The 40th Sonnets of Love by William Shakespeare
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 callAll 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 thyself deceivest By wilful taste of what thyself refusest. I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief, Although thou steal thee all my povertyAnd yet, love knows, it is a greater grief To bear love's wrong than hate's known injury. Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows, Kill me with spites; yet we must not be foes.O Mistress Mine
O, stay and hear; your true love's coming, That can sing both high and low: Trip no further, pretty sweeting;
Journeys end in lovers meeting, Every wise man's son doth know.What is love? 'Tis not hereafter; Present mirth hath present laughterWhat's to come is still unsure: In delay there lies not plenty; Then, come kiss me, sweet and twenty, Youth's a stuff will not endure.The 18th Love Sonnets by William Shakespeare
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'dAnd every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;But thy eternal summer shall not fadeNor 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.
