My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;

  Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;

  If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;

  If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head;

  I have seen roses damasked, red and white,

  But no such roses see I in her cheeks;

  And in some pérfumes is there more delight

  Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.

  I love to hear her speak, yet well I know

  That music hath a far more pleasing sound.

  I grant I never saw a goddess go;

  My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground.

  And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare

  As any she belied with false compare.

  130

  MODERN TEXT

  My mistress’s eyes are nothing like the sun. Coral is much redder than the red of her lips. Compared to the whiteness of snow, her breasts are grayish-brown. Poets describe their mistresses’ hair as gold wires, but my mistress has black wires growing on her head. I have seen roses that were a mixture of red and white, but I don’t see those colors in her cheeks. And some perfumes smell more delightful than my mistress’s reeking breath. I love to hear her speak; yet I know perfectly well that music has a far more pleasant sound. I admit I never saw a goddess walk; when my mistress walks, she treads on the ground. And yet, by heaven, I think my beloved is as special as any woman whom poets have lied about with false comparisons.

  131

  ORIGINAL TEXT

  Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art,

  As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel;

  For well thou know’st, to my dear doting heart

  Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel.

  Yet in good faith some say, that thee behold,

  Thy face hath not the pow’r to make love groan.

  To say they err I dare not be so bold,

  Although I swear it to myself alone;

  And to be sure that is not false, I swear

  A thousand groans but thinking on thy face;

  One on another’s neck do witness bear

  Thy black is fairest in my judgment’s place.

  In nothing art thou black save in thy deeds,

  And thence this slander, as I think, proceeds.

  131

  MODERN TEXT

  Even looking like you do, you’re as much of a tyrant as those women whose beauty makes them proud and cruel. For you know quite well that to me, who dotes on you, you’re the most beautiful and precious jewel. Yet some people say, in all honesty after looking at you, that your face simply does not have what it takes to make someone groan with love. I wouldn’t dare be so bold as to tell them they’re wrong, though to myself I swear they are. And to prove to myself that I’m right, I groan a thousand times just thinking about your face. These groans, coming one after the other, testify to the fact that your dark complexion is the most beautiful one to my eyes. There’s nothing black about you except your actions, and I think that’s the reason people spread this lie about your looks.

  132

  ORIGINAL TEXT

  Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me,

  Knowing thy heart torment me with disdain,

  Have put on black, and loving mourners be,

  Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain;

  And truly, not the morning sun of heav’n

  Better becomes the gray cheeks of the east,

  Nor that full star that ushers in the ev’n

  Doth half that glory to the sober west,

  As those two mourning eyes become thy face.

  O let it then as well beseem thy heart

  To mourn for me, since mourning doth thee grace,

  And suit thy pity like in every part.

  Then will I swear beauty herself is black,

  And all they foul that thy complexion lack.

  132

  MODERN TEXT

  I love your eyes, and they seem to pity me, knowing I’m tormented by your disdain. In black, they look like mourners at a funeral, gazing at my pain with pretty compassion. And to tell the truth, the morning sun doesn’t look as good in the gray eastern sky, nor does the evening star look half as good in the western twilight, as those two mourning eyes look in your face. Oh, then I hope it would be just as beautiful for your heart to pity me, too, since mourning suits you so well, and for you to pity me with every other part of you to match. If you take pity on me, I’ll swear beauty itself is black, and everyone who doesn’t have your dark complexion is ugly.

  133

  ORIGINAL TEXT

  Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan

  For that deep wound it gives my friend and me;

  Is’t not enough to torture me alone,

  But slave to slavery my sweet’st friend must be?

  Me from myself thy cruel eye hath taken,

  And my next self thou harder hast engrossed;

  Of him, myself, and thee I am forsaken,

  A torment thrice threefold thus to be crossed.

  Prison my heart in thy steel bosom’s ward,

  But then my friend’s heart let my poor heart bail.

  Whoe’er keeps me, let my heart be his guard;

  Thou canst not then use rigor in my jail.

  And yet thou wilt, for I being pent in thee,

  Perforce am thine, and all that is in me.

  133

  MODERN TEXT

  Curse you for making me suffer by hurting both my friend and me. Isn’t it enough to torture me alone without making my friend your slave too? Because of your cruel attractions I’m no longer my own man, but my friend, who’s like my second self, you’ve enslaved even more cruelly. So I’ve been abandoned by him, by myself, and by you; being frustrated like this is a triple torment multiplied by three. Go ahead and keep me as your prisoner, but then let me use myself to bail out my friend. Whoever you assign to watch me while I’m in this jail, let me be in charge of guarding my friend—then you can’t torment me in my prison because I’ll have my friend to keep me happy. And yet you will torment me, because I belong to you, so everything that’s in me is yours, and since my friend is in my heart, he’s yours too.

