Shakespeare. Sonnets. RStefanescu. CLP PDF

William Shakespeare
Sonnets. Sonete
Translated into Romanian by
Radu tefnescu
ISBN 978-606-760-001-8
The University of Bucharest

Radu tefnescu
Cover, Illustrations and Overall Layout
Lidia Vianu
Editor: Violeta Baroan
Sub-editing: Alexandra uc
Proofreading: Violeta Baroan
IT Expertise: Simona Smulescu, Cristian Vjea
Publicity: Violeta Baroan
Translated into Romanian by
Radu tefnescu
William Shakespeare
Sonnets. Sonete. Parallel Texts.
Translated into Romanian by Radu tefnescu
1
Contents
1. From fairest creatures we desire increase p. 9

2. When forty winters shall besiege thy brow p. 10
3. When forty winters shall besiege thy brow p. 11
4. Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend p. 13
5. Those hours, that with gentle work did frame p. 14
6. Then let not winters ragged hand deface p. 15
7. Lo! in the orient when the gracious light p. 17
8. Music to hear, why hearst thou music sadly? p. 18
9. Is it for fear to wet a widows eye p. 19
10. For shame deny that thou bearst love to any p. 21
11. As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou growst p. 22
12. When I do count the clock that tells the time p. 23
13. O! that you were your self; but, love, you are p. 25
14. Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck p. 26
15. When I consider every thing that grows p. 27
16. But wherefore do not you a mightier way p. 29
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17. Who will believe my verse in time to come p. 31
18. Shall I compare thee to a summers day? p. 32
19. Devouring Time, blunt thou the lions paws p. 33
20. A womans face with natures own hand painted p. 34
21. So is it not with me as with that Muse p. 35
22. My glass shall not persuade me I am old p. 36
23. As an unperfect actor on the stage p. 38
24. Mine eye hath playd the painter and hath steeld p. 39
25. Let those who are in favour with their stars p. 40
26. Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage p. 42
27. Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed p. 43
28. How can I then return in happy plight p. 44
29. When in disgrace with fortune and mens eyes p. 46
30. When to the sessions of sweet silent thought p. 47
31. Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts p. 48
32. If thou survive my well-contented day p. 50
33. Full many a glorious morning have I seen p. 51
34. Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day p. 52
35. No more be grieved at that which thou hast done p. 54
36. Let me confess that we two must be twain p. 55
37. As a decrepit father takes delight p. 56
38. How can my muse want subject to invent p. 58
39. O! how thy worth with manners may I sing p. 59
40. Take all my loves, my love, yea take them all p. 60
41. Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits p. 62
42. That thou hast her it is not all my grief p. 63
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43. When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see p. 64
44. If the dull substance of my flesh were thought p. 66
45. The other two, slight air, and purging fire p. 67
46. Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war p. 69
47. Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took p. 70
48. How careful was I when I took my way p. 71
49. Against that time, if ever that time come p. 73
50. How heavy do I journey on the way p. 74
51. Thus can my love excuse the slow offence p. 75
52. So am I as the rich, whose blessed key p. 77
53. What is your substance, whereof are you made p. 78
54. O! how much more doth beauty beauteous seem p. 79
55. Not marble, nor the gilded monuments p. 81
56. Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said p. 82
57. Being your slave what should I do but tend p. 83
58. That god forbid, that made me first your slave p. 85
59. If there be nothing new, but that which is p. 86
60. Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore p. 87
61. Is it thy will, thy image should keep open p. 88
62. Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye p. 90
63. Against my love shall be as I am now p. 91
64. When I have seen by Times fell hand defacd p. 93
65. Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea p. 94
66. Tired with all these, for restful death I cry p. 95
67. Ah! wherefore with infection should he live p. 97
68. Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn p. 98
69. Those parts of thee that the worlds eye doth view p. 99
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70. That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect p. 101
71. No longer mourn for me when I am dead p. 102
72. O! lest the world should task you to recite p. 103
73. That time of year thou mayst in me behold p. 105
74. But be contented when that fell arrest p. 106
75. So are you to my thoughts as food to life p. 107
76. Why is my verse so barren of new pride p. 109
77. Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear p. 110
78. So oft have I invoked thee for my muse p. 111
79. Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid p. 113
80. O how I faint when I of you do write p. 114
81. Or I shall live, your epitaph to make p. 115
82. I grant thou wert not married to my muse p. 117
83. I never saw that you did painting need p. 18
84. Who is it that says most, which can say more p. 119
85. My tongue-tied muse in manners holds her still p. 121
86. Was it the proud full sail of his great verse p. 122
87. Farewell, thou art too dear for my possessing p. 123
88. When thou shalt be disposed to set me light p. 125
89. Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault p. 126
90. Then hate me when thou wilt, if ever, now p. 127
91. Some glory in their birth, some in their skill p. 129
92. But do thy worst to steal thyself away p. 130
93. So shall I live, supposing thou art true p. 131
94. They that have power to hurt and will do none p. 133
95. How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame p. 134
96. Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness p. 135
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97. How like a winter hath my absence been p. 137
98. From you have I been absent in the spring p. 138
99. The forward violet thus did I chide p. 139
100. Where art thou, Muse, that thou forgetst so long p. 141
101. O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends p. 142
102. My love is strengthend, though more weak in seeming p. 143
103. Alack, what poverty my Muse brings forth p. 145
104. To me, fair friend, you never can be old p. 146
105. Let not my love be calld idolatry p. 147
106. When in the chronicle of wasted time p. 149
107. Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul p. 150
108. Whats in the brain that ink may character p. 151
109. O, never say that I was false of heart p. 152
110. Alas, tis true I have gone here and there p. 154
111. O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide p. 155
112. Your love and pity doth the impression fill p. 156
113. Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind p. 158
114. Or whether doth my mind, being crownd with you p. 159
115. Those lines that I before have writ do lie p. 160
116. Let me not to the marriage of true minds p. 162
117. Accuse me thus: that I have scanted all p. 163
118. Like as, to make our appetites more keen p. 164
119. What potions have I drunk of Siren tears p. 166
120. That you were once unkind befriends me now p. 167
121. Tis better to be vile than vile esteemd p. 168
122. Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain p. 170
123. No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change p. 171
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124. If my dear love were but the child of state p. 172
125. Were t aught to me I bore the canopy p. 174
126. O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power p. 175
127. In the old age black was not counted fair p. 176
128. How oft, when thou, my music, music playst p. 178
129. The expense of spirit in a waste of shame p. 179
130. My mistress eyes are nothing like the sun p. 180
131. Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art p. 182
132. Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me p. 183
133. Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan p. 184
134. So, now I have confessd that he is thine p. 186
135. Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy Will p. 187
136. If thy soul check thee that I come so near p. 188
137. Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes p. 190
138. When my love swears that she is made of truth p. 191
139. O, call not me to justify the wrong p. 192
140. Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press p. 194
141. In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes p. 195
142. Love is my sin and thy dear virtue hate p. 196
143. Lo! as a careful housewife runs to catch p. 198
144. Two loves I have of comfort and despair p. 199
145. Those lips that Loves own hand did make p. 200
146. Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth p. 202
147. My love is as a fever, longing still p. 203
148. O me, what eyes hath Love put in my head p. 204
149. Canst thou, O cruel! say I love thee not p. 206
150. O, from what power hast thou this powerful might p. 207
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151. Love is too young to know what conscience is p. 208
152. In loving thee thou knowst I am forsworn p. 210
153. Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep p. 211
154. The little Love-god lying once asleep p. 212
William Shakespeare
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William Shakespeare
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I Sonet 1
From fairest creatures we desire increase, i vrem pe cei frumoi rodind, am vrea
That thereby beautys rose might never die, Un trandafir, cnd toamna l apleac,
But as the riper should by time decease, Dar nc-i viu, s lase-n urma sa
His tender heir might bear his memory: Parfum, culori, n muguri noi s treac.
But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes, Dar tu, ce doar n ochii-i dulci priveti
Feedst thy lights flame with self-substantial fuel, i lai doar focul lor s te desfete
Making a famine where abundance lies, i eti duman Bogat te crezi? Nu eti,
Thy self thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel: Comoara-i furi de unul singur, biete.
Thou that art now the worlds fresh ornament, Tu, hrzit acestei lumi podoab
And only herald to the gaudy spring, Eti solul unei primveri ce minte.
Within thine own bud buriest thy content, Pcat de rodul risipit cu grab
And, tender churl, makst waste in niggarding: i ars cu lcomie nainte.
Pity the world, or else this glutton be, Trezete-te, nu te lsa-ngropat
To eat the worlds due, by the grave and thee. Cu tot cu har, ct nu te-ai semnat.
William Shakespeare
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II Sonet 2
When forty winters shall besiege thy brow, Cnd patruzeci de ierni te vor brzda
And dig deep trenches in thy beautys field, i-i va apune fala juvenil,
Thy youths proud livery so gazed on now, A tinereii hain-i va prea
Will be a totterd weed of small worth held: O vechitur: ai s-i plngi de mil.
Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies, Vei fi-ntrebat: Averea unde-o ii?,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days, Vor da rspuns adncile gvane
To say, within thine own deep sunken eyes, Ce-i ngropar fruntea: Chiar aci!
Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise. Dar i va fi ruine, o, srmane.
How much more praise deservd thy beautys use, Cu mult mai lesne btrneea ta
If thou couldst answer This fair child of mine Va fi iertat, dac vei rspunde:
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse, Privete-acest copil, m va purta:
Proving his beauty by succession thine! Acolo sunt, pe el ntreab-l unde.
This were to be new made when thou art old, i snge cald prin venele-ngheate
And see thy blood warm when thou feelst it cold. Va curge-atunci cnd moartea-i rde-n spate.
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III Sonet 3
Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest Privete-te n ochi: o fa nou
Now is the time that face should form another; De-ai zmisli, cnd asta se destram,
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest, Te vei gsi la fel n amndou.
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother. Nefericeti o viitoare mam,
For where is she so fair whose uneard womb De mai atepi! Nu-i nicieri hambar
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry? Att de plin, s nu viseze gru,
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb i nici aa nebun un grdinar
Of his self-love, to stop posterity? S-mprtie smna n pru.
Thou art thy mothers glass and she in thee Tu eti oglinda mamei tale nc,
Calls back the lovely April of her prime; Al tinereii ei de-April tezaur,
So thou through windows of thine age shalt see, La fel i tu, n apa ei adnc
Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time. Priveti napoi, spre anii cei de aur:
But if thou live, rememberd not to be, De chip lipsit cnd singur eti, murind,
Die single and thine image dies with thee. Oglinzile din tine se desprind.
William Shakespeare
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Arthur Hughes
William Shakespeare
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IV Sonet 4
Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend Frumos nesbuit, copil czut
Upon thy self thy beautys legacy? n patimi egoiste, motenirea
Natures bequest gives nothing, but doth lend, De ce i-o risipeti? Un mprumut
And being frank she lends to those are free: E tot ce d, i doar vremelnic, Firea.
Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse De ce ntreci n cheltuieli msura
The bounteous largess given thee to give? i iroseti n patimi ce i-e dat?
Profitless usurer, why dost thou use Avut nemsurat e pictura:
So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live? Nimic nu e etern, nu eti bogat.
For having traffic with thy self alone, Te zvorti, spre-a te-mplini n reci
Thou of thy self thy sweet self dost deceive: mbriri: n tine se-amgete
Then how when nature calls thee to be gone, Un eu pervers... Ce lai atunci cnd pleci
What acceptable audit canst thou leave? Motenitorilor? Nimic, firete:
Thy unused beauty must be tombed with thee, Lumina ta se stinge n pmnt
Which, used, lives th executor to be. Cu tine-odat, n ultimul cuvnt.
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V Sonet 5
Those hours, that with gentle work did frame Acelai soare bun ce o rsfa,
The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell, i scald-n dulcea lui lumin floarea,
Will play the tyrants to the very same i va slui cndva plpnda fa,
And that unfair which fairly doth excel; Ca un tiran, tindu-i respirarea
For never-resting time leads summer on Cu toamne lungi, spre iarn s-o trasc,
To hideous winter, and confounds him there; Acolo unde frunzele uscate
Sap checked with frost, and lusty leaves quite gone, Se vor ntoarce-n criptele de iasc
Beauty oer-snowed and bareness every where: S doarm somn de ger... i dac poate
Then were not summers distillation left, Pe un pervaz, i pare c-ntr-o vaz
A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass, O floare-a lcrimat, s tii, e-agheasma
Beautys effect with beauty were bereft, Pereilor de sticl, ce pstreaz
Nor it, nor no remembrance what it was: Ca un repro, din trupul scurs, mireasma:
But flowers distilld, though they with winter meet, Cci viaa ei, dei de chip s-a rupt,
Leese but their show; their substance still lives sweet. Mustete nc, dulce, dedesubt.
William Shakespeare
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VI Sonet 6
Then let not winters ragged hand deface, Cnd iernile oribile veminte
In thee thy summer, ere thou be distilled: Pe trupul verii tale vor s pun,
Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place S-i distilezi esena nainte
With beautys treasure ere it be self-killed. Ca farmecu-i luntric s apun,
That use is not forbidden usury, i toarn-o ntr-un vas ce rspltete
Which happies those that pay the willing loan; Pe cei ce l deschid, cu un profit:
Thats for thy self to breed another thee, Cci druind n el, bogatul crete,
Or ten times happier, be it ten for one; Copiii dnd dobnd nzecit,
Ten times thy self were happier than thou art, i tot de zece ori mai vesel trece,
If ten of thine ten times refigured thee: Nepstor, de moartea cea perfid;
Then what could death do if thou shouldst depart, Cnd lai posteritii chipuri zece
Leaving thee living in posterity? Mai tie ea pe care s-l ucid?
Be not self-willed, for thou art much too fair Frumos rmi, i nu festin de viermi:
To be deaths conquest and make worms thine heir. Strecoar-te-n copiii ti eterni.
William Shakespeare
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Marc Chagall: Romeo and Juliet

William Shakespeare
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VII Sonet 7
Lo! in the orient when the gracious light O, uit-te cum se ridic Soare
Lifts up his burning head, each under eye n glorie, din pronia etern,
Doth homage to his new-appearing sight, i-aprinde zi, iar dedesubt, popoare
Serving with looks his sacred majesty; De muritori n hum se prostern.
And having climbed the steep-up heavenly hill, O, uit-te, celestele coline
Resembling strong youth in his middle age, Din bolile luminii cum le-atinge,
Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still, i-i tnr nc-n mna care ine
Attending on his golden pilgrimage: De friele amiezii, cnd se stinge
But when from highmost pitch, with weary car, Abia simit, n urm-i, rsuflarea:
Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day, Dei e sus, n aurul din raz,
The eyes, fore duteous, now converted are O umbr din apus i-apleac zarea,
From his low tract, and look another way: ngenunchind. i-i noapte ce urmeaz.
So thou, thyself outgoing in thy noon De fiu lipsit, dei ajuns pe culme,
Unlooked on diest unless thou get a son. i tu la fel muri-vei, fr urme.
William Shakespeare
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VIII Sonet 8
Music to hear, why hearst thou music sadly? mi pari mhnit, dei o alut
Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy: i mngie auzul. Te apas
Why lovst thou that which thou receivst not gladly, Aceast armonie? Mai plcut
Or else receivst with pleasure thine annoy? E lenea cdere n angoas?
If the true concord of well-tuned sounds, i totui dac blndele-i solii
By unions married, do offend thine ear, Te plictisesc ori i se par caduce,
They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds E pentru c-i mai lesne s te ii
In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear. Departe de ce singur nu poi duce.
Mark how one string, sweet husband to another, Mai bine-ascult notele cum cresc
Strikes each in each by mutual ordering; Din magice vibraii reciproce,
Resembling sire and child and happy mother, n partituri distincte, i lipesc,
Who, all in one, one pleasing note do sing: Brbat, femeie i copil, o voce
Whose speechless song being many, seeming one, optindu-i: Surghiunit ntr-unul
Sings this to thee: Thou single wilt prove none. i logodit cu moartea st nebunul.
William Shakespeare
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IX Sonet 9
Is it for fear to wet a widows eye, Tu ai ales acum singurtatea

That thou consumst thy self in single life? De-a vduvei jelanie s scapi?
Ah! if thou issueless shalt hap to die, Dar cnd se va-ntmpla s mori, cetatea
The world will wail thee like a makeless wife; Te va jeli la fel, i nu ncapi
The world will be thy widow and still weep Dect zdrniciei, care curm
That thou no form of thee hast left behind, n spia ta, imaginea. Nevasta
When every private widow well may keep i-ar fi pstrat n trup de plod o urm:
By childrens eyes, her husbands shape in mind: Plecnd, o iei cu tine i pe asta.
Look what an unthrift in the world doth spend Smna risipit-i desfrnare;
Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it; Din ce-i e dat, nedruind n loc,
But beautys waste hath in the world an end, Frumosu-i ia doar faima rea pe care
And kept unused the user so destroys it. O va sdi-n al criptelor soroc.
No love toward others in that bosom sits Cnd nu-i iubete inima, socoate
That on himself such murdrous shame commits. C-n tine ai ucis o alta, poate.
William Shakespeare
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Marc Chagall
William Shakespeare
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X Sonet 10
For shame deny that thou bearst love to any, n muli te risipeti, cnd i provoci,
Who for thy self art so unprovident. Ruine n-ai: l ai pe vino-ncoace.
Grant, if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many, Dar recunoate, rule, te joci,
But that thou none lovst is most evident: i-i limpede c nimeni nu-i mai place.
For thou art so possessed with murderous hate, O patim ce-n tine uneltete
That gainst thy self thou stickst not to conspire, i ruineaz farmecul, lasciv,
Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate Cu furia desfrului, i-oprete
Which to repair should be thy chief desire. A firii zmislire, deopotriv.
O! change thy thought, that I may change my mind: Te schimb dar, de vrei s fiu al tu,
Shall hate be fairer lodged than gentle love? i d-i din nou iubirii ntietate
Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind, n faa urii; sau mcar, prea ru
Or to thyself at least kind-hearted prove: ncearc-a nu mai fi cu tine. Poate,
Make thee another self for love of me, Din dragoste de mine renscnd,
That beauty still may live in thine or thee. Splendori uitate-or reveni, curnd.
William Shakespeare
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XI Sonet 11
As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou growst Cu ct decazi, cu-att mai tnr creti
In one of thine, from that which thou departest; n fiul tu, de care te separi:
And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestowst, n sngele pe care-l druieti
Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth convertest. Te-oi recunoate, altul s rsari.
Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase; Aa trieti, prin fii i prin nepoi,
Without this folly, age, and cold decay: Aa prinzi rdcini, nu-n burlcie;
If all were minded so, the times should cease De ar gndi la fel ca tine toi,
And threescore year would make the world away. S-ar stinge LumeaDuc-se-n pustie
Let those whom nature hath not made for store, Cel sterp, hidos i ru de la Natur,
Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish: n urm e, dar primul s dispar!
Look whom she best endowd, she gave the more; Vezi, Firea doar de cei bogai se-ndur;
Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty cherish: Smn d-i, i-ogoarele i ar:
She carvd thee for her seal, and meant thereby, Cu harul Ei, desparte-te de moarte,
Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die. i du-i pecetea-aleas mai departe
William Shakespeare
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XII Sonet 12
When I do count the clock that tells the time, Cnd orologiul muc din secund,
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night; i trupul crud al florii l rpune,
When I behold the violet past prime, Cnd zorile n neguri le cufund,
And sable curls, all silvered oer with white; i-ncrunete plete de tciune,
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves, Cnd plopi trufai, ce-au ocrotit de soare
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd, Cirezile, de frunze se dezbrac,
And summers green all girded up in sheaves, i verdele de mai, cu resemnare,
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard, Pe catafalcul spicelor se-apleac,
Then of thy beauty do I question make, M-ntreb de tii cum va veni, fireasc,
That thou among the wastes of time must go, Eclipsa frumuseii ce dezmiard
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake Fiina ta, ca-n alt vlstar s creasc,
And die as fast as they see others grow; De ai urmai. Nu-i nvat s piard
And nothing gainst Times scythe can make defence Eternul Timp, dar crudele-i porunci
Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence. Le poi desfide mpcat atunci.
William Shakespeare
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Salvador Dali: Romeo and Juliet

