt; |
|And therefore have I slept in your report, |
|That you yourself being extant well might show |
|How far a modern quill doth come too short, |
|Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow. |
|This silence for my sin you did impute, |
|Which shall be most my glory, being dumb; |
|For I impair not beauty being mute, |
|When others would give life and bring a tomb. |
| There lives more life in one of your fair eyes |
| Than both your poets can in praise devise. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 84

|LXXXIV. |
|Who is it that says most? which can say more |
|Than this rich praise, that you alone are you? |
|In whose confine immured is the store |
|Which should example where your equal grew. |
|Lean penury within that pen doth dwell |
|That to his subject lends not some small glory; |
|But he that writes of you, if he can tell |
|That you are you, so dignifies his story, |
|Let him but copy what in you is writ, |
|Not making worse what nature made so clear, |
|And such a counterpart shall fame his wit, |
|Making his style admired every where. |
| You to your beauteous blessings add a curse, |
| Being fond on praise, which makes your praises |
|worse. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 85

|LXXXV. |
|My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still, |
|While comments of your praise, richly compiled, |
|Reserve their character with golden quill |
|And precious phrase by all the Muses filed. |
|I think good thoughts whilst other write good |
|words, |
|And like unletter'd clerk still cry 'Amen' |
|To every hymn that able spirit affords |
|In polish'd form of well-refined pen. |
|Hearing you praised, I say ''Tis so, 'tis true,' |
|And to the most of praise add something more; |
|But that is in my thought, whose love to you, |
|Though words come hindmost, holds his rank |
|before. |
| Then others for the breath of words respect, |
| Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 86

|LXXXVI. |
|Was it the proud full sail of his great verse, |
|Bound for the prize of all too precious you, |
|That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse, |
|Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew? |
|Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write |
|Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead? |
|No, neither he, nor his compeers by night |
|Giving him aid, my verse astonished. |
|He, nor that affable familiar ghost |
|Which nightly gulls him with intelligence |
|As victors of my silence cannot boast; |
|I was not sick of any fear from thence: |
| But when your countenance fill'd up his line, |
| Then lack'd I matter; that enfeebled mine. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 87

|LXXXVII. |
|Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing, |
|And like enough thou know'st thy estimate: |
|The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing; |
|My bonds in thee are all determinate. |
|For how do I hold thee but by thy granting? |
|And for that riches where is my deserving? |
|The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting, |
|And so my patent back again is swerving. |
|Thyself thou gavest, thy own worth then not |
|knowing, |
|Or me, to whom thou gavest it, else mistaking; |
|So thy great gift, upon misprision growing, |
|Comes home again, on better judgment making. |
| Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter, |
| In sleep a king, but waking no such matter. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 88

|LXXXVIII. |
|When thou shalt be disposed to set me light, |
|And place my merit in the eye of scorn, |
|Upon thy side against myself I'll fight, |
|And prove thee virtuous, though thou art |
|forsworn. |
|With mine own weakness being best acquainted, |
|Upon thy part I can set down a story |
|Of faults conceal'd, wherein I am attainted, |
|That thou in losing me shalt win much glory: |
|And I by this will be a gainer too; |
|For bending all my loving thoughts on thee, |
|The injuries that to myself I do, |
|Doing thee vantage, double-vantage me. |
| Such is my love, to thee I so belong, |
| That for thy right myself will bear all wrong. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 89

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