  134

  ORIGINAL TEXT

  So now I have confessed that he is thine,

  And I myself am mortgaged to thy will,

  Myself I’ll forfeit, so that other mine

  Thou wilt restore to be my comfort still.

  But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free,

  For thou art covetous, and he is kind.

  He learned but surety-like to write for me,

  Under that bond that him as fast doth bind.

  The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take,

  Thou usurer, that put’st forth all to use,

  And sue a friend came debtor for my sake;

  So him I lose through my unkind abuse.

  Him have I lost; thou hast both him and me;

  He pays the whole, and yet am I not free.

  134

  MODERN TEXT

  (Continuing from Sonnet 133) So now I’ve admitted that he’s yours, and I’m legally bound to satisfy your desires too. I’ll give myself up to you if you’ll let go of my friend, so he can come back and comfort me. But you won’t let him go, and he doesn’t want to be free, because you’re greedy and he’s kind. He only became your slave because he was trying to bail me out, like someone co-signing a loan, but now he’s just as much under your power as I am. You’re going to insist on taking what your beauty entitles you to, you loan shark—you loan your body to everybody, and then you go after my friend, who only took you up on it for my sake. So I lose my friend because I allowed him to get tangled up with you. I’ve lost him; you have both him and me; he’s giving you all the sex you’re owed, but I’m still not free.

  135

  ORIGINAL TEXT

  Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy Will,

  And Will to boot, and Will in overplus;

  More than enough am I, that vex thee still,

  To thy sweet will making addition thus.

  Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious,

  Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine?

  Shall will in others seem right gracious,

  And in my will no fair acceptance shine?

  The sea, all water, yet receives rain still,

  And in abundance addeth to his store;

  So thou, being rich in Will, add to thy Will

  One will of mine, to make thy large Will more.

  Let no unkind, no fair beseechers kill;

  Think all but one, and me in that one Will.

  135

  MODERN TEXT

  Other women may have their little desires, but you have your Will, and another Will as well, and more Will than you need. I, who am constantly pestering you for sex, am more than enough to satisfy you, adding another willing penis to the Will you already have. Since your sexual desires (and vagina) are both so enormous, won’t you agree just once to let me put my desire inside yours? Are you going to be attracted to everyone else’s will (penis), but reject mine? The sea is entirely made of water, but it still accepts additional water whenever it rains. So you, who already have a William, should in addition to your lover William accept my will (penis), making your sexual appetite (or vagina), which is already huge, even huger. Don’t kill an eager seducer by being unkind to him. Treat all your lovers as a single lover, and accept me (and my part) as part of that lover.

  The speaker is named Will, but the woman he’s addressing has another lover who is also named Will. In this sonnet, the word will is used thirteen times, meaning “William,” “sexual desire,” “penis,” or “vagina,” depending on the context (and it usually means more than one of these things at once).

  136

  ORIGINAL TEXT

  If thy soul check thee that I come so near,

  Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy Will,

  And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there;

  Thus far for love my love-suit sweet fulfill.

  Will will fulfill the treasure of thy love,

  Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one.

  In things of great receipt with ease we prove

  Among a number one is reckoned none.

  Then in the number let me pass untold,

  Though in thy store’s account I one must be.

  For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold

  That nothing me, a something sweet to thee.

  Make but my name thy love, and love that still;

  And then thou lov’st me, for my name is Will.

  136

  MODERN TEXT

  (Continuing from Sonnet 135) If it’s bothering your blind conscience that I keep pressing you for sex, just tell it that I’m Will, your lover—your conscience knows that Will is allowed in your bed. Out of charity, give in to my request at least that much. Will will fill your sweet love-treasure until it’s full. Yes, he’ll fill it full of penises, and mine will be one of them. With things that can hold a lot (like your vagina), it’s clear that one of anything is never enough. So among your vast number of lovers, let me be included without counting me. Consider me to be nothing, as long as you consider the nothing that I am to be sweet to you. Just love my name and love it always, and then you’ll love me, because my name is Will.

  As in 135, Will the speaker addresses a woman who has another lover named Will and puns on the word will in the sense of “William,” “penis,” and “sexual desire.”

  137

  ORIGINAL TEXT

  Thou blind fool love, what dost thou to mine eyes,

  That they behold, and see not what they see?

  They know what beauty is, see where it lies,

  Yet what the best is take the worst to be.

  If eyes corrupt by over-partial looks

  Be anchored in the bay where all men ride,

  Why of eyes’ falsehood hast thou forgèd hooks,

  Whereto the judgment of my heart is tied?

