tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24208712517653713182024-10-05T03:05:56.753+01:00I post a sonnet of WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE and each one of you comment it by giving his own interpretation of the sonnet.Satophhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03199656781074842053noreply@blogger.comBlogger57125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420871251765371318.post-48301050293724933532008-02-13T15:37:00.000+00:002008-02-13T15:38:31.264+00:00

Being your slave what should I do but tend, Upon the hours, and times of your desire? I have no precious time at all to spend; Nor services to do till you require. Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour, Whilst I (my sovereign) watch the clock for you, Nor think the bitterness of absence sour, When you have bid your servant once adieu. Nor dare I question with my jealous thought,

Satophhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03199656781074842053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420871251765371318.post-12498832763802419652008-02-13T15:33:00.000+00:002008-02-13T15:34:24.455+00:00

Sweet love renew thy force, be it not said Thy edge should blunter be than appetite, Which but to-day by feeding is allayed, To-morrow sharpened in his former might. So love be thou, although to-day thou fill Thy hungry eyes, even till they wink with fulness, To-morrow see again, and do not kill The spirit of love, with a perpetual dulness: Let this sad interim like the ocean be Which

Satophhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03199656781074842053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420871251765371318.post-55537879543117821142008-02-13T15:32:00.000+00:002008-02-13T15:33:06.432+00:00

Not marble, nor the gilded monuments Of princes shall outlive this powerful rhyme, But you shall shine more bright in these contents Than unswept stone, besmeared with sluttish time. When wasteful war shall statues overturn, And broils root out the work of masonry, Nor Mars his sword, nor war's quick fire shall burn: The living record of your memory. 'Gainst death, and all-oblivious

Satophhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03199656781074842053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420871251765371318.post-73072653963733979982008-02-13T15:30:00.001+00:002008-02-13T15:31:51.466+00:00

O how much more doth beauty beauteous seem, By that sweet ornament which truth doth give! The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem For that sweet odour, which doth in it live: The canker blooms have full as deep a dye, As the perfumed tincture of the roses, Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly, When summer's breath their masked buds discloses: But for their virtue only is their

Satophhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03199656781074842053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420871251765371318.post-34309051116796925622008-02-13T15:27:00.001+00:002008-02-13T15:29:55.513+00:00

What is your substance, whereof are you made, That millions of strange shadows on you tend? Since every one, hath every one, one shade, And you but one, can every shadow lend: Describe Adonis and the counterfeit, Is poorly imitated after you, On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set, And you in Grecian tires are painted new: Speak of the spring, and foison of the year, The one doth shadow

Satophhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03199656781074842053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420871251765371318.post-50931414147025536832008-02-02T15:51:00.000+00:002008-02-02T15:52:52.052+00:00

So am I as the rich whose blessed key, Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure, The which he will not every hour survey, For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure. Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare, Since seldom coming in that long year set, Like stones of worth they thinly placed are, Or captain jewels in the carcanet. So is the time that keeps you as my chest Or

Satophhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03199656781074842053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420871251765371318.post-54848622294022705872008-02-02T15:33:00.001+00:002008-02-02T15:35:03.912+00:00

Thus can my love excuse the slow offence, Of my dull bearer, when from thee I speed, From where thou art, why should I haste me thence? Till I return of posting is no need. O what excuse will my poor beast then find, When swift extremity can seem but slow? Then should I spur though mounted on the wind, In winged speed no motion shall I know, Then can no horse with my desire keep pace,

Satophhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03199656781074842053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420871251765371318.post-74454380272142064432008-01-21T13:13:00.000+00:002008-01-21T13:14:25.119+00:00

How heavy do I journey on the way, When what I seek (my weary travel's end) Doth teach that case and that repose to say 'Thus far the miles are measured from thy friend.' The beast that bears me, tired with my woe, Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me, As if by some instinct the wretch did know His rider loved not speed being made from thee: The bloody spur cannot provoke him on,

Satophhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03199656781074842053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420871251765371318.post-58824416859364980132008-01-21T13:12:00.000+00:002008-01-22T22:10:38.320+00:00

Against that time (if ever that time come) When I shall see thee frown on my defects, When as thy love hath cast his utmost sum, Called to that audit by advised respects, Against that time when thou shalt strangely pass, And scarcely greet me with that sun thine eye, When love converted from the thing it was Shall reasons find of settled gravity; Against that time do I ensconce me here

Satophhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03199656781074842053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420871251765371318.post-53449000287749245682008-01-21T13:11:00.000+00:002008-01-21T13:12:10.542+00:00

How careful was I when I took my way, Each trifle under truest bars to thrust, That to my use it might unused stay From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust! But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are, Most worthy comfort, now my greatest grief, Thou best of dearest, and mine only care, Art left the prey of every vulgar thief. Thee have I not locked up in any chest, Save where

Satophhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03199656781074842053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420871251765371318.post-10248035210368650802008-01-21T13:09:00.000+00:002008-01-21T13:10:39.498+00:00

Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took, And each doth good turns now unto the other, When that mine eye is famished for a look, Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother; With my love's picture then my eye doth feast, And to the painted banquet bids my heart: Another time mine eye is my heart's guest, And in his thoughts of love doth share a part. So either by thy picture or

Satophhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03199656781074842053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420871251765371318.post-76171689484166045652008-01-21T13:08:00.000+00:002008-01-21T13:09:32.804+00:00

Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war, How to divide the conquest of thy sight, Mine eye, my heart thy picture's sight would bar, My heart, mine eye the freedom of that right, My heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie, (A closet never pierced with crystal eyes) But the defendant doth that plea deny, And says in him thy fair appearance lies. To side this title is impanelled A quest

Satophhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03199656781074842053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420871251765371318.post-52085702717173248602008-01-21T13:06:00.000+00:002008-01-21T13:07:24.325+00:00

The other two, slight air, and purging fire, Are both with thee, wherever I abide, The first my thought, the other my desire, These present-absent with swift motion slide. For when these quicker elements are gone In tender embassy of love to thee, My life being made of four, with two alone, Sinks down to death, oppressed with melancholy. Until life's composition be recured, By those

Satophhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03199656781074842053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420871251765371318.post-70584862463658782322008-01-07T22:55:00.000+00:002008-01-07T22:56:20.740+00:00

If the dull substance of my flesh were thought, Injurious distance should not stop my way, For then despite of space I would be brought, From limits far remote, where thou dost stay, No matter then although my foot did stand Upon the farthest earth removed from thee, For nimble thought can jump both sea and land, As soon as think the place where he would be. But ah, thought kills me that

Satophhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03199656781074842053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420871251765371318.post-74905604619745440722008-01-07T22:51:00.000+00:002008-01-07T22:53:47.871+00:00

When most I wink then do mine eyes best see, For all the day they view things unrespected, But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee, And darkly bright, are bright in dark directed. Then thou whose shadow shadows doth make bright How would thy shadow's form, form happy show, To the clear day with thy much clearer light, When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so! How would (I say)

Satophhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03199656781074842053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420871251765371318.post-89610986904570494432008-01-01T21:34:00.000+00:002008-01-01T21:35:12.340+00:00

That thou hast her it is not all my grief, And yet it may be said I loved her dearly, That she hath thee is of my wailing chief, A loss in love that touches me more nearly. Loving offenders thus I will excuse ye, Thou dost love her, because thou know'st I love her, And for my sake even so doth she abuse me, Suff'ring my friend for my sake to approve her. If I lose thee, my loss is my

Satophhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03199656781074842053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420871251765371318.post-87573586987458755582008-01-01T21:30:00.000+00:002008-01-01T21:32:06.735+00:00

Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits, When I am sometime absent from thy heart, Thy beauty, and thy years full well befits, For still temptation follows where thou art. Gentle thou art, and therefore to be won, Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assailed. And when a woman woos, what woman's son, Will sourly leave her till he have prevailed? Ay me, but yet thou mightst my seat

Satophhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03199656781074842053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420871251765371318.post-70377957905898239042008-01-01T21:28:00.000+00:002008-01-01T21:29:44.137+00:00

Take all my loves, my love, yea take them all, What hast thou then more than thou hadst before? No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call, All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more: Then if for my love, thou my love receivest, I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest, But yet be blamed, if thou thy self deceivest By wilful taste of what thy self refusest. I do forgive thy

Satophhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03199656781074842053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420871251765371318.post-70457502653346772392008-01-01T21:24:00.000+00:002008-01-01T21:27:52.656+00:00

O how thy worth with manners may I sing,When thou art all the better part of me?What can mine own praise to mine own self bring:And what is't but mine own when I praise thee?Even for this, let us divided live,And our dear love lose name of single one,That by this separation I may give:That due to thee which thou deserv'st alone:O absence what a torment wouldst thou prove,Were it not thy sour

Satophhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03199656781074842053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420871251765371318.post-79850037252809538712007-12-27T21:50:00.000+00:002007-12-27T21:51:25.985+00:00

How can my muse want subject to invent While thou dost breathe that pour'st into my verse, Thine own sweet argument, too excellent, For every vulgar paper to rehearse? O give thy self the thanks if aught in me, Worthy perusal stand against thy sight, For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee, When thou thy self dost give invention light? Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth

Satophhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03199656781074842053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420871251765371318.post-17538187994906272622007-12-27T21:44:00.000+00:002007-12-27T21:50:15.739+00:00

As a decrepit father takes delight, To see his active child do deeds of youth, So I, made lame by Fortune's dearest spite Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth. For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit, Or any of these all, or all, or more Entitled in thy parts, do crowned sit, I make my love engrafted to this store: So then I am not lame, poor, nor despised, Whilst that this

Satophhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03199656781074842053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420871251765371318.post-53978028439835189892007-12-23T13:14:00.000+00:002007-12-23T13:16:39.316+00:00

Let me confess that we two must be twain, Although our undivided loves are one: So shall those blots that do with me remain, Without thy help, by me be borne alone. In our two loves there is but one respect, Though in our lives a separable spite, Which though it alter not love's sole effect, Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight. I may not evermore acknowledge thee, Lest my

Satophhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03199656781074842053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420871251765371318.post-27603834232317097372007-12-12T19:11:00.000+00:002007-12-12T19:16:07.923+00:00

No more be grieved at that which thou hast done, Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud, Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun, And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud. All men make faults, and even I in this, Authorizing thy trespass with compare, My self corrupting salving thy amiss, Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are: For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense, Thy adverse

Satophhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03199656781074842053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420871251765371318.post-58808977228763029372007-12-12T19:09:00.001+00:002007-12-12T19:11:06.765+00:00

Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day, And make me travel forth without my cloak, To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way, Hiding thy brav'ry in their rotten smoke? 'Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break, To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face, For no man well of such a salve can speak, That heals the wound, and cures not the disgrace: Nor can thy shame give physic to my

Satophhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03199656781074842053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420871251765371318.post-36340887543299933952007-12-12T19:08:00.001+00:002007-12-12T19:09:28.683+00:00

Full many a glorious morning have I seen, Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye, Kissing with golden face the meadows green; Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy: Anon permit the basest clouds to ride, With ugly rack on his celestial face, And from the forlorn world his visage hide Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace: Even so my sun one early morn did shine, With

Satophhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03199656781074842053noreply@blogger.com0