William Shakespeare
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XIII Sonet 13
O! that you were your self; but, love, you are O, tare-ai vrea neschimbtor s treci,
No longer yours, than you your self here live: Prietene dar tritor n luturi,
Against this coming end you should prepare, Nu i-e ngduit: te-nsoar deci,
And your sweet semblance to some other give: i druiete-i alte nceputuri.
So should that beauty which you hold in lease Cci doar aa va ti frumosu-i chip
Find no determination; then you were Ce Firea-i hotr, s-i recunoasc
Yourself again, after yourselfs decease, Esenele, i dulcele-arhetip
When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear. Cnd vei pleca, n forme noi s creasc.
Who lets so fair a house fall to decay, Nu-i nimeni n paragin s-i lase
Which husbandry in honour might uphold, Castelul i-al familiei avut,
Against the stormy gusts of winters day Cnd iarna cu furtuni nesioase
And barren rage of deaths eternal cold? Izbete crunt n pori. Vlstaru-i scut
O! none but unthrifts. Dear my love, you know, i cas veniciei Fiu, odat,
You had a father: let your son say so. S ai urmai i-e dat! Acum fii tat.
William Shakespeare
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XIV Sonet 14
Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck; M cred un soi de astrolog, dei
And yet methinks I have Astronomy, nelepciunea bolta nu mi-o-ndrum,
But not to tell of good or evil luck, i nu prezic de ghinioane i
Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons quality; De rodul toamnelor, de ploaie, cium,
Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell, De foamete, de viaa-n amnunt
Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind, A prinilor, de ans, bogie,
Or say with princes if it shall go well De tunet, ploi, de toate cte sunt.
By oft predict that I in heaven find: Stiina-mi trag din cerul care tie:
But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive, Din ochii ti Ei stele fixe mi-s,
And, constant stars, in them I read such art i viitorul l citesc mai viu,
As truth and beauty shall together thrive, n adevrul ce n ei s-a-nchis,
If from thyself, to store thou wouldst convert; i-i frate cu lumina... Dar un fiu
Or else of thee this I prognosticate: De n-o s ai cnd vei muri, prezic,
Thy end is truths and beautys doom and date. Din toate astea n-o mai fi nimic.
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XV Sonet 15
When I consider every thing that grows Cnd vd cum dau napoi acei ce cresc
Holds in perfection but a little moment, Sau ct de scurt n glorie exult,
That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows i-afar de spectacolul ceresc
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment; Nu au nimic, i-o stea le scrie,-ocult,
When I perceive that men as plants increase, Destinele; cum ei privesc n sus
Cheered and checked even by the self-same sky, Ca iarba, nsetai de-acelai cer,
Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease, i duc aceeai sev spre apus
And wear their brave state out of memory; La cimitirul cu-amintiri, i pier,
Then the conceit of this inconstant stay n toat-aceast lume osndit,
Sets you most rich in youth before my sight, Cu-att mai tnr chipul tu mi-apare,
Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay n ciuda vremii alungnd grbit
To change your day of youth to sullied night, Spre noaptea lung, ciobul tu de soare;
And all in war with Time for love of you, ncerc, iubind, cu ea din rsputeri
As he takes from you, I engraft you new. S lupt: ca s-i ntorc lumini de ieri.
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XVI Sonet 16
But wherefore do not you a mightier way n tine-i Timp, i vrea s mi te ia.
Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time? Te lupt, dar, s-i supravieuieti
And fortify your self in your decay Cu arme noi. Un vers nu poate-avea
With means more blessed than my barren rhyme? Puterea binecuvntrii. Eti
Now stand you on the top of happy hours, n floare-acum. Te vd n ochi de fat
And many maiden gardens, yet unset, Ursind virtutea-n floare, oglindit
With virtuous wish would bear you living flowers, Mai viu dect a fi putut vreodat
Much liker than your painted counterfeit: S zugrvesc, de strluciri orbit
So should the lines of life that life repair, Pricepe: doar un fiu te va descrie
Which this, Times pencil, or my pupil pen, Aa cum eti. Vorbind, nu fac dect
Neither in inward worth nor outward fair, A destrma, i nimeni n-o s tie
Can make you live your self in eyes of men. Ce chip i st n suflet zvort.
To give away yourself, keeps yourself still, Picteaz-te chiar tu, fugind de or:
And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill. n trup de prunc, o pnz te implor.
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XVII Sonet 17
Who will believe my verse in time to come, Degeaba scriu de tine: nu m-or crede
If it were filld with your most high deserts? De-am s le spun c eti nscut din zei.
Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tomb i culmea e, din ceea ce se vede
Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts. Eu multe drmuiesc, de obicei.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes, Iar dac-a vrea n haina cea mai bun
And in fresh numbers number all your graces, S te mbrac, a dezlega n van
The age to come would say This poet lies; Metafora. Mi-ar spune-aa: Minciun!
Such heavenly touches neer touchd earthly faces. Frumos ca el nu-i fiu de pmntean.
So should my papers, yellowd with their age, Mai bine-ar fi s m dispreuiasc,
Be scornd, like old men of less truth than tongue, Poet btrn, flecar i prfuit,
And your true rights be termd a poets rage i tot aa vorbind de mine-i las, c
And stretched metre of an antique song: Eu stiu ce tiu: aa eti, negreit.
But were some child of yours alive that time, Dar dac-odat vei zmisli un prunc
You should live twice, in it, and in my rhyme. O, i promit, sonetele mi-arunc.
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XVIII Sonet 18
Shall I compare thee to a summers day? C-o zi de var te-a asemui

Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Dar gloria i-e scurt: prea uor
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, Un vnt de mai cuteaz-a-i plmui
And summers lease hath all too short a date: Lalelele; tu-l treci, fermector
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, Vezi, soarele ba arde, ba-i ascuns,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed, i auru-i plete; ce-i frumos
And every fair from fair sometime declines, i pierde haru-n chip de neptruns,
By chance, or natures changing course untrimmed: Sau n al Firii mers capricios,
But thy eternal summer shall not fade, Dar tu eti altfel, farmecul tu sfnt
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owst, Desparte vremi; desvririi fiu,
Nor shall death brag thou wanderst in his shade, Tu ruinezi i Moartea, pe pmnt
When in eternal lines to time thou growst, Atot stpnitoare i mai viu
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, Ca viaa eti, cci stihul meu i-e dat,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. Ct ochii vd, i inimile bat
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XIX Sonet 19
Devouring Time, blunt thou the lions paws, Cenui din Phoenix nc fumegnd,
And make the earth devour her own sweet brood; Te vd cum spulberi, nemilos, i cum
Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tigers jaws, Din colii tigrului ai rupt De cnd
And burn the long-livd phoenix, in her blood; M-atepi, o, Timp! ntoarce-m acum
Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleetst, In glie dac vrei, i f-mi s spere
And do whateer thou wilt, swift-footed Time, Cnd poarta primverii le-o striveti,
To the wide world and all her fading sweets; Zpezile c totul i-e-n putere.
But I forbid thee one most heinous crime: Un lucru nu-i ngdui: s slueti
O! carve not with thy hours my loves fair brow, Iubitului gingaele sprncene,
Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen; Cnd mzgleti cu anticul penel;
Him in thy course untainted do allow ndur-te i iart-l de blesteme,
For beautys pattern to succeeding men. C e sortit urmailor model
Yet, do thy worst old Time: despite thy wrong, Oricum, n versul meu, chiar de n-asculi,
My love shall in my verse ever live young. Mai tnr va tri, i ani mai muli.
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XX Sonet 20
A womans face with natures own hand painted, Ce farmec blnd, stpn-stpn-mi, toat
Hast thou, the master mistress of my passion; Natura-n chipul tu iubit revars;
A womans gentle heart, but not acquainted O ea vorbind prin el, dar vindecat
With shifting change, as is false womens fashion: De firea nestatornic i fals;
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling, Cu aur, mult mai darnic n privire,
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth; Blagosloveti ce-atingi, femeie-n sine,
A man in hue all hues in his controlling, Dar stpnind frivola ei pornire
Which steals mens eyes and womens souls amazeth. De-a ispiti un gnd, un ochi, mai bine.
And for a woman wert thou first created; La nceput, femeie-ai fost creat;
Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting, Dar la sfrit, Natura-ndrgostit
And by addition me of thee defeated, Te-a vrut a Ei; i-n mine-mperecheat
By adding one thing to my purpose nothing. Cu-a mea virtute-n tine-adugit,
But since she prickd thee out for womens pleasure, Ea te-a rpit femeilor; avere
Mine be thy love and thy loves use their treasure. Ce-a mea-i acum, furnd a lor plcere.
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XXI Sonet 21
So is it not with me as with that Muse, O, nu v-nchipuii c-a fi poetul

Stirred by a painted beauty to his verse, Metaforei celeste, c de Sus
Who heaven itself for ornament doth use Atept s m nvee alfabetul
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse, Vreo Muz, sau c stilul mi-am supus
Making a couplement of proud compare Acestei mode plin de fervoare
With sun and moon, with earth and seas rich gems, A comparaiei: smaralde, sori,
With Aprils first-born flowers, and all things rare, Sau flori de-april, cu epitete care
That heavens air in this huge rondure hems. Din graie divin, dau fiori.
O! let me, true in love, but truly write, Lsai-m s scriu precum iubesc,
And then believe me, my love is as fair Adevrat, cum pruncul e iubit
As any mothers child, though not so bright De mama sa; dei, mrturisesc,
As those gold candles fixed in heavens air: C de arhangheli nu mi-s druit
Let them say more that like of hearsay well; Cu har. Nu-s negustor, nu-mi laud marfa;
I will not praise that purpose not to sell. n linite, mai bine sun harfa.
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XXII Sonet 22
My glass shall not persuade me I am old, Ea zice c-s btrn, dar o desfid:
So long as youth and thou are of one date; Oglinda mea eti tu, ce eti de-o seam
But when in thee times furrows I behold, Cu mugurii; eu poate doar un rid
Then look I death my days should expiate. Privind, mi-a aminti de Marea Vam.
For all that beauty that doth cover thee, Dar mai btrn nu pot s m gndesc
Is but the seemly raiment of my heart, A fi, cnd tinereea ta mbrac
Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me: O inima meace-o regsesc
How can I then be elder than thou art? Att de asemntoare. Dac
O! therefore love, be of thyself so wary De azi, ai grija ei, cum o s am
As I, not for myself, but for thee will; i eu de-a ta, ca doica de copil,
Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary De dragul tu, ca-n snul lui Avram
As tender nurse her babe from faring ill. Am s-o pzesc, n dulcele-i exil.
Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain, i nu-i un trg: dar una de-i ucis,
Thou gavst me thine, not to give back again. Eternitatea ne rmne-nchis.
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XXIII Sonet 23
As an unperfect actor on the stage, Ca un actor cu meteug puin,

Who with his fear is put beside his part, nvins de trac, nepenit i mut,
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage, Ca leul ce n tragicu-i preaplin
Whose strengths abundance weakens his own heart; i frnge-n sine urletul tcut,
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say La fel i eu, n toate amator,
The perfect ceremony of loves rite, i ndoit de mine, am uitat
And in mine own loves strength seem to decay, Ceremonia dragostei: actor
Oerchargd with burthen of mine own loves might. De marea-i patim mpovrat.
O! let my looks be then the eloquence Te las-n ochii mei atunci n loc
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast, S te afunzi, cci mai convingtor
Who plead for love, and look for recompense, Dect pot ei, eu n-a pleda deloc,
More than that tongue that more hath more expressd. i rspltete-le ofranda. E uor
O! learn to read what silent love hath writ: S-i nelegi: tcerea ascultnd,
To hear with eyes belongs to loves fine wit. Lumina lor vei auzi, curnd.
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XXIV Sonet 24
Mine eye hath playd the painter and hath steeld, n joac, din priviri, mi te-am pictat
Thy beautys form in table of my heart; Pe inim, ca trupul meu o ram
My body is the frame wherein tis held, Tabloului s-i fie; contemplat,
And perspective it is best painters art. Privelite i sunt, de bunseam.
For through the painter must you see his skill, n mine-i vei gsi mereu portretul
To find where your true image picturd lies, Adevrat, ce dinuie; te am
Which in my bosoms shop is hanging still, n pieptul de artist, pe evaletul
That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes. Strluminat de chipul tu, pe-un geam
Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done: Ce-ai lefuit, privindu-l. De-ajutor
Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me Le-au fost i ochii mei, cu ncntare
Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun Pictnd, dei lumina nu-i a lor:
Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee; Ai ti le sunt ferestrele spre soare,
Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art, Cnd ei tnjesc spre miestrita art
They draw but what they see, know not the heart. A inimii, ce mi-a rmas la poart.
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XXV Sonet 25
Let those who are in favour with their stars Fortuna pe alei s-i fericeasc,
Of public honour and proud titles boast, n demniti i faim, eu o las.
Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars Pe mine nu a vrut s m iubeasc
Unlookd for joy in that I honour most. Deloc, dar e destul ce mi-a rmas.
Great princes favourites their fair leaves spread Un prin i coase mantia din raz,
But as the marigold at the suns eye, Ca florile, cu aur de-mprumut.
And in themselves their pride lies buried, Srmanul: zeul arde la amiaz
For at a frown they in their glory die. i l trimite napoi n lut.
The painful warrior famoused for fight, O, iat un soldat cu spada-n mn:
After a thousand victories once foiled, A ctigat mereu, dar azi, strpuns,
Is from the book of honour razed quite, Se-apleac-ncet i muc din rn:
And all the rest forgot for which he toiled: Istoria s-l uite, e de-ajuns.
Then happy I, that love and am beloved, Iubind, iubit, m simt etern. E toat
Where I may not remove nor be removed. Averea mea, i nu-mi va fi luat.
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XXVI Sonet 26
Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage C sunt de-a ta fiin-adnc legat,

Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit, De asta-i scriu, iubit stpn: trufie
To thee I send this written embassage, S-i povestesc de mine, niciodat
To witness duty, not to show my wit: Nu voi avea. Vasalului s-i fie
Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine Iertat cutezanaprea srac
May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it, n vorbe, s-i plteasc datoria.
But that I hope some good conceit of thine De altfel, e mai nelept s tac:
In thy souls thought, all naked, will bestow it: Mai bine las-m n visteria
Till whatsoever star that guides my moving, nchipuirii tale, pn cnd
Points on me graciously with fair aspect, Va trece-o stea mai binevoitoare
And puts apparel on my tottered loving, Pe cerul meu, c-o mantie-mbrcnd
To show me worthy of thy sweet respect: Aceste vorbe zdrenuite, care
Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee; Abia atunci vor spune ct iubesc;
Till then, not show my head where thou mayst prove me. Mai mult nu m sili s-i dovedesc.
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XXVII Sonet 27
Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed, E noapte iar, i drumurile lungi

The dear repose for limbs with travel tired; M ostenesc i m grbesc n pat.
But then begins a journey in my head Dar noi cltorii ncep atunci,
To work my mind, when bodys works expired: n minte, cnd din trup m-am aruncat.
For then my thoughts--from far where I abide-- De-aici, departe, gndul peregrin
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee, Spre cerul tu se urc,-ntrezrind
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide, Un chip iubit, ce numai orbul prin
Looking on darkness which the blind do see: ntunecimi l mngie, clipind,
Save that my souls imaginary sight Dar nu i umbra-i, singur giuvaer
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view, Al hului cu soarele zidit,
Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night, Ce scald n splendori al nopii cer
Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new. i-i druiete chip ntinerit.
Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind, Ce via! Ziua drum i noaptea gnd,
For thee, and for myself, no quiet find. Odihn nu ne mai gsim nicicnd
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XXVIII Sonet 28
How can I then return in happy plight, Mai pot eu oare s-mi ntorc destinul,
That am debarred the benefit of rest? Cnd sufletul de-odihn-i jefuit,
When days oppression is not easd by night, i noaptea mi desvrete chinul
But day by night and night by day oppressd, Nelinitii, ce ziua l-a scornit?
And each, though enemies to eithers reign, mi pare c de-o vreme i-au dat mna
Do in consent shake hands to torture me, i-n ciuda dumniei, m silesc
The one by toil, the other to complain S umblu ziua dup tine,ntruna,
How far I toil, still farther off from thee. Iar noaptea, c nu eti, s te jelesc.
I tell the day, to please him thou art bright, Ca s-o nduplec, zilei spun: m crede,
And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven: Luminii lui de norii grei nu-i pas.
So flatter I the swart-complexiond night, Iar nopii: El e steaua ce se vede
When sparkling stars twire not thou gildst the even. n serile cnd negura se las.
But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer, Dar chinul zilei ine mai mult nc,
And night doth nightly make griefs length seem stronger. Durerea nopii s-mi rmn-adnc.
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XXIX Sonet 29
When in disgrace with fortune and mens eyes Nesocotit de oameni i de soart
I all alone beweep my outcast state, Ma plng de viaa fr cpti
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, Stpnului cel surd, i mi-e deart
And look upon myself, and curse my fate, Credina, iar blestemu-mi st dinti
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, A renuna pe loc, fr-ndoial,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed, La tot ce sunt, ca din virtui s fur,
Desiring this mans art, and that mans scope, Desvrind n har i ndrzneal
With what I most enjoy contented least; Cu farmec nou, destinul meu obscur!
Yet in these thoughts my self almost despising, Din fericire, gndul ctre tine
Haply I think on thee, and then my state, Mi se ndreapt-o clip, i urcnd
Like to the lark at break of day arising Ca mierla dimineii, din ruine
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heavens gate; Un imn spre cer, renasc, nseninnd:
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings Cnd neleg ce dragostea mi-aduce
That then I scorn to change my state with kings. M simt, din ceretor umil, un duce
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XXX Sonet 30
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought Secretul meu suspin icoane vechi
I summon up remembrance of things past, Mai cat-n melancolicul trecut,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, Ca ore noi din timpul scurs, perechi,
And with old woes new wail my dear times waste: S-mi irosesc n rana de-nceput,
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, S mai revrs din ochiul nenvat
For precious friends hid in deaths dateless night, O lacrim, cu prieteni ce-au apus
And weep afresh loves long since cancelld woe, n noaptea fr capt, i-ncodat
And moan the expense of many a vanishd sight: S m nchin vedeniei de sus,
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, Ca jeluind ce am mai plns, demult,
And heavily from woe to woe tell oer In tomul disperrii, socotit,
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, S-adaug nc-un geamt, ca mai mult
Which I new pay as if not paid before. Dator s fiu de tot ce-am mai pltit
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, Dar e de-ajuns un gnd fugar la tine,
All losses are restord and sorrows end. Prieten drag, s-mi iau ce-mi aparine.
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XXXI Sonet 31
Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts, E inima-i regat de inimi, toate
Which I by lacking have supposed dead; nsufleind prieteni ce-am iubit
And there reigns Love, and all Loves loving parts, i i-am uitat demult, sau dui sunt poate,
And all those friends which I thought buried. Dar n virtui i har te-au prevestit.
How many a holy and obsequious tear De dincolo-mi furar, prin iubire,
Hath dear religious love stoln from mine eye, Attea lacrime, cum doar un sfnt
As interest of the dead, which now appear Ar fi vrsat, preamilostiv din fire;
But things removd that hidden in thee lie! Acum sunt vii, dei le eti mormnt.
Thou art the grave where buried love doth live, Sla prietenilor mei, n tine
Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone, Trofeele trecutului mi tii.
Who all their parts of me to thee did give, Plecnd, te-au druit cum se cuvine,
That due of many now is thine alone: Cu tot ce sunt; prin ei mi aparii:
Their images I lovd, I view in thee, n chipurile lor te-aduni, firesc,
And thou (all they) hast all the all of me. Cum eu, iubindu-v, n tine cresc.
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XXXII Sonet 32
If thou survive my well-contented day, De vei tri nefericita vreme

When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover Cnd eu, ntors n colb, voi fi uitat,
And shalt by fortune once more re-survey Citind din nou stngacele poeme
These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover, Ce i le-a scris prietenul plecat,
Compare them with the bettring of the time, Compar-le cu marile condeie:
And though they be outstripped by every pen, Dei de-acestea fi-vor mai prejos,
Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme, n suflet pentru patim s-i steie,
Exceeded by the height of happier men. Nu pentru rim... O, i drgstos,
O! then vouchsafe me but this loving thought: Prietene, m binecuvnteaz
Had my friends Muse grown with this growing age, Cu gndu acest: Pcat, de-ar fi trit,
A dearer birth than this his love had brought, Ar sta alturi celor ce semneaz
To march in ranks of better equipage: n cartea miestriei. De citit,
But since he died and poets better prove, Citi-voi tot, i-oi admira la fel:
Theirs for their style Ill read, his for his love. Pe ei, n stil; n flacr, pe el.
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XXXIII Sonet 33
Full many a glorious morning have I seen Adesea am vzut cum dimineaa
Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye, Pogoar slava de lumini pe creste
Kissing with golden face the meadows green, Cu verde fraged sarutnd fneaa,
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy; i aurind n alchimii celeste
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride Izvoarele, ca-ndat s-i ascund
With ugly rack on his celestial face, Sub norii grei hlduind pe sus,
And from the forlorn world his visage hide, Comorile, i-n ziua-abia nscnd,
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace: S-ntoarc lumii faa spre apus.
Even so my sun one early morn did shine, n tineree, i n mine-o raz
With all triumphant splendour on my brow; A-nvemntat culorile la fel,
But out, alack, he was but one hour mine, Dar repede s-a stins: o sumbr-amiaz
The region cloud hath maskd him from me now. I-a strecurat otrav n penel.
Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth; Dar scurta glorie nu-mi e de-ocar;
Suns of the world may stain when heavens sun staineth. Cnd sorii fug, ai notri pot s moar.
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XXXIV Sonet 34
Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day, De ce mi-ai prevestit o zi cu soare?
And make me travel forth without my cloak, Sunt gol, furtuna m-a ajuns din urm,
To let base clouds oertake me in my way, i chipul tu pierit-a-n deprtare
Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke? Sub norii grei i-a ceurilor turm
Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break, O, nu-i destul s-arunci zmbind o raz
To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face, Pe faa mea udat de furtun!
For no man well of such a salve can speak, Cuvintele duioase-mi uureaz
That heals the wound, and cures not the disgrace: Mhnirea doar, ruinea nu; e bun
Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief; Cina, i regretul e dojana
Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss: Ce singur i-ai ales, dar el n-aduce
The offenders sorrow lends but weak relief Deplin vindecare pentru rana
To him that bears the strong offences cross. Ce-o poart umilitul ca pe-o cruce.
Ah! but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds, Dar lacrimile tale, nestemate
And they are rich and ransom all ill deeds. Din dragoste, rscumpr pcate
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XXXV Sonet 35
No more be grieved at that which thou hast done: Nu te ci de ce-ai fcut: i spinii
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud: Tot roze sunt, izvoarele-au nmol,
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun, Eclipsa-i somnul trndav al luminii,
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud. Laleaua d omizilor obol.
All men make faults, and even I in this, Vezi, mbrele-s ursite fiecrui:
Authorizing thy trespass with compare, La fel i eu, prin rug ndulcind
Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss, Pcatul trupului, greesc, dar strui
Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are; De alt pcat mai greu s te desprind,
For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense, Fiindc-i sunt ispitelor izvor
Thy adverse party is thy advocate, n mine nsumi lupt; nenduplecat
And gainst myself a lawful plea commence: Judector al desfrnrii, or
Such civil war is in my love and hate, Al dulcii necredine avocat
That I an accessary needs must be, Corupt: furat, dar hoului complice,
To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me. Sunt pgubaul vinovat, s-ar zice.
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XXXVI Sonet 36
Let me confess that we two must be twain, Mai bine-ar fi de tine s m rup,
Although our undivided loves are one: Ca faima s-i rmn neptat;
So shall those blots that do with me remain, Dei-n iubire suntem doar un trup,
Without thy help, by me be borne alone. n via nu-i la fel: ocara toat
In our two loves there is but one respect, S-mi fie, aadar. Un singur el
Though in our lives a separable spite, Avem iubindu-ne, dar ne dezbin
Which though it alter not loves sole effect, O soart rea; n miezul ei la fel,
Yet doth it steal sweet hours from loves delight. Ne trece viaa-n desftri puin.
I may not evermore acknowledge thee, i nici nu cred c-mi e ngduit
Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame, Cindu-m de ce-am fcut, ruine
Nor thou with public kindness honour me, S-i mai aduc; onoarea-i ndoit
Unless thou take that honour from thy name: Va suferi, de-ai mil pentru mine.
But do not so, I love thee in such sort, Al meu fiind, nu irosi n lume
As thou being mine, mine is thy good report. Iertndu-m, al tu, al meu renume.
William Shakespeare
56

