 sonnets 131 to 140 of Shakespeare's sonnets. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Chris Hughes. Read ear.blogspot.com. Shakespeare's Sonnets by William Shakespeare. Sonnets 131 to 140. 131. Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art, as those whose beauties proudly make them cruel. For well thou knowest to my dear doting heart, thou art the fairest and most precious jewel. Yet in good faith some say that the behold thy face hath not the power to make love grown. To say they ere, I dare not be so bold, although I swear it to myself alone. And to be sure that is not false I swear, a thousand groans but thinking on thy face, one on another's neck do witness bear, thy black is fairest in my judgment's place. In nothing art thou black save in thy deeds, and thence this slander as I think proceeds. 132. Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me, knowing thy heart torment me with disdain, have put on black and loving mourn as be, looking with pretty roof upon my pain. And truly not the morning sun of heaven better becomes the grey cheeks of the east, nor that full star that ushers in the even doth half that glory to the sober west, as those two mourning eyes become thy face. O let it then as well beseem thy heart to mourn for me, since mourning doth thee grace, and soot thy pity like in every part. Then will I swear beauty herself is black, and all they fowl that thy complexion lack. 133. Be shrew that heart that makes my heart too groan'd for that deep wound it gives my friend and me. Is not enough to torture me alone, but slave to slavery my sweetest friend must be? Me from myself thy cruel eye hath taken, and my next self thou harder hast engross'd. Of him myself and thee I am forsaken, a torment thrice threefold thus to be crossed. Prison my heart in thy steel bosom's ward, but then my friend's heart let my poor heart bail. Where keeps me, let my heart be his guard, thou canst not then use rigor in my jail? And yet thou wilt, for I being pent in thee, perforce am thine, and all that is in me. 134. So now I have confessed that he is thine, and I myself am mortgaged to thy will. Myself I'll forfeit, so that other mine thou wilt restore to be my comfort still. But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free for thou art covetous, and he is kind. He learned but surety like to write for me under that bond that him as fast doth bind. The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take, thou usurer that putt'st forth all to use, and sue a friend came debtor for my sake, so him I lose through my unkind abuse. Him have I lost, thou hast both him and me, he pays the whole, and yet I am not free. 135. Whoever hast her wish, thou hast thy will, and will to boot, and will in over-plus. More than enough am I that vex thee still, to thy sweet will making addition thus. Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious, not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine? Shall will in others seem right gracious, and in my will no fair acceptance shine? The sea all water yet receives rain still, and in abundance addeth to his store. So thou, being rich in will, add to thy will one will of mine to make thy large will more. Let no unkind know fair beseechers kill, think all but one, and me in that one will. 136. If thy soul check thee that I come so near, swear to thy blind soul that I was thy will, and will thy soul knows is admitted there, thus far from love my love-suit sweet fulfil. Will will fulfil the treasure of thy love, I fill it full with wills, and my will one. In things of great receipt with ease we prove, among a number one is reckoned none. Then in the number let me pass untold, though in thy store's account I one must be, for nothing hold me, so it pleas thee hold that nothing me is something sweet to thee. Make but my name thy love, and love that still, and then thou loves me, for my name is will. 137. Thou blindful love, what dost thou to mine eyes that they behold, and see not what they see? They know what beauty is, see where it lies, yet what the best is take the worst to be. 138. If eyes corrupt by over partial looks be anchored in the bay where all men ride, why of eyes falsehood has thou forged hooks where to the judgment of my heart is tied? Why should my heart think that a several plot which my heart knows the wide world's common place, or mine eyes seeing this say this is not, to put fair truth upon so foul a face? To things right true my heart and eyes have erred, and to this false plague are they now transferred. 138. When my love swears that she is made of truth I do believe her, though I know she lies, that she might think me some untutored youth unlearned in the world's false subtleties, thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young, although she knows my days are past the best, simply I credit her false speaking tongue on both sides thus is simple truth suppressed. But wherefore says she not she is unjust, and wherefore say not I that I am old? Oh, love's best habit is in seeming trust, and age in love loves not to have years told. Therefore I lie with her, and she with me, and in our faults by lies we flattered be. 139. Oh, call not me to justify the wrong that thy unkindness lays upon my heart. Wound me not with thine eye, but with thy tongue. Use power with power, and slay me not by art. Tell me thou lovest elsewhere, but in my sight, dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside. What needs thou wound with cunning, when thy might is more than my oppressed defence can bide? Let me excuse thee, ah, my love well knows her pretty looks have been mine enemies, and therefore from my face she turns my foes, that they elsewhere might dart their injures. Yet do not so, but since I am near slain, kill me outright with looks, and rid my pain. 140. Be wise as thou art cruel. Do not press my tongue-tied patience with too much disdain, lest sorrow lend me words, and words express the manner of my pity-wanting pain. If I might teach thee wit, better it were, though not to love, yet love to tell me so, as testy sick men, when their deaths be near, no news but health from their physicians know. For if I should despair, I should grow mad, and in my madness might speak ill of thee. Now this ill-resting world is grown so bad, mad slanders by mad ears believe it be. That I may not be so, nor thou belied. Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide. End of sonnets 131 to 140 of Shakespeare's sonnets. Sonnets 141 to 154 of Shakespeare's sonnets. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Chris Hughes, readier.blogspot.com. Shakespeare's Sonnets by William Shakespeare. Sonnets 141 to 154. 141. In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes, for they in thee a thousand errors note. But tis my heart that loves what they despise, who in despite a view is pleased to doubt. Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune delighted, nor tender feeling to base touches prone. Nor taste nor smell desire to be invited to any sensual feast with thee alone. But my five wits nor my five senses can dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee, who leaves unsuade the likeness of a man, thy proud heart's slave, and vassal wretch to be. Only my plague thus far I count my gain, that she that makes me sin awards me pain. 142. Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate, hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving. Oh, but with mine compare thou thine own state, and thou shalt find it merits not reproving. Or if it do, not from those lips of thine that have profane their scarlet ornaments, and sealed false bonds of love as oft as mine, robbed others' beds revenues of their rents. Be it lawful I love thee, as thou loves those whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee, root pity in thy heart, that when it grows thy pity may desire to pitied be. If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide, by self-example mayst thou be denied. 143. Lo, as a careful housewife runs to catch one of her feathered creatures broke away, sets down her babe, and makes all swift dispatch in pursuit of the thing she would have stay. Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase, cries to catch her, whose busy care is bent, to follow that which flies before her face, not prizing her poor infant's discontent. So runnest thou after that which flies from thee, whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind. But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me, and play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind. So will I prove that thou mayst have thy will, if thou turn back, and my loud crying still. 144. Two loves I have of comfort and despair, which like two spirits do suggest me still. The better angel is a man right fair, the worse a spirit, a woman, colored ill. To win me soon to hell, my female evil tempteth my better angel from my side, and would corrupt my saint to be a devil, wooing his purity with her foul pride. And whether that my angel be turned fiend, suspect I may yet not directly tell, but being both from me, both to each friend, I guess one angel in another's hell. Yet this shall I now know, but live in doubt till my bad angel fire my good one out. 145. Those lips that love's own hand did make breath forth the sound that said, I hate. To me that languished for her sake, but when she saw my woeful state, straight in her heart did mercy come, chiding that tongue that ever sweet was used in giving gentle doom, and taught it thus anew to greet. I hate. She altered with an end, that followed it as gentle day doth follow night, who like a fiend from heaven to hell is flown away. I hate. From hate away she threw, and saved my life, saying, Not you. 146. Poor soul, the center of my sinful earth, my sinful earth these rebel powers array, Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth, painting thy outward wall so costly gay? Why so large cost, having so short a lease, dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend, Shall worms, inheritors of this excess, eat up thy charge? Is this thy body's end? Then soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, and let that pine to aggravate thy store. By terms divine in selling hours of dross, within be fed, without be rich no more. So shall thou feed on death that feeds on men, and death once dead, there's no more dying then. 147. My love is as a fever longing still for that which long and nurseth the disease, Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, the 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 accept. Past cure I am, now reason is past care, and frantic mad with evermore unrest, My thoughts and my discourse as mad men's are, at random from the truth vainly expressed. For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, who art black as hell, as dark as night. 148. O me, what eyes hath love put in my head, which have no correspondence with true sight, Or if they have, whereas my judgment fled, that sensuous falsely what they see are right? 149. If that be fair, whereon my false eyes doth, what means the world to say it is not so? 149. If it be not, then love doth well denote, Love's eye is not so true as all men's. No, how can it? Oh, how can Love's eye be true, that is so vexed with watching and with tears? No marvel, then, though I mistake my view, the sun itself sees not till heaven clears. 149. O cunning love, with tears thou keeps me blind, lest eye's well-seeing thy foul faults should find. 149. Can't thou, O cruel, say I love thee not, when I against myself with thee partake? 149. Do I not think on thee, when I forgot, am of myself all tyrant for thy sake? 149. Who hatheth thee that I do call my friend, on whom frounce thou that I do fawn upon? 149. Nay, if thou lous'dt on me, do I not spend revenge upon myself with present moan? 149. What merit do I in my self-respect, that is so proud thy service to despise, when all my best doth worship thy defect, commanded by the motion of thine eyes? But love, hate on, for now I know thy mind, those that can see thou lovest, and I am blind. 150. O, from what power hast thou this powerful might, within sufficiency my heart to sway, to make me give the lie to my true sight, and swear that brightness doth not grace the day? Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill, that in the very refuse of thy deeds, is such strength and warranties of skill, that in my mind thy worst all best exceeds? Who taught thee how to make me love thee more, the more I hear and see just cause of hate, though I love what others do abhor, with others thou should not abhor my state? If thy unworthiness raised love in me, more worthy I to be beloved of thee. 151. Love is too young to know what conscience is. Yet who knows not conscience is born of love? Then gentle cheetah, 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. 152. In loving thee thou noest I am forsworn, but thou art twice forsworn to me love swearing. Inact thy bed-vow broke, and new faith torn, in vowing new hate after new love bearing. But why of two oaths breach do I accuse thee when I break twenty? I am purged most, for all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee, and all my honest faith in thee is lost. For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness, oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy, and to enlighten thee gave eyes to blindness, or made them swear against the thing they see. For I have sworn thee fair, more purged eye to swear against the truth, so foul a lie. 153. Cupid laid by his brand, and fell asleep. A maid of Diane's disadvantage found, and his love kindling fire did quickly steep in a cold valley fountain of that ground, which borrowed from this holy fire of love a dateless, lively heat still to endure, and grew a seating bath, which yet men prove against strange maladies a sovereign cure. But at my mistress's eye, love's brand new fired, the boy for trial needs would touch my breast. I, sick with all, the help of Bath desired, and thither hide a sad, distempered guest. But found no cure. The bath for my help lies, where Cupid got new fire. My mistress's eyes. 154. The little love-god lying once asleep laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand, whilst many nymphs that vowed chaste life to keep came tripping by. But in her maiden hand the fairest votary took up that fire, which many legions of true hearts had warmed, and so the general of hot desire was sleeping by a virgin hand disarmed. This brand she quenched in a cool well by, which from love's fire took heat perpetual, growing a bath, and helpful remedy for men diseased. But I, my mistress's thrall, came there for cure, and this by that I prove, love's fire heats water, water cools not love.