Shakespeare's Poetry E-Book

William Shakespeare

• Herausgeber: Seltzer Books
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 253

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

This book-collection file includes: Sonnets, A Lover's Complaint, The Passionate Pilgrim, The Rape of Lucrece, and Venus and Adonis. According to Wikipedia: "William Shakespeare (baptised 26 April 1564 – died 23 April 1616) was an English poet and playwright, widely regarded as the greatest writer in the English language and the world's pre-eminent dramatist. He is often called England's national poet and the "Bard of Avon" (or simply "The Bard"). His surviving works consist of 38 plays, 154 sonnets, two long narrative poems, and several other poems. His plays have been translated into every major living language, and are performed more often than those of any other playwright."

Leseprobe

Poems By William Shakespeare

published by Samizdat Express, Orange, CT, USA

established in 1974, offering over 14,000 books

Other works of William Shakespeare:

11 Tragedies

12 Comedies

10 Histories

4 Romances

12 Apocrypha (plays partially attributed to him)

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Sonnets

A Lover's Complaint

The Passionate Pilgrim

The Phoenix And The Turtle

Threnos

The Rape of Lucrece

Dedication

The Argument

The Poem

Venus and Adonis

Dedication

The Poem

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SONNETS

I. From fairest creatures we desire increase

II. When forty winters shall beseige thy brow

III. Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest

IV. Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend

V. Those hours, that with gentle work did frame

VI. Then let not winter's ragged hand deface

VII. Lo! in the orient when the gracious light

VIII. Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?

