The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (1126 page)

O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem

By that sweet ornament which truth doth give!

The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem

For that sweet odour which doth in it live.

The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye

As the perfumed tincture of the roses,

Hang on such thorns and play as wantonly

When summer's breath their masked buds discloses:

But, for their virtue only is their show,

They live unwoo'd and unrespected fade,

Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so;

Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made:

And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,

When that shall fade, my verse distills your truth.

Oh, how much more beautiful does beauty appear,

When its sweetness is matched with truth and honesty!

The rose looks beautiful, but we say it is more beautiful

For the sweet scent that it carries.

Wild roses have a full and deep color,

The same as the perfumed roses have.

Their thorns are the same and they display as playfully

When the warm summer air opens their blooms.

But their only good point is in their appearance,

They live unloved and have little value as they fade,

And so they die alone. Fragrant roses do not do this:

As they fade, they produce the sweetest scent possible.

And so will you, beautiful and lovely youth, because

When you fade, my verse will hold your essence.

Not marble, nor the gilded monuments

Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme;

But you shall shine more bright in these contents

Than unswept stone besmear'd with sluttish time.

When wasteful war shall statues overturn,

And broils root out the work of masonry,

Nor Mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall burn

The living record of your memory.

'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity

Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room

Even in the eyes of all posterity

That wear this world out to the ending doom.

So, till the judgment that yourself arise,

You live in this, and dwell in lover's eyes.

Neither marble nor the gold-plated monuments

Of princes will outlive this powerful poem,

You will shine more brightly in these lines

Than abandoned stone discolored with filthy time.

When wasteful wars overturn statues

And battles tear up stonework and floors,

Neither War’s fierce sword nor his quick fire will burn

The living record of your memory.

Avoiding death and forgetful hostility,

You will walk forward and your praise will still find room

In the eyes of a long line of descendants,

Lasting until the end of the world.

So, until Judgment Day when you are raised again

You live in this poem and in the eyes of lovers.

Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said

Thy edge should blunter be than appetite,

Which but to-day by feeding is allay'd,

To-morrow sharpen'd in his former might:

So, love, be thou; although to-day thou fill

Thy hungry eyes even till they wink with fullness,

To-morrow see again, and do not kill

The spirit of love with a perpetual dullness.

Let this sad interim like the ocean be

Which parts the shore, where two contracted new

Come daily to the banks, that, when they see

Return of love, more blest may be the view;

Else call it winter, which being full of care

Makes summer's welcome thrice more wish'd, more rare.

Sweet love, renew your strength. They say

The edge of love is blunter than desire’s,

Which is easily satisfied today

Only to be as sharp and strong again tomorrow.

So, love, be like that: although today you look on your lover

With hungry eyes until you want to close them because they feel full,

Look again tomorrow, and do not kill

The spirit of love with a constant dullness.

Let this sad break between us be like an ocean

Which parts the shores where two newly engaged lovers

Come to the banks every day, and when they see

Their love again on the other side, the view is blessed.

Or let it be like winter, which is so full of trouble

It makes summer three times more welcome and rare.

Being your slave, what should I do but tend

Upon the hours and times of your desire?

I have no precious time at all to spend,

Nor services to do, till you require.

Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour

Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,

Nor think the bitterness of absence sour

When you have bid your servant once adieu;

Nor dare I question with my jealous thought

Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,

But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought

Save, where you are how happy you make those.

So true a fool is love that in your will,

Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill.

Since I am your slave, what can I do except attend

To the hours and times of your desire?

I have no precious time of my own to spend at all,

Or services to do, until you require me.

I don’t dare to complain about the endless hours

While I wait for you, my king, watching the clock,

Or think about how bitter and sour your absence is

Once you have bid your servant goodbye.

I certainly don’t dare to voice my jealous thoughts

About where you might be, or what you are up to,

But, like a sad slave, I wait and think about nothing

Except how happy you must be making someone, wherever you are.

Love makes a person such a loyal fool

That no matter what you do, he won’t think badly of you.

That god forbid that made me first your slave,

I should in thought control your times of pleasure,

Or at your hand the account of hours to crave,

Being your vassal, bound to stay your leisure!

O, let me suffer, being at your beck,

The imprison'd absence of your liberty;

And patience, tame to sufferance, bide each cheque,

Without accusing you of injury.

Be where you list, your charter is so strong

That you yourself may privilege your time

To what you will; to you it doth belong

Yourself to pardon of self-doing crime.

I am to wait, though waiting so be hell;

Not blame your pleasure, be it ill or well.

May the god that decided to make me your slave

Never allow me to think about having control over when you see me,

Or to ask for an accounting of how you spend your hours.

I am your slave, and so I must wait for you to decide to see me!

Oh, let me suffer quietly, while being at your call,

In a prison-like absence while you are free to do as you please.

Give me the patience to endure and suffer each rebuke

Without accusing you of hurting me.

You can be where you wish—your privilege is so strong

That you, yourself, may control your time

And do whatever you want. It is your right

To forgive yourself of any selfish crime.

I am to wait, although waiting is like hell,

And not blame you for doing as you please, whether it’s for bad or good.