Архив метки: william shakespeare sonnets

Sonnet no. 154

The little Love-god lying once asleep,
Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand,
Whilst many nymphs that vowed chaste life to keep
Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand

The fairest votary took up that fire
Which many legions of true hearts had warmed;
And so the General of hot desire
Was, sleeping, by a virgin hand disarmed.

This brand she quenched in a cool well by,
Which from Love’s fire took heat perpetual,
Growing a bath and healthful remedy,
For men diseased; but I, my mistress’ thrall,

Came there for cure and this by that I prove,
Love’s fire heats water, water cools not love.

For commentary, visit Shakespeare’s Sonnets.

Italian Translation
German Translation
Russian Translation
French Translation
Dutch Translation
Ukrainian Translation
Spanish Translation
Portuguese Translation

Sonnets in English
Sonnets in Russian
Sonnets in German
Sonnets in Italian
Sonnets in Spanish
Sonnets in French
Sonnets in Ukrainian
Sonnets in Portuguese
Sonnets in Dutch

Sonnet no. 153

Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep:
A maid of Dian’s this advantage found,
And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep
In a cold valley-fountain of that ground;

Which borrowed from this holy fire of Love,
A dateless lively heat, still to endure,
And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove
Against strange maladies a sovereign cure.

But at my mistress’ eye Love’s brand new-fired,
The boy for trial needs would touch my breast;
I, sick withal, the help of bath desired,
And thither hied, a sad distempered guest,

But found no cure, the bath for my help lies
Where Cupid got new fire; my mistress’ eyes.

For commentary, visit Shakespeare’s Sonnets.

Italian Translation
German Translation
Russian Translation
French Translation
Dutch Translation
Ukrainian Translation
Spanish Translation
Portuguese Translation

Sonnets in English
Sonnets in Russian
Sonnets in German
Sonnets in Italian
Sonnets in Spanish
Sonnets in French
Sonnets in Ukrainian
Sonnets in Portuguese
Sonnets in Dutch

Sonnet no. 152

In loving thee thou know’st I am forsworn,
But thou art twice forsworn, to me love swearing;
In act thy bed-vow broke, and new faith torn,
In vowing new hate after new love bearing:

But why of two oaths’ breach do I accuse thee,
When I break twenty? I am perjured most;
For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee,
And all my honest faith in thee is lost:

For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness,
Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy;
And, to enlighten thee, gave eyes to blindness,
Or made them swear against the thing they see;

For I have sworn thee fair; more perjured eye,
To swear against the truth so foul a lie!

For commentary, visit Shakespeare’s Sonnets.

Italian Translation
German Translation
Russian Translation
French Translation
Dutch Translation
Ukrainian Translation
Spanish Translation
Portuguese Translation

Sonnets in English
Sonnets in Russian
Sonnets in German
Sonnets in Italian
Sonnets in Spanish
Sonnets in French
Sonnets in Ukrainian
Sonnets in Portuguese
Sonnets in Dutch

Sonnet no. 151

Love is too young to know what conscience is,
Yet who knows not conscience is born of love?
Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss,
Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove:

For, thou betraying me, I do betray
My nobler part to my gross body’s treason;
My soul doth tell my body that he may
Triumph in love; flesh stays no farther reason,

But rising at thy name doth point out thee,
As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride,
He is contented thy poor drudge to be,
To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side.

No want of conscience hold it that I call
Her love, for whose dear love I rise and fall.

For commentary, visit Shakespeare’s Sonnets.

Italian Translation
German Translation
Russian Translation
French Translation
Dutch Translation
Ukrainian Translation
Spanish Translation
Portuguese Translation

Sonnets in English
Sonnets in Russian
Sonnets in German
Sonnets in Italian
Sonnets in Spanish
Sonnets in French
Sonnets in Ukrainian
Sonnets in Portuguese
Sonnets in Dutch

Sonnet no. 150

O! from what power hast thou this powerful might,
With insufficiency my heart to sway?
To make me give the lie to my true sight,
And swear that brightness doth not grace the day?

Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill,
That in the very refuse of thy deeds
There is such strength and warrantise of skill,
That, in my mind, thy worst all best exceeds?

Who taught thee how to make me love thee more,
The more I hear and see just cause of hate?
O! though I love what others do abhor,
With others thou shouldst not abhor my state:

If thy unworthiness raised love in me,
More worthy I to be beloved of thee.

For commentary, visit Shakespeare’s Sonnets.

