Sonnet 10 by William Shakespeare

Sonnet X by William Shakespeare

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.

Sonnet 9 by William Shakespeare

SONNET IX by William Shakespeare

Is it for fear to wet a widow’s eye
That thou consum’st 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 murd’rous shame commits.

Sonnet 8 By William Shakespeare

Sonnet VIII by William Shakespeare

Music to hear, why hear’st thou music sadly?
Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy.
Why lov’st thou that which thou receiv’st not gladly,
Or else receiv’st with pleasure thine annoy?

If the true concord of well-tunèd 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.”

Sonnet 7 by William Shakespeare

Sonnet VII by William Shakespeare

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 climbed 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 outgoing in thy noon,
Unlooked on diest unless thou get a son.

Blackout Tuesday #blacklivesmatter

In honor of #blacklivesmatter today’s sonnet will appear tomorrow.

#blackouttuesday

Sonnet 6 by William Shakespeare

I decided it would be a good idea to have an Elizabethan costume to read these sonnets in.

(And I just happened to have one lying around!)

Sonnet VI by William Shakespeare

Then let not winter’s ragged hand deface
In thee thy summer ere thou be distilled.
Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place
With beauty’s treasure ere it be self-killed.

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-willed, for thou art much too fair
To be death’s conquest and make worms thine heir.

Celebrity Sonnet Reading: Alan Rickman reads Sonnet 130

On the weekends, I'm not going to add another episode, but in my effort to give a sonnet everyday, I'll post a celebrity sonnet that I find on Youtube.

For the first one, here's Alan Rickman reading Sonnet 130.  (I picked a further one out, so I wouldn't have to compare myself to him until I've read at least 129 sonnets live.  (and even then, well, let's just say:  Alan Rickman!)

This was posted by Muriel Rickman (who I think is his wife)  Enjoy!



SONNET 130 by William Shakespeare
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red than her lips' red; If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks; And in some perfumes is there more delight Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know That music hath a far more pleasing sound; I grant I never saw a goddess go; My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare.