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,2017


ISBN978-5-4485-0658-1

Ridero

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1

From fairest creatures, we desire increase,

That thereby beautys rose might neverdie,

But as the riper should bytime decease,

His tender heir might bear his memory:

But thou, contracted tothine own bright eyes,

Feedst thy lights flame with self-substantial fuel,

Making afamine where abundance lies,

Thyself thy foe, tothy sweet self too cruel.

Thou that art now the worlds fresh ornament

And only herald tothe gaudy spring,

Within thine own bud buriest thy content,

And, tender churl, makst waste inniggarding:

Pity the world, or else this gluttonbe,

Toeat the worlds due, bythe grave and thee.

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When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,

And dig deep trenches inthy beautys field,

Thy youths proud livery so gazed onnow

Will be atottered weed ofsmall worth held:

Then being asked where all thy beauty lies,

Where all the treasure ofthy lusty days,

Tosay within thine own deep-sunkeneyes

Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.

How much more praise deserved thy beautysuse,

If thou couldst answer, This fair child ofmine

Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,

Proving his beauty bysuccession thine.

This were tobe new made when thou artold,

And see thy blood warm when thou feelst it ld.

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Look inthy 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 unearedwomb

Disdains the tillage ofthy husbandry?

Or who is he so fond will be thetomb

Ofhis self-love tostop posterity?

Thou art thy mothers glass, and she inthee

Calls back the lovely April ofher prime;

So thou through windows ofthine age shaltsee,

Despite ofwrinkles, this thy golden time.

But if thou live remembred not tobe,

Die single, and thine image dies with thee.

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Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend

Upon thyself thy beautys legacy?

Natures bequest gives nothing, but doth lend,

And being frank she lends tothose are free:

Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse

The bounteous largess given thee togive?

Profitless usurer, why dost thouuse

So great asum ofsums, yet canst not live?

For having traffic with thyself alone,

Thou ofthyself thy sweet self dost deceive:

Then how, when Nature calls thee tobe gone,

What acceptable audit canst thou leave?

Thy unused beauty must be tombed with thee,

Which used lives thexecutor tobe.

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Those hours that with gentle work did frame

The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell

Will play the tyrants tothe very same,

And that unfair which fairly doth excel;

For never-resting time leads summeron

Tohideous winter and confounds him there,

Sap checked with frost and lusty leaves quite gone,

Beauty oersnowed and bareness every where:

Then were not summers distillationleft

Aliquid prisoner pent inwalls ofglass,

Beautys effect with beauty were bereft,

Nor it nor no remembrance what itwas.

But flowers distilled, though they with winter meet,

Leese but their show; their substance still lives sweet.

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Then let not winters ragged hand deface

Inthee thy summer ere thou be distilled:

Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place

With beautys treasure ere it be self-killed:

That use is not forbidden usury

Which happies those that pay the willing loan;

Thats for thyself tobreed another thee,

Or ten times happier be it ten forone;

Ten times thyself were happier than thouart,

If ten ofthine ten times refigured thee:

Then what could death do if thou shouldst depart,

Leaving thee living inposterity?

Be not self-willed, for thou art much toofair

Tobe deaths conquest and make worms thine heir.

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Lo inthe orient when the gracious light

Lifts up his burning head, each undereye

Doth homage tohis new-appearing sight,

Serving with looks his sacred majesty;

And having climbed the steep-up heavenly hill,

Resembling strong youth inhis middleage,

Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,

Attending on his golden pilgrimage:

But when from highmost pitch, with wearycar,

Like feeble age he reeleth from theday,

The eyes (fore duteous) now convertedare

From his low tract and look anotherway:

So thou, thyself outgoing inthy noon,

Unlooked on diest unless thou get ason.

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Music tohear, why hearst thou music sadly?

Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights injoy:

Why lovst thou that which thou receivst not gladly,

Or else receivst with pleasure thine annoy?

If the true concord ofwell-tuned sounds,

Byunions married, do offend thineear,

They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds

Insingleness the parts that thou shouldst bear;

Mark how one string, sweet husband toanother,

Strikes each ineach bymutual ordering;

Resembling sire, and child, and happy mother,

Who all inone, one pleasing note do sing;

Whose speechless song being many, seemingone,

Sings this tothee, Thou single wilt prove none.

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Is it for fear towet awidowseye

That thou consumst thyself insingle life?

