The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (1132 page)

My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still,

While comments of your praise, richly compiled,

Reserve their character with golden quill

And precious phrase by all the Muses filed.

I think good thoughts whilst other write good words,

And like unletter'd clerk still cry 'Amen'

To every hymn that able spirit affords

In polish'd form of well-refined pen.

Hearing you praised, I say ''Tis so, 'tis true,'

And to the most of praise add something more;

But that is in my thought, whose love to you,

Though words come hindmost, holds his rank before.

Then others for the breath of words respect,

Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect.

My Muse politely stays quiet

While comments praising you are created in abundance,

Retaining their distinctive style in golden words

And precious phrases made smoother by all the Muses.

I think good thoughts while others write good words,

And like an uneducated clerk still cry ‘Amen!’

To every poem that stronger poets offer

In the polished form of a well-refined style.

Hearing you praised, I say ‘It is so, it is true,’

And to even the most praise, I add something more,

But it is in my thoughts, where love for you,

Comes first before the words.

Respect others who praise you in breath and words,

And me for doing so in my silent thoughts, speaking what is true.

Was it the proud full sail of his great verse,

Bound for the prize of all too precious you,

That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse,

Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew?

Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write

Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead?

No, neither he, nor his compeers by night

Giving him aid, my verse astonished.

He, nor that affable familiar ghost

Which nightly gulls him with intelligence

As victors of my silence cannot boast;

I was not sick of any fear from thence:

But when your countenance fill'd up his line,

Then lack'd I matter; that enfeebled mine.

Was it the way his poem sailed like a ship in full sail,

Headed for the prize of the all too precious you,

That buried the fully prepared thoughts in my head,

Making a grave of the womb where they grew?

Was it his energy, the way he was taught by dead poets

To write like no living man can, that struck me dead?

No, it wasn’t him, or his associates that came in the night

To give him help that struck me dumb.

Neither he or that friendly and familiar ghost

That deceives him with false information

Can boast to have have silenced me;

I was not sickened by fear of them:

But when you looked favorably on his poems,

I suddenly lacked subject-matter and my poems became weak.

Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing,

And like enough thou know'st thy estimate:

The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;

My bonds in thee are all determinate.

For how do I hold thee but by thy granting?

And for that riches where is my deserving?

The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,

And so my patent back again is swerving.

Thyself thou gavest, thy own worth then not knowing,

Or me, to whom thou gavest it, else mistaking;

So thy great gift, upon misprision growing,

Comes home again, on better judgment making.

Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter,

In sleep a king, but waking no such matter.

Goodbye! You are too valuable for me to have,

And likely enough, you are aware of your worth.

The privilege of your worth gives you the right to let me go;

My ties to you have been terminated.

How could I hold onto unless you granted it?

And how could I even possibly deserve to do so?

I have nothing in me that shows I am entitled to this gift,

And you must have given me the right to it in error.

Perhaps when you gave it to me, you did not know its worth,

Or else you were mistaken about me when you gave it.

So the great gift, given based on an error you are now seeing,

Goes back to you, now that your judgment is better.

And so I had you, and it was like dreaming

In my sleep I was a king, only to wake to find this is not the case.

When thou shalt be disposed to set me light,

And place my merit in the eye of scorn,

Upon thy side against myself I'll fight,

And prove thee virtuous, though thou art forsworn.

With mine own weakness being best acquainted,

Upon thy part I can set down a story

Of faults conceal'd, wherein I am attainted,

That thou in losing me shalt win much glory:

And I by this will be a gainer too;

For bending all my loving thoughts on thee,

The injuries that to myself I do,

Doing thee vantage, double-vantage me.

Such is my love, to thee I so belong,

That for thy right myself will bear all wrong.

When you feel inclined to place in me little value

And make my worthlessness an object of scorn,

I will take your side against myself,

And prove your virtue, even though you will be lying.

I am well acquainted with my weaknesses,

And, supporting your story, I can tell a story

About my hidden faults and say I am tainted,

And that you were right in leaving me:

By doing this I will find a gain,

Because by turning all of my loving thoughts toward you,

The harm that I do to myself,

Since it is to your advantage, is to my advantage, as well.

My love is so strong and I belong to you so completely

That I will carry everything that’s wrong so that you may be right.

Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault,

And I will comment upon that offence;

Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt,

Against thy reasons making no defence.

Thou canst not, love, disgrace me half so ill,

To set a form upon desired change,

As I'll myself disgrace: knowing thy will,

I will acquaintance strangle and look strange,

Be absent from thy walks, and in my tongue

Thy sweet beloved name no more shall dwell,

Lest I, too much profane, should do it wrong

And haply of our old acquaintance tell.

For thee against myself I'll vow debate,

For I must ne'er love him whom thou dost hate.

Say that you left me for some fault of mine,

And I will elaborate on whatever you say I did wrong.

If you say I am lame, I will begin to limp immediately,

And will not defend myself against your reasons.

You cannot, love, disgrace me half as badly,

As you find the reasons for having left me,

As I will disgrace myself, as soon as I know what you need.

I will stop my acquaintance with you and act like a stranger,

I won’t be in the places where you walk, and on my tongue

Your sweet, beloved name will no longer live,

Because I may say it in the wrong tone

And reveal how close we once were.

I vow to argue against myself for your sake,

Because I cannot love myself if that is whom you hate.