And so I Continue in My Endeavors to Appreciate Poetry

LXXI and LXXII from Shakespeare's Sonnets

No longer mourn for me when I am dead
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Give warning to the world that I am fled
From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell:
Nay, if you read this line, remember not
The hand that writ it; for I love you so,
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,
If thinking on me then should make you woe.
O, if, I say, you look upon this verse
When I perhaps compounded am with clay,
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse,

But let your love even with my life decay;
Lest the wise world should look into your moan,
And mock you with me after I am gone.

O, lest the world should task you to recite
What merit lived in me, that you should love
After my death, dear love, forget me quite,
For you in me can nothing worthy prove;
To do more for me than mine own desert,
Than niggard truth would willingly impart:
O, lest your true love may seem false in this,
That you for love speak well of me untrue,
My name be buried where my body is,
And live no more to shame nor me nor you
For I am shamed by that which bring forth,
And so should you, to love things, nothing worth.


Thought you'd all be in for something cheery on a Monday. ;-)

Thanks for reading,
Miss Pickwickian