IX. Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye

X. For shame! deny that thou bear'st love to any

XI. As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou growest

XII. When I do count the clock that tells the time

XIII. O, that you were yourself! but, love, you are

XIV. Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck

XV. When I consider every thing that grows

XVI. But wherefore do not you a mightier way

XVII. Who will believe my verse in time to come

XVIII. Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

XIX. Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws

XX. A woman's face with Nature's own hand painted

XXI. So is it not with me as with that Muse

XXII. My glass shall not persuade me I am old

XXIII. As an unperfect actor on the stage

XXIV. Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath stell'd

XXV. Let those who are in favour with their stars

XXVI. Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage

XXVII. Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed

XXVIII. How can I then return in happy plight

XXIX. When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes

XXX. When to the sessions of sweet silent thought

XXXI. Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts

XXXII. If thou survive my well-contented day

XXXIII. Full many a glorious morning have I seen

XXXIV. Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day

XXXV. No more be grieved at that which thou hast done

XXXVI. Let me confess that we two must be twain

XXXVII. As a decrepit father takes delight

XXXVIII. How can my Muse want subject to invent

XXXIX. O, how thy worth with manners may I sing

XL. Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all

XLI. Those petty wrongs that liberty commits

XLII. That thou hast her, it is not all my grief

XLIII. When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see

XLIV. If the dull substance of my flesh were thought

XLV. The other two, slight air and purging fire

XLVI. Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war

XLVII. Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took

XLVIII. How careful was I, when I took my way

XLIX. Against that time, if ever that time come

L. How heavy do I journey on the way

LI. Thus can my love excuse the slow offence

LII. So am I as the rich, whose blessed key

LIII. What is your substance, whereof are you made

LIV. O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem

LV. Not marble, nor the gilded monuments

LVI. Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said

LVII. Being your slave, what should I do but tend

LVIII. That god forbid that made me first your slave

LIX. If there be nothing new, but that which is

LX. Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore

LXI. Is it thy will thy image should keep open

LXII. Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye

LXIII. Against my love shall be, as I am now

LXIV. When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced

LXV. Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea

LXVI. Tired with all these, for restful death I cry

LXVII. Ah! wherefore with infection should he live

LXVIII. Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn

LXIX. Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view

LXX. That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect

LXXI. No longer mourn for me when I am dead

LXXII. O, lest the world should task you to recite

LXXIII. That time of year thou mayst in me behold

LXXIV. But be contented: when that fell arrest

LXXV. So are you to my thoughts as food to life

LXXVI. Why is my verse so barren of new pride

LXXVII. Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear

LXXVIII. So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse

LXXIX. Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid

LXXX. O, how I faint when I of you do write

LXXXI. Or I shall live your epitaph to make

LXXXII. I grant thou wert not married to my Muse

LXXXIII. I never saw that you did painting need

LXXXIV. Who is it that says most? which can say more

LXXXV. My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still

LXXXVI. Was it the proud full sail of his great verse

LXXXVII. Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing

LXXXVIII. When thou shalt be disposed to set me light

LXXXIX. Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault

XC. Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now

XCI. Some glory in their birth, some in their skill

XCII. But do thy worst to steal thyself away

XCIII. So shall I live, supposing thou art true

XCIV. They that have power to hurt and will do none

XCV. How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame

XCVI. Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness

XCVII. How like a winter hath my absence been

XCVIII. From you have I been absent in the spring

XCIX. The forward violet thus did I chide

C. Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long

CI. O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends

CII. My love is strengthen'd, though more weak in seeming

CIII. Alack, what poverty my Muse brings forth

CIV. To me, fair friend, you never can be old

CV. Let not my love be call'd idolatry

CVI. When in the chronicle of wasted time

CVII. Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul

CVIII. What's in the brain that ink may character

CIX. O, never say that I was false of heart

CX. Alas, 'tis true I have gone here and there

CXI. O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide

CXII. Your love and pity doth the impression fill

CXIII. Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind

CXIV. Or whether doth my mind, being crown'd with you

CXV. Those lines that I before have writ do lie

CXVI. Let me not to the marriage of true minds

CXVII. Accuse me thus: that I have scanted all

CXVIII. Like as, to make our appetites more keen

CXIX. What potions have I drunk of Siren tears

CXX. That you were once unkind befriends me now

CXXI. 'Tis better to be vile than vile esteem'd

CXXII. Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain

CXXIII. No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change

CXXIV. If my dear love were but the child of state

CXXV. Were 't aught to me I bore the canopy

CXXVI. O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power

CXXVII. In the old age black was not counted fair

CXXVIII. How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st

CXXIX. The expense of spirit in a waste of shame

CXXX. My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun

CXXXI. Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art

CXXXII. Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me

CXXXIII. Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan

CXXXIV. So, now I have confess'd that he is thine

CXXXV. Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy 'Will

CXXXVI. If thy soul cheque thee that I come so near

CXXXVII. Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes

CXXXVIII. When my love swears that she is made of truth

CXXXIX. O, call not me to justify the wrong

CXL. Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press

CXLI. In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes

CXLII. Love is my sin and thy dear virtue hate

CXLIII. Lo! as a careful housewife runs to catch

CXLIV. Two loves I have of comfort and despair

CXLV. Those lips that Love's own hand did make

CXLVI. Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth

CXLVII. My love is as a fever, longing still

CXLVIII. O me, what eyes hath Love put in my head

CXLIX. Canst thou, O cruel! say I love thee not

CL. O, from what power hast thou this powerful might

CLI. Love is too young to know what conscience is

CLII. In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn

CLIII. Cupid laid by his brand, and fell asleep

CLIV. The little Love-god lying once asleep

I. From fairest creatures we desire increase

From fairest creatures we desire increase, That thereby beauty's rose might never die, But as the riper should by time decease, His tender heir might bear his memory: But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes, Feed'st thy light'st flame with self-substantial fuel, Making a famine where abundance lies, Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel. Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament And only herald to the gaudy spring, Within thine own bud buriest thy content And, tender churl, makest waste in niggarding. Pity the world, or else this glutton be, To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.

II. When forty winters shall beseige thy brow

When forty winters shall beseige thy brow, And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field, Thy youth's proud livery, so gazed on now, Will be a tatter'd weed, of small worth held: Then being ask'd where all thy beauty lies, Where all the treasure of thy lusty days, To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes, Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise. How much more praise deserved thy beauty's use, If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine Shall sum my count and make my old excuse,' Proving his beauty by succession thine! This were to be new made when thou art old, And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.

III. Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest

Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest Now is the time that face should form another; Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest, Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother. For where is she so fair whose unear'd womb Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry? Or who is he so fond will be the tomb Of his self-love, to stop posterity? Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee Calls back the lovely April of her prime: So thou through windows of thine age shall see Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time. But if thou live, remember'd not to be, Die single, and thine image dies with thee.

IV. Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend

Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend Upon thyself thy beauty's legacy? Nature's bequest gives nothing but doth lend, And being frank she lends to those are free. Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse The bounteous largess given thee to give? Profitless usurer, why dost thou use So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live? For having traffic with thyself alone, Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive. Then how, when nature calls thee to be gone, What acceptable audit canst thou leave? Thy unused beauty must be tomb'd with thee, Which, used, lives th' executor to be.

V. Those hours, that with gentle work did frame

Those hours, that with gentle work did frame The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell, Will play the tyrants to the very same And that unfair which fairly doth excel: For never-resting time leads summer on To hideous winter and confounds him there; Sap cheque'd with frost and lusty leaves quite gone, Beauty o'ersnow'd and bareness every where: Then, were not summer's distillation left, A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass, Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft, Nor it nor no remembrance what it was: But flowers distill'd though they with winter meet, Leese but their show; their substance still lives sweet.

