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Sonnet 61

|LXI. |
|Is it thy will thy image should keep open |
|My heavy eyelids to the weary night? |
|Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken, |
|While shadows like to thee do mock my sight? |
|Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee |
|So far from home into my deeds to pry, |
|To find out shames and idle hours in me, |
|The scope and tenor of thy jealousy? |
|O, no! thy love, though much, is not so great: |
|It is my love that keeps mine eye awake; |
|Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat, |
|To play the watchman ever for thy sake: |
| For thee watch I whilst thou dost wake |
|elsewhere, |
| From me far off, with others all too near. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 62

|LXII. |
|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 so true, no truth of such account; |
|And for myself mine own worth do define, |
|As I all other in all worths surmount. |
|But when my glass shows me myself indeed, |
|Beated and chopp'd with tann'd antiquity, |
|Mine own self-love quite contrary I read; |
|Self so self-loving were iniquity. |
| 'Tis thee, myself, that for myself I praise, |
| Painting my age with beauty of thy days. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 63

|LXIII. |
|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 on to age's steepy night, |
|And all those beauties whereof now he's king |
|Are vanishing or vanish'd out of sight, |
|Stealing away the treasure of his spring; |
|For such a time do I now fortify |
|Against confounding age's cruel knife, |
|That he shall never cut from memory |
|My sweet love's beauty, though my lover's life: |
| His beauty shall in these black lines be seen, |
| And they shall live, and he in them still |
|green. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 64

|LXIV. |
|When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced |
|The rich proud cost of outworn buried age; |
|When sometime lofty towers I see down-razed |
|And brass eternal slave to mortal rage; |
|When I have seen the hungry ocean gain |
|Advantage on the kingdom of the shore, |
|And the firm soil win of the watery main, |
|Increasing store with loss and loss with store; |
|When I have seen such interchange of state, |
|Or state itself confounded to decay; |
|Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate, |
|That Time will come and take my love away. |
| This thought is as a death, which cannot choose|
| |
| But weep to have that which it fears to lose. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 65

|LXV. |
|Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless |
|sea, |
|But sad mortality o'er-sways their power, |
|How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, |
|Whose action is no stronger than a flower? |
|O, how shall summer's honey breath hold out |
|Against the wreckful siege of battering days, |
|When rocks impregnable are not so stout, |
|Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays? |
|O fearful meditation! where, alack, |
|Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie |
|hid? |
|Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back?|
| |
|Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid? |
| O, none, unless this miracle have might, |
| That in black ink my love may still shine |
|bright. |

|Sonnets of William Shakespeare |
|Sonnet 66 |
|LXVI. |
|Tired with all these, for restful death I cry, |
|As, to behold desert a beggar born, |
|And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity, |
|And purest faith unhappily forsworn, |
|And guilded honour shamefully misplaced, |
|And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, |
|And right perfection wrongfully disgraced, |
|And strength by limping sway disabled, |
|And art made tongue-tied by authority, |
|And folly doctor-like controlling skill, |
|And simple truth miscall'd simplicity, |
|And captive good attending captain ill: |
| Tired with all these, from these would I be gone, |
| Save that, to die, I leave my love alone. |
| |

|Sonnets of William Shakespeare |
|Sonnet 67 |
|LXVII. |
|Ah! wherefore with infection should he live, |
|And with his presence grace impiety, |
|That sin by him advantage should achieve |
|And lace itself with his society? |
|Why should false painting imitate his cheek |
|And steal dead seeing of his living hue? |
|Why should poor beauty indirectly seek |
|Roses of shadow, since his rose is true? |
|Why should he live, now Nature bankrupt is, |
|Beggar'd of blood to blush through lively veins? |
|For she hath no exchequer now but his, |
|And, proud of many, lives upon his gains. |
| O, him she stores, to show what wealth she had |
| In days long since, before these last so bad. |
| |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 68

|LXVIII. |
|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 dead, |
|The right of sepulchres, were shorn away, |
|To live a second life on second head; |
|Ere beauty's dead fleece made another gay: |
|In him those holy antique hours are seen, |
|Without all ornament, itself and true, |
|Making no summer of another's green, |
|Robbing no old to dress his beauty new; |
| And him as for a map doth Nature store, |
| To show false Art what beauty was of yore. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 69

|LXIX. |
|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 outward thus with outward praise is crown'd; |
|But those same tongues that give thee so thine |
|own |
|In other accents do this praise confound |
|By seeing farther than the eye hath shown. |
|They look into the beauty of thy mind, |
|And that, in guess, they measure by thy deeds; |
|Then, churls, their thoughts, although their eyes|
|were kind, |
|To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds: |
| But why thy odour matcheth not thy show, |
| The solve is this, that thou dost common grow. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 70

|LXX. |
|That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect, |
|For slander's mark was ever yet the fair; |
|The ornament of beauty is suspect, |
|A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air. |
|So thou be good, slander doth but approve |
|Thy worth the greater, being woo'd of time; |
|For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love, |
|And thou present'st a pure unstained prime. |
|Thou hast pass'd by the ambush of young days, |
|Either not assail'd or victor being charged; |
|Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise, |
|To tie up envy evermore enlarged: |
| If some suspect of ill mask'd not thy show, |
| Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts shouldst |
|owe. |

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