Italian Translation
German Translation
Russian Translation
French Translation
Dutch Translation
Ukrainian Translation
Spanish Translation
Portuguese Translation

Sonnets in English
Sonnets in Russian
Sonnets in German
Sonnets in Italian
Sonnets in Spanish
Sonnets in French
Sonnets in Ukrainian
Sonnets in Portuguese
Sonnets in Dutch

Sonnet no. 149

Canst thou, O cruel! say I love thee not,
When I against myself with thee partake?
Do I not think on thee, when I forgot
Am of my self, all tyrant, for thy sake?

Who hateth thee that I do call my friend,
On whom frown’st thou that I do fawn upon,
Nay, if thou lour’st on me, do I not spend
Revenge upon myself with present moan?

What merit do I in my self respect,
That is so proud thy service to despise,
When all my best doth worship thy defect,
Commanded by the motion of thine eyes?

But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind,
Those that can see thou lov’st, and I am blind.

For commentary, visit Shakespeare’s Sonnets.

Italian Translation
German Translation
Russian Translation
French Translation
Dutch Translation
Ukrainian Translation
Spanish Translation
Portuguese Translation

Sonnets in English
Sonnets in Russian
Sonnets in German
Sonnets in Italian
Sonnets in Spanish
Sonnets in French
Sonnets in Ukrainian
Sonnets in Portuguese
Sonnets in Dutch

Sonnet no. 148

O me! what eyes hath Love put in my head,
Which have no correspondence with true sight;
Or, if they have, where is my judgment fled,
That censures falsely what they see aright?

If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote,
What means the world to say it is not so?
If it be not, then love doth well denote
Love’s eye is not so true as all men’s: no,

How can it? O! how can Love’s eye be true,
That is so vexed with watching and with tears?
No marvel then, though I mistake my view;
The sun itself sees not, till heaven clears.

O cunning Love! with tears thou keep’st me blind,
Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find.

For commentary, visit Shakespeare’s Sonnets.

Italian Translation
German Translation
Russian Translation
French Translation
Dutch Translation
Ukrainian Translation
Spanish Translation
Portuguese Translation

Sonnets in English
Sonnets in Russian
Sonnets in German
Sonnets in Italian
Sonnets in Spanish
Sonnets in French
Sonnets in Ukrainian
Sonnets in Portuguese
Sonnets in Dutch

Sonnet no. 147

My love is as a fever longing still,
For that which longer nurseth the disease;
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
The uncertain sickly appetite to please.

My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve
Desire is death, which physic did except.

Past cure I am, now Reason is past care,
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;
My thoughts and my discourse as madmen’s are,
At random from the truth vainly expressed;

For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

For commentary, visit Shakespeare’s Sonnets.

Italian Translation
German Translation
Russian Translation
French Translation
Dutch Translation
Ukrainian Translation
Spanish Translation
Portuguese Translation

Sonnets in English
Sonnets in Russian
Sonnets in German
Sonnets in Italian
Sonnets in Spanish
Sonnets in French
Sonnets in Ukrainian
Sonnets in Portuguese
Sonnets in Dutch

Sonnet no. 146

Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,
… … … these rebel powers that thee array
Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth,
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay?

Why so large cost, having so short a lease,
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend?
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,
Eat up thy charge? Is this thy body’s end?

Then soul, live thou upon thy servant’s loss,
And let that pine to aggravate thy store;
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross;
Within be fed, without be rich no more:

So shall thou feed on Death, that feeds on men,
And Death once dead, there’s no more dying then.

For commentary, visit Shakespeare’s Sonnets.

Italian Translation
German Translation
Russian Translation
French Translation
Dutch Translation
Ukrainian Translation
Spanish Translation
Portuguese Translation

Sonnets in English
Sonnets in Russian
Sonnets in German
Sonnets in Italian
Sonnets in Spanish
Sonnets in French
Sonnets in Ukrainian
Sonnets in Portuguese
Sonnets in Dutch

Sonnet no. 145

Those lips that Love’s own hand did make,
Breathed forth the sound that said ‘I hate’,
To me that languished for her sake:
But when she saw my woeful state,

Straight in her heart did mercy come,
Chiding that tongue that ever sweet
Was used in giving gentle doom;
And taught it thus anew to greet;

‘I hate’ she altered with an end,
That followed it as gentle day,
Doth follow night, who like a fiend
From heaven to hell is flown away.

‘I hate’, from hate away she threw,
And saved my life, saying ‘not you’.

For commentary, visit Shakespeare’s Sonnets.

Italian Translation
German Translation
Russian Translation
French Translation
Dutch Translation
Ukrainian Translation
Spanish Translation
Portuguese Translation

Sonnets in English
Sonnets in Russian
Sonnets in German
Sonnets in Italian
Sonnets in Spanish
Sonnets in French
Sonnets in Ukrainian
Sonnets in Portuguese
Sonnets in Dutch