William Shakespeare
57
XXXVII Sonet 37
As a decrepit father takes delight Moneagul se flete c-un nepot,

To see his active child do deeds of youth, La fel i eu, de ans vduvit,
So I, made lame by Fortunes dearest spite, M fericesc la umbra ta, cum pot,
Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth; Din tot ce eti sau ce-ai nfptuit.
For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit, C dac arm sau bogie, har,
Or any of these all, or all, or more, Sau toate mpreun, ele nu-s
Entitled in thy parts, do crowned sit, n zestrea mea, iubind, ncerc mcar
I make my love engrafted to this store: S-i fur din motenire ce-ai n plus.
So then I am not lame, poor, nor despisd, Dei de tot nu-s vrednic de dispre,
Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give La umbra-i glorioas m hrnesc
That I in thy abundance am sufficd, Din ce arunci: ofranda n-are pre,
And by a part of all thy glory live. Firimitura mi-e de-ajuns s cresc
Look what is best, that best I wish in thee: i astfel bine i doresc mereu:
This wish I have; then ten times happy me! l voi avea-nsutit, apoi, i eu.
William Shakespeare
58
XXXVIII Sonet 38
How can my muse want subject to invent, De plictiseal muza-mi nu se plnge

While thou dost breathe, that pourst into my verse De cnd n haina graiei m-mbraci,
Thine own sweet argument, too excellent i teme dulci mi dai; dar prea ntnge
For every vulgar paper to rehearse? Sunt foile ce-am oropsit, stngaci.
O! give thy self the thanks, if aught in me Din mil de te-apleci asupr-mi, vina
Worthy perusal stand against thy sight; E doar a ta, cci orice menestrel
For whos so dumb that cannot write to thee, Fpturii tale pipind lumina,
When thou thy self dost give invention light? i-orict de prost, te-ar povesti la fel
Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth O, fii a zecea muz, i stpn
Than those old nine which rhymers invocate; Pe celelalte nou, nzecit.
And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth Lund poeii veacului de mn,
Eternal numbers to outlive long date. Spre nemurire du-i, meteugit
If my slight muse do please these curious days, Eu doar trudesc, sorbindu-te de har,
The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise. De-aceea plac acestui ev bizar.
William Shakespeare
59
XXXIX Sonet 39
O! how thy worth with manners may I sing, Cum oare s te laud? Eti din mine
When thou art all the better part of me? Frma cea mai drag, miezul bun.
What can mine own praise to mine own self bring? Ce mi-ar aduce lauda de sine
And what ist but mine own when I praise thee? Cntndu-m aa? N-a fi nebun?
Even for this, let us divided live, N-ar fi mai nelept ca dou nume
And our dear love lose name of single one, S poarte dragostele noastre, iar?
That by this separation I may give I se cuvine bunului renume
That due to thee which thou deservst alone. Ce-l ai, ntreag-mi dragostea, mcar.
O absence! what a torment wouldst thou prove, Absen, tu, ngdui-vei oare
Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave, De-acele zile searbede s fug
To entertain the time with thoughts of love, Cu dulcile-i minciuni? Nu-i gnd n stare
Which time and thoughts so sweetly doth deceive, S m ajute-atunci, nici vicleug;
And that thou teachest how to make one twain, Iubind aa cum m nvei, nu am
By praising him here who doth hence remain. Nici un folos: din mine rupi un ram...
William Shakespeare
60

William Shakespeare
61
XL Sonet 40
Take all my loves, my love, yea take them all; i dau iubirile-mi de glorii, iat!
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before? Crezi c-ai s fii-n iubire mai bogat?
No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call; O, nu. Tu n-ai s-i spui adevrat
All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more. Niciuneia, ct mi-eti iubirii dat.
Then, if for my love, thou my love receivest, De dragul meu, de-ai s primeti vreuna
I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest; Spre desftarea trupului, nu pot
But yet be blamd, if thou thy self deceivest S te condamn, dar nu mi e totuna
By wilful taste of what thyself refusest. C doar te lai ispitelor, socot.
I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief, Tlhar iubit, dei i furi averea
Although thou steal thee all my poverty: Sracului, de tot vei fi iertat;
And yet, love knows it is a greater grief Doar o iubire-i mistuie durerea
To bear loves wrong, than hates known injury. Trdrii,att de lesne i curat.
Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows, Cu graie lasciv, ru i bun,
Kill me with spites yet we must not be foes. Ucide-m... duman nu-i sunt, oricum.
William Shakespeare
62
XLI Sonet 41
Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits, Acele dulci pcate svrind,
When I am sometime absent from thy heart, Cnd uneori din inim-i plecat
Thy beauty, and thy years full well befits, M vrei, de frumuseea ta se prind,
For still temptation follows where thou art. i de-anii ti puini, neruinat,
Gentle thou art, and therefore to be won, C nobil eti, deci bun de cucerit,
Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assaild; Cu arm aijderea, femei te vor,
And when a woman woos, what womans son i nu-i brbat de ele plmdit
Will sourly leave her till he have prevaild? Din mreaj s le scape-aa uor.
Ay me! but yet thou mightst my seat forbear, Dar pn-aici, nebune! n hotar
And chide thy beauty and thy straying youth, Nu mi intra, pe cale eti s faci
Who lead thee in their riot even there Un ndoit pcat: a mea-i, tii doar;
Where thou art forced to break a twofold truth:-- Strnind-o, n praf i pulbere prefaci
Hers by thy beauty tempting her to thee, Cu vraja ta privirile-i cumini,
Thine by thy beauty being false to me. i legmntul nostru, cnd m mini
William Shakespeare
63
XLII Sonet 42
That thou hast her it is not all my grief, A fost a mea, a ta-i acum, i tii
And yet it may be said I loved her dearly; C o iubeam; m ateptam s doar,
That she hath thee is of my wailing chief, Dar c acum de drept i aparii,
A loss in love that touches me more nearly. E-o pierdere ce-aproape m omoar...
Loving offenders thus I will excuse ye: Dar tot v iert, i-n gnduri vlmag
Thou dost love her, because thou knowst I love her; i zic: era firesc s o alegi, i tu
And for my sake even so doth she abuse me, Iubeti precum iubesc; i c-mi eti drag
Suffering my friend for my sake to approve her. tiind, la fel, ea-n grab-i se ddu...
If I lose thee, my loss is my loves gain, Te pierd, o pierd, ferice dar de voi,
And losing her, my friend hath found that loss; C v-ai gsit! Ctigul e-ndoit
Both find each other, and I lose both twain, Iubire-avnd din mine amndoi,
And both for my sake lay on me this cross: Ct eu rmn de chin blagoslovit.
But heres the joy; my friend and I are one; Batjocur a sorii: frai de snge,
Sweet flattery! then she loves but me alone. Nu pot de neiubire a m plnge
William Shakespeare
64
Dante Gabriel Rossetti: Hamlet and Ophelia

William Shakespeare
65
XLIII Sonet 43
When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see, Rsari abia cnd ochii mi-i nchid:
For all the day they view things unrespected; Trezia mi-e oricum deertciune,
But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee, C ochilor lumina le st zid...
And darkly bright, are bright in dark directed. n bezn tai lumin de tciune,
Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright, Ce doar cu umbra-i mbrele le sperii,
How would thy shadows form form happy show Ca s m-ntreb de nu cumva-n lumin
To the clear day with thy much clearer light, ntreci lumina arztoare-a verii,
When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so! Ca orbilor s-o drui, cristalin
How would, I say, mine eyes be blessed made Nenvat, cum oare a putea
By looking on thee in the living day, n plin zi, s te privesc n fa,
When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade Cnd doar c-o umbr m orbeti? n ea
Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay! Mi-e soarele de mine diminea!
All days are nights to see till I see thee, C nu te am, mi-e ziua trist noapte,
And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me. i noaptea zi, cnd te visez, departe...
William Shakespeare
66
XLIV Sonet 44
If the dull substance of my flesh were thought, De n-a mai fi n trupul greu nchis,
Injurious distance should not stop my way; i deprtarile nu m-ar lega
For then despite of space I would be brought, De-acest pmnt, spre casa ta, ca-n vis
From limits far remote, where thou dost stay. Abisurile lumii-a fulgera,
No matter then although my foot did stand Dezmrginindu-m, cum doar gndind
Upon the farthest earth removd from thee; La tine, a tia pmnt, ocean,
For nimble thought can jump both sea and land, i te-a gsi cum gndul, doar voind,
As soon as think the place where he would be. Desface-n timp al zrilor liman.
But, ah! thought kills me that I am not thought, Sunt zmislit din ap i pmnt,
To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone, Ce m strivesc; oprit mi-e zboru-acum,
But that so much of earth and water wrought, i m ucide gndul c nu-s gnd
I must attend times leisure with my moan; Atept iertarea Timpului, n fum
Receiving nought by elements so slow S m ntorc: aici, din ce-s fcut,
But heavy tears, badges of eithers woe. Sunt doar o lacrim curgnd pe lut.
William Shakespeare
67
XLV Sonet 45
The other two, slight air, and purging fire Cci focul, aerul, n chip subtil,
Are both with thee, wherever I abide; Te nsoesc acolo unde eti,
The first my thought, the other my desire, Iubire-gnd plecat n exil;
These present-absent with swift motion slide. Aceste elemente le primeti
For when these quicker elements are gone Ca soli ai dragostei, iar eu rmn
In tender embassy of love to thee, Cu apa i pmntul, care, tii,
My life, being made of four, with two alone M trag n jos; pe moarte doar stpn,
Sinks down to death, oppressd with melancholy; M sting atunci n lungi melancolii.
Until lifes composition be recured Un lucru doar m linitete: cnd
By those swift messengers returnd from thee, Fptura ta-mi trimite ca rspuns
Who even but now come back again, assured Ambasadorii dragostei, jurnd
Of thy fair health, recounting it to me: C eti ntreg i bine-ndeajuns
This told, I joy; but then no longer glad, O clip m-ntregesc i eu, apoi
I send them back again, and straight grow sad. Cu ntristare i-i trimit napoi.
William Shakespeare
68
Edwin Landseer: A Midsummer Nights Dream

William Shakespeare
69
XLVI Sonet 46
Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war, Mi-s inima i ochiul pui pe sfad,
How to divide the conquest of thy sight; De cnd cu vraja ta s-au mbtat:
Mine eye my heart thy pictures sight would bar, El vrea s stpneasc-ntreaga prad,
My heart mine eye the freedom of that right. Iar ea se-mpotrivete, c-i e dat
My heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie, S te pstreze ntr-un sipetspune
A closet never piercd with crystal eyes, n care ochii n-au ce cuta;
But the defendant doth that plea deny, Dar el se apr: E o minune
And says in him thy fair appearance lies. A mea, de drept: doar eu o pot vedea.
To cide this title is impannelled Ca s-i mpace, gndurile toate,
A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart; Ce partea inimii, se tie, -o in,
And by their verdict is determined Au hotrt: De mine, fie date:
The clear eyes moiety, and the dear hearts part: Prtului spectacolul divin
As thus: mine eyes due is thine outward part, Al chipului; iar ei, fioru-nchis
And my hearts right, thine inward love of heart. n inim, din dragoste... am zis!
William Shakespeare
70
XLVII Sonet 47
Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took, Mi-s inima i ochiul nelese:
And each doth good turns now unto the other: Cnd de-o ochead el e nsetat
When that mine eye is famishd for a look, i inima ndrgostit ese
Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother, Melancolii, el o invit-ndat
With my loves picture then my eye doth feast, La un festin de farmec i lumin
And to the painted banquet bids my heart; Din chipul tu sorbind; la rndul ei,
Another time mine eye is my hearts guest, i ea l cheam uneori la cin,
And in his thoughts of love doth share a part: C-un gnd s-i dea privelitii temei:
So, either by thy picture or my love, i astfel admirndu-te, tabloul
Thy self away, art present still with me; Iubirii aproape-mi e, chiar dac-ai fi
For thou not farther than my thoughts canst move, Plecat cnd gndului i eti ecoul,
And I am still with them, and they with thee; i gnd sunt tot, mai mult nu-mi poi fugi;
Or, if they sleep, thy picture in my sight Iar cnd adorm, i ispitete, treaz,
Awakes my heart, to hearts and eyes delight. Cu noi plceri, splendoarea ce-i vegheaz.
William Shakespeare
71
XLVIII Sonet 48
How careful was I when I took my way, Ca nu cumva tlharii de pe drum

Each trifle under truest bars to thrust, S-mi prade fleacurile dragi, pe toate
That to my use it might unused stay Le-am ncuiat cu grij; ce nebun...
From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust! Pe tine tocmai, chipul care poate
But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are, S umileasc orice giuvaer,
Most worthy comfort, now my greatest grief, Cel care viaa-mi binecuvnteaz
Thou best of dearest, and mine only care, Cu desftri, tlharului mizer
Art left the prey of every vulgar thief. I te-am lsat acas fr paz!
Thee have I not lockd up in any chest, Mai tiu un loc din care pleci sau vii
Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art, i mi te dai legat de bunvoie,
Within the gentle closure of my breast, E tainia din inim, o tii:
From whence at pleasure thou mayst come and part; Acolo dulcea linite cu noi e,
And even thence thou wilt be stoln I fear, Dei, de-ari aa, nu-i nimeni sfnt,
For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear. i niciun loc nu-i sigur pe pmnt.
William Shakespeare
72
William Shakespeare
73
XLIX Sonet 49
Against that time, if ever that time come, Va fi o zi, va trebui s-accept:
When I shall see thee frown on my defects, Cnd rid mi vei afla, i nu-l vei trece
When as thy love hath cast his utmost sum, Cu dragostea; judector de drept,
Called to that audit by advisd respects; Balana ndurrii n-o s-aplece.
Against that time when thou shalt strangely pass, C-un soare stins m vei nvlui
And scarcely greet me with that sun, thine eye, Zmbind fugar, s m nvei uitarea;
When love, converted from the thing it was, n firea schimbtoare vei gsi
Shall reasons find of settled gravity; Temeiul s-i justifice trdarea.
Against that time do I ensconce me here, Afar de tine n-am nimic mai bun
Within the knowledge of mine own desert, n sufletu-mi plebeu, i tiu c soarta
And this my hand, against my self uprear, N-o pot schimba, dar mrturie pun
To guard the lawful reasons on thy part: C-ntemeiat i-e plecarea; poarta
To leave poor me thou hast the strength of laws, S i-o deschid voi fi silit; mi-eti drag,
Since why to love I can allege no cause. Dar lege e: nu poi pstra, dezleag.
William Shakespeare
74
L Sonet 50
How heavy do I journey on the way, E greu la drum i de prisos e graba,

When what I seek, my weary travels end, Cnd captul nu-i vd; aud un glas:
Doth teach that ease and that repose to say, Aceste leghe le aterni degeaba,
Thus far the miles are measured from thy friend! Prietenul departe i-a rmas.
The beast that bears me, tired with my woe, De plumb mi e i dobitocul, parc
Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me, O voce dinuntru i-a optit
As if by some instinct the wretch did know C gndul de ntoarcere m-ncearc,
His rider lovd not speed being made from thee. i c-i minciun pintenul rotit
The bloody spur cannot provoke him on, nfipt n crup, s-l ndemn mai iute.
That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide, Acum se-oprete, geme; l ascult,
Which heavily he answers with a groan, Ca sngernd prin fire nevzute,
More sharp to me than spurring to his side; Cu el alturi, s-neleg mai mult:
For that same groan doth put this in my mind, Iubire las n spate i plcere,
My grief lies onward, and my joy behind. Iar zrile-s deschise spre durere.
William Shakespeare
75
LI Sonet 51
Thus can my love excuse the slow offence De n-am temei s-alerg, nici iapa n-are;
Of my dull bearer when from thee I speed: i uite cum iubirea mea i scuz
From where thou art why should I haste me thence? Pcatul leneviei. M-ntreb oare
Till I return, of posting is no need. Ce va scorni mroaga mea luz
O! what excuse will my poor beast then find, Pe drumul de ntoarcere, cnd goana,
When swift extremity can seem but slow? Orict de-ameitoare, tot o joac
Then should I spur, though mounted on the wind, mi va prea? De fric, lighioana
In winged speed no motion shall I know, Se va sili cu vntul s se-ntreac:
Then can no horse with my desire keep pace. Degeaba, cci dorina mea-i fcut
Therefore desire, (of perfectst love being made) Din dragoste curat, i nu-i grab
Shall neigh, no dull flesh, in his fiery race; Dect a ei mai mare. Dar o-ajut
But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade- Din nou iubirea, i srmana gloab
Since from thee going, he went wilful-slow, Iertat fi-va: c iubirea-i clip,
Towards thee Ill run, and give him leave to go. i din iubire o s-mi fac arip...
William Shakespeare
76
Paul Falconer Poole: Ferdinand and Miranda

William Shakespeare
77
LII Sonet 52
So am I as the rich, whose blessed key, O cheie am la scrin, vrjit, dar

Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure, Arareori o folosesc; bogatul
The which he will not every hour survey, i-iubete diamantul, da-i avar,
For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure. i nu vrea s-i toceasc luciul; datul
Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare, Festinului cu grij-l drmuiesc,
Since, seldom coming in the long year set, Iar pentru desftri o zi anume
Like stones of worth they thinly placed are, Aleg, precum un giuvaer ceresc
Or captain jewels in the carcanet. Orneaz doar coroanele; costume
So is the time that keeps you as my chest, Nemaivzute scot atunci din el
Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide, Pstrate pentru srbtori, comoar
To make some special instant special-blest, Ce-i druit ochilor la fel
By new unfolding his imprisond pride. Cum temniei, lumina de afar.
Blessed are you whose worthiness gives scope, O cheie spre extaz, vrajit,-mi eti
Being had, to triumph; being lacked, to hope. Cnd te supun; i jind, cnd mi lipseti.
William Shakespeare
78
LIII Sonet 53
What is your substance, whereof are you made, Din ce esen oare eti fcut
That millions of strange shadows on you tend? C umbre, milioane, i se-nchin?
Since every one hath, every one, one shade, O umbr are fiece nscut,
And you but one, can every shadow lend. Dar tu n toi pe-a ta o lai, lumin.
Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit n chipul lui Adonis am gsit
Is poorly imitated after you; O imitaie de-a ta, deart,
On Helens cheek all art of beauty set, Iar pictorul Elenei a sorbit
And you in Grecian tires are painted new: Din vraja ta desvrita-i art.
Speak of the spring, and foison of the year, n primveri, lstare se desprind
The one doth shadow of your beauty show, Din trupul tu, iar toamna cea tcut
The other as your bounty doth appear; i-e graia; i astfel, locuind
And you in every blessed shape we know. n fiecare form cunoscut,
In all external grace you have some part, Din toate eti, neschimbtor, o parte;
But you like none, none you, for constant heart. Dar sinele de lume te desparte.
William Shakespeare
79
LIV Sonet 54
O! how much more doth beauty beauteous seem Mai preioas frumuseea-mi pare
By that sweet ornament which truth doth give. Cnd e-nsoit de-adevrul pur,
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem Cum rozele-s mai ademenitoare,
For that sweet odour, which doth in it live. C le ghicim parfumul; mprejur
The canker blooms have full as deep a dye O roz are trandafiri slbatici
As the perfumed tincture of the roses, Cu-aceeai spini, sublim dezvluind
Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly Privirilor aceleai vii cromatici
When summers breath their masked buds discloses: Cand vntul i rsfa; dar plind,
But, for their virtue only is their show, Peii de nimeni, singura virtute
They live unwood, and unrespected fade; Le e uitat, i se sting n drum,
Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so; n timp ce rozele-s recunoscute
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made: i dincolo, n dulcele parfum.
And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth, La fel te-oi distila, o, tineree,
When that shall vade, my verse distills your truth. i eu, n vers: cu stoic tristee.
William Shakespeare
80
Marc Chagall: William Shakespeare, The Tempest

William Shakespeare
81
LV Sonet 55
Not marble, nor the gilded monuments Ce rost au marmura de pe morminte

Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme; i aurul din cripte? Versul doar
But you shall shine more bright in these contents E de folos aducerii aminte,
Than unswept stone, besmeard with sluttish time. O tii; clepsidra-i regilor gropar.
When wasteful war shall statues overturn, Statuile, sub sabia lui Marte,
And broils root out the work of masonry, Umil vor sruta cndva rna,
Nor Mars his sword, nor wars quick fire shall burn Palate vor cdea, dar nu e moarte
The living record of your memory. S-i ard, vie, amintirea: una
Gainst death, and all oblivious enmity Cu versul meu fiind, strivind uitarea,
Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room n glorie te vei afla n toi
Even in the eyes of all posterity Ce vor tri atunci, grbind spre zarea
That wear this world out to the ending doom. De neptruns a marii judeci,
So, till the judgment that yourself arise, Cnd soarta i vei ti i tu: dar azi
You live in this, and dwell in lovers eyes. Triete-n ochii-mptimirii, calzi.
William Shakespeare
82
LVI Sonet 56
Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said Renate-te, ascute-te, iubire,
Thy edge should blunter be than appetite, Nu m lsa s cred c mai vrtoas
Which but to-day by feeding is allayd, i-e pofta trupului: de-i vii n fire,
To-morrow sharpened in his former might: Mai mult ca ieri vei flamnzi, tioas.
So, love, be thou, although to-day thou fill i mai ridic-i pleoapa-ndestulat
Thy hungry eyes, even till they wink with fulness, De lenevie; fulgernd, ncearc
To-morrow see again, and do not kill Luntrica lumin-a firii, iat:
The spirit of love, with a perpetual dulness. E-o alt zi, i-oceanul taie parc
Let this sad interim like the ocean be ntinderea uscatului n dou,
Which parts the shore, where two contracted new De-o parte eu, de-o parte tu, privirea
Come daily to the banks, that when they see Scrutnd n zri, nelegnd c nou
Return of love, more blest may be the view; Spre desftri ni-i dat desprirea.
As call it winter, which being full of care, Sau spune-i clipei de sfreal iarn,
Makes summers welcome, thrice more wished, more rare. Ce vara mult mai dulce ne ntoarn.
William Shakespeare
83
LVII Sonet 57
Being your slave what should I do but tend Sunt doar un rob ncremenit la pnd,
Upon the hours, and times of your desire? Cu-n ochi pe ceasu-ngduinei tale,
I have no precious time at all to spend; Spernd, tcut, s-mi drui o secund,
Nor services to do, till you require. Chemndu-m. Nimic nu am, mi-s goale
Nor dare I chide the world without end hour, Amiezele de cnd te-ai dus; tii, firea
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you, Nesioas mi-e, stpne, i de
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour, Izvorul tu mi-e sete, iar orbirea
When you have bid your servant once adieu; S-atern pe-acel adio ce ucide,
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought Mi-e peste poate. O, nu-i gelozie
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose, n gndul meu amar, ce-ades ntreab
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought Cu cine te petreci... mi spun: S fie
Save, where you are, how happy you make those. i ei la fel de fericii!. Neghioab
So true a fool is love, that in your will, Mi-e dragostea, i-ncreztoare,-nct
Though you do anything, he thinks no ill. Poi face-orice: nu voi gndi urt.
William Shakespeare
84
John William Waterhouse

