SONNET 125.

Were't aught to me I bore the canopy,
With my extern the outward honouring,
Or laid great bases for eternity,

Which prove more short than waste or ruining?
Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour
Lose all, and more, by paying too much rent,
For compound sweet forgoing simple savour,
Pitiful thrivers, in their gazing spent?
No, let me be obsequious in thy heart,
And take thou my oblation, poor but free,
Which is not mix'd with seconds, knows no art
But mutual render, only me for thee.

Hence, thou suborn'd informer! a true soul

When most impeach'd stands least in thy control.

Were't ought to me I bore the canopy with my extern the outward honoring (what mattered it to me whether I be acclaimed with outward honoring), or laid great bases for eternity (or whether by my writings I laid great bases for eternity), which (in either case) prove more short than waste or ruining?

Have I not seen dwellers on form and favor (pets of fortune) lose all and more by paying too much rent (getting nothing for their devotions) foregoing simplicity for display, pitiful thrivers in their gazing (worshipping) spent?

No, let me be obsequious in your heart, Wine, and receive you my poor but free oblation, which is not mixed with seconds (depends not on time but is eternal), knows not art (craft), but mutually give me for you (with the comforts of Wine I care nothing for honors or favors).

Hence suborned informer (fools of time, betrayers)! a true soul when most impeached, stands least in your control.

SONNET 126.

O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power
Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his sickle, how'er;
Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st
Thy lovers withering as thy sweet self grow'st;
If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack,
As thou goest onwards, still will pluck thee back,
She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill
May time disgrace and wretched minutes kill.
Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure!
She may detain, but not still keep, her treasure:
Her audit, though delay'd answer'd must be
And her quietus is to render thee.

O, Wine, my lovely boy, who in your power (perennial youth) hold Time's fickle glass, which is his sickle howe'er; who by waning (being consumed) grows, and therein show your lovers withering as you grow: If nature, sovereign mistress over rack (restorer), as you go onward still pulls you back (continues to restore as you strive to destroy), she keeps you to show that her skill may time disgrace (everrule) and wretched minutes kill (by comforting those you make miserable).

Yet fear her, O minion of her pleasure! She may detain but not keep her treasure (her creatures, you, Wine, among the others); her audit (accounting) though delayed, must be answered, and her quietus (acquittance, final result) is to render (destroy) you.

Thus, with an unfinished sonnet (two lines short of the usual) Shakespeare ends his panegyric on Wine. Several sonnets, preceding this last one, indicate a change. Where before there had been nothing but the most extravagant praise, even in the throes of his misery, a less infatuated tone becomes evident. Then, in the last, with almost supernatural tones, Wine is warned that it too will be the subject of time's devastating power.

The first 18 sonnets were addressed, in form, to a male objective. After that, and particularly after the twentieth sonnet, the sex of the addressee is, at least, in doubt as to whether it is male, female or neuter. It is believed that the contention has been established, that the sex of that which has been addressed, is neuter. At any rate, it may be said, that if it has been shown that Wine is the object addressed, there is nothing after the twentieth sonnet that would do violence to such a construction.

SONNET 128.

How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st,
Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds
With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway'st
The wiry concord that mine ear confounds,
Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap

To kiss the tender inward of thy hand,

Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest reap,
At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand
To be so tickled, they would change their state
And situation with those dancing chips,
O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait,
Making dead wood more blest than living lips.
Since saucy jacks so happy are in this,

Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.

How oft when you play music on the virginal, and with your fingers sway the wiry concord that confounds (charms) my ear,

Do I envy the jacks (keys) that leap to kiss the inward of your hand, whilst my lips that should that harvest reap, stand blushing at the boldness of the wood (keys)!

So to be tickled (kissed) they would change places with the dancing chips (keys) over which your fingers gently move, making dead wood more blessed than living lips.

Since saucy jacks so happy are in this, give them your fingers, me your lips to kiss.

This sonnet has no apparent relation with the others, and should be entitled: 'Sonnet written on seeing a beautiful woman playing upon the virginal.' Like several of the sonnets it was no doubt composed upon some occasion, or suggested by some incident.

This is the one, and only sonnet that is actually addressed to a woman.

SONNET 129.

The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
Is lust in action; and till action, lust

Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame,
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust;
Enjoy'd no sooner but despised straight;
Past reason hunted; and no sooner had,
Past reason hated, as a swallowed bait,
On purpose laid to make the taker mad:
Mad in pursuit, and in possession so;
Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme;
A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe;
Before, a joy proposed; behind, a dream.

All this the world well knows; yet none knows well
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.

The expenditure of spirit in shame's waste (shameful waste, drinking) is lust in action; until in action (while simply craving) lust is perjured, murderous, bloody etc.; (A well known fact that a lustful craving, unindulged, and especially the lust for drink, stops at nothing skort of being satiated.)

No sooner enjoyed, than the indulgence is despised; hunted beyond reason; and no sooner had than it is hated beyond reason, as if it were a bait prepared to make the taker mad, when swallowed:

Mad in pursuit and in possession; extreme (unreasonable) when it has been had, when it is being indulged, and when in quest of it; a bliss in proof (anticipation), and proved (a reality), a very woe; before obtaining it, a joy proposed; behind (after) a dream.

The world knows all this; yet none knows well enough to shun the heaven (indulgence) that leads men to this hell.

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 damask'd, 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.

My mistress' (Wine's) eyes are nothing like the sun; coral is redder than her lips; if snow be white her breasts are dun; if hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. (There is a possibility that the color 'dun' and 'black wires' may give a clue to what particular liquors Shakespeare indulged in. The dun of course refers to color, and it is suspected the black wires refer to the retainer in which the liquor was sold or delivered. If so, the reference is probably to the manner in which the top or cork was secured.)

I have seen roses damasked, red and white, but no such roses in her cheeks; and there's more delight in some perfumes, than in her reeking breath.

I love to hear her speak, but music is more pleasing; I never saw a goddess go, but my mistress treads upon the ground.

And yet I think my love as rare, as any she, belied (exaggerated) by false comparisons.

Shakespeare has discovered that his mistress is altogether of the earth, earthy, and without the divinity with which he had endued her.