SONNET 5.

Those hours that with gentle work did frame
The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell,
Will play the tyrants to the very same
And that unfair which fairly doth excel:
For never-resting time leads summer on

To hideous winter and confounds him there;
Sap check'd with frost and lusty leaves quite gone,
Beauty o'ersnow'd and bareness every where:
Then, were not summer's distillation left,
A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass,
Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft,
Nor it, nor no remembrance what it was:

But flowers distill'd, though they with winter meet,
Leese but their show; their substance still lives sweet.

Time in which I have accomplished lovely work, that every eye admires, will deal harshly with what I have done, and will make that unfair, which is only fairly good.

For never-resting time leads summer into winter; sap is checked with frost, leaves quite gone, beauty snowed under, and barrenness everywhere.

Then if the work of my genius is not done, and preserved in walls of glass, (secure from time's decay) beauty's effects (what work has been accomplished) will die with my talents, and will leave no remembrance of what my talent was.

But flowers distilled (accomplished work) though they meet with winter, lose but their show; their substance still lives.

SONNET 6.

Then let not winter's ragged hand deface
In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd:
Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place
With beauty's treasure, ere it be self-kill'd.
That use is not forbidden usury,

Which happies those that pay the willing loan;
That's for thyself to breed another thee.

Or ten times happier, be it ten for one;

Ten times thyself were happier than thou art,
If ten of thine ten times refigured thee:

Then what could death do, if thou shouldst depart,
Leaving thee living in posterity?

Be not self-will'd, for thou art much too fair

To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir.

Then let not winter's (old age's) hand deface in me my summer (lusty age) ere I be distilled: Make sweet some vial; enrich some place with the product of my genius, ere my genius be self-killed. (By refusing the inspiration of wine.)

It is not forbidden to use that which would make the user happy, if he be willing to pay the price; (referring to the use of wine and the consequences) that is if I breed another self (fame), or I would be ten times happier if I could breed ten instead of one;

Ten times myself (product) were happier than I am, but if ten of myself could each ten times refigure me: then what could death do, if I should die leaving my works living in posterity?

Be not self-willed (stubborn) for I am much too fair to be death's conquest, and make worms my heir.

Shakespeare reasons with himself, that without stimulants he would die without a lasting fame, but with stimulants he would be multiplied ten times ten in his capacity for production, and would achieve a wonderful fame. He is therefore trying to reason himself into the adoption of that which would make him happier and more productive.

SONNET 7.

Lo, in the orient when the gracious light
Lifts up his burning head, each under eye
Doth homage to his new-appearing sight,
Serving with looks his sacred majesty;
And having climb'd the steep-up heavenly hill,
Resembling strong youth in his middle age,
Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,
Attending on his golden pilgrimage;

But when from highmost pitch, with weary car,
Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day,
The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted are
From his low tract, and look another way:
So thou, thyself out-going in thy noon,
Unlook'd on diest, unless thou get a son.

In the orient when the sun rises, those under it do it homage, worshipping it as sacred;

But having reached the meridian, as youth in its middle age, the worshippers continue to adore it, attending on its golden pilgrimage; (noon, its golden time)

But when from noon, with weary car, the sun declines, (reeleth from the day) the eyes which have been duteous, are then diverted, and look another way.

So I, out-going in my noon, unlooked on die, unless I get a son. (Fame.)

SONNET 8.

Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?
Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy.
Why lovest thou that which thou receivest not gladly,
Or else receivest with pleasure thine annoy?
If the true concord of well tuned sounds,
By unions married, do offend thine ear,

They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds
In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear.
Mark how one string, sweet husband to another,
Strikes each in each by mutual ordering;
Resembling sire and child and happy mother,
Who, all in one, one pleasing note do sing:

Whose speechless song, being many, seeming one,
Sings this to thee: "Thou single wilt prove none.'

Music to hear, why do I hear it sadly? (Whilst Wine charms me, why do I accept it sadly?) Why do I love that which I receive not gladly, or am annoyed when I find I receive it with pleasure? (Here is conflict between enjoyment and the fear of consequences-between appetite and conscience.)

If the true concord of sounds by unions married, (produced by wine) offend my ear (cause me fear), they do but chide me who in singleness (by abstinence) confounds the parts that I should hear (sober, am not in accord with the harmony that wine produces).

Mark how one string, husband to another strikes in mutual ordering, resembling sire and child and happy mother (the trinity of Shakespeare, poetry and wine), who, all in one, one pleasing note do sing:

Who being many, but seeming one, sing this to me, "Thou single will prove none.' (In yourself, without wine, you will accomplish nothing.)

SONNET 9.

Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye

That thou consumest thyself in single life?
Ah! if thou issueless shalt hap to die,

The world will wail thee, like a makeless wife;
The world will be thy widow, and still weep
That thou no form of thee hast left behind,
When every private widow well may keep
By children's eyes her husband's shape in mind.
Look, what an unthrift in the world doth spend
Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it;
But beauty's waste hath in the world an end,
And kept unused, the user so destroys it.

No love toward others in that bosom sits

That on himself such murderous shame commits.

Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye, that you waste yourself in single life? (Refuse wine.) If I issueless (without product) shall die, the world will wail me like a makeless (unproductive) wife;

The world will be my widow, and weep that I have left behind no works, when the widow with children may keep her husband's shape in mind.

What the unthrift spends in the world he leaves, when he is gone, and the world continues to enjoy it; but what genius wastes is lost, and if he does not cultivate his talents he destroys them

There is no love (consideration) for others in him, who shamefully destroys his own beauty and fame.

(In the first two lines Shakespeare asks himself, if he is afraid to indulge in, or wed, wine, lest he should die and leave it a widow. The point is not made as to the effect upon the widow, wine, although it is so expressed, so much as it is as to himself. The question really is, 'Are you afraid that indulgence will shorten your life?' Then he proceeds, to say, 'If you should not indulge you will die issueless, and the world will be your widow, and weep that you have left no children,-no poetry.")