William Shakespeare – Sonnets Unit Actor Poet Dramatist  The writer of 884,647 words and 118,406 lines.  The Oxford English Dictionary attributes all of the bold-faced words below (and some 500 more) to Shakespeare: From the spectacled pedant to the schoolboy, all gentlefolk recognize Shakespeare as a fathomless fount of coinages. The honey-tongued Bard had no rival, nor could he sate his never-ending addiction to madcap, flowery (or foulmouthed!) neologisms. Even time-honored exposure cannot besmirch our amazement at the countless and useful words that lend radiance to our lackluster lives. All in a day’s work! History of the Sonnet Petrarchan (Italian) Sonnet (1304-74)      Begins with Italian poet Francesco Petrarch Octave (8 lines) with two rhymes (abba abba) Sestet (6 lines) with two or three rhymes variously arranged, typically cdc dcd or cde cde. The thought or theme is developed in the octave, and expanded or contradicted in the sestet. Volta, or turn, typically occurs between octave and sestet. When I Consider How My Light Is Spent John Milton When I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest He returning chide; "Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?" I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need Either man's work or His own gifts. Who best Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best. His state Is kingly: thousands at His bidding speed, And post o'er land and ocean without rest; They also serve who only stand and wait." A B B A A OCTAVE B B A C D E C SESTET D E English Sonnet (Primary Sonnet Form Used by Shakespeare):     Introduced by Wyatt and developed by Sidney. Uses 3 quatrains (4 lines each) and ends with a couplet (2 lines): abab cdcd efef gg. Quatrains may develop separate metaphors and the closing couplet can either confirm or go sharply against the prior lines. The volta, or turn, typically comes in line 13 (though sometimes in line 9). Sonnet 73 That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou see'st the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west; Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire, That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, As the death-bed, whereon it must expire, Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by. This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong, To love that well, which thou must leave ere long. METAPHOR 1 (First Quatrain): METAPHOR 2 (Second Quatrain): METAPHOR 3 (Third Quatrain): COUPLET: Sonnet 12 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 silvered 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. Sonnet 12: Translation to modern English When I count the chimes of the clock and watch the bright day sunken into terrifying night; when I see violets fading, and black curls all silvered over with white; when I see tall trees which previously offered shade to sheep and cattle but now with no leaves; and the green crops of summer tied up in harvested sheaves covered with scratchy dried out leaves, carried away on a wagon; then I begin to think about the endurance of your beauty and that you will have to decline and decay like everything else, because sweet and beautiful things lose their sweetness and beauty and die while watching new sweet and beautiful things taking their place. The only defence against Time's scythe is to defy him when he takes you away, by having children. Sonnet 18 Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date: Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd; But thy eternal summer shall not fade Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou growest: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this and this gives life to thee. Sonnet 18: Translation to modern English Shall I compare you to a summer's day? You are more lovely and more moderate: Harsh winds disturb the delicate buds of May, and summer doesn't last long enough. Sometimes the sun is too hot, and its golden face is often dimmed by clouds. All beautiful things eventually become less beautiful, either by the experiences of life or by the passing of time. But your eternal beauty won't fade, nor lose any of its quality. And you will never die, as you will live on in my enduring poetry. As long as there are people still alive to read poems this sonnet will live, and you will live in it. Sonnet 29 When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself, and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possessed, Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts my self almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state, Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate; For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings. Sonnet 29: Translation to modern English When my luck has failed and no-one gives me any sympathy, I sit all alone and cry about being an outcast, and bother the deaf ears of heaven with my useless cries; and examine myself and curse my fate, wishing that I was like someone with good prospects; or that I looked like another, or had friends like yet another, coveting this man's skill, and that man's range - totally dissatisfied with the things I usually enjoy. Yet, as I'm thinking these thoughts, almost believing myself despicable, I think of you by chance and then my soul, like the lark rising from the glum earth at daybreak, sings hymns at heaven's gate. Because when I remember your sweet love, the thought brings such wealth that I'd then refuse to change places with kings. Sonnet 130 My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red, than her lips red: If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. I have seen roses damasked, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks; And in some perfumes is there more delight Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know That music hath a far more pleasing sound: I grant I never saw a goddess go, My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground: And yet by heaven, I think my love as rare, As any she belied with false compare. Sonnet 130: Translation to modern English My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; coral is far more than her lips are. If snow is white, all I can say is that her breasts are a brownish grey colour. If hairs can be compared with wires then black hairs grow on her head. I know what pink, red and white roses look like but I don't see any roses in her cheeks. And there's more pleasure in some perfumes than there is in my mistress' reeking breath! I love her voice although I know that music is more pleasing to the ear. I admit I've never seen a goddess walking; when my mistress walks she treads firmly on the ground. And yet, by heaven, I think that my love is as unique as any woman who is the subject of a romantic poem. Sonnet 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? O! 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. Sonnet 138: Translation to modern English When my mistress swears that she speaks nothing but the truth I believe her so that she will think that I'm a naïve youth, ignorant of the complex ways of the world - even though I know she's lying. So, to satisfy my vanity, I believe that she regards me as young, even though she knows that my best days are behind me. I agree with her lies without reservation. And so we're both concealing the truth from each other. But why does she insist on her lies? And why don't I insist that I'm old? Oh, it's best for lovers to pretend to trust each other; and older lovers don't like having their age pointed out. So I lie with her and she lies with me, and both being imperfect, we flatter each other with our lies.