William Shakespeare
85
LVIII Sonet 58
That god forbid, that made me first your slave, Prin voia Domnului, i-s rob, i-oprit
I should in thought control your times of pleasure, De-a-i ngrdi capriciile, dac
Or at your hand the account of hours to crave, Te-ntreb, umil, pe unde-ai hoinrit,
Being your vassal, bound to stay your leisure! Chiar de o fac n gnd; robia, tac.
O! let me suffer, being at your beck, ngduie-mi s-nv, ntemniat,
The imprisond absence of your liberty; Cum s-mi ndur, tcut, singurtatea;
And patience, tame to sufferance, bide each check, De nici un ru nu te acuz, plecat
Without accusing you of injury. Cnd mi vei fi; ai toat libertatea.
Be where you list, your charter is so strong Tu folosete-o doar, stpne,-aa
That you yourself may privilege your time Cum simi c-i mai plcut; e timpul care
To what you will; to you it doth belong Spre desftare-i dat, dar nu uita,
Yourself to pardon of self-doing crime. Chiar tu i dai trdrilor iertare:
I am to wait, though waiting so be hell, S judec nu am fost sortit, ci doar
Not blame your pleasure be it ill or well. S te atept, cu sufletul amar.
William Shakespeare
86
LIX Sonet 59
If there be nothing new, but that which is Nimic nu-i nou, dar gndul nu o tie,
Hath been before, how are our brains beguild, i struie, naiv, n truda sa
Which labouring for invention bear amiss De-a plsmui: zadarnic trufie,
The second burthen of a former child. S nati un plod mbtrnit deja.
Oh that record could with a backward look, Prin veacuri prfuite,n cri uitate,
Even of five hundred courses of the sun, Istoria de m-ar purta-napoi,
Show me your image in some antique book, Te-a regsi descris cu simplitate,
Since mind at first in character was done, n forme de-nceput, ce-acum par noi,
That I might see what the old world could say Aflnd ce-au spus maetrii de demult,
To this composed wonder of your frame; Privindu-i opera: Desvrit!
Whether we are mended, or where better they, Orict de buni, nu vor putea mai mult
Or whether revolution be the same. Urmaii. Cred, doar voi ai irosit
Oh sure I am the wits of former days, Culorile n chipuri fr nume,
To subjects worse have given admiring praise. Nimic lsnd aleilor, le-a spune.
William Shakespeare
87
LX Sonet 60
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, Gonind, se-ntorc la mal, aceleai unde
So do our minutes hasten to their end; i se zdrobesc de stnci: iar alte-n loc
Each changing place with that which goes before, Se nasc, cum zestrea de secunde
In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Din piepturile nostre, la soroc.
Nativity, once in the main of light, Un Soare n eclips cheam Luna,
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crowned, Apusul cuibrete n amiaz,
Crooked eclipses gainst his glory fight, Cci Timpu-i rotitor. ntotdeauna
And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. Tenebrele se zmislesc din raz.
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth Fiind, aducem lumii un adaos;
And delves the parallels in beautys brow, Prisosul nate riduri. Penitent,
Feeds on the rarities of natures truth, Natura noastr se ntoarce-n haos
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow: Ca moartea drept s-i ia, indiferent:
And yet to times in hope, my verse shall stand Dar brau-i crud, triumftor mereu,
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. l voi nvinge, sper, cu versul meu.
William Shakespeare
88
William Shakespeare
89
LXI Sonet 61
Is it thy will, thy image should keep open Mi-s ochii grei, dar treji, e ca i cnd
My heavy eyelids to the weary night? n fa au un chip. E vrerea ta?
Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken, E-o umbr-aici, de somnul meu rznd:
While shadows like to thee do mock my sight? M-ntreb a cui e oare. De-a afla
Is it thy spirit that thou sendst from thee C spiritul galnic e al tu,
So far from home into my deeds to pry, n toate curios, a bnui
To find out shames and idle hours in me, C vrei s tii ce fac, i dac ru
The scope and tenor of thy jealousy? M port, aa cum nu ai vrea s tii.
O, no! thy love, though much, is not so great: Dar nu! Nu-i dorul tu att de nalt:
It is my love that keeps mine eye awake: E-a mea iubirea ce m ine viu,
Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat, Veghindu-m, cu ochiul cellalt,
To play the watchman ever for thy sake: Al tu, n tot ce fac. i paznic, tiu,
For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake elsewhere, i sunt i eu, spre binele-i, cnd tu
From me far off, with others all too near. Cu alii te-nsoeti, cu mine nu.
William Shakespeare
90
LXII Sonet 62
Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye Dect s te iubeti, pcat mai greu
And all my soul, and all my every part; Eu nu cunosc, dar tot mi-s drag: rmn
And for this sin there is no remedy, Robit de mine,-n tot ce e al meu,
It is so grounded inward in my heart. i nu-mi vd leac. Modelelor stpn,
Methinks no face so gracious is as mine, Nici nu m tem c-i chip mai graios
No shape so true, no truth of such account; Dect al meu, sau trup mai nrudit
And for myself mine own worth do define, Cu-al zeilor. Frumosu-i doar frumos:
As I all other in all worths surmount. Deasupra lui, m tiu desvrit.
But when my glass shows me myself indeed Dar cnd oglinda m arat drept,
Beated and choppd with tanned antiquity, mbtrnit, uscat i cenuiu,
Mine own self-love quite contrary I read; ncep s m-ndoiesc: mai nelept
Self so self-loving were iniquity. Ar fi s-o cred pe ea, ct nu-i trziu:
Tis thee, myself, that for myself I praise, Iar noi trind ntr-unul, s te cnt,
Painting my age with beauty of thy days. Cu vraja ta pe anii mei pictnd.
William Shakespeare
91
LXIII Sonet 63
Against my love shall be as I am now, i tu vei fi ca mine ntr-o zi:

With Times injurious hand crushd and oerworn; Crestat de gheara timpului, golit
When hours have draind his blood and filld his brow De snge, mzglit cu riduri mii;
With lines and wrinkles; when his youthful morn O negur-i va sugruma, cumplit,
Hath travelld on to ages steepy night; Aceast diminea; frumusei
And all those beauties whereof now hes king Pe care-acum domneti, se vor fi dus
Are vanishing, or vanished out of sight, Pe veci prinos tlharului de viei,
Stealing away the treasure of his spring; Biruitor, ntr-un aprilie rpus.
For such a time do I now fortify Prin vers, jefuitorului etern
Against confounding ages cruel knife, M-mpotrivesc, rupnd acel cuit
That he shall never cut from memory Ce taie amintirea, i atern
My sweet loves beauty, though my lovers life: Splendorii tale chip dumnezeit
His beauty shall in these black lines be seen, De pe acum: de timpul vrea s-o tearg,
And they shall live, and he in them still green. Rmn verde-n ast slov neagr.
William Shakespeare
92
Marc Chagall: The Tempest

William Shakespeare
93
LXIV Sonet 64
When I have seen by Times fell hand defacd Cnd am vzut statuile-n ruin
The rich proud cost of outworn buried age; Murind ncet, cetile semee
When sometime lofty towers I see down-razd, Cum lutului nimicitor se-nchin,
And brass eternal slave to mortal rage; i bronzul scrijelit de btrnee;
When I have seen the hungry ocean gain Cnd am vzut oceanul cum inund
Advantage on the kingdom of the shore, Regatul rmului nvins, i las
And the firm soil win of the watery main, Un alt pmnt, n urm, s-l ptrund
Increasing store with loss, and loss with store; nvingtor, din furia retras;
When I have seen such interchange of state, Cnd am vzut c lumea e micare
Or state itself confounded to decay; Sau scurt popas n drumul ctre moarte,
Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate Am neles c vine-un Timp n care
That Time will come and take my love away. Iubirea mi va fi pe veci departe
This thought is as a death which cannot choose Nu poate-alege muritorul gnd:
But weep to have that which it fears to lose. Doar plnge ce va pierde n curnd.
William Shakespeare
94
LXV Sonet 65
Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, Cnd moartea-i peste tot, n lut, n ape,
But sad mortality oersways their power, n bronz, n piatr, m ntreb cum oare
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, Putea-va frumuseea ta s-i scape,
Whose action is no stronger than a flower? Cu brau-i slab, netiutor, de floare?
O! how shall summers honey breath hold out, Ar fi n stare dulcea ei lumin
Against the wrackful siege of battering days, S-nduplece a Timpului stihie,
When rocks impregnable are not so stout, Cnd pori de-oel ruginii se nchin
Nor gates of steel so strong but Time decays? i-n praf s-a-ntors a stncilor trie?
O fearful meditation! where, alack, Ce gnd nfricoat! i oare unde
Shall Times best jewel from Times chest lie hid? S i ascunzi, tu, Lume, giuvaerul
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back? Cel mai de pre, cnd criptele-s flmnde?
Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid? E cineva s-opreasc Temnicerul?
O! none, unless this miracle have might, Nu-i nimeni, doar miracolul ce-mi duce
That in black ink my love may still shine bright. Cerneala-n vers, iubirea cnd strluce.
William Shakespeare
95
LXVI Sonet 66
Tired with all these, for restful death I cry, De tot scrbit, n moarte-a vrea s fug,
As to behold desert a beggar born, Sa nu-i mai vd n zdrene pe cei buni,
And needy nothing trimmd in jollity, Sluenia ornat cu belug,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn, Credina compromis de minciuni,
And gilded honour shamefully misplacd, Pe harnic n batjocur pltit,
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, Fecioarele mpinse la desfru,
And right perfection wrongfully disgracd, Dezonorat pe cel desvrit,
And strength by limping sway disabled Pe chiop innd zburdlnicia-n fru,
And art made tongue-tied by authority, tiina-nlnuit de tiran,
And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill, Talentul explicat de idioi,
And simple truth miscalld simplicity, Apostrofat cel pur, ca grobian,
And captive good attending captain ill: i gardianul slugrind la hoi.
Tird with all these, from these would I be gone, Sleit de toate astea, a pleca,
Save that, to die, I leave my love alone. Dar lumii prad las iubirea mea.
William Shakespeare
96
Marc Chagall: A Midsummer Nights Dream

William Shakespeare
97
LXVII Sonet 67
Ah! wherefore with infection should he live, De ce-ar tri cu rul mpreun?
And with his presence grace impiety, Pcatului innd tovrie,
That sin by him advantage should achieve, S-i dea prilej s urce? S se spun
And lace itself with his society? C l nnobileaz? S i fie
Why should false painting imitate his cheek, Contrafcut-n pnz mreia,
And steal dead seeming of his living hue? Sub fardul calp? Culorile s-i fure?
Why should poor beauty indirectly seek De ce-ar tri? S-ngduie hoia
Roses of shadow, since his rose is true? De farmec viu, nuanelor impure?
Why should he live, now Nature bankrupt is, De ce-ar tri? Natura e sleit,
Beggard of blood to blush through lively veins? Cerindu-i sngele, ca o comoar
For she hath no exchequer now but his, A venei nsetate, tlhrit
And proud of many, lives upon his gains. De tot ce-a izvodit odinioar:
O! him she stores, to show what wealth she had O! El e doar ce mai pstreaz-acum,
In days long since, before these last so bad. Spre laud, n veacu-acest, de fum.
William Shakespeare
98
LXVIII Sonet 68
Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn, Obrazul lui, istorie: o hart
When beauty lived and died as flowers do now, A rozelor apuse nainte
Before these bastard signs of fair were born, Ca pudra s urzeasc-o nou art
Or durst inhabit on a living brow; Pe chipul mincinos; cnd azi morminte
Before the golden tresses of the dead, Se pngresc, a prului podoab
The right of sepulchres, were shorn away, Furat-i morilor, i pus peste
To live a second life on second head; O tigv rnced, gteal snoab,
Ere beautys dead fleece made another gay: nveselind sinistru alte este,
In him those holy antique hours are seen, n el, adevrat, se pstreaz
Without all ornament, itself and true, Splendoarea-ntreag, ce odinioar
Making no summer of anothers green, A refuzat cu verdele din raz
Robbing no old to dress his beauty new; De mprumut s-i fureasc var:
And him as for a map doth Nature store, i doar pe el Natura-l ine hart,
To show false Art what beauty was of yore. Ce-i pur, de fctur s despart.
William Shakespeare
99
LXIX Sonet 69
Those parts of thee that the worlds eye doth view n tot ce lumii-ari, aproape n-ai
Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend; Nimic de ndreptat, c eti frumos;
All tongues, the voice of souls, give thee that due, E adevru-ntreg, n orice grai
Uttering bare truth, even so as foes commend. Rostit, chiar de dumani, cum graios,
Thy outward thus with outward praise is crownd; Ce-i pentru ochi, de ochi e-ncununat,
But those same tongues, that give thee so thine own, Prinos firesc, splendori napoind;
In other accents do this praise confound Dar gndul vrea ce ochiului nu-i dat,
By seeing farther than the eye hath shown. i trece mai departe, iscodind
They look into the beauty of thy mind, n chipul dinuntru, pngrit
And that in guess they measure by thy deeds; De fapta rea, ca lauda-napoi
Then, churls, their thoughts, although their eyes were kind, S-i ia, punnd pe floarea ta, scrbit,
To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds: Miasma buruienii de noroi:
But why thy odour matcheth not thy show, De ce-i aa? Parfumul e-ngropat
The soil is this, that thou dost common grow. n roza vmuit de pcat.
William Shakespeare
100
Sir John Everett Millais: Ophelia

William Shakespeare
101
LXX Sonet 70
That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect, Nu-i vina ta c eti brfit: e treaz
For slanders mark was ever yet the fair; Invidia, i gloria i-o spurc;
The ornament of beauty is suspect, Suspiciunea ce e alb pteaz,
A crow that flies in heavens sweetest air. Precum un corb vzduhu-n care urc.
So thou be good, slander doth but approve E de ajuns ca bun s fii: cu timpul,
Thy worth the greater being wooed of time; i-n clevetiri n graie vei crete,
For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love, Cci viermele iubete anotimpul
And thou presentst a pure unstained prime. Cnd mugurii cei dulci pleznesc. Regete,
Thou hast passed by the ambush of young days Ai ocolit n anii de vpaie,
Either not assailed, or victor being charged; Capcana desftrii-amgitoare,
Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise, Dar sabia virtuilor nu taie
To tie up envy, evermore enlarged, Zavistia; regate, la picioare,
If some suspect of ill masked not thy show, De inimi, chipul mndru i-ar aterne,
Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts shouldst owe. n lipsa ei: dar mti l strng, eterne.
William Shakespeare
102
LXXI Sonet 71
No longer mourn for me when I am dead S plngi, prietene, cnd voi fi dus,
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell Doar pn la primul dangt; cobort
Give warning to the world that I am fled Voi fi atunci, din iadul cel de sus,
From this vile world with vilest worms to dwell: n casa viermilor, osp. Att.
Nay, if you read this line, remember not Citete-m de poi, dar nu gndi
The hand that writ it, for I love you so, La mna care-a scris, c n-ai putea
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, S-ngdui amintirea: m-ai jeli;
If thinking on me then should make you woe. Mai simpl e uitarea, curgi n ea.
O! if, I say, you look upon this verse, Nu m rosti prea des, m-ncetineti,
When I perhaps compounded am with clay, i poate-n lut m-amestec chiar atunci.
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse; Din gndu-i dulce scoate-m: tu eti,
But let your love even with my life decay; Eu voi fi fost; doar moartea d porunci.
Lest the wise world should look into your moan, De faci altcum, vor rde nelepi,
And mock you with me after I am gone. De tine-aici, de mine, ntre drepi.
William Shakespeare
103
LXXII Sonet 72
O! lest the world should task you to recite Dect silit de unii, c-am fost bun
What merit lived in me, that you should love S spui, cnd eu voi fi de tot plecat,
After my death,--dear love, forget me quite, Mai bine taci, i uit-m de-acum:
For you in me can nothing worthy prove. Mi-ar sta mai ru aa-nfrumuseat.
Unless you would devise some virtuous lie, Chiar dac mi-ai scorni virtui, n-ai face
To do more for me than mine own desert, Din eul meu pustiu, nimic mai mult,
And hang more praise upon deceased I Iar slova epitafului, stngace,
Than niggard truth would willingly impart: M-ar stnjeni; minciuni nu vreau s-ascult.
O! lest your true love may seem false in this Dect iubirea ta adevrat
That you for love speak well of me untrue, S li se par fals, cnd declam,
My name be buried where my body is, ngroap-mi numele cu trupu-odat
And live no more to shame nor me nor you. i ne vom rupe-atunci, de bunseam,
For I am shamed by that which I bring forth, Eu, de dizgraia ce-n urm-o las,
And so should you, to love things nothing worth. Iar tu, nimic iubind, de-acest popas.
William Shakespeare
104
John William Waterhouse: Miranda

William Shakespeare
105
LXXIII Sonet 73
That time of year thou mayst in me behold E toamn vremean care m-ai aflat.
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang E vnt, i frunze ce mai am, puine,
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, ngn-un cnt de mierl-nmormntat
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. n strana ramurilor, pe ruine.
In me thou seest the twilight of such day Privete-m, sunt ziua ce se pleac
As after sunset fadeth in the west; ncetior, spre braul de apus
Which by and by black night doth take away, Al nopii ce o cheam, s-i petreac
Deaths second self, that seals up all in rest. Acel rstimp secund, n somn supus.
In me thou seest the glowing of such fire, Ascult-m, sunt doar o plpire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, A focului ce-n sine i consum
As the death-bed, whereon it must expire, Substana tinereii, i n Fire
Consumd with that which it was nourishd by. Se-ntoarce, scrum, ngenunchind n hum;
This thou perceivst, which makes thy love more strong, i poate-aa, iubirea-i mai adnc
To love that well, which thou must leave ere long. i va prea, aici ct mai eti nc.
William Shakespeare
106
LXXIV Sonet 74
But be contented when that fell arrest Cndva luntraul m va recunoate,

Without all bail shall carry me away, i vom pluti spre vmi: s nu-i mai pese.
My life hath in this line some interest, A doua oar stihul m va nate,
Which for memorial still with thee shall stay. Iar duhul meu n tine i va ese
When thou reviewest this, thou dost review Memoria. Iubirea i-e-nchinat,
The very part was consecrate to thee: Apleac-te i ia ce-i aparine,
The earth can have but earth, which is his due; Acolo-s eu, smna mea curat;
My spirit is thine, the better part of me: Pmntului, ce-i greu i se cuvine,
So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life, i viermii-nveselete, cum borhotul
The prey of worms, my body being dead; Din vinul pur, ncet la fund se las.
The coward conquest of a wretchs knife, Att vei pierde: trupul meu, cu totul
Too base of thee to be remembered. Sortit uitrii. Partea mea aleas,
The worth of that is that which it contains, Din adncimi desprins, va pleca
And that is this, and this with thee remains. Spre tine, ca s dinuie, a ta.
William Shakespeare
107
LXXV Sonet 75
So are you to my thoughts as food to life, Mi-eti gndului osp, cnd flmnzesc
Or as sweet-seasond showers are to the ground; i ploaie cnd mi-e iunie uscat;
And for the peace of you I hold such strife Zgrcit, m cert cu mine, c-mi pzesc
As twixt a miser and his wealth is found. Nesbuit comoara: desftat
Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon De-al meu avut i-ngrijorat apoi,
Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure; Cnd neleg c-s pizmuit de hoi;
Now counting best to be with you alone, ndestulat c suntem numai noi,
Then betterd that the world may see my pleasure: Sau nzuind s mi te-art la toi:
Sometime all full with feasting on your sight, De joi stul de-al dragostei festin
And by and by clean starved for a look; Ca vineri o privire s-i conjur;
Possessing or pursuing no delight Nimic dorind afar de ce-am din plin,
Save what is had, or must from you be took. Din plinul tu, dar lacom vreau s-i fur.
Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day, i uite-aa, mi-e foame sau m-mbuib
Or gluttoning on all, or all away. Cu zborul tu, nici pasre, nici cuib.
William Shakespeare
108
John William Waterhouse: Miranda

William Shakespeare
109
LXXVI Sonet 76
Why is my verse so barren of new pride, De ce mi-e versu-mbtrnit o piatr,

