Sonnet I by William ShakespeareFrom

Sonnet I
by William Shakespeare

From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory:
But thou, contacted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content
And, tender churl, makest waste in niggarding.
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.


Sonnet II
by William Shakespeare

When forty winters shall besiege thy brow
And dig deep thenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery, so gazed on now,
Will be a tatter'd weed, of small worth held:
Then being ask'd where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days,
To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserved thy beauty's use,
If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count and make my old excuse,'
Proving his beauty by succession thine!
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.


Sonnet III
by William Shakespeare

Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest
Now is the time that face should form another;
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is she so fair whose unear'd womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb
Of his self-love, to stop posterity?
Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime:
So thou through windows of thine age shalr see,
Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time.
But if thou live, remember'd not to be,
Die single, and thine image does with thee.


Sonnet IV
by William Shakespeare

Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
Upon thyself thy beauty's legacy?
Nature's bequest gives nothing, but doth lend,
And being frank, she lends to those are free.
Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse
The bounteous largess given thee to give?
Profitless usurer, why dost thou use
So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live?
For having traffic with thyself alone,
Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive.
Then how, when nature calls thee to be gone,
What acceptable audit canst thou leave?
Thy unused beauty must be tomb'd with thee,
Which, used, lives th' executor to be.


Sonnet V
by William Shakespeare

Those hours that with gentle work did frame
The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell,
Will lay 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 remembance what it was:
But flowers distill'd, though they with winter meet,
Leese but their show; their substance still lives sweet.


Sonnet VI
by William Shakespeare

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.


Sonnet VII
by William Shakespeare

Lo, in the orient when the gracious light
Lifts up his burninghead, 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.


Sonnet VIII
by William Shakespeare

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.'


Sonnet IX
by William Shakespeare

Is it far 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'sshape 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.


Sonnet X
by William Shakespeare

For shame! deny that thou bear'st love to any,
Who for thyself art so unprovident.
Grant, if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many,
But that thou none lovest is most evident;
For thou art so possess'd with murderous hate
That 'gainst thyself thou stick'st not to conspire,
Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate
Which to repair should be thy chief desire.
O. change thy thought, that I may change my mind!
Shall hate be fairer lodged than gentle love?
Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind,
Or to thyself at least kind-hearted prove:
Make thee another self, for love of me,
That beauty still may live in thine or thee.


Sonnet XI
by William Shakespeare

As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st
In one of thine, from that which thou departest;
And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow'st
Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth convertest.
Herein lives wisdom, beauty and increase;
Without this, folly, age and cold decay:
If all were minded so, the times should cease
And threescore year would make the world away.
Let those whom Nature hath not made for store,
Harsh, featureless and rude, barrenly perish:
Look, whom she best endow'd she gave the more;
Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty cherish:
She carved thee for her seal, and meant thereby
Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die.


Sonnet XII
by William Shakespeare

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 silver'd 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.

Hasil (Bahasa Indonesia) 1:

Soneta saya oleh William ShakespeareDari makhluk-makhluk yang paling adil kita inginkan meningkat,Bahwa dengan demikian Kecantikan 's mawar mungkin pernah mati,Tetapi sebagai riper harus dengan waktu untuk selamanya,Warisnya tender mungkin menanggung memori:Tetapi engkau, dihubungi untuk cerah matamu sendiri,Feed'st api terang-Mu dengan diri-substansial bahan bakar,Membuat suatu kelaparan di mana kelimpahan kebohongan,Dirimu Mu musuh, untuk Mu manis diri terlalu kejam.Engkau bahwa seni sekarang dunia segar ornamenDan hanya herald untuk musim semi yang mencolok,Dalam kuncup Mu buriest konten MuDan, tender churl, tempat limbah di niggarding.Sayang dunia, atau lain pelahap ini menjadi,Untuk makan di dunia karena, dengan kuburan dan engkau.Soneta II oleh William Shakespeare Ketika empat puluh winters akan mengepung alis MuDan menggali thenches mendalam di bidang Kecantikan Mu,Pemuda Mu livery bangga, jadi menatap pada sekarang,Akan tatter akan gulma, kecil senilai diselenggarakan:Kemudian meminta akan mana semua keindahanmu kebohongan,Mana semua harta dari umurmu lusty,Untuk mengatakan, dalam cekung dalam matamu sendiri,Yang makan semua rasa malu dan thriftless pujian.Pujian betapa lebih pantas penggunaan Kecantikan Mu,Jika engkau couldst menjawab ' anak ini adil sayaAkan jumlah menghitung dan membuat alasan saya tua,'Membuktikan Kecantikan nya oleh Mu!Ini Apakah to be baru dibuat ketika engkau tua,Dan melihat darah yang hangat ketika engkau feel'st dingin.Soneta IIIoleh William Shakespeare Melihat di kaca Mu, dan memberitahu wajah engkau viewestSekarang adalah waktu bahwa wajah harus membentuk lain;Perbaikan yang segar jika sekarang engkau tidak renewest,Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.For where is she so fair whose unear'd wombDisdains the tillage of thy husbandry?Or who is he so fond will be the tombOf his self-love, to stop posterity?Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in theeCalls back the lovely April of her prime:So thou through windows of thine age shalr see,Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time.But if thou live, remember'd not to be,Die single, and thine image does with thee.Sonnet IV by William Shakespeare Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spendUpon thyself thy beauty's legacy?Nature's bequest gives nothing, but doth lend,And being frank, she lends to those are free.Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuseThe bounteous largess given thee to give?Profitless usurer, why dost thou useSo great a sum of sums, yet canst not live?For having traffic with thyself alone,Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive.Then how, when nature calls thee to be gone,What acceptable audit canst thou leave?Thy unused beauty must be tomb'd with thee,Which, used, lives th' executor to be.Sonnet Vby William Shakespeare Those hours that with gentle work did frameThe lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell,Will lay the tyrants to the very sameAnd that unfair which fairly doth excel:For never-resting time leads summer onTo 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 remembance what it was:But flowers distill'd, though they with winter meet,Leese but their show; their substance still lives sweet.Sonnet VI by William Shakespeare Then let not winter's ragged hand defaceIn thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd:Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some placeWith 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 fairTo be death's conquest and make worms thine heir.Sonnet VIIby William Shakespeare Lo, in the orient when the gracious lightLifts up his burninghead, each under eyeDoth 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 areFrom his low tract, and look another way:So thou, thyself out-going in thy noon,Unlook'd on diest, unless thou get a son.Sonnet VIIIby William Shakespeare 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 confoundsIn 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.'Sonnet IX by William Shakespeare Is it far fear to wet a widow's eyeThat 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 weepThat thou no form of thee hast left behind,When every private widow well may keepBy children's eyes her husband'sshape in mind.Look, what an unthrift in the world doth spendShifts 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 sitsThat on himself such murderous shame commits.Sonnet Xby William Shakespeare
For shame! deny that thou bear'st love to any,
Who for thyself art so unprovident.
Grant, if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many,
But that thou none lovest is most evident;
For thou art so possess'd with murderous hate
That 'gainst thyself thou stick'st not to conspire,
Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate
Which to repair should be thy chief desire.
O. change thy thought, that I may change my mind!
Shall hate be fairer lodged than gentle love?
Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind,
Or to thyself at least kind-hearted prove:
Make thee another self, for love of me,
That beauty still may live in thine or thee.


Sonnet XI
by William Shakespeare

As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st
In one of thine, from that which thou departest;
And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow'st
Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth convertest.
Herein lives wisdom, beauty and increase;
Without this, folly, age and cold decay:
If all were minded so, the times should cease
And threescore year would make the world away.
Let those whom Nature hath not made for store,
Harsh, featureless and rude, barrenly perish:
Look, whom she best endow'd she gave the more;
Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty cherish:
She carved thee for her seal, and meant thereby
Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die.


Sonnet XII
by William Shakespeare

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 silver'd 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.