The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (1117 page)

That thou consumest thyself in single life?

Ah! if thou issueless shalt hap to die.

The world will wail thee, like a makeless wife;

The world will be thy widow and still weep

That thou no form of thee hast left behind,

When every private widow well may keep

By children's eyes her husband's shape in mind.

Look, what an unthrift in the world doth spend

Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it;

But beauty's waste hath in the world an end,

And kept unused, the user so destroys it.

No love toward others in that bosom sits

That on himself such murderous shame commits.

Is it because you fear to make a widow cry

That you continue to live the single life?

Oh! But if you happen to die childless,

The world will cry for you like a husbandless wife;

The world will be your widow and will cry,

Because you will not have left a likeness of yourself behind,

As is the case with every other widow who can see

Her husband’s image in her children’s eyes.

Look, when a spendthrift wastes money

It just changes hands, but it is still here for the world to enjoy.

But if beauty is wasted, it leaves the world—

By not using it, the user destroys it.

There is no love for others in the heart

Of someone who commits such a murderous disgrace.

For shame! deny that thou bear'st love to any,

Who for thyself art so unprovident.

Grant, if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many,

But that thou none lovest is most evident;

For thou art so possess'd with murderous hate

That 'gainst thyself thou stick'st not to conspire.

Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate

Which to repair should be thy chief desire.

O, change thy thought, that I may change my mind!

Shall hate be fairer lodged than gentle love?

Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind,

Or to thyself at least kind-hearted prove:

Make thee another self, for love of me,

That beauty still may live in thine or thee.

It’s a disgrace that you refuse to admit love for anyone

It’s thoughtless and won’t provide for the future.

It’s true, admit it, that many people love you,

And that you love no one is obvious.

You are so full of murderous hate

That you don’t even hesitate to plot against yourself.

You seek to destroy the beautiful roof over your head

When its repair is what you should be seeking.

Oh, change your way of thinking so that I may change my mind!

Should hate be cared for better than gentle love?

Be like you appear to be—gracious and kind,

Or at least be kind-hearted to yourself:

Have a child, out of love for me,

So that your beauty may still live on in your children.

As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou growest

In one of thine, 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 endow'd she gave the more;

Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty cherish:

She carved thee for her seal, and meant thereby

Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die.

As quickly as you decline, you could grow just as quickly

In one of your children, although you depart.

The fresh blood you passed on in your youth

You could call your own when you are no longer young.

Having children brings wisdom, beauty and descendants.

Not having children only brings lewdness, old age and decay.

If everyone thought as you do, society would stop,

And in sixty years, the world would end.

Let those who Nature made unfit for reproduction—

The rough, ugly and offensive—go childless.

Look, the ones Nature gave the most to have more,

And the generous gift should be well looked after.

She carved her seal in you and meant for you

To reproduce and make copies so the original does not die.

When I do count the clock that tells the time,

And see the brave day sunk in hideous night;

When I behold the violet past prime,

And sable curls all silver'd o'er with white;

When lofty trees I see barren of leaves

Which erst from heat did canopy the herd,

And summer's green all girded up in sheaves

Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard,

Then of thy beauty do I question make,

That thou among the wastes of time must go,

Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake

And die as fast as they see others grow;

And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence

Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.

When I look at the clock and see time passing,

And watch as the splendid day sinks into terrifying night,

When I see the violets fade,

And black curls turn to gray,

When tall trees become bare

That once provided shade during heat for the herds,

And summer’s crops are tied up in sheaves,

And carried away like a white bearded old man in a coffin,

Then I wonder about your beauty,

That you are allowing to go to waste with time.

Sweet and beautiful things all decline

And die as quickly as they watch others grow.

There’s nothing you can do to avoid Time cutting you down,

Except to bear children to carry on after you die.

O, that you were yourself! but, love, you are

No longer yours than you yourself here live:

Against this coming end you should prepare,

And your sweet semblance to some other give.

So should that beauty which you hold in lease

Find no determination: then you were

Yourself again after yourself's decease,

When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear.

Who lets so fair a house fall to decay,

Which husbandry in honour might uphold

Against the stormy gusts of winter's day

And barren rage of death's eternal cold?

O, none but unthrifts! Dear my love, you know

You had a father: let your son say so.

Oh, if only you were yourself! But, my love, you are

only yourself for as long as you live.

You should prepare for the inevitable end

By having a child to carry on your sweet appearance

So that the beauty you have for the time being

Does not end. Then you would be

Yourself again, after you yourself decrease,

Since your child would have your good looks.

Who lets a beautiful house fall to ruin,

That careful management might maintain

Against the stormy winds of a winter day,

And the empty violence of death’s eternal cold?

Nobody but a spendthrift! My dear, you know

You had a father. Let your son be able to say the same.