So far from variation or quick change? Vltoarea apei domolind? Mcar
Why with the time do I not glance aside De m-a topi n stilul vremii, art
To new-found methods, and to compounds strange? A lefuirii ritmurilor, dar
Why write I still all one, ever the same, Putere n-am s schimb acum vemntul
And keep invention in a noted weed, n care-mbrac acelai vechi discurs,
That every word doth almost tell my name, nct m tem c fiul meu, cuvntul,
Showing their birth, and where they did proceed? Printele-i trdeaz; timpul scurs,
O! know sweet love I always write of you, Prietene, mi-a nsoit rostirea
And you and love are still my argument; Cu slava ta, ce straiul preios
So all my best is dressing old words new, Mi-a pus n vechiul stih, spre nnoirea
Spending again what is already spent: Metaforei mbtrnind frumos:
For as the sun is daily new and old, Cum stins ori viu e soarele, aa
So is my love still telling what is told. Mi-e dragostea, arznd ce-i ars deja.
William Shakespeare
110
LXXVII Sonet 77
Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear, i-or povesti de farmecu-i plit
Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste; Oglinzi, iar ceasul, orele cum fug;
The vacant leaves thy minds imprnt will bear, O urm-i las doar, istorisit,
And of this book this learning mayst thou taste. Un gnd, pe foaia alb. Din belug
The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show Te mai nva riduri de pe chip:
Of mouthd graves will give thee memory; La fel cu groapa ce te-ateapt i-s.
Thou by thy dials shady stealth mayst know Privete umbra-n ceasul de nisip:
Times thievish progress to eternity. Te-nva Timp, trgndu-te-n abis.
Look what thy memory cannot contain, Memoria nu-i poate tot pstra,
Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find Vezi bine. Las-o foii. Vei gsi
Those children nursed, delivered from thy brain, Copiii minii tale-acolo, ca
To take a new acquaintance of thy mind. S i mpaci cu tine, i vei fi
These offices, so oft as thou wilt look, mbogit. E-o rug napoi,
Shall profit thee and much enrich thy book. Ce i-o nali: s ai mai multe foi.
William Shakespeare
111
LXXVIII Sonet 78
So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse, Te-am invocat, i mi-ai nsufleit
And found such fair assistance in my verse, De-attea ori poemele, nct
As every alien pen hath got my use, Mai toi sracii-n har s-au pripit
And under thee their poesy disperse. La umbra ta, din chipul cobort
Thine eyes, that taught the dumb on high to sing, S fure stil sau duh dezlegtor
And heavy ignorance aloft to fly, De limbi: i aripi noi le-ai pus
Have added feathers to the learnds wing nvceilor, ca mai uor
And given grace a double majesty. S zboare spre-nlimi. Dar mai presus
Yet be most proud of that which I compile, De ei m vd, i mult mai mndru sunt,
Whose influence is thine and born of thee: Fiindc simt c darul mi-e nscut
In others works thou dost but mend the style, Din tine chiar, nu meteug mrunt,
And arts with thy sweet graces gracd be; Cum e al lor: sfrit i nceput
But thou art all my art, and dost advance n art-mi eti menit s m ridici,
As high as learning my rude ignorance. Cu-nvtura, dintre ucenici.
William Shakespeare
112
William Blake: Oberon, Titania and Puck, with Fairies Dancing

William Shakespeare
113
LXXIX Sonet 79
Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid, Cnd singur mie mi dictai poeme,
My verse alone had all thy gentle grace, Potirul de lumin-i beam, ntreg.
But now my gracious numbers are decayed, Dar m-ai lsat. Acum sunt orb: de-o vreme,
And my sick muse doth give another place. l fericeti pe altul. neleg
I grant, sweet love, thy lovely argument C tema dulce-a frumuseii tale
Deserves the travail of a worthier pen, Ar merita un alt condei, mai bun,
Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent Dar salba ei de giuvaericale
He robs thee of and pays it thee again. Robit i-e, i-ntoars doar. i spun,
He lends thee virtue, and he stole that word Virtutea ce poetul i-o-mprumut
From thy behavior; beauty doth he give E tot a ta, furat; n tablou
And found it in thy cheek: he can afford Culori nu-i poate-aduga, le mut
No praise to thee but what in thee doth live. n alt ram, doar vemntu-i nou.
Then thank him not for that which he doth say, Nu-i mulumi c-a scris: tu i compui
Since what he owes thee thou thyself dost pay. De unul singur stihurile lui.
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LXXX Sonet 80
O! how I faint when I of you do write, Cum a putea, cnd vd c menestrelul

Knowing a better spirit doth use your name, Te laud, eu, cel umil i sec,
And in the praise thereof spends all his might, S te mai cnt? Acelai ne e elul,
To make me tongue-tied speaking of your fame. Dar meteugul nu pot s-i ntrec.
But since your worth, wide as the ocean is, Doar c oceanul tu adnc l las
The humble as the proudest sail doth bear, Adesea s pluteasc, pe cel mic,
My saucy bark, inferior far to his, Capricios: n luntrea-mi ticloas,
On your broad main doth willfully appear. Urmnd hoete graiosul bric,
Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat, M-avnt atunci, tind aceleai ape,
Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride; Spernd ca dintr-o toan s m tragi
Or, being wracked, I am a worthless boat, Din necuprins, spre rmurile-aproape,
He of tall building and of goodly pride: Dei, m tem, tot velele i-s dragi...
Then, if he thrive and I be cast away, De m scufunzi cnd te iubesc aa,
The worst was this: my love was my decay. E-un lucru trist, dar fi-va vina mea.
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LXXXI Sonet 81
Or I shall live, your epitaph to make, De-o fi ca epitaful s-i compun

Or you survive, when I in earth am rotten, Sau dimpotriv, de-oi pleca nti,
From hence your memory death cannot take, Uitat de toi, nu tiu; un trup mai bun
Although in me each part will be forgotten. Gsi-vei chiar aici: n stih rmi
Your name from hence immortal life shall have, Cu numele de glorie, prin ani
Though I, once gone, to all the world must die: Ce vor veni, sub ochii lumii noi;
The earth can yield me but a common grave, Al meu, spat pe-o cruce de srmani
When you entombd in mens eyes shall lie. M va urma-n uitare, ters de ploi
Your monument shall be my gentle verse, Mormnt mai blnd, iubite, i-oi spa
Which eyes not yet created shall oer-read, n versul meu; priviri ce nc nu-s
And tongues to be your being shall rehearse Te vor citi, i guri te-or luda,
When all the breathers of this world are dead; Cnd astzi cei ce sunt se vor fi dus.
You still shall livesuch virtue hath my pen Nentrecut-n meteug, o lir
Where breath most breathes, evn in the mouths of men. Te-o aeza pe buze ce respir.
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Pablo Picasso: Shakespeare

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LXXXII Sonet 82
I grant thou wert not married to my muse, Am neles, nu-i vina ta c unii
And therefore mayst without attaint oerlook Te laud aa: ei au n fa
The dedicated words which writers use Un chip ce st zlog perfeciunii,
Of their fair subject, blessing every book. Iar muza mea de mult nu mai i-e soa
Thou art as fair in knowledge as in hue, nalt n spirit, mndru pe msur,
Finding thy worth a limit past my praise; Gsind c slova mea i e datoare,
And therefore art enforced to seek anew Te vezi silit s caui o gravur
Some fresher stamp of the time-bettring days. Ce-i venicete zilele n floare;
And do so, love; yet when they have devised Pe cine-atepi? Pe-un oarecine
What straind touches rhetoric can lend, Psalmodiindu-i lirica vulgar?
Thou, truly fair, wert truly sympathized C adevrul locuiete-n mine,
In true plain words by thy true-telling friend. Ar trebui s crezi; pe dinafar
And their gross painting might be better used Doar eu te tiu, prietene: ofranul
Where cheeks need bloodin thee it is abused. E-al altora, al meu e porelanul.
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LXXXIII Sonet 83
I never saw that you did painting need, Nu-i trebuie sulemeneli i fard,
And therefore to your fair no painting set; Culorile penelului nu-i prind
I found, or thought I found, you did exceed Pe-obraz: cu searbd meteug, un bard
The barren tender of a poets debt: Te mzglete doar. Aa gndind,
And therefore have I slept in your report, Acestei lumi de orbi mi te-am ascuns,
That you yourself, being extant, well might show Ca singur s te-nfiezi, i-ncet,
How far a modern quill doth come too short, Virtutea ta vorbind ndeajuns,
Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow. S-i druieti un autoportret.
This silence for my sin you did impute, Tcerii mele doar tcere-i dai,
Which shall be most my glory, being dumb. Nu glorie, ba chiar, cum m-am temut,
; Tu vin i gseti, cnd alii-un rai
For I impair not beauty, being mute, Fgduindu-i, giulgiu i-au cusut.
When others would give life, and bring a tomb. i spun, e via-n ochii ti, i har:
There lives more life in one of your fair eyes n stihuri ei o caut-n zadar.
Than both your poets can in praise devise.
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LXXXIV Sonet 84
Who is it that says most, which can say more Exiti. Ce-ar fi de spus mai mult? Din toate
Than this rich praise, that you alone are you Cuvintele, e laud mai vie?
In whose confne immurd is the store O pot gsi? Ce spirit nalt mai poate,
Which should example where your equal grew? Dezmrginindu-se, s te descrie?
Lean penury within that pen doth dwell E mort poetul, dac nu-mprumut
That to his subject lends not some small glory; Din sngele-i eroului: de-ar spune
But he that writes of you, if he can tell C tu eti tu, ar mai tri o sut
That you are you, so dignifies his story. De ani n glorie. Cu-nelepciune,
Let him but copy what in you is writ, S copieze ce-a-neles mai bine,
Not making worse what nature made so clear, ngduie-i; nnobilndu-i gura,
And such a counterpart shall fame his wit, Va nceta s pngreasc-n rime
Making his style admired everywhere. Ce-a zmislit n tine, pur, Natura...
You to your beauteous blessings add a curse, E un blestem cnd lauda i place:
Being fond on praise, which makes your praises worse. Primeti puin, i-s vorbe mici, srace.
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William Shakespeare
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LXXXV Sonet 85
My tongue-tied muse in manners holds her still, Cnd nou muze lefuiesc o rim,
While comments of your praise, richly compiled, i-n broderii de epitete es
Reserve their character with golden quill Omagiul pe mantia-i mai fin
And precious phrase by all the muses filed. Ca aurul, eu tac: e de-neles.
I think good thoughts, whilst other write good words, Eu te slvesc n gnd, n stihuri, alii;
And like unlettered clerk still cry Amen Diacon fr carte, strig amin
To every hymn that able spirit affords, La fiecare imn pe care nalii
In polished form of well-refind pen. Prelai l intoneaz, i m-nchin.
Hearing you praised, I say Tis so, tis true, Aa-i, rostesc de fiecare dat,
And to the most of praise add something more; i lauda, tcut, le-o ntregesc
But that is in my thought, whose love to you, Iubindu-te; dar vorba-i mai nceat:
Though words come hindmost, holds his rank before. Tu inima auzi nti, firesc.
Then others for the breath of words respect, Pe ei tu laud-i c scriu mai bine;
Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect. C tac, vorbind cu-adevrat, pe mine.
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LXXXVI Sonet 86
Was it the proud full sail of his great verse, Dar cine-i umfl pnzele i cine
Bound for the prize of all too precious you, Covor ales n drum i-a aternut
That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse, Acestui ho? E-acelai care-n mine
Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew? A ngropat un stih abia nscut?
Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write E spiritu-i, de spirite damnate
Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead? Purtat spre culmi n care eu m-am frnt?
No, neither he, nor his compeers by night O, nu. Nici el, nici ele, vinovate
Giving him aid, my verse astonishd. Nu sunt c tac, c nu-mi gsesc cuvnt.
He, nor that affable familiar ghost i nici nluca binevoitoare
Which nightly gulls him with intelligence, Ce noaptea-i druiete har, o, nu
As victors of my silence cannot boast. M-a-nvins. Bolnav de-a spectrelor teroare
I was not sick of any fear from thence; Eu nu m tiu a fi: dar i umpl
But when your countenance filled up his line, Poemele, n chip desvrit
Then lacked I matter, that enfeebled mine. Cu dulcea-mi tem, tu. i m-a golit.
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LXXXVII Sonet 87
Farewell, thou art too dear for my possessing, Rmi cu bine! Nu pot s te in...
And like enough thou knowst thy estimate. C sunt srac, i scump eti, ai aflat.
The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing; Iubirea-i dat zborului: de chin,
My bonds in thee are all determinate. De piatra care-i sunt, fii dezlegat.
For how do I hold thee but by thy granting, Averea ce n mine-ai cheltuit
And for that riches where is my deserving? ntoarc-se! Cum oare s-o primesc
The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting, Cnd nu-s nimic, i de dispreuit
And so my patent back again is swerving. E tot ce am? Te-ai druit, regesc,
Thyself thou gavst, thy own worth then not knowing, Ori preul nc nu-i tiai? Viclean,
Or me, to whom thou gavst it, else mistaking; i-am nelat privirile? Oricum,
So thy great gift, upon misprision growing, Eu nu te merit, plnsul mi-e n van:
Comes home again, on better judgment making. De drept, e-al altuia ce fur acum.
Thus have I had thee as a dream doth flatter: C te-am avut a fost un vis, o tiu:
In sleep a king, but waking no such matter. Un rege gol, trezindu-se-n pustiu.
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Thomas Stothard: Prospero, Miranda and Ariel

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LXXXVIII Sonet 88
When thou shalt be disposed to set me light Cnd cu ocar ochii ti lovind,
And place my merit in the eye of scorn, M vor strivi, nevrednic precum sunt,
Upon thy side against myself Ill fight, M-oi arunca asupr-mi, dovedind
And prove thee virtuous, though thou art forsworn. C adevr griesc i nu-s un sfnt.
With mine own weakness being best acquainted, Pcatu-ascuns mi-oi dezveli, c doar
Upon thy part I can set down a story Obinuitu-m-am cu el, i nici
Of faults concealed, wherein I am attainted, Nu m-oi lupta, ca astfel s dispar
That thou in losing me shalt win much glory. i tu, neprihnit, s te ridici.
And I by this will be a gainer too, Vei propi, pcatul cnd mi-l strig:
For bending all my loving thoughts on thee, De rnile ce mi le fac mereu,
The injuries that to myself I do, Ferindu-te, tu vei avea ctig,
Doing thee vantage, double vantage me. Din binele-i hrnindu-m i eu.
Such is my love, to thee I so belong, Aa de-adnc m simt al tu, nct
That for thy right myself will bear all wrong. Cu bucurie-ndur ce i-e urt.
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LXXXIX Sonet 89
Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault, De m-ai lsa, spunnd c i-am greit,
And I will comment upon that offense. M-a dezvinovi, mhnit; dar cnd
Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt, mi zici c-s chiop, eu m supun, sfiit,
Against thy reasons making no defense. i m trezesc, minune, chioptnd...
Thou canst not, love, disgrace me half so ill, S m deteti tu nu tii s o faci
To set a form upon desired change, Mai mult dect pot eu; de vrei temei
As Ill myself disgrace, knowing thy will; Sa m nlocuieti, te pori stngaci,
I will acquaintance strangle and look strange, Cci mil i-e: pleca-voi, dac vrei,
Be absent from thy walks, and in my tongue Dar nu-mi iei n cale niciodat,
Thy sweet belovd name no more shall dwell, Ca nu cumva, greind, s m trezesc
Lest I, too much profane, should do it wrong Pe buze cu un nume adorat,
And haply of our old acquaintance tell. i c ne tim, ntng, s pomenesc
For thee against myself Ill vow debate, De partea ta, mpotriv-mi m ridic,
For I must neer love him whom thou dost hate. Spre-a nu iubi ce-i vrednic de nimic.
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XC Sonet 90
Then hate me when thou wilt, if ever, now, De-acum nainte ura ta s taie
Now while the world is bent my deeds to cross; Din mine hlci ntregi; ba nu, acum!
Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow, C tot mi-e surd norocul i m-ndoaie
And do not drop in for an after-loss: Pn la pmnt: dar nu-mi iei n drum
Ah, do not, when my heart hath scaped this sorrow, Cnd rana se va fi nchis i sorii,
Come in the rearward of a conquered woe. Cu mult trud, poate-i voi schimba,
Give not a windy night a rainy morrow, i nu-mi ploua n zori, cnd vntul nopii
To linger out a purposed overthrow. Mai sufl nc-n dimineaa mea...
If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last, De vrei s pleci, nu amna, lovete,
When other petty griefs have done their spite Cci alte rele m vor fi slbit,
But in the onset come; so shall I taste Sgei tocite, biciuind orbete
At first the very worst of fortunes might; Aceleai rni nfige-mi un cuit,
And other strains of woe, which now seem woe, S-mi amintesc cum sfie-o durere,
Compared with loss of thee will not seem so. i-arsura ei s-mi par mngiere.
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Frank Dicksee
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XCI Sonet 91
Some glory in their birth, some in their skill, Se laud cu stirpea lor mai marii,
Some in their wealth, some in their bodies force, Iar alii din tiin-i fac onoare,
Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill, Sau se petrec cu oimii, cu ogarii,
Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse; Cu patima vemintelor bizare.
And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure, E-n firea omului s se nchine
Wherein it finds a joy above the rest: Plcerii deopotriv lui: dar mie
But these particulars are not my measure; Strine toate-mi sunt, gsind n tine
All these I better in one general best. O desftare ce le-ntrece, vie,
Thy love is better than high birth to me, Iubirea ta: de-obrie mai bun,
Richer than wealth, prouder than garments cost, Mai scump ca averea, mai nalt
Of more delight than hawks or horses be; Ca zborul oimului; cci mpreun
And having thee, of all mens pride I boast: Le-agonisii spre lauda cealalt.
Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take Cu-att mai gol rmn cnd n-am n jur
All this away and me most wretched make. Fptura ta, pustiul s-mi ndur...
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XCII Sonet 92
But do thy worst to steal thyself away, F tot ce poi mai ru: a te fura
For term of life thou art assured mine, Din mine. Viu, te am. Nu mai departe,
And life no longer than thy love will stay, Iar viaa-mi nu va zbovi nici ea,
For it depends upon that love of thine. Urzit din iubire find, i parte...
Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs, Mai are rost de moarte s m tem
When in the least of them my life hath end. Cnd m ucide cea mai mic oapt?
I see a better state to me belongs De al capriciilor crunt blestem
Than that which on thy humour doth depend; De-o s m rup, un alt rost m ateapt.
Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind, Vezi, nu m doare dac m trdezi,
Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie. Cci numai viaa-i sor cu trdarea;
O, what a happy title do I find, i ce noroc, n dragoste s crezi
Happy to have thy love, happy to die! Trind, iar mort, s-i afli dezlegarea!
But whats so blessed-fair that fears no blot? O, cine-i s sclipeasc fr pat?
Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not. Poi s m-neli, s n-aflu niciodat...
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XCIII Sonet 93
So shall I live, supposing thou art true, i-aa, c n-am de-ales, te cred fidel,
Like a deceived husband; so loves face Ca orice-ncornorat, c mi te-ari
May still seem love to me, though alterd new; Cu-acelai chip i m priveti la fel;
Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place: Dar simt c gndu-i zboar-n alte pri.
For there can live no hatred in thine eye, Iar ochii ti suavi nu par a ti
Therefore in that I cannot know thy change. S oglindeasc ura; te prefaci,
In manys looks the false hearts history S nu i-o vd, aa cum pot citi
Is writ in moods and frowns and wrinkles strange, La alii mila-n rictusul stngaci?
But heaven in thy creation did decree O, nu. Prin voia cerului, tu lai
That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell; Privirii mele doar un soare blnd,
Whateer thy thoughts or thy hearts workings be, Ca orice arzi, s nu i faci prtai
Thy looks should nothing thence but sweetness tell. Pe cei ce te iubesc, mprumutnd
How like Eves apple doth thy beauty grow, Splendoarea mrului, ce-i dulce ntru
If thy sweet virtue answer not thy show! Amarul miez al Evei dinluntru.
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William Shakespeare
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XCIV Sonet 94
They that have power to hurt and will do none, Ca stnca, ngduitori, ei tac,
That do not do the thing they most do show, i drum dorinelor mereu nchid
Who, moving others, are themselves as stone, Cei ce ne pot rni, i nu o fac,
Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow, Dar sngereaz-n miezul lor placid.
They rightly do inherit heavens graces Ei motenesc acel talent sublim
And husband natures riches from expense; De-a risipi n zbor un mic prinos
They are the lords and owners of their faces, Al graiei, cnd noi ne mpietrim
Others but stewards of their excellence. n servitutea vorbelor, pe jos.
The summers flower is to the summer sweet, Dar crinii sunt doar magicelor veri
Though to itself it only live and die, Pe plac, i-i scurt al lor incert parfum;
But if that flower with base infection meet, Cnd buruiana urc mngieri
The basest weed outbraves his dignity: Spre rod, ei mor i putrezesc n drum,
For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds; Cci faptei lenevind, adeseori,
Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds. Dulceaa le dospete n duhori.
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XCV Sonet 95
How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame Ca viermele cen mugur furieaz,
Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose, Seductor, al furtului pcat,
Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name! La fel i tu, cu a dulceii raz
O, in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose! Te nclzeti, curvar neruinat.
That tongue that tells the story of thy days, Dar zvonul ce se rspndeten lume
Making lascivious comments on thy sport, Te face de ocar; toi te tiu
Cannot dispraise but in a kind of praise; Lasciv i desfrnat; renume
Naming thy name blesses an ill report. DeAdonis prefcut i fustangiu.
O, what a mansion have those vices got Palat de glorie i desftare
Which for their habitation chose out thee, E trupul tu, i viciul l-a gsit;
Where beauty's veil doth cover every blot, Oglinzi de farmec l ascund de soare
And all things turn to fair that eyes can see! n hainele virtuii, iscusit,
Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege; Dar nu te-ncreden har. Cndva i-o lam
The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge. De sabie se va toci. Ia seam.
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XCVI Sonet 96
Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness; Din tineree unii-i fac pcat,
Some say thy grace is youth and gentle sport; Iar alii spun c-i graie i joc;
Both grace and faults are loved of more and less; Oricum ar fi, cu har eti rsfat:
Thou makest faults graces that to thee resort. n palma ei, tu nu greeti deloc.
As on the finger of a throned queen Aa cum orice nensemnat inel
The basest jewel will be well esteemd, Un deget de reginmpodobind,
So are those errors that in thee are seen E diamant, i ochii ti, la fel,
To truths translated and for true things deemd. M ameesc, minciuni adeverind.
How many lambs might the stern wolf betray, M-ntreb ci miei ar nela un lup
If like a lamb he could his looks translate! De-ar ti privi n ochii lor mai blnd!
How many gazers mightst thou lead away, La fel, gndesc, de te-ai servi de trup
If thou wouldst use the strength of all thy state! Aa cum vrei, m-ai amgi oricnd.
But do not so; I love thee in such sort Dar nu o face; te iubesc oricum.
As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report. Rmi al meu, arip-i sunt i drum.
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William Shakespeare
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XCVII Sonet 97
How like a winter hath my absence been Decembrie mi-a fost, cnd nu mi-ai fost:
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year! Prinos amar al timpului curgnd
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen! Din norul mort; i ceuri fr rost
What old Decembers bareness every where! Pe cerul alb, m-au schilodit de gnd.
And yet this time removed was summers time, Apoi trecu i iunie, udat
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase, De-o toamn ca un pntec inutil
Bearing the wanton burden of the prime, De vduv, stpnului plecat
Like widowd wombs after their lords decease: n grab nchinndu-i un copil.
Yet this abundant issue seemd to me E fals belugul verii i pustiu,
But hope of orphans and unfatherd fruit; Vlstar strivit de un stejar tiat;
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, De cnd nu eti, lstunii nu mai tiu
And, thou away, the very birds are mute; S taie zori din cmpul nemicat,
Or, if they sing, tis with so dull a cheer Cnd mierla aipete la vecernii,
That leaves look pale, dreading the winters near. i frunzele plesc de frica iernii.
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XCVIII Sonet 98
From you have I been absent in the spring, De cnd nu eti, trecu un alt April
When proud-pied April dressd in all his trim nvemntat de srbtoare; sus,
Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing, Saturn cel greu zmbi ca un copil,
That heavy Saturn laughd and leapd with him. Sorbind i el din duhul nou, supus.
Yet nor the lays of birds nor the sweet smell Dar nu tiur psri i nici flori,
Of different flowers in odour and in hue Din cnt sau din ameitor parfum,
Could make me any summers story tell, S mi alunge viscolele, ori
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew; Eu n-am mai vrut s le ascult... n drum
Nor did I wonder at the lilys white, A crinilor zpad am strivit
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose; i nici cu-al rozei snge nu am plns;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight, Sunt cpii toate, cci desvrit,
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those. n chipul tu, tipar divin, le-ai strns.
Yet seemd it winter still, and, you away, M-am amgit cu umbra ce-ai lsat
As with your shadow I with these did play. Plecnd, n ele toate, ngheat.
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XCIX Sonet 99
The forward violet thus did I chide: Certat-am vioreaua: S-ale tale
Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells, Miresmele sau tocmai le-ai furat
If not from my loves breath? The purple pride Din dulcea-i rsuflare? n petale
Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells i vd rubinul, snge dezgropat...
In my loves veins thou hast too grossly dyed. De stnjenel, c i-a furat din palm
The lily I condemned for thy hand, Zpada somnoroas, ce s spun?
And buds of marjoram had stoln thy hair: La mghiran srit-am cu sudalm
The roses fearfully on thorns did stand, C-i jefui zulufii. M rzbun
One blushing shame, another white despair; Pe-o roz ce se-mbujor de-ndat
A third, nor red nor white, had stoln of both Ce-am acuzat-o; alta, se albi
And to his robbery had annexd thy breath; Pe loc; trandafiria, nsetat
But, for his theft, in pride of all his growth De prada-i dulce, buzele-i, pieri
A vengeful canker eat him up to death. Ca de-un blestem: e plin iarba toat
More flowers I noted, yet I none could see De hoaele plpnde, cu duiumul,
But sweet or colour it had stoln from thee. i toate-i poart boiul sau parfumul.
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William Hogarth: The Tempest