Ah! if thou issueless shalt hap todie,

The world will wail thee like amakeless wife;

The world will be thy widow and still weep,

That thou no form ofthee hast left behind,

When every private widow well may keep,

Bychildrens eyes, her husbands shape inmind:

Look what an unthrift inthe world doth spend

Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoysit,

But beautys waste hath inthe world anend,

And kept unused the user so destroysit:

No love toward others inthat bosomsits

That on himself such murdrous shame commits.

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For shame deny that thou bear-st love toany,

Who for thyself art so improvident.

Grant, if thou wilt, thou art beloved ofmany,

But that thou none lovst is most evident;

For thou art so possessd with murdrous hate,

That gainst thyself thou stickst not toconspire,

Seeking that beauteous roof toruinate

Which torepair should be thy chief desire:

Πchange thy thought, that Imay change my mind!

Shall hate be fairer lodged than gentle love?

Be as thy presence is, gracious and kind,

Or tothyself at least kind-hearted prove:

Make thee another self, for love ofme,

That beauty still may live inthine or thee.

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As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou growest

Inone ofthine, 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 endowd she gave the more;

Which bounteous gift thou shouldst inbounty cherish:

She carved thee for her seal, and meant thereby

Thou shouldst print more, not let that copydie.

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12

When Ido count the clock that tells the time,

And see the brave day sunk inhideous night,

When Ibehold the violet past prime,

And sable curls all silvered oer with white,

When lofty trees Isee barren ofleaves,

Which erst from heat did canopy the herd,

And summers green all girded up insheaves

Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard:

Then ofthy beauty do Iquestionmake

That thou among the wastes oftime mustgo,

Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake,

And die as fast as they see others grow,

And nothing gainst Times scythe can make defence

Save breed tobrave him when he takes thee hence.

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Πthat you were your self! but, love, youare

No longer yours than you yourself here live;

Against this coming end you should prepare,

And^your sweet semblance tosome other give:

So should that beauty which you hold inlease

Find no determination; then youwere

Your self again after yourself s decease,

When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear.

Who lets so fair ahouse fall todecay,

Which husbandry inhonour might uphold

Against the stormy gusts ofwintersday

And barren rage ofdeaths eternal cold?

O, none but unthrifts: dear my love, youknow

You had afather, let your son sayso.

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14

Not from the stars do Imy judgement pluck,

And yet methinks Ihave astronomy,

But not totell ofgood or evil luck,

Ofplagues, ofdearths, or seasons quality;

Nor can Ifortune tobrief minutes tell,

Pointing toeach his thunder, rain and wind,

Or say with princes if it shall gowell

Byoft predict that Iinheaven find:

But from thine eyes my knowledge Iderive,

And, constant stars, inthem Iread suchart

As truth and beauty shall together thrive

If from thy self tostore thou wouldst convert:

Or else ofthee this Iprognosticate,

Thy end is truths and beautys doom and date.

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When Iconsider every thing that grows

Holds inperfection but alittle moment,

That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows

Whereon the stars insecret influence comment;

When Iperceive that men as plants increase,

Cheered and checked even bythe selfsamesky,

Vaunt intheir youthful sap, at height decrease,

And wear their brave state out ofmemory:

Then the conceit ofthis inconstantstay

Sets you most rich inyouth before my sight,

Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay

Tochange your day ofyouth tosullied night,

And all inwar with Time for love ofyou,

As he takes from you, Iingraft younew.

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But wherefore do not you amightierway

Make war upon this bloody tyrant Time,

And fortify yourself inyour decay

With means more blessed than my barren rhyme?

Now stand you on the top ofhappy 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 oflife that life repair

Which this times pencil or my pupilpen

Neither ininward worth nor outwardfair

Can make you live yourself ineyes ofmen:

Togive away yourself keeps yourself still,

And you must live drawn byyour own sweet skill.

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Who will believe my verse intime tocome

If it were filled with your most high deserts?

Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as atomb

Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts.

If Icould write the beauty ofyour eyes,

And infresh numbers number all your graces,

The age tocome would say, This poet lies;

Such heavenly touches neer touched earthly faces.

So should my papers (yellowed with theirage)

Be scorned, like old men ofless truth than tongue,

And your true rights be termed apoetsrage

And stretched metre ofan antique song:

But were some child ofyours alive that time,

You should live twice, init and inmy rhyme.

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Shall Icompare thee toasummersday?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds ofMay,

And summers lease hath all too short adate;

Sometime too hot the eye ofheaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimmed;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

Bychance or natures changing course untrimmed:

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession ofthat fair thou owst,

Nor shall Death brag thou wandrest inhis shade,

When ineternal lines totime thou growst.

So long as men can breathe or eyes cansee,

So long lives this, and this gives life tothee.





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