home | authors | books | about

Home -> William Shakespeare -> 151

151

Sonnets

1

10

100

101

102

103

104

105

106

107

108

109

11

110

111

112

113

114

115

116

117

118

119

12

120

121

122

123

124

125

126

127

128

129

13

130

131

132

133

134

135

136

137

138

139

14

140

141

142

143

144

144

145

146

147

148

149

15

150

151

152

153

154

16

17

18

19

2

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

3

30

31

32

33

34

35

36

37

38

39

4

40

41

42

43

44

45

46

47

48

49

5

50

51

52

53

54

55

56

57

58

59

6

60

61

62

63

64

65

66

67

68

69

7

70

71

72

73

74

75

76

77

78

79

8

80

81

82

83

84

85

86

87

88

89

9

90

91

92

93

94

95

96

97

98

99







CLI

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.





© Art Branch Inc. | English Dictionary