|The Pendant Shakespeare|
|The Sonnets - Part 2|
|The Pendant Shakespeare Logo|
|Air Date||October 20, 2008|
|Directed by||David Alexander McDonald|
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|The Rape of Lucrece||The Tempest - Act I|
- When forty winters shall besiege thy brow
- And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
- Thy youth's proud livery, so gazed on now,
- Will be a tottered weed of small worth held.
- Then, being asked where all thy beauty lies,
- Where all the treasure of thy lusty days;
- To say within thine own deep sunken eyes,
- Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.
- How much more praise deserved thy beauty's use,
- If thou couldst answer, "This fair child of mine
- Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,"
- Proving his beauty by succession thine.
- This were to be new made when thou art old,
- And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.
- Look in thy 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 uneared womb
- Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
- Or who is he so fond will be the tomb
- Of his self-love, to stop posterity?
- Thou art thy mother’s glass, and she in thee
- Calls back the lovely April of her prime;
- So thou through windows of thine age shalt see,
- Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time.
- But if thou live rememb’red not to be,
- Die single, and thine image dies with thee.
- 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 call;
- All 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 blam'd, if thou thy self deceivest
- By wilful taste of what thyself refusest.
- I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief,
- Although thou steal thee all my poverty:
- And 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.
- Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now;
- Now, while the world is bent my deeds to cross,
- Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow,
- And do not drop in for an after-loss:
- Ah! do not, when my heart hath 'scaped this sorrow,
- Come in the rearward of a conquered woe;
- Give not a windy night a rainy morrow,
- To linger out a purposed overthrow.
- If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last,
- When other petty griefs have done their spite,
- But in the onset come: so shall I taste
- At first the very worst of fortune's might;
- And other strains of woe, which now seem woe,
- Compared with loss of thee, will not seem so.
- O truant Muse what shall be thy amends
- For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed?
- Both truth and beauty on my love depends;
- So dost thou too, and therein dignified.
- Make answer Muse: wilt thou not haply say,
- 'Truth needs no colour, with his colour fixed;
- Beauty no pencil, beauty's truth to lay;
- But best is best, if never intermixed'?
- Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb?
- Excuse not silence so, for't lies in thee
- To make him much outlive a gilded tomb
- And to be praised of ages yet to be.
- Then do thy office, Muse; I teach thee how
- To make him seem, long hence, as he shows now.
- My love is as a fever, longing still
- For that which longer nurseth the disease,
- Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
- Th’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.
April Sadowski - Sonnet 2
Philip Weber - Sonnet 3
David Ault - Sonnet 40
David Alexander McDonald - Sonnet 90
Kathryn Pryde - Sonnet 101Melissa Hearne - Sonnet 147