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- ~~ The Mysteries of the Sonnets ~~
- While the sonnets of Shakespeare are read because of their
- power and beauty, there is also great interest in them for
- the mysteries they hold. Buried in time (and maybe in the
- sonnets) are the answers to these questions.
- 1. Who is the mysterious Mr. W. H. to whom the poems were
- dedicated?
- 2. Who is the male figure to whom many of the poems are
- addressed?
- 3. Who is the other poet mentioned in the sonnets?
- 4. Who is the 'dark lady,' the poet's mistress for whom
- love and hate is expressed?
- ~~ The Search for Shakespeare ~~
- Looking for information about William Shakespeare is a bit
- like sticking your arm through a small hole in a barrel.
- You stretch and feel in hope that you will grab on to some-
- thing valuable. Very little is actually known about the
- man who is believed to have written the sonnets and the
- great body of drama. Many scholars have tried desperately
- to link the sonnets and the life of the Bard of Avon. I
- would like to recommend one interesting work dedicated to
- Shakespeare's cycle:
- 'An Introduction to the Sonnets of William Shakespeare'
- (For The Use of Historians and Others)
- By John Dover Wilson
- (Cambridge University Press, New York: 1964)
- (Continued)
- (continued)
- You can use this program to investigate some of the in-
- teresting discoveries made about the sonnets. Using the
- script option and search option, one can easily find the
- connections that have often been alluded to in Wilson's
- and others' works. Here are some suggested patterns:
- Sonnets | Comments
- -----------------------------------------------------------
- 1 - 126 | The sonnets to a young man
- 127 154 | Sonnets about a dark woman
- 1 - 17 | On marriage of a young man
- 33 - 42 | Liason between poet, mistress, friend
- 76,78,79,80 | These could be linked to the poet's
- 82 - 96 | life.
- 97 - 126 | Dating clues through inference
- ===========================================================
- William Shakespeare
- From fairest creatures we desire increase,
- That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
- But as the riper should by time decease,
- His tender heir might bear his memory:
- But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,
- Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel,
- Making a famine where abundance lies,
- Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
- Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament
- And only herald to the gaudy spring,
- Within thine own bud buriest thy content
- And, tender churl, mak'st waste in niggarding.
- Pity the world, or else thus glutton be,
- To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.
- WS
- When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
- And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
- Thy youth's proud livery, so gaz'd on now,
- Will be a tatter'd weed, of small worth held:
- Then being ask'd where all thy beauty lies,
- Where all the treasure of thy lusty days,
- To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes,
- Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise.
- How much more praise deserv'd thy beauty's use,
- If thou couldst answer, 'This fair child of mine
- Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,'
- Proving his beauty by succession thine!
- This were to be new made when thou art old,
- And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.
- WS
- Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest
- Now is the time that face should form another;
- Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
- Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother,
- For where is she so fair whose unear'd womb
- Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
- Or who is he so fond will be the tomb
- Of his self-love, to stop posterity?
- Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee
- Calls back the lovely April of her prime;
- So thou through windows of thine age shalt see,
- Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time.
- But if thou live, remember'd not to be,
- Die single, and thine image dies with thee.
- WS
- Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
- Upon thyself thy beauty's legacy?
- Nature's bequest gives nothing, but doth lend,
- And being frank, she lends to those are free:
- Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse
- The bounteous largess given thee to give?
- Profitless usurer, why dost thou use
- So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live?
- For having traffic with thyself alone,
- Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive:
- Then how, when Nature calls thee to be gone,
- What acceptable audit canst thou leave?
- Thy unus'd beauty must be tomb'd with thee,
- Which used, lives th' executor to be.
- WS
- Those hours, that with gentle work did frame
- The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell,
- Will play the tyrants to the very same
- And