VI. Then let not winter's ragged hand deface

Then let not winter's ragged hand deface In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd: Make sweet some vial; 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; That's for thyself to breed another thee, Or ten times happier, be it ten for one; Ten times thyself were happier than thou art, If ten of thine ten times refigured thee: Then what could death do, if thou shouldst depart, Leaving thee living in posterity? Be not self-will'd, for thou art much too fair To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir.

VII. Lo! in the orient when the gracious light

Lo! in the orient when the gracious light Lifts up his burning head, each under eye Doth homage to his new-appearing sight, Serving with looks his sacred majesty; And having climb'd the steep-up heavenly hill, Resembling strong youth in his middle age, yet mortal looks adore his beauty still, Attending on his golden pilgrimage; But when from highmost pitch, with weary car, Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day, The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted are From his low tract and look another way: So thou, thyself out-going in thy noon, Unlook'd on diest, unless thou get a son.

VIII. Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?

Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly? Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy. Why lovest thou that which thou receivest not gladly, Or else receivest with pleasure thine annoy? If the true concord of well-tuned sounds, By unions married, do offend thine ear, They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear. Mark how one string, sweet husband to another, Strikes each in each by mutual ordering, Resembling sire and child and happy mother Who all in one, one pleasing note do sing: Whose speechless song, being many, seeming one, Sings this to thee: 'thou single wilt prove none.'

IX. Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye

Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye That thou consumest thyself in single life? Ah! if thou issueless shalt hap to die. The world will wail thee, like a makeless wife; The world will be thy widow and still weep That thou no form of thee hast left behind, When every private widow well may keep By children's eyes her husband's shape in mind. Look, what an unthrift in the world doth spend Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it; But beauty's waste hath in the world an end, And kept unused, the user so destroys it. No love toward others in that bosom sits That on himself such murderous shame commits.

X. For shame! deny that thou bear'st love to any

For shame! deny that thou bear'st love to any, Who for thyself art so unprovident. Grant, if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many, But that thou none lovest is most evident; For thou art so possess'd with murderous hate That 'gainst thyself thou stick'st not to conspire. Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate Which to repair should be thy chief desire. O, change thy thought, that I may change my mind! Shall hate be fairer lodged than gentle love? Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind, Or to thyself at least kind-hearted prove: Make thee another self, for love of me, That beauty still may live in thine or thee.

XI. As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou growest

As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou growest In one of thine, from that which thou departest; And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestowest Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth convertest. Herein lives wisdom, beauty and increase: Without this, folly, age and cold decay: If all were minded so, the times should cease And threescore year would make the world away. Let those whom Nature hath not made for store, Harsh featureless and rude, barrenly perish: Look, whom she best endow'd she gave the more; Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty cherish: She carved thee for her seal, and meant thereby Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die.

XII. When I do count the clock that tells the time

When I do count the clock that tells the time, And see the brave day sunk in hideous night; When I behold the violet past prime, And sable curls all silver'd o'er with white; When lofty trees I see barren of leaves Which erst from heat did canopy the herd, And summer's green all girded up in sheaves Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard, Then of thy beauty do I question make, That thou among the wastes of time must go, Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake And die as fast as they see others grow; And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.

XIII. O, that you were yourself! but, love, you are

O, that you were yourself! but, love, you are No longer yours than you yourself here live: Against this coming end you should prepare, And your sweet semblance to some other give. So should that beauty which you hold in lease Find no determination: then you were Yourself again after yourself's decease, When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear. Who lets so fair a house fall to decay, Which husbandry in honour might uphold Against the stormy gusts of winter's day And barren rage of death's eternal cold? O, none but unthrifts! Dear my love, you know You had a father: let your son say so.

XIV. Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck

Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck; And yet methinks I have astronomy, But not to tell of good or evil luck, Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality; Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell, Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind, Or say with princes if it shall go well, By oft predict that I in heaven find: But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive, And, constant stars, in them I read such art As truth and beauty shall together thrive, If from thyself to store thou wouldst convert; Or else of thee this I prognosticate: Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.

XV. When I consider every thing that grows

When I consider every thing that grows Holds in perfection but a little moment, That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows Whereon the stars in secret influence comment; When I perceive that men as plants increase, Cheered and cheque'd even by the self-same sky, Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease, And wear their brave state out of memory; Then the conceit of this inconstant stay Sets you most rich in youth before my sight, Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay, To change your day of youth to sullied night; And all in war with Time for love of you, As he takes from you, I engraft you new.

XVI. But wherefore do not you a mightier way

But wherefore do not you a mightier way Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time? And fortify yourself in your decay With means more blessed than my barren rhyme? Now stand you on the top of happy hours, And many maiden gardens yet unset With virtuous wish would bear your living flowers, Much liker than your painted counterfeit: So should the lines of life that life repair, Which this, Time's pencil, or my pupil pen, Neither in inward worth nor outward fair, Can make you live yourself in eyes of men. To give away yourself keeps yourself still, And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill.