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C Sonet 100
Where art thou, Muse, that thou forgetst so long O, muz, rtcete de i-e vrerea,
To speak of that which gives thee all thy might? Dar nu uita, doar dragostea cntnd
Spendst thou thy fury on some worthless song, Te-ai nlat... nu-i irosi puterea
Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light? n teme nensemnate, ca i cnd
Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem Te-ai rzboi cu mbrele. Viclean
In gentle numbers time so idly spent; E Vremea, i te-a vduvit de har;
Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem Rscumpr-l cu dragoste, c hran
And gives thy pen both skill and argument. Iubirea-i meteugului, i iar,
Rise, resty Muse, my loves sweet face survey, Trndav muz, dragul n lumin
If Time have any wrinkle graven there; Adu-mi-l, cci de ridul chipului
If any, be a satire to decay, E vinovat Vremeac-i hain
And make Times spoils despised every where. i pictor prost: tu bunul nume du-i
Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life; Iubirii mele, fulger, mai departe,
So thou preventst his scythe and crooked knife. Dect picteaz secera-i cu moarte.
William Shakespeare
142
CI Sonet 101
O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends O, Muz vagaboand, ce temei

For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed? Gseti s taci la ce-i frumos i pur,
Both truth and beauty on my love depends; Uitnd de-al meu iubit? O, tu nu bei
So dost thou too, and therein dignified. Din slava lui? S nu-mi zici, te conjur,
Make answer, Muse: wilt thou not haply say C tot ce-i viu respir prin culori
Truth needs no colour, with his colour fixd; i nu ndur fard, c de penel
Beauty no pencil, beautys truth to lay; Frumosul e-ntinat de-oricte ori
But best is best, if never intermixd? Artistul l rsfa, i c el,
Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb? Perfect, nevoie n-are de vemnt;
Excuse not silence so; fort lies in thee N-ai nici o scuz: e-n puterea ta
To make him much outlive a gilded tomb, S-l duci prin vremi, ca auru-n mormnt,
And to be praised of ages yet to be. Ca laud din viitor s ia.
Then do thy office, Muse; I teach thee how Tu f-i menirea; te nv eu cum
To make him seem long hence as he shows now. S-l faci s-arate pururi ca acum.
William Shakespeare
143
CII Sonet 102
My love is strengthend, though more weak in seeming; Iubesc mai mult, dar tot la fel ascund,
I love not less, though less the show appear: Art puin, dar nu iubesc puin;
That love is merchandized whose rich esteeming Nu vreau n trg s laud ce-n strfund
The owners tongue doth publish every where. Pstrez al meu, ferit de ochi strin.
Our love was new and then but in the spring Iubirea nou-a fost, ntr-un april
When I was wont to greet it with my lays, Ce m-a gsit cntnd, cum la-nceput
As Philomel in summers front doth sing n prag de veri, privighetori; un tril
And stops her pipe in growth of riper days: Ce-l sting apoi, n ari, tcut.
Not that the summer is less pleasant now La fel sunt nopile acum, i ea
Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night, La fel adoarme crngul, la apus;
But that wild music burthens every bough Dar ramura de cntece-i mai grea,
And sweets grown common lose their dear delight. i dulcea-i vraj de-nceput s-a dus.
Therefore like her I sometime hold my tongue, Aa i eu, mai tac din cnd n cnd,
Because I would not dull you with my song. S nu te supr, sila amnnd
William Shakespeare
144
William Shakespeare
145
CIII Sonet 103
Alack, what poverty my Muse brings forth, Culori de fum, o, Muza mea srac,
That having such a scope to show her pride, Ai picurat n versul meu netot,
The argument all bare is of more worth Vemnt modest, cnd el vorbea... s-i tac
Than when it hath my added praise beside! Splendorile, s nu orbesc de tot.
O, blame me not, if I no more can write! Iubite, de sunt mut, nu-mi face vin,
Look in your glass, and there appears a face Oglinda doar i tie chipul drag.
That over-goes my blunt invention quite, Pe lng ea, umil-i orice rim,
Dulling my lines and doing me disgrace. Iar stihul meu, plictisitor, beteag.
Were it not sinful then, striving to mend, N-ar fi pcat s lefuiesc o piatr
To mar the subject that before was well? Deja desvrit, ca s-o stric?
For to no other pass my verses tend S te pictez, n-am har destul i art,
Than of your graces and your gifts to tell; Spre darul tu nalt, nu duc nimic:
And more, much more, than in my verse can sit Poemul meu e umbra-i doar, plind,
Your own glass shows you when you look in it. Mai mult din tine afl din oglind
William Shakespeare
146
CIV Sonet 104
To me, fair friend, you never can be old, Prietene, ca-n prima zi te vd:
For as you were when first your eye I eyed, De-atunci, trei veri au mbrcat pduri,
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold i tot attea viscole, prpd
Have from the forests shook three summers pride, De alb lsar-n tufele de muri.
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turnd Cum se prefac n toamn, am vzut
In process of the seasons have I seen, Trei primveri nglbenind poteci,
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burnd, i-Aprilie arznd miresme-n lut
Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green. De Iunie, la fel; tu, verde, treci...
Ah! yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand, Se mic-ncet al frumuseii ac
Steal from his figure and no pace perceived; Pe-al vieilor cadran, abia optit,
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand, Iar dac-n farmec parc scazi, eu tac,
Hath motion and mine eye may be deceived: i-ncerc s cred c ochiul m-a minit.
For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred; Dar c m tem zic celor ce-or veni:
Ere you were born was beautys summer dead. Ce-a fost frumos nu v-a fost dat a ti...
William Shakespeare
147
CV Sonet 105
Let not my love be calld idolatry, Vznd c-i scriu doar lui, acelai, (cel
Nor my beloved as an idol show, Ce-mi pare tat, fiu i duh), mereu,
Since all alike my songs and praises be S nu numii iubirea mea un fel
To one, of one, still such, and ever so. De adoraie: el nu-i un zeu.
Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind, Eu doar iubesc, cum azi, i mine: blnd,
Still constant in a wondrous excellence; Din inim, statornic, virtuos;
Therefore my verse to constancy confined, La el mi se oprete orice gnd,
One thing expressing, leaves out difference. Cusururi negsindu-i. n frumos,
Fair, kind and true is all my argument, n adevr, i tot ce-i bun, l cnt:
Fair, kind, and true varying to other words; Cu ele trei, i alte stihuri es,
And in this change is my invention spent, Sunt gnduri care curg dintr-un cuvnt
Three themes in one, which wondrous scope affords. Ce poart-n toate-un singur neles:
Fair, kind, and true, have often lived alone, Iar dac ieri icoan rupt-au fost,
Which three till now never kept seat in one. i regsir-n el sublimul rost.
William Shakespeare
148
Sir John Gilbert: The Plays of William Shakespeare

William Shakespeare
149
CVI Sonet 106
When in the chronicle of wasted time Tot zbovind prin cronici din vechime
I see descriptions of the fairest wights, M-au fermecat prinese, cavaleri,
And beauty making beautiful old rhyme Cu mndru chip, ce spre viitorime
In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights, Trimis-au versul barzilor de ieri.
Then, in the blazon of sweet beautys best, Vzut-am culmea dulce-a frumuseii
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, Din buze, brae, ochi, picioare, fruni.
I see their antique pen would have expressd De-ai fi trit atunci, o, toi poeii
Even such a beauty as you master now. Te-ar fi cntat, canoanele s-nfruni!
So all their praises are but prophecies De fapt, sorbeau din tineprofeie
Of this our time, all you prefiguring; A frumuseii purece-o visau,
And, for they lookd but with divining eyes, Dar n-aveau har destul, cci fr s-i tie
They had not skill enough your worth to sing: Splendorile, ei doar te bnuiau.
For we, which now behold these present days, Degeaba te privim, cei hrzii
Had eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise. A te avea, cci amuim, vrjii...
William Shakespeare
150
CVII Sonet 107
Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul Nu tie-al lumii vis prorocitor
Of the wide world dreaming on things to come, Ct dinuie ce-i drag i-adevrat,
Can yet the lease of my true love control, i nici chiar eu nu tiu, cnd m msor
Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom. Cu spaimele... Vezi, Luna a-ndurat
The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured Eclipse mii, i totui haine noi
And the sad augurs mock their own presage; i-a pus, n ciuda celor care vin
Incertainties now crown themselves assured Cu profeii de care rd apoi.
And peace proclaims olives of endless age. ncepe era crengii de mslin!
Now with the drops of this most balmy time n stropii-acestui parfumat vzduh
My love looks fresh, and death to me subscribes, n care Moartea s-a supus, exuli;
Since, spite of him, Ill live in this poor rhyme, Eu m-am ascuns n vers, n timp ce-un duh
While he insults oer dull and speechless tribes: Nendurtor i secer pe muli.
And thou in this shalt find thy monument, Cnd falnice statui s-or prbui,
When tyrants crests and tombs of brass are spent. i tu n el te vei adposti...
William Shakespeare
151
CVIII Sonet 108
Whats in the brain that ink may character Din ce-am n suflet, i se poate scrie,
Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit? A mai rmas ceva de spus, iubire?
Whats new to speak, what new to register, Mai e vreo strun cunoscut mie
That may express my love or thy dear merit? Sa nu o fi atins? O, dulce mire
Nothing, sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine, Al tinereii mele, nu-i niciuna...
I must, each day say oer the very same; Doar buzele deschise-a rugciune
Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine, optind c-i sunt, la fel, c-mi eti, ntruna,
Even as when first I hallowd thy fair name. Ca-n ziua sfnt cnd i-am zis pe nume!
So that eternal love in loves fresh case Etern e iubirea mea, nu-i pas
Weighs not the dust and injury of age, De adormirea pielii ncreite...
Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place, Ea nc scrie-n pagina rmas
But makes antiquity for aye his page, Din cartea vremilor, te-nvie, i te
Finding the first conceit of love there bred Descoper cu-acelai farmec sfnt
Where time and outward form would show it dead. Chiar dac ani te cheam spre pmnt...
William Shakespeare
152
CIX Sonet 109
O, never say that I was false of heart, Iubite, nici cu gndul nu te-nel
Though absence seemd my flame to qualify. Cnd sunt plecat! Cum a putea s rup
As easy might I from myself depart Din mine sufletul, ascuns i el
As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie: n pieptul tu, ce ne e cas, trup?
That is my home of love: if I have ranged, Mai hoinresc i eu, pe unde-apuc,
Like him that travels I return again, Dar tot iubind m-ntorc, i nu trziu.
Just to the time, not with the time exchanged, Pcatu-mi spl n apa ce-o aduc
So that myself bring water for my stain. i singur m dezleg... Aa-i, sunt fiu
Never believe, though in my nature reignd De Ev ispitit, snge, os,
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, i slab, e drept, dar nu-ntr-att nebun
That it could so preposterously be staind, S mi te schimb cu raiul mincinos
To leave for nothing all thy sum of good; Al altuia. Eti tot ce am... i spun,
For nothing this wide universe I call, N-am alt rug-n lume: neatins
Save thou, my rose; in it thou art my all. Pstreaz-te, o, roz, restu-i stins...
William Shakespeare
153
Alfred Elmore: Romeo and Juliet

William Shakespeare
154
CX Sonet 110
Alas, tis true I have gone here and there Aa-i! am hoinrit ca un nebun,
And made myself a motley to the view, i-am risipit averi n patru zri
Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear, S cuceresc amici de-o zi i un
Made old offences of affections new; Pcat mai nou pe salba cu trdri...
Most true it is that I have lookd on truth Iubirea am privit-o cu dispre,
Askance and strangely: but, by all above, Dar din desfru am dobndit folos,
These blenches gave my heart another youth, nelegnd, prietene, c pre
And worse essays proved thee my best of love. De ai, eu nu i l-am tiut! Milos
Now all is done, have what shall have no end: De eti, primete-m-napoi, n veci
Mine appetite I never more will grind Voi ine-n fru ispitele! Dovezi
On newer proof, to try an older friend, Nu-mi trebuie de-acum: c zeii-ntreci
A god in love, to whom I am confined. n dragoste aflat-am... S m crezi
Then give me welcome, next my heaven the best, Cnd spun c trupul tu mi-e rai sortit,
Even to thy pure and most most loving breast. i s m strngi la piept, de bun venit.
William Shakespeare
155
CXI Sonet 111
O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide, Mai bine ceart-mi soarta pmnteasc,
The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, Zei a pedepselor, ce-n loc
That did not better for my life provide De fire-aleas, mi ddu o masc
Than public means which public manners breeds. De cabotin... Al stirpei nenoroc
Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, l port i azi n numele de sclav
And almost thence my nature is subdued Ce-mi silui natura, fr s tiu,
To what it works in, like the dyers hand: Precum boiaua palma de zugrav
Pity me then and wish I were renewd; Purtnd o hain de-mprumut. S-nviu
Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink M-ai face de mi-ai arta blndee:
Potions of eisel gainst my strong infection A bea din leacul ciumei mpcat,
No bitterness that I will bitter think, i miere-ar fi, ca trupul meu s-nvee
Nor double penance, to correct correction. Pedeapsa ce din mil i s-a dat.
Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye Prietene, i-o jur, tmduit
Even that your pity is enough to cure me. Pe loc a fi, tiindu-m iubit
William Shakespeare
156
CXII Sonet 112
Your love and pity doth the impression fill S m rneasc vorba de ocar
Which vulgar scandal stampd upon my brow; Cnd dragostea-i de toate mai presus
For what care I who calls me well or ill, i vindec stigmate? S m doar
So you oer-green my bad, my good allow? Tot ce n spate brfele mi-au pus?
You are my all the world, and I must strive Eti legea mea, a lor mi e nedreapt,
To know my shames and praises from your tongue: Iar n afara ta, pedeaps nu-i.
None else to me, nor I to none alive, Tu singur poi s m dezlegi de fapt;
That my steeld sense or changes right or wrong. De-s bun sau ru, nu-i treaba nimnui.
In so profound abysm I throw all care M-am lepdat de alte voci, m-apas
Of others voices, that my adders sense O laud sau un blestem, la fel.
To critic and to flatterer stopped are. In iad le-am zvort, s nu mai ias,
Mark how with my neglect I do dispense: i-urechile mi-astup: tu eti acel
You are so strongly in my purpose bred A crui judecat o ascult,
That all the world besides methinks are dead. Ei, spectre ce hulesc, nimic mai mult.
William Shakespeare
157
John Massey Wright

William Shakespeare
158
CXIII Sonet 113
Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind; Mai vd cu inima, de cnd m-am dus
And that which governs me to go about i nu te am aici, cci micul soare
Doth part his function and is partly blind, Din ochii mei de carne a apus,
Seems seeing, but effectually is out; Dei mai pune nc n tipare
For it no form delivers to the heart Ce minii i le d, struitor,
Of bird of flower, or shape, which it doth latch: Lumina florilor ce-i stau n fa,
Of his quick objects hath the mind no part, Ca altdat; dar formele i mor,
Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch: Cci inima de altceva se-aga,
For if it see the rudest or gentlest sight, i tot ce i se-arat, chipe, slut,
The most sweet favour or deformedst creature, Amiaz, noapte, val de mare, stnc,
The mountain or the sea, the day or night, Un porumbel, un corb, n ce-a tiut
The crow or dove, it shapes them to your feature: Mai bine, chipul tu, ea-l schimb nc.
Incapable of more, replete with you, Att mai poate ea, de tine plin:
My most true mind thus makes mine eye untrue. S mint, nsetat de lumin.
William Shakespeare
159
CXIV Sonet 114
Or whether doth my mind, being crownd with you, Sau poate inima lu, flatat,
Drink up the monarchs plague, this flattery? Nravul regilor... Sau poate-o fi
Or whether shall I say, mine eye saith true, Adevrat ce ochiul i arat?
And that your love taught it this alchemy, S fie el stpn pe alchimii,
To make of monsters and things indigest i demonii-n arhangheli i preface,
Such cherubins as your sweet self resemble, Asemeni ie, chipul ce-l srut,
Creating every bad a perfect best, Desvrind n treact, cum i place
As fast as objects to his beams assemble? i inimii, ce e vulgar i slut?
O,tis the first, tis flattery in my seeing, A lui e vina! Ea, ndrgostita,
And my great mind most kingly drinks it up: C-i lacom de laude, bu
Mine eye well knows what with his gust is greeing, Din cupa cu iluzii, dar ispita
And to his palate doth prepare the cup: E-a lui, c-i tie gustul dulce: tu.
If it be poisond, tis the lesser sin De-a fost otrav-n ea, pcate nu-s:
That mine eye loves it and doth first begin. I-o fi plcut, c primul s-a supus
William Shakespeare
160
CXV Sonet 115
Those lines that I before have writ do lie, Din tot ce-am scris, minit-am ntr-un rnd:
Even those that said I could not love you dearer: Mai mult de-att nu cred s pot iubi!
Yet then my judgment knew no reason why Aa citeam n jarul fumegnd
My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer. Ce mi jura c nu-s vpi mai vii...
But reckoning time, whose milliond accidents Vedeam cum Timpul curge, cum pecei
Creep in twixt vows and change decrees of kings, Pe schimbtoare legi monarhii pun,
Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharpst intents, Cum mint iubiii oarbe tinerei,
Divert strong minds to the course of altering things; Cum se preface farmecul n scrum...
Alas, why, fearing of times tyranny, O, vai! De coasa vremii-nfricoat,
Might I not then say Now I love you best, De ce n-am spus Azi, te iubesc ct pot,
When I was certain oer incertainty, Ferit de ndoial? A fi dat
Crowning the present, doubting of the rest? Pe-o zi sublim, viaa mea de tot...
Love is a babe; then might I not say so, Dar cum s treci de-a dragostei porunc,
To give full growth to that which still doth grow? tiind c-i un copil, i crete nc?
William Shakespeare
161
Eugne Delacroix: Hamlet and Horatio in the Graveyard

William Shakespeare
162
CXVI Sonet 116
Let me not to the marriage of true minds Nu-i piedic s rup cununia
Admit impediments. Love is not love Acelor firi ce gndu-i simt pereche.
Which alters when it alteration finds, Nu-i dragoste, cnd nestatornicia
Or bends with the remover to remove: E plata oarb-a alteia, mai veche.
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark O, nu! Iubirea e un far, vegheaz
That looks on tempests and is never shaken; i negura o sparge, cnd spre cas
It is the star to every wandering bark, Luntrai pribegi comoara-i duc, i-o raz
Whose worths unknown, although his height be taken. Din Steaua Nordului... i nici nu-i las
Loves not Times fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Copiii n ocara vremuirii,
Within his bending sickles compass come: Dei sub coasa Timpului plete
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, Obrazul fraged, buza dulce... Mirii
But bears it out even to the edge of doom. i-i poart peste veac, i-i povestete.
If this be error and upon me proved, De-mi dovedii c mint, m plec oricui:
I never writ, nor no man ever loved. N-am scris nimic, i nici iubire nu-i.
William Shakespeare
163
CXVII Sonet 117
Accuse me thus: that I have scanted all O, ceart-m c nu-i invoc mai des
Wherein I should your great deserts repay, Iubireacea mai scump dintre toate,
Forgot upon your dearest love to call, C ru pltesc din harul ce-am cules,
Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day; i firii-i dulci am datorii uitate,
That I have frequent been with unknown minds C vremea ta o cheltui hoinrind
And given to time your own dear-purchased right; Cu venetici, pe apele viclene,
That I have hoisted sail to all the winds Cu pnze ce de orice vnt se prind,
Which should transport me farthest from your sight. Departe, spre ispite pmntene...
Book both my wilfulness and errors down, Mrturisit-am tot, ca tot s scrii,
And on just proof surmise accumulate; Pcate noi i vechi! O, mi te-ncrunt,
Bring me within the level of your frown, C ur i-am trezit, dar nu grbi
But shoot not at me in your wakend hate; A-i arunca sgeata, i m-nfrunt
Since my appeal says I did strive to prove Cu mila doar: am vrut s tiu tria
The constancy and virtue of your love. Iubirii tale, i statornicia...
William Shakespeare
164
CXVIII Sonet 118
Like as, to make our appetites more keen, Aa cum gustul ni-l trezim punnd
With eager compounds we our palate urge, Pe vrful limbii firul de boia,
As, to prevent our maladies unseen, Iar boala iart pntecul flmnd
We sicken to shun sickness when we purge; i curat de pofte vechi, aa
Even so, being full of your neer-cloying sweetness, Sorbeam i eu, stul de-un dulce boi,
To bitter sauces did I frame my feeding; Amarul unui chip de tot strin,
And, sick of welfare, found a kind of meetness i-mbolnvit de bine,-n boli mai noi
To be diseased ere that there was true needing. M ascundeam, s fug de primul chin;
Thus policy in love, to anticipate Greeam pzind iubirea cnd, setos,
The ills that were not, grew to faults assured, i profeeam dezgustul, i, nebun,
And brought to medicine a healthful state Doftoriceam cu ru ce-i sntos!
Which, rank of goodness, would by ill be cured; Din toate astea-am nvat, i-mi spun
But thence I learn, and find the lesson true, C leacurile minii-s otrvite:
Drugs poison him that so fell sick of you. Mai mult bolnav de tine sunt, iubite.
William Shakespeare
165
John Faed: Shakespeare and His Friends at the Mermaid Tavern

William Shakespeare
166
CXIX Sonet 119
What potions have I drunk of Siren tears, Licori drceti am nghiit, m tem...
Distilld from limbecks foul as hell within, Tot ce ctig se dovedete-a fi
Applying fears to hopes and hopes to fears, O pierdere, ndejdea mi-e blestem,
Still losing when I saw myself to win! i fricile balsam! O, ce prostii
What wretched errors hath my heart committed, Mai poate face-o inim, chiar cnd
Whilst it hath thought itself so blessed never! I se deschide raiul! Ce smintit
How have mine eyes out of their spheres been fitted Acest delir al ochilor lsnd
In the distraction of this madding fever! Orbite goale pentr-un zbor minit...
O benefit of ill! now I find true Dar bine face rul uneori!
That better is by evil still made better; Caci dragostea-i ruin-acum i pot
And ruind love, when it is built anew, Cu har nalt i alte ursitori,
Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater. S-o venicesc cu noi puteri... De tot
So I return rebuked to my content M-ntorc la casa mea! Ce-am cheltuit
And gain by ill thrice more than I have spent. n ru, voi scoate-n bine, ntreit.
William Shakespeare
167
CXX Sonet 120
That you were once unkind befriends me now, Lovit-ai primul, n-a durut puin,
And for that sorrow, which I then did feel Dar amintindu-mi, parc mai uor
Needs must I under my transgression bow, mi e acum, lovind i eu, s-mi in
Unless my nerves were brass or hammerd steel. Plecat fruntea, i s te implor.
For if you were by my unkindness shaken, De-ai suferit ca mine, venicii
As I by yours, youve passd a hell of time; Ai petrecut n iad, cnd eu, tiran,
And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken O clip nu gndeam a-mi cntri
To weigh how once I suffered in your crime. Durerile... O, de-a putea s am
O, that our night of woe might have rememberd n suflet urma nopii de tristei
My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits, n care-am plns n doi, i-adnc, s tac,
And soon to you, as you to me, then tenderd S-aud cum rupe chinul, s m ieri
The humble salve which wounded bosoms fits! Cum am iertat i eu, s-i fiu de leac,
But that your trespass now becomes a fee; S cumpr, dar, ce e de neiertat,
Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me. Pcatul tu pltind al meu pcat.
William Shakespeare
168
CXXI Sonet 121
Tis better to be vile than vile esteemd, Mai bine ru cel ce se nate bun,
When not to be receives reproach of being, i-i ponegrit de toiaa se zice;
And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemd Oglinda lumii-i strmb, i oricum
Not by our feeling but by others seeing: l va schimonosi: de ce complice
For why should others false adulterate eyes S fiu cu ochiul unui desfrnat
Give salutation to my sportive blood? Ce vede-n snge cald o rea pornire?
Or on my frailties why are frailer spies, De ce s intre-un slab, neruinat,
Which in their wills count bad what I think good? n viaa mea, zicnd c-s slab din fire?
No, I am that I am, and they that level Eu sunt ce sunt; ei doar se oglindesc
At my abuses reckon up their own: n talpa mea, cnd rtcesc prin tin...
I may be straight, though they themselves be bevel; Eu pot fi drept, ei nu, cci prea lumesc
By their rank thoughts my deeds must not be shown; E gndul lor, s mi gseasc vin,
Unless this general evil they maintain, Da-n lumea asta, crmuit-n veci
All men are bad, and in their badness reign. De mrvii, ei prin te ung, de treci...
William Shakespeare
169
William Bell Scott: Ariel and Caliban

William Shakespeare
170
CXXII Sonet 122
Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain Aici ascuns-am vorbele pe care
Full characterd with lasting memory, Mi le-ai trimis: sub frunte, ca o carte.
Which shall above that idle rank remain, Pe foaia alb slova-i muritoare,
Beyond all date, even to eternity: Dar mintea mea o duce mai departe,
Or at the least, so long as brain and heart Mcar att ct i-a fost dat, puinul
Have faculty by nature to subsist; ngduit pe-acest pmnt de Fire,
Till each to razed oblivion yield his part Ct mi-s uitat de moarte, i tainul
Of thee, thy record never can be missd. Uitarea nu i-a rupt din amintire.
That poor retention could not so much hold, Memoria pstreaz, nu condeiul,
Nor need I tallies thy dear love to score; i nici rboj nu-i trebuie, s tie
Therefore to give them from me was I bold, Ct a iubit! Aa gsii temeiul
To trust those tables that receive thee more: S-arunc o scump coal de hrtie.
To keep an adjunct to remember thee De-a fi pstrat-o, ar fi fost toiag
Were to import forgetfulness in me. Drumeului uitnd de chipul drag...
William Shakespeare
171
CXXIII Sonet 123
No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change: Nu, Vreme, nu-i sunt rob: adevrat,
Thy pyramids built up with newer might Doar tu mai poi s nali o piramid,
To me are nothing novel, nothing strange; Dar asta nu m mic; tot uscat
They are but dressings of a former sight. E faraonu-n noua lui hlamid...
Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire La tot ce-i vechi ne minunm, creznd
What thou dost foist upon us that is old; C ne-a fost dat. Suflarea ni-i grbit.
And rather make them born to our desire Ne-ai nvat c toate cte sunt
Than think that we before have heard them told. Ne aparin, dar cartea-i msluit.
Thy registers and thee I both defy, O, te desfid cu tot ce mi aduci!
Not wondering at the present nor the past, Trecut, prezent, nu-mi spun nimic. Nebun
For thy records and what we see doth lie, E goana ta meteugind nluci,
Made more or less by thy continual haste. Iar tot ce vd, am mai vzut: minciun.
This I do vow and this shall ever be; Un lucru doar, m jur, n veci i scap:
I will be true, despite thy scythe and thee. Credina mea, precum uleiu-n ap.
William Shakespeare
172
CXXIV Sonet 124
If my dear love were but the child of state, Bastard al Sorii venic schimbtoare,
It might for Fortunes bastard be unfatherd Ar fi acum iubirea-mi, n palate
As subject to Times love or to Times hate, De mi s-ar fi nscut: o dulce floare,
Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gatherd. Sau blrie-n drum, umil, poate.
No, it was builded far from accident; Dar nu mi-o tiu plmada ntmplrii:
It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls Ea nu se-nclin celor de la crm,
Under the blow of thralled discontent, i nu nva lacrima uitrii,
Whereto the inviting time our fashion calls: Ca rzvrtiii-n temnia din urm.
It fears not policy, that heretic, De mreaja uneltirii o ferete
Which works on leases of short-numberd hours, nelepciunea; crede doar n fapt.
But all alone stands hugely politic, Amiaza nsorit n-o sporete
That it nor grows with heat nor drowns with showers. i n-o doboar ploile: ateapt.
To this I witness call the fools of time, Mi-s martori ticloii fr vini,
Which die for goodness, who have lived for crime. Ieind, pios, din viei de asasini.
William Shakespeare
173
Joseph Noel Paton: Caliban

William Shakespeare
174
CXXV Sonet 125
Were t aught to me I bore the canopy, N-a fi putut i eu s nal ceti

With my extern the outward honouring, Ce se-nfresc cu pulberea, o sut?
Or laid great bases for eternity, Sau baldachinul regilor netoi
Which prove more short than waste or ruining? S-l port cu umilin prefcut?
Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour Dar oare nu vzusem cum trufia
Lose all, and more, by paying too much rent, Pltind mai mult, i cumpr spoiala,
For compound sweet forgoing simple savour, Cum i ucide gustul lcomia,
Pitiful thrivers, in their gazing spent? i cum pcatul i contempl fala?
No, let me be obsequious in thy heart, Ba da. i de-asta m supun doar ie.
And take thou my oblation, poor but free, i sunt ofrand, ia-m, sunt curat
Which is not mixd with seconds, knows no art, De orice vicleug. Te d! S fie
But mutual render, only me for thee. Acelai pre cu care m-ai luat...
Hence, thou subornd informer! a true soul Iscoad, piei! M tot acuzi de crime,
When most impeachd stands least in thy control. Dar nu o s m poi avea, strine.
William Shakespeare
175
CXXVI Sonet 126
O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power n boiu-i chipe ornice nu bat
Dost hold Times fickle glass, his sickle, hour; i coasele se frng, o, drag biat
Who hast by waning grown, and therein showst Ce te nali cnd dragii ti se scurg,
Thy lovers withering as thy sweet self growst; Plind ncet, ca soarele-n amurg
If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack, Dar dac Firea urmele i-a ters,
As thou goest onwards, still will pluck thee back, i din ce-i viu, pe tine te-a ales
She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill Tipar sublim, n singurul ei vis
May time disgrace and wretched minutes kill. Ferit de legea clipeice-a ucis,
Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure! Tu teme-te: o jucrie-i eti!
She may detain, but not still keep, her treasure: Ea poate-ascunde, nu pzi; cereti
Her audit, though delayd, answerd must be, Sunt legile ce-ascult, i cndva
And her quietus is to render thee. La Judecat-n schimb ea te va da.
William Shakespeare
176
CXXVII Sonet 127
In the old age black was not counted fair, Pe vremuri, ochii ei strlucitori
Or if it were, it bore not beautys name; i negri n-ar fi fost la pre; ei plac
But now is black beautys successive heir, Abia acum, dar nobilei culori
And beauty slanderd with a bastard shame: i duce i blestemul: sluii fac
For since each hand hath put on natures power, Cu art fals-un chip de mprumut
Fairing the foul with arts false borrowd face, i i uzurp Firii dreptul sfnt
Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy bower, De-a drui frumos, iar cel nscut
But is profaned, if not lives in disgrace. Cu farmec e-n dizgraie, i-nfrnt
Therefore my mistress brows are raven black, De impostura mtii. De-asta poart
Her eyes so suited, and they mourners seem Podoaba ntunericului: plng
At such who, not born fair, no beauty lack, De mila celor vduvii de soart,
Slandering creation with a false esteem: Ce profaneaz-n visul lor ntng
Yet so they mourn, becoming of their woe, Sublimul: i sunt negri, s le-arate
That every tongue says beauty should look so. Tristeea frumuseii-adevrate.
William Shakespeare
177
Henry Fuseli Swiss: Prospero, Caliban and

Miranda
William Shakespeare
178
CXXVIII Sonet 128
How oft, when thou, my music, music playst, A vrea sa fiu sub mna ta clavirul,
Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds De nu, mcar o clap, s te-ascult
With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently swayst Cnd degetele-i dulci m vor, i birul
The wiry concord that mine ear confounds, S i-l pltesc cu srutri... cer mult?
Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap Roesc de ciud! Achia rsfa
To kiss the tender inward of thy hand, Parfumul pielii tale c-un srut
Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest reap, La fiecare not, struna-i hoa,
At the woods boldness by thee blushing stand! Iar buzele-mi tnjesc! De-a fi avut
To be so tickled, they would change their state Un trup de lemn, mi-ar fi la fel belugul
And situation with those dancing chips, i-a face schimb cu micul ticlos,
Oer whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait, Ce-i tie minii tale meteugul
Making dead wood more blest than living lips. De-a nvia ce-i mort! Mrinimos
Since saucy jacks so happy are in this, Voi fi de azi: rmn el cu toate,
Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss. Eu doar stpn pe buze-nmiresmate...
William Shakespeare
179
CXXIX Sonet 129
The expense of spirit in a waste of shame Dorina trupuluio irosire

Is lust in action; and till action, lust A spiritului adormit, sperjur,
Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame, Slbatic, i dincolo de fire
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust, Neruinat, ce-o-mplineti cu ur,
Enjoyd no sooner but despised straight, De tine nsui dezgustat; o nad
Past reason hunted, and no sooner had A bestiei ce nu-i ascult mintea,
Past reason hated, as a swallowd bait Prostete nghiit, stnd dovad
On purpose laid to make the taker mad; Smintelii ce te-mpinge naintea
Mad in pursuit and in possession so; Pierzaniei: avnd, s n-ai; o vrere
Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme; Strnit de o dulce ateptare,
A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe; Urmat de extaz, apoi durere:
Before, a joy proposed; behind, a dream. Neantul absolut, minciuna care
All this the world well knows; yet none knows well Te duce-n iad, tii bine, da-i eti rob,
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell. i o urmezi asculttor, neghiob.
William Shakespeare
180
CXXX Sonet 130
My mistress eyes are nothing like the sun; Nu-i niciun soare-n ochii doamnei mele...
Coral is far more red than her lips red; De jar e buza eicrbune stins.
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; Cosiasrm, drept e, n inele,
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. Iar snii oachei, parc nadins.
I have seen roses damaskd, red and white, n roz i alb vzut-am roze, sute,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks; Dar, vai, niciuna n obrajii ei;
And in some perfumes is there more delight M-au desftat odoruri mai plcute
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. Dect respir dnsa de-obicei...
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know E dulce glasu-i, totui o vioar
That music hath a far more pleasing sound; mi pare c vorbete mai frumos,
I grant I never saw a goddess go; i n-am habar zeiele cum zboar,
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground: Dar ei, cum vd, pmntu-i de folos.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare Pe zei, poeii mint! Att mai zic:
As any she belied with false compare. Ca ea, pe lumea asta nu-i nimic...
William Shakespeare
181
William Maw Egley: Prospero and Miranda

William Shakespeare
182
CXXXI Sonet 131
Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art, Te pori ca un tiran, trufa, crud,

As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel; Ca orice chip frumos, vnzndu-i harul;
For well thou knowst to my dear doting heart O perl eti, iubirea mea zlud,
Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel. Dar scump te dai, i cu dispre... Hotarul
Yet, in good faith, some say that thee behold Sublimului a fost atins la tine:
Thy face hath not the power to make love groan: Se spune c n-ai fi defel frumoas!
To say they err I dare not be so bold, Pe legea mea, tu poi trezi suspine
Although I swear it to myself alone. i-n bolovani... Dar tac i nici nu-mi pas
And, to be sure that is not false I swear, Te vd o dat, i oftez de-o mie,
A thousand groans, but thinking on thy face, i fric mi-e c gndul m trdeaz.
One on anothers neck, do witness bear Nu-s toate astea oare mrturie
Thy black is fairest in my judgments place. C te ador, ntunecat-mi raz?
In nothing art thou black save in thy deeds, Curat-n frumusee, neagr-n fapt,
And thence this slander, as I think, proceeds. De-aici se trage mincinoasa oapt.
William Shakespeare
183
CXXXII Sonet 132
Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me, Adnc mi-e chinul, doamn, dar ntng:
Knowing thy heart torments me with disdain, Cnd ochii-i dragi, vzndu-m, i pun
Have put on black and loving mourners be, Vemnt cernit, galnic, i m plng,
Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain. mi pare c m cheam din surghiun...
And truly not the morning sun of heaven Pe legea mea, nu-i soare mai aprins
Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east, Pe-obrazul cenuiu al dimineii,
Nor that full star that ushers in the even i nici o stea, cnd soarele s-a stins,
Doth half that glory to the sober west, Nu binecuvnteaz nopi, cum feii
As those two mourning eyes become thy face: Acesteia-i e potrivit bocitul!
O, let it then as well beseem thy heart Pi, las-atunci i inima-i, n jale
To mourn for me, since mourning doth thee grace, A-i nsoi, i plnge-i osnditul
And suit thy pity like in every part. Cu toate prile fpturii tale,
Then will I swear beauty herself is black S pot jura c negru-i doar frumos,
And all they foul that thy complexion lack. Iar restul tot, mizer i mincinos...
William Shakespeare
184
CXXXIII Sonet 133
Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan M ai ntreg, ispit fr leac,
For that deep wound it gives my friend and me! De ce mai vrei un rob? Ca ndoit
Ist not enough to torture me alone, S plng? Sau de-un prieten mai srac,
But slave to slavery my sweetst friend must be? De cel mai dulce, s m vezi hulit?
Me from myself thy cruel eye hath taken, De mine nsumi astfel m-ai furat,
And my next self thou harder hast engrossd: Robindu-mi-l, c-n el slluiam.
Of him, myself, and thee, I am forsaken; De el, de mine i de tine-s dat
A torment thrice threefold thus to be crossd. Uitrii astfel, ntreit... O, n-am
Prison my heart in thy steel bosoms ward, De-ales dect o temni, a ta,
But then my friends heart let my poor heart bail; Nu pot fugi, deci pune-m strjer
Whoeer keeps me, let my heart be his guard; La inima-i, sau ia-m gaj cumva,
Thou canst not then use rigor in my gaol: i las-mi-l, atta i mai cer;
And yet thou wilt; for I, being pent in thee, Dei, m tem, s-l doar i e scris,
Perforce am thine, and all that is in me. Luntrul tu, cu el n mine-nchis.
William Shakespeare
185
Alfred Fowler Patten: Miranda and Prospero Meeting Ferdinand

William Shakespeare
186
CXXXIV Sonet 134
So, now I have confessd that he is thine, De-acum e-al tu, de ce s-o mai ascund,
And I myself am mortgaged to thy will, Mai mult de-att, m ii zlog, vezi bine.
Myself Ill forfeit, so that other mine M leg s-i beau otrava pn la fund,
Thou wilt restore, to be my comfort still: Dar las-mi-l... mcar s m aline.
But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free, Oare-ai s-o faci? l tiu mrinimos,
For thou art covetous and he is kind; Iar tu, de pofte plin, hrprea;
He learnd but surety-like to write for me n numele-mi el jur doar, frumos,
Under that bond that him as fast doth bind. Pecetluind robia mea de-o via,
The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take, Iar tu, cmtreas nentrecut,
Thou usurer, that putst forth all to use, Ce nmuleti att de dulce-un ban,
And sue a friend came debtor for my sake; Dobnd-i ceri la un srut, o sut,
So him I lose through my unkind abuse. i am s-l pierd. M-ntreb de l mai am...
Him have I lost; thou hast both him and me: n plasa ta, destinul ni-i mrunt,
He pays the whole, and yet am I not free. Ne ai... el d, iar eu tot rob i sunt.
William Shakespeare
187
CXXXV Sonet 135
Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy Will, Un dor, mai toate au; pe Will, doar tu,
And Will to boot, and Will in overplus; Mistuitor, cu Will pe-ndestulate.
More than enough am I that vex thee still, Mai mult dect un Will i-a fi, de nu
To thy sweet will making addition thus. Mi l-ai goni; te-ar ndulci n toate...
Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious, Te-nduri, ncptoare, s-l mai lai
Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine? Mcar o dat, adpostind n tine?
Shall will in others seem right gracious, De ce le-ar fi oceanul tu sla
And in my will no fair acceptance shine? Doar altora, i mie nu? Vezi bine,
The sea all water, yet receives rain still Nici marea picturii nu-i duman,
And in abundance addeth to his store; Ci, lacom, n mreaja ei o-nghite;
So thou, being rich in Will, add to thy Will La fel mi-ar curge vrerea, ct mai am
One will of mine, to make thy large Will more. Will deajuns, n largu-i, pasmite.
Let no unkind, no fair beseechers kill; Nu-i alunga pe toi ce Will i spun.
Think all but one, and me in that one Will. ngduie-i: n mine i adun....
William Shakespeare
188
CXXXVI Sonet 136
If thy soul check thee that I come so near, Burzuluit i-e gndul ca de frig,
Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy Will, Cnd te ating, dar zi-i: E Will!s tac.
And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there; Spre lauda iubirii s-l nfig,
Thus far for love my love-suit, sweet, fulfil. Deschide-i, doamn, mult prea dulcea teac,
Will will fulfil the treasure of thy love, S-o umple Will cu ali frtai la fel,
Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one. i-alturi lor, s-i domoleasc jarul;
In things of great receipt with ease we prove (tiut e c nu supr acel
Among a number one is reckond none: Ce-adaug, chiar dac-i plin hambarul,
Then in the number let me pass untold, C doar nu simi un bob stingher n sac).
Though in thy stores account I one must be; M las deci, cu-acei deopotriv
For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold S te-ndulcesc. Da, sunt nimic: nu fac
That nothing me, a something sweet to thee: Dect s cresc n mna-i milostiv...
Make but my name thy love, and love that still, F numele acesta, Will, icoan,
And then thou lovest me, for my name is Will. i-n veci m vei iubi, c Will m cheam.
William Shakespeare
189
English School, 18th C: Prospero, Miranda and Ariel

William Shakespeare
190
CXXXVII Sonet 137
Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes, E vai i-amar de ochii fericii,
That they behold, and see not what they see? Cnd dragostea i-a nvat minciuna!
They know what beauty is, see where it lies, Srmanii mei, frumosul nu-l mai tii?
Yet what the best is take the worst to be. Cred, v-ai smintit... Vi-i bine, ru, totuna?
If eyes, corrupt by over-partial looks V-a ispitit un port ndeprtat,
Be anchord in the bay where all men ride, Dar n-ai vzut c-n el mai toi coboar?
Why of eyes falsehood hast thou forged hooks, De ce, inm, ochilor te-ai dat?
Whereto the judgment of my heart is tied? Acum te au, pe via te legar...
Why should my heart think that a several plot De ce te-ai amgit c-acest pmnt
Which my heart knows the wide worlds common place? E doar l tau, cnd geme de epave?
Or mine eyes seeing this, say this is not, Nu tii c-n mila lor ei pun vemnt
To put fair truth upon so foul a face? Adevrat minciunilor suave?
In things right true my heart and eyes have erred, Pe ce-am mai sfnt, v-ai nelat cu toii,
And to this false plague are they now transferrd. Iubind pe necuratul, ca netoii.
William Shakespeare
191
CXXXVIII Sonet 138
When my love swears that she is made of truth Ea jur c-i o sfnt! Cine-o crede?
I do believe her, though I know she lies, S-i spun c jur strmb? O, n-are rost.
That she might think me some untutord youth, Sau poate-am chip de tnr... cum se vede,
Unlearned in the worlds false subtleties. ncreztor muierii, crud i prost.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young, O fi, n-o fi, mai am de-un ban speran,
Although she knows my days are past the best, Chiar dac tie c-s un pic rscopt,
Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue: ncerc s tac O, adevru-i zdrean!
On both sides thus is simple truth suppressd. M minte, o ajut aa cum pot...
But wherefore says she not she is unjust? De ce nu-mi zice doamna c-i o poam,
And wherefore say not I that I am old? Iar eu, c-i sunt cu-naintaii leat?
O, loves best habit is in seeming trust, Iubirea din credin i ia hran;
And age in love loves not to have years told: Batrnii-i fug de ani, ca de-un pcat.
Therefore I lie with her and she with me, i uite-aa, cu dulcile braoave,
And in our faults by lies we flatterd be. Ni-s nopile mai lungi i mai suave!
William Shakespeare
192
CXXXIX Sonet 139
O, call not me to justify the wrong S mi te iert? Ct poate s ndure

That thy unkindness lays upon my heart; O inim rnit-att de crud?
Wound me not with thine eye but with thy tongue; De vrei s tai, cuvntul f-l secure,
Use power with power and slay me not by art. Dar nu m mai privi! O, pot s-aud
Tell me thou lovest elsewhere, but in my sight, C nu i-s drag, c altul i-e icoana,
Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside: Dar te implor, cnd lng tine stau,
What needst thou wound with cunning when thy might Nu-l mai sorbi din ochi! Adnc-i rana,
Is more than my oer-pressd defense can bide? i inimile-nvinse ziduri n-au...
Let me excuse thee: ah! my love well knows De-ar fi s iert, a zice-aa: Ea tie
Her pretty looks have been mine enemies; C ochii-i poart sulie de foc...
And therefore from my face she turns my foes, Ferindu-m de ei, cu gingie,
That they elsewhere might dart their injuries: Pe alii ea-i blagoslovete-n loc!
Yet do not so; but since I am near slain, (Oricum, s-aproape mort. Mai bine nu).
Kill me outright with looks and rid my pain. Privete-m, s mor ferice. Tu...
William Shakespeare
193
Reginald Arthur: The Death of Cleopatra

William Shakespeare
194
CXL Sonet 140
Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press S nu-mi dispreuieti, trufa doamn,
My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain; Rbdarea i tcerea; bine-ar fi
Lest sorrow lend me words, and words express S te fereti de ele, cci ndeamn
The manner of my pity-wanting pain. Durerile adnci a povesti...
If I might teach thee wit, better it were, Fii neleapt, doamn, nu fi crud,
Though not to love, yet, love, to tell me so; Fgduiete-mi trupul, chiar de mini;
As testy sick men, when their deaths be near, Un muribund cerete, vrea s-aud
No news but health from their physicians know; C va tri: minciunile-s cumini.
For, if I should despair, I should grow mad, De disperare-a da n limbuie,
And in my madness might speak ill of thee: i-a rspndi o vorb rea n trg,
Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad, Iar lumea-att ateapt: cum se tie,
Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be, Nebunii-nghit smintelile cu srg.
That I may not be so, nor thou belied, n inima-i flmnd, tiu, nu-ncapi:
Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide. Strunete-i ochii dac vrei s scapi...
William Shakespeare
195
CXLI Sonet 141
In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes, Pe legea mea, cusururi ai o sut,
For they in thee a thousand errors note; Iar ochii mei te-alung, dar de paz
But tis my heart that loves what they despise, St inima vasal, ce-i srut
Who in despite of view is pleased to dote; Picioarele, i i se prosterneaz!
Nor are mine ears with thy tongues tune delighted, Urechea mea nu-i nelege glasul,
Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone, i pielea ta nu-mi pare de mtas,
Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited Iar gust, miros, s-ar cam feri de ceasul
To any sensual feast with thee alone: Festinului cu trupul tu pe mas...
But my five wits nor my five senses can Degeaba! Simuri cinci, i gnduri toate
Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee, Nu sunt n stare inima s-opreasc:
Who leaves unswayd the likeness of a man, Ea-mi prsi a trupului cetate,
Thy proud hearts slave and vassal wretch to be: n glorie pe-a ta s-o ntregeasc...
Only my plague thus far I count my gain, Sunt singur, doar cu boala ce te cere,
That she that makes me sin awards me pain. Pctuind. Iar tu-mi ntorci durere.
William Shakespeare
196
CXLII Sonet 142
Love is my sin and thy dear virtue hate, Greesc iubindu-te, i te-neleg:
Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving: Pzind virtutea, mi urti pcatul
O, but with mine compare thou thine own state, De-a ndrzni s vreau... Iubind, te leg
And thou shalt find it merits not reproving; De jindul trupului; dar vinovatul
Or, if it do, not from those lips of thine, Sunt numai eu? Te-ntreab! Dac da,
That have profaned their scarlet ornaments Guria ta s tac, biata, las-o:
And seald false bonds of love as oft as mine, Pcate roz pecetluieti cu ea
Robbd others beds revenues of their rents. La fel ca mine, multe, mincinoaso.
Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lovest those De m-ai lsa s te desft mcar
Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee: Cum tu pe alii cnd te vrei rvnit,
Root pity in thy heart, that when it grows Ti-ar ncoli n inim un dar:
Thy pity may deserve to pitied be. Al milei. i vei fi comptimit
If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide, La rndul tu, primind ndeajuns
By self-example mayst thou be denied! Plceri pe care-acum le ai pe-ascuns.
William Shakespeare
197
Frederic Leighton: Desdemona

William Shakespeare
198
CXLIII Sonet 143
Lo! as a careful housewife runs to catch nchipuiete-i, doamna mea, gina

One of her featherd creatures broke away, Zburtcind afar din ptul,
Sets down her babe and makes an swift dispatch i dup ea, fugind, pe gospodina
In pursuit of the thing she would have stay, ngrijorat, i trudind destul
Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase, S prind ortania, iar plodul
Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent Pe care mama-n grab l-a uitat,
To follow that which flies before her face, Strignd-o n deert, urmnd-o-n glodul
Not prizing her poor infants discontent; Ogrzii, podidit de plns... Ciudat,
So runnst thou after that which flies from thee, Aa i tu, urmnd n tot inutul,
Whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind; Cu srg, un zburtor, m lai pustiu,
But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me, Copil uitat, ce-ateapt, blnd, srutul
And play the mothers part, kiss me, be kind: ntoarcerii, cnd ai s-l prinzi de viu.
So will I pray that thou mayst have thy Will, Usuc-mi lacrimile-atunci, i zu,
If thou turn back, and my loud crying still. M voi ruga s-l ai pe Will al tu...
William Shakespeare
199
CXLIV Sonet 144
Two loves I have of comfort and despair, Ca duhurile-n toate pzitoare,

Which like two spirits do suggest me still: M nsoesc iubiii: zi i noapte.
The better angel is a man right fair, Un nger auriu, brbat n floare,
The worser spirit a woman colourd ill. Un drac, muiere de culori rscoapte.
To win me soon to hell, my female evil Covor spre iad urzind s mi ntind
Tempteth my better angel from my side, tiind c nevinovia-i oarb
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil, n mreje-ntunecate-ar vrea s-l prind
Wooing his purity with her foul pride. Muierea pe cel drag, i s mi-l soarb.
And whether that my angel be turnd fiend Pot bnui, dar nicidecum ti dac
Suspect I may, but not directly tell; De nger mi se-atinse cea urt;
But being both from me, both to each friend, Fiind departe, oare nu-i dezbrac
I guess one angel in anothers hell: Dulceaa, i i-o ine zvort?
Yet this shall I neer know, but live in doubt, Doar cnd crpa-va temnia-i de smoal
Till my bad angel fire my good one out. De prea mult sa, scpa-voi de-ndoial...
William Shakespeare
200
CXLV Sonet 145
Those lips that Loves own hand did make Chiar dac buzele-i ciopli
Breathed forth the sound that said I hate Iubirea nsi, tu arunci
To me that languishd for her sake; Ursc!, dei prea bine tii,
But when she saw my woeful state, i-s rob n toate... Dar atunci
Straight in her heart did mercy come, Se-nduioeaz Ea, certnd
Chiding that tongue that ever sweet n grab, gura ce tia
Was used in giving gentle doom, Doar graiul ngerilor, sfnt,
And taught it thus anew to greet; i dulce sfat i d, aa:
I hate she alterd with an end, Sfrete blnd ce-ai nceput
That followd it as gentle day Cum albe, zorile de sus
Doth follow night, who like a fiend Urmeaz ngerul czut
From heaven to hell is flown away; Al nopilor... Atunci ai spus
I hate from hate away she threw, Cuvnt ce via mi ddu:
And saved my life, saying not you. Ursc, dar nu pe tine, nu...
William Shakespeare
201
Eduard von Grtzner: Falstaff mit Handschuhen

William Shakespeare
202
CXLVI Sonet 146
Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth, Srmane suflet, pctos pmntul
These rebel powers that thee array; Ce-l duci pe umeri, nzuinei rob:
Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth, Ruine oarbe-i plng pe dinuntru,
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? Tu poleieti ferestrele, neghiob.
Why so large cost, having so short a lease, Risip faci cu-a trupului chirie,
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? Cci anii pmnteti i sunt puini.
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess, Trind, i-mpovrezi c-o datorie
Eat up thy charge? Is this thy bodys end? Motenitorii, viermii de sub crini.
Then soul, live thou upon thy servants loss, nfometeaz-i trupul veted. Huma,
And let that pine to aggravate thy store; Averea lui, e-a ta. N-ai srcit.
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross; Un loc n rai i-ai arvunit de-acuma,
Within be fed, without be rich no more: Cu timpul pe nimicuri cheltuit.
So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men, S-i fie trupul cina de pe urm,
And Death once dead, theres no more dying then. Din Moarte muc i ospu-i curm...
William Shakespeare
203
CXLVII Sonet 147
My love is as a fever, longing still Flmnd e iubirea mea, dogoare

For that which longer nurseth the disease, Ce-i arde lacom inima de iasc,
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, i-nghite doar otrvurile-n stare
The uncertain sickly appetite to please. Dorina tulbure s-mi mplineasc
My reason, the physician to my love, Aveam un vraci n dreapta judecat,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept, Dar a fugit de mine ca de rie,
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve Vznd c n-o ascult... O, desfrnat,
Desire is death, which physic did except. Ucigtoare poft fr frie!
Past cure I am, now Reason is past care, S fie ru-ntreg, lu i leacul,
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest; Iar gura mea, cu vorbe de ocar
My thoughts and my discourse as madmens are, i fr de-neles arunc; dracul
At random from the truth vainly expressd; A pus zlog pe mintea mea i zbiar.
For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright, C bezna ta strluce-a fi jurat;
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night. C iadu-i rai, la fel. M-am nelat.
William Shakespeare
204
CXLVIII Sonet 148
O me, what eyes hath Love put in my head, i dac ochi mi-a pus Iubirea-n frunte,
Which have no correspondence with true sight; S mint cu osrdie? Sau poate
Or, if they have, where is my judgment fled, Ce-aduce elmcar ct un grunte
That censures falsely what they see aright? E-adevrat, iar mintea strmb toate?
If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote, De ce-mi tot zice lumea c e slut
What means the world to say it is not so? Femeia ce privirile-mi rsfa?
If it be not, then love doth well denote Sau ngerii cu farmec o-mprumut,
Loves eye is not so true as all mens No. S-i mint robul cu o alt fa?
How can it? O, how can Loves eye be true, De-atta plns i veghe, nu-i mirare
That is so vexd with watching and with tears? C ochii mei, srmanii, se neal;
No marvel then, though I mistake my view; Chiar soarele e orb sub norii care
The sun itself sees not till heaven clears. Tot din iubire plng... Cu o scorneal
O cunning Love! with tears thou keepst me blind, M ii jelind: ca tulbure, privirea
Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find. S nu-i mai tie, pctoaso, firea...
William Shakespeare
205
Eduard von Grtzner: Falstaff

William Shakespeare
206
CXLIX Sonet 149
Canst thou, O cruel! say I love thee not, C nu te-ador, c nu gndesc la tine,
When I against myself with thee partake? Nenduplecato, nu-ndrzni s-mi spui...
Do I not think on thee, when I forgot De partea ta cu mine lupt, tii bine,
Am of myself, all tyrant, for thy sake? i cnd sunt viu, tu gnd mi eti, dinti.
Who hateth thee that I do call my friend? M crezi prieten cu dumanii-i, oare?
On whom frownst thou that I do fawn upon? La cin te-ncruni ocheade vezi c-arunc?
Nay, if thou lourst on me, do I not spend E de ajuns din ochii-i o mustrare:
Revenge upon myself with present moan? M pedepsesc cu un suspin adnc.
What merit do I in myself respect, Sunt rob i umilina mi-e supliciul,
That is so proud thy service to despise, Mndria mea nu face nici un sfan;
When all my best doth worship thy defect, Ce-i bun n mine i iubete viciul,
Commanded by the motion of thine eyes? Clipind o dat, m ntorci n lan...
But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind; i-s dragi acei cu ochi blagoslovii?
Those that can see thou lovest, and I am blind. M poi ur... Iubind, i in lipii.
William Shakespeare
207
CL Sonet 150
O, from what power hast thou this powerful might Ce iaduri te adap, ce miasme
With insufficiency my heart to sway? i dau puterea de a-mi porunci?
To make me give the lie to my true sight, i-n ochii mei ce otrvite basme
And swear that brightness doth not grace the day? Solomonii, de noaptea le e zi?
Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill, De unde-i afli, doamn, meteugul
That in the very refuse of thy deeds De a-i preface drojdiile-n vin?
There is such strength and warrantise of skill Cum faci un rob s-i ndrgeasc jugul,
That, in my mind, thy worst all best exceeds? S-i par spurcciunea har divin?
Who taught thee how to make me love thee more Cin te-nv cum s m pierzi cu firea,
The more I hear and see just cause of hate? Cnd doar temei de ur i gsesc?
O, though I love what others do abhor, O, alii i dispreuiesc privirea,
With others thou shouldst not abhor my state: Nu f la fel cu ochii mei ei cresc
If thy unworthiness raised love in me, Din ura ta o dragoste curat:
More worthy I to be beloved of thee. Cu-att mai mult sunt vrednici de rsplat.
William Shakespeare
208
CLI Sonet 151
Love is too young to know what conscience is; Amoru-i plod netiutor de carte
Yet who knows not conscience is born of love? Dar spiritul plodete din amor;
Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss, Pcatele nu-mi judeca aparte
Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove: Cnd dulce trupal tule e izvor.
For, thou betraying me, I do betray Ce-i sfnt n mine crnii grosolane
My nobler part to my gross bodys treason; Lsat-amgndu-i jind i jindu-i semn;
My soul doth tell my body that he may Cnd sufletu-i alturea de carne
Triumph in love; flesh stays no further reason; Nici carnea nu ateapt alt ndemn,
But, rising at thy name, doth point out thee Ci ridicndu-se cnd numele-i pricepe
As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride, i-arat bucuria de-a avea;
He is contented thy poor drudge to be, Lucrarea, ntrindu-se, i-ncepe
To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side. Ca triumfnd, s se topeasc-n ea:
No want of conscience hold it that I call Iubito-i spun muierii mele sus,
Her love for whose dear love I rise and fall. i jos la fel, cu dulce gnd supus.
William Shakespeare
209
William Shakespeare
210
CLII Sonet 152
In loving thee thou knowst I am forsworn, Iubindu-te, am rupt un legmnt;

But thou art twice forsworn, to me love swearing, Legndu-mi-te, doamn, rupt-ai dou:
In act thy bed-vow broke and new faith torn, Pe cel al aternutuluicel sfnt;
In vowing new hate after new love bearing. Pe-al meucenu sub vpaie nou.
But why of two oaths breach do I accuse thee, Dar gura mi-ar pctui vorbind
When I break twenty? I am perjured most; De tine cnd, eanzecit sperjur
For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee Nedemn i s-a dovedit, hulind
And all my honest faith in thee is lost: Aa de josnic dulcea ta fptur:
For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness, Cnd cleveteam c zmbetul i-e blnd,
Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy, Iar firea sincer, ginga, bun,
And, to enlighten thee, gave eyes to blindness, Statornic, ba chiar mai mult, jurnd
Or made them swear against the thing they see; Pe chipul tu... De dou ori minciun:
For I have sworn thee fair; more perjured eye, A ochilor pe care i-am orbit,
To swear against the truth so foul a lie! A mea, tiind prea bine ce-am iubit.
William Shakespeare
211
CLIII Sonet 153
Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep: Cu tora lng el, Amor dormea;
A maid of Dians this advantage found, O nimf a Dianei i-o fur,
And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep i-o stinse-ntr-un izvor, gndind c-aa
In a cold valley-fountain of that ground, l va-nclzi. i mult se bucur
Which borrowed from this holy fire of Love De el naiada-n feciorescu-i jind,
A dateless lively heat, still to endure, i aria iubirii-l drui
And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove Cu har ceresc, de boli tmduind
Against strange maladies a sovereign cure. Pe cei ce se scldau. Iar ntr-o zi
But at my mistress eye Loves brand new fired, Fclia stins i-o aprinse draga,
The boy for trial needs would touch my breast; Iubita-mi doamn, doar clipind! Pervers,
I, sick withal, the help of bath desired, Piticul zeu, unealta luibeteaga
And thither hied, a sad distempered guest, O-nfipse-n pieptul meu, adnc. A mers:
But found no cure; the bath for my help lies Acum m scald n apa mincinoas,
Where Cupid got new firemy mistress eyes. S caut leac. Dar leacu-i la ochioas.
William Shakespeare
212
CLIV Sonet 154
The little Love-god lying once asleep, O liot de nimfepzindu-i fecioria

Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand, Cu-adnc ntristarepe Amor, micul zeu
Whilst many nymphs that vowed chaste life to keep Ce moia n iarb, l vd scpnd fclia,
Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand Iar unacea mai dulcese ncrunt: I-al meu,
The fairest votary took up that fire i i lu unealtacu care Generalul
Which many legions of true hearts had warmed; Iubirilor fcuse n rndul lor prpd
And so the General of hot desire i-o stinse cu obid n ap, chiar la malul
Was, sleeping, by a virgin hand disarmed. Pe care ntfleul se hodinea... Te vd!
This brand she quenched in a cool well by, Strig-ngrozit srmanul i i porni pe urme,
Which from Loves fire took heat perpetual, Dar dus-a fost! Iar tora, c-un ultim sfrit,
Growing a bath and healthful remedy, nfierbnt prulce vindec, se spune,
For men diseased; but I, my mistress thrall, De-atunci, n om pohtirea, i leac e, de iubit.
Came there for cure and this by that I prove, Minciuni Eu, rob muierii, iubirea nu mi-o sting
Loves fire heats water, water cools not love. n apa din poveste, ba chiar mai ru m-ncing.
William Shakespeare
213

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William Shakespeare

The University of Bucharest

1. From fairest creatures we desire increase p. 9

Marc Chagall: Romeo and Juliet

Is it for fear to wet a widows eye, Tu ai ales acum singurtatea

Salvador Dali: Romeo and Juliet

Salvador Dali: Romeo and Juliet

Shall I compare thee to a summers day? C-o zi de var te-a asemui

Salvador Dali: Romeo and Juliet

So is it not with me as with that Muse, O, nu v-nchipuii c-a fi poetul

Salvador Dali: Romeo and Juliet

As an unperfect actor on the stage, Ca un actor cu meteug puin,

Salvador Dali: Romeo and Juliet

Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage C sunt de-a ta fiin-adnc legat,

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed, E noapte iar, i drumurile lungi

Salvador Dali: Romeo and Juliet

Salvador Dali: Romeo and Juliet

If thou survive my well-contented day, De vei tri nefericita vreme

Salvador Dali: Romeo and Juliet

Salvador Dali: Romeo and Juliet

As a decrepit father takes delight Moneagul se flete c-un nepot,

How can my muse want subject to invent, De plictiseal muza-mi nu se plnge

Salvador Dali: Romeo and Juliet

Dante Gabriel Rossetti: Hamlet and Ophelia

Edwin Landseer: A Midsummer Nights Dream

How careful was I when I took my way, Ca nu cumva tlharii de pe drum

How heavy do I journey on the way, E greu la drum i de prisos e graba,

Paul Falconer Poole: Ferdinand and Miranda

So am I as the rich, whose blessed key, O cheie am la scrin, vrjit, dar

Marc Chagall: William Shakespeare, The Tempest

Not marble, nor the gilded monuments Ce rost au marmura de pe morminte

John William Waterhouse

Against my love shall be as I am now, i tu vei fi ca mine ntr-o zi:

Marc Chagall: The Tempest

Marc Chagall: A Midsummer Nights Dream

Sir John Everett Millais: Ophelia

John William Waterhouse: Miranda

But be contented when that fell arrest Cndva luntraul m va recunoate,

John William Waterhouse: Miranda

Why is my verse so barren of new pride, De ce mi-e versu-mbtrnit o piatr,

William Blake: Oberon, Titania and Puck, with Fairies Dancing

O! how I faint when I of you do write, Cum a putea, cnd vd c menestrelul

Or I shall live, your epitaph to make, De-o fi ca epitaful s-i compun

Pablo Picasso: Shakespeare

Thomas Stothard: Prospero, Miranda and Ariel

William Hogarth: The Tempest

O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends O, Muz vagaboand, ce temei

CII Sonet 102

CIII Sonet 103

CIV Sonet 104

Sir John Gilbert: The Plays of William Shakespeare

CVI Sonet 106

CVII Sonet 107

CVIII Sonet 108

CIX Sonet 109

Alfred Elmore: Romeo and Juliet

CXI Sonet 111

CXII Sonet 112

John Massey Wright

CXIII Sonet 113

CXIV Sonet 114

CXV Sonet 115

Eugne Delacroix: Hamlet and Horatio in the Graveyard