Sonnets to Sundry Notes of Music

SONNETS TO SUNDRY NOTES OF MUSIC
by William Shakespeare
I.
It was a lording's daughter, the fairest one of three,
That liked of her
master as well as well might be.
Till looking on an Englishman, the
fair'st that eye could see, Her fancy fell a-turning.
Long was the
combat doubtful, that love with love did fight, To leave the master
loveless, or kill the gallant knight;
To put in practice either, alas, it
was a spite
Unto the silly damsel!
But one must be refused, more
mickle was the pain,
That nothing could be used, to turn them both to
gain,
For of the two the trusty knight was wounded with disdain:

Alas, she could not help it!
Thus art, with arms contending, was
victor of the day,
Which by a gift of learnlng did bear the maid away;

Then, lullaby, the learned man hath got the lady gay;
For now my
song is ended.
II.
On a day (alack the day!)
Love, whose month was ever May,
Spied
a blossom passing fair,
Playing in the wanton air:
Through the
velvet leaves the wind,
All unseen, 'gan passage find;
That the lover,
sick to death,
Wish'd himself the heaven's breath.
Air, quoth he, thy
cheeks may blow;
Air, would I might triumph so!
But, alas! my
hand hath sworn
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn:
Vow, alack, for
youth unmeet,
Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet,
Thou for whom Jove
would swear
Juno but an Ethiope were;
And deny himself for Jove,

Turning mortal for thy love.
III.
My flocks feed not,
My ewes breed not,
My rams speed not,
All
is amiss:
Love is dying,
Faith's defying,
Heart's denying,

Causer

of this.
All my merry jigs are quite forgot,
All my lady's love is lost,
God wot:
Where her faith was firmly fix'd in love,
There a nay is
plac'd without remove.
One silly cross
Wrought all my loss;
O
frowning Fortune, cursed, fickle dame!
For now I see,
Inconstancy

More in women than in men remain.
In black mourn I,
All fears scorn I,
Love bath forlorn me,
Living
in thrall:
Heart is bleeding,
All help needing,
(O cruel speeding!)

Fraughted with gall.
My shepherd's pipe can sound no deal,
My
wether's bell rings doleful knell;
My curtail dog, that wont to have
play'd,
Plays not at all, but seems afraid;
With sighs so deep,

Procures to weep,
In howling-wise, to see my doleful plight.
How
sighs resound
Through heartless ground,
Like a thousand
vanquish'd men in bloody fight!
Clear wells spring not,
Sweet birds sing not,
Green plants bring not

Forth; they die;
Herds stand weeping,
Flocks all sleeping,

Nymphs back peeping
Fearfully.
All our pleasure known to us poor
swains,
All our merry meetings on the plains,
All our evening sport
from us is fled,
All our love is lost, for Love is dead.
Farewell,
sweet lass,
Thy like ne'er was
For a sweet content, the cause of all
my moan:
Poor Coridon
Must live alone,

Other help for him I see
that there is none.
IV.
When as thine eye hath chose the dame,
And stall'd the deer that thou
shouldst strike,
Let reason rule things worthy blame,
As well as
fancy partial might:
Take counsel of some wiser head,
Neither too
young, nor yet unwed.
And when thou com'st thy tale to tell,
Smooth not thy tongue with
filed talk,
Lest she some subtle practice smell,
(A cripple soon can
find a halt:)
But plainly say thou lov'st her well,
And set thy person

forth to sell.
What though her frowning brows be bent,
Her cloudy looks will calm
ere night;
And then too late she will repent,
That thus dissembled
her delight;
And twice desire, ere it be day,
That which with scorn
she put away.
What though she strive to try her strength,
And ban and brawl, and
say thee nay,
Her feeble force will yield at length,
When craft hath
taught her thus to say:
'Had women been so strong as men,
In faith,
you had not had it then.'
And to her will frame all thy ways;
Spare not to spend,--and chiefly
there
Where thy desert may merit praise,
By ringing in thy lady's
ear:
The strongest castle, tower, and town,
The golden bullet beats
it down.
Serve always with assured trust,
And in thy suit be humble, true;

Unless thy lady prove unjust,
Press never thou to choose anew:

When time shall serve, be thou not slack
To proffer, though she put
thee back.
The wiles and guiles that women work,
Dissembled with an outward
show,
The tricks and toys that in them lurk,
The cock that treads
them shall not know.
Have you not heard it said full oft,
A woman's
nay doth stand for naught?
Think women still to strive with men,
To sin, and never for to saint:

There is no heaven, by holy then,
When time with age doth them
attaint.
Were kisses all the joys in bed,
One woman would another
wed.
But, soft! enough,--too much, I fear;
Lest that my mistress hear my
song;
She'll not stick to round me i' the ear,
To teach my tongue to
be so long:
Yet will she blush, here be it said,
To hear her secrets so

bewray'd.
V.
Live with me, and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,

That hills and valleys, dales and fields,
And all the craggy mountains
yields.
There will we sit upon the rocks,
And see the shepherds feed their
flocks,
By shallow rivers, by whose falls
Melodious birds