XVII. Who will believe my verse in time to come

Who will believe my verse in time to come, If it were fill'd with your most high deserts? Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb Which hides your life and shows not half your parts. If I could write the beauty of your eyes 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.' So should my papers yellow'd with their age Be scorn'd like old men of less truth than tongue, And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage And stretched metre of an antique song: But were some child of yours alive that time, You should live twice; in it and in my rhyme.

XVIII. Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

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, And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd; But thy eternal summer shall not fade Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou growest: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

XIX. Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws

Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws, And make the earth devour her own sweet brood; Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws, And burn the long-lived phoenix in her blood; Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleets, And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time, To the wide world and all her fading sweets; But I forbid thee one most heinous crime: O, carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow, Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen; 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.

XX. A woman's face with Nature's own hand painted

A woman's face with Nature's own hand painted Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion; A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted With shifting change, as is false women's fashion; An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling, Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth; A man in hue, all 'hues' in his controlling, Much steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth. 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.

XXI. So is it not with me as with that Muse

So is it not with me as with that Muse Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse, Who heaven itself for ornament doth use And every fair with his fair doth rehearse Making a couplement of proud compare, With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems, With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems. O' let me, true in love, but truly write, And then believe me, my love is as fair As any mother's child, though not so bright As those gold candles fix'd in heaven's air: Let them say more than like of hearsay well; I will not praise that purpose not to sell.

XXII. My glass shall not persuade me I am old

My glass shall not persuade me I am old, So long as youth and thou are of one date; But when in thee time's furrows I behold, Then look I death my days should expiate. For all that beauty that doth cover thee Is but the seemly raiment of my heart, Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me: How can I then be elder than thou art? O, therefore, love, be of thyself so wary As I, not for myself, but for thee will; Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary As tender nurse her babe from faring ill. Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain; Thou gavest me thine, not to give back again.

XXIII. As an unperfect actor on the stage

As an unperfect actor on the stage Who with his fear is put besides his part, Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage, Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart. So I, for fear of trust, forget to say The perfect ceremony of love's rite, And in mine own love's strength seem to decay, O'ercharged with burden of mine own love's might. O, let my books be then the eloquence And dumb presagers of my speaking breast, Who plead for love and look for recompense More than that tongue that more hath more express'd. O, learn to read what silent love hath writ: To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.

XXIV. Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath stell'd

Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath stell'd Thy beauty's form in table of my heart; My body is the frame wherein 'tis held, And perspective it is the painter's art. For through the painter must you see his skill, To find where your true image pictured lies; Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still, That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes. Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done: Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee; Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art; They draw but what they see, know not the heart.

XXV. Let those who are in favour with their stars

Let those who are in favour with their stars Of public honour and proud titles boast, Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars, Unlook'd for joy in that I honour most. Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread But as the marigold at the sun's eye, And in themselves their pride lies buried, For at a frown they in their glory die. The painful warrior famoused for fight, After a thousand victories once foil'd, Is from the book of honour razed quite, And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd: Then happy I, that love and am beloved Where I may not remove nor be removed.

XXVI. Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage

Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit, To thee I send this written embassage, To witness duty, not to show my wit: Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it, But that I hope some good conceit of thine In thy soul's thought, all naked, will bestow it; Till whatsoever star that guides my moving Points on me graciously with fair aspect And puts apparel on my tatter'd loving, To show me worthy of thy sweet respect: Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee; Till then not show my head where thou mayst prove me.

XXVII. Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed, The dear repose for limbs with travel tired; But then begins a journey in my head, To work my mind, when body's work's expired: For then my thoughts, from far where I abide, Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee, And keep my drooping eyelids open wide, Looking on darkness which the blind do see Save that my soul's imaginary sight Presents thy shadow to my sightless view, Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night, Makes black night beauteous and her old face new. Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind, For thee and for myself no quiet find.

XXVIII. How can I then return in happy plight

How can I then return in happy plight, That am debarr'd the benefit of rest? When day's oppression is not eased by night, But day by night, and night by day, oppress'd? And each, though enemies to either's reign, Do in consent shake hands to torture me; The one by toil, the other to complain How far I toil, still farther off from thee. I tell the day, to please them thou art bright And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven: So flatter I the swart-complexion'd night, When sparkling stars twire not thou gild'st the even. But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer And night doth nightly make grief's strength seem stronger.

XXIX. When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes

When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state And trouble deal heaven with my bootless cries And look upon myself and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd, Desiring this man's art and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state, Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate; For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

XXX. When to the sessions of sweet silent thought

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past,