  Why should my heart think that a several plot

  Which my heart knows the wide world’s common place?

  Or mine eyes, seeing this, say this is not,

  To put fair truth upon so foul a face?

  In things right true my heart and eyes have erred,

  And to this false plague are they now transferred.

  137

  MODERN TEXT

  Love, you blind fool, what are you doing to my eyes that’s keeping them from accurately seeing what I look at? My eyes know what beauty is, and they see who has it, yet they decide that the worst woman is the best. Love, if my vision has been distorted because I look at her with too much bias, spending all my time staring at this woman who sleeps with every man, why have you used my misperceptions as a trap to fool my heart, so that I love the wrong person? Why should my heart think that she could belong to one man when my heart knows she’s available to the whole world? Or why should my eyes witness her promiscuity but act like it’s not true, putting a good face on an ugly truth? My heart and my eyes have been completely mistaken about the truth, and now they both love this unfaithful disease of a woman.

  The speaker personifies the emotion love.

  138

  ORIGINAL TEXT

  When my love swears that she is made of truth

  I do believe her, though I know she lies,

  That she might think me some untutored youth

  Unlearnèd in the world’s false subtleties.

  Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,

  Although she knows my days are past the best,

  Simply I credit her false speaking tongue;

  On both sides thus is simple truth suppressed.

  But wherefore says she not she is unjust?

  And wherefore say not I that I am old?

  O love’s best habit is in seeming trust,

  And age in love loves not t’ have years told.

  Therefore I lie with her, and she with me,

  And in our faults by lies we flattered be.

  138

  MODERN TEXT

  When my mistress swears that she’s completely truthful, I believe her even though I know she lies, so that she’ll think that I’m some naïve young man who’s ignorant about the world and the tricks people play. I pretend to stupidly believe her lies while fooling myself into thinking that she thinks I’m young, even though she knows I’m past my prime. In this way, both of us suppress the simple truth. But why doesn’t she say she’s a liar? And why don’t I say that I’m old? Oh, because it’s easiest to love someone who seems to be trustworthy, and old people who are in love hate to hear their age discussed. Therefore, I sleep with her, and she sleeps with me, and we both flatter ourselves by lying about each other’s faults.

  139

  ORIGINAL TEXT

  O call not me to justify the wrong

  That thy unkindness lays upon my heart.

  Wound me not with thine eye, but with thy tongue;

  Use pow’r with pow’r, and slay me not by art.

  Tell me thou lov’st elsewhére; but in my sight,

  Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside.

  What need’st thou wound with cunning when thy might

  Is more than my o’er-pressed defense can bide?

  Let me excuse thee: Ah, my love well knows

  Her pretty looks have been mine enemies,

  And therefore from my face she turns my foes,

  That they elsewhére might dart their injuries.

  Yet do not so, but since I am near slain,

  Kill me outríght with looks, and rid my pain.

  139

  MODERN TEXT

  Oh, don’t ask me to justify the cruel infidelities with which you have hurt me. Don’t hurt me by stealing glances at other men; hurt me by telling me about them to my face. Use your power openly, don’t kill me with subtle tricks. Tell me you love other people, but when you’re in my sight, dear heart, don’t glance at other men. Why would you need to hurt me with cunning, when your power over me is already too much for me to defend against? But I’ll make an excuse for you: Ah, my love knows perfectly well that her looks can kill me, so she looks away from me to kill my enemies instead. But don’t do that. Since I’m almost dead already, kill me outright with your looks, and put me out of my misery.

  140

  ORIGINAL TEXT

  Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press

  My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain,

  Lest sorrow lend me words, and words express

  The manner of my pity-wanting pain.

  If I might teach thee wit, better it were,

  Though not to love, yet love, to tell me so,

  As testy sick men, when their deaths be near,

  No news but health from their physicians know.

  For if I should despair, I should grow mad,

  And in my madness might speak ill of thee.

  Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad,

  Mad sland’rers by mad ears believèd be.

  That I may not be so, nor thou belied,

  Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide.

  140

  MODERN TEXT

  Be as wise as you are cruel: Don’t torture me too much with your disdain, in case sorrow forces me to speak, and I express how pitiless you are in hurting me. If you’ll let me teach you some skill—it would be better if you told me you loved me even if you don’t, as when short-tempered patients close to death get only good news from their doctors. Because if I start to despair, I’ll go mad, and in my madness I might speak ill of you. This world has gotten so bad with its lies and rumors that crazy people believe the lies that crazy people tell. To prevent my going crazy and your being lied about, keep your eyes where they should be, even when your heart’s wandering where it wants.