Sap check'd with frost, and lusty leaves quite gone, But flowers distill'd, though they with winter meet, Then let not winter's ragged hand deface In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd: Make sweet some phial; treasure thou some place With beauty's treasure, ere it be self-kill'd. That use is not forbidden usury, Which happies those that pay the willing loan; Or ten times happier, be it ten for one; Ten times thyself were happier than thou art, If ten of thine ten times refigur'd thee: Then, what could Death do if thou shouldst depart, Leaving the living in posterity? Be not self-will'd, for thou art much too fair To be Death's conquest, and make worms thine heir.-6. Lo, in the orient when the gracious light So thou, thyself outgoing in thy noon, -7. Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly? By unions married, do offend thine ear, Whose speechless song, being many, seeming one, Sings this to thee, "Thou single wilt prove none."—8. ILLUSTRATION OF THE SONNETS. Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye, That thou consum'st thyself in single life? The world will wail thee, like a makeless wife: No love toward others in that bosom sits, That on himself such murderous shame commits.-9. For shame! deny that thou bear'st love to any, Grant, if thou wilt, thou art belov'd of many, Which to repair should be thy chief desire. O change thy thought that I may change my mind! That beauty still may live in thine or thee.-10. As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st In one of thine, from that which thou departest; Thou mayst call thine, when thou from youth convertest. Without this, folly, age, and cold decay : If all were minded so, the times should cease, And threescore years would make the world away. Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish: When I do count the clock that tells the time, When lofty trees I see barren of leaves, Then of thy beauty do I question make, And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence, O that you were yourself! but, love, you are When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear. Which husbandry in honour might uphold O! none but unthrifts :-Dear my love, you know Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck; Of plagues, of dearths, or season's quality : Or else of thee this I prognosticate, Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.-14. When I consider everything that grows Holds in perfection but a little moment, That this huge state presenteth nought but shows When I perceive that men as plants increase, But wherefore do not you a mightier way And fortify yourself in your decay With means more blessed than my barren rhyme? And many maiden gardens, yet unset, With virtuous wish would bear you living flowers, To give away yourself, keeps yourself still; And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill.—16. Who will believe my verse in time to come, If it were fill'd with your most high deserts? Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts. And in fresh numbers number all your graces, The age to come would say, this poet lies, Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces. Be scorn'd, like old men of less truth than tongue; But were some child of yours alive that time, You should live twice ;-in it, and in my rhyme.-17. Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate : Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date: Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd; Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws, Him in thy course untainted do allow, For beauty's pattern to succeeding men. Yet, do thy worst, old Time: despite thy wrong, My love shall in my verse ever live young.-19. That this series of Sonnets, powerful as they are, displaying not only the most abundant variety of imagery, but the greatest felicity in making the whole harmonious, constitutes a poem ambitious only of the honours of a work of Art, is, we think, manifest. If it had been addressed to a real person, no other object could have been proposed than a display of the most brilliant ingenuity. In the next age it would have been called an exquisite "copy of verses." But in the next age, probably-certainly in our own-the author would have been pronounced arrogant beyond measure in the anticipation of the immortality of his rhymes. There is a show of modesty, indeed, in the expressions "barren rhyme" and "pupil pen;" but that is speedily cast off, and “eternal summer" is promised through "eternal lines ;" and "So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee." Regarding these nineteen Sonnets as a continuous poem, wound up to the climax of a hyperbolical promise of immortality to the object whom it addresses, we receive the 20th Sonnet as the commencement of another poem in which the same idea is retained. The poet is bound to the youth by ties of strong affection; but nature has called upon the possessor of that beauty "Which steals men's eyes, and women's souls amazeth," to cultivate closer ties. This Sonnet, through an utter misconception of the language of Shakspere's time, has produced a comment sufficiently odious to throw an unpleasant shade over much which follows. The idea which it contains is continued in the 53rd Sonnet; and we give the two in connexion: A woman's face, with nature's own hand painted, A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted A man in hue, all hues in his controlling, And for a woman wert thou first created; Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting, And by addition me of thee defeated, By adding one thing to my purpose nothing. But since she prick'd thee out for women's pleasure, Mine be thy love, and thy love's use their treasure.-20. What is your substance, whereof are you made, Since every one hath, every one, one's shade, Is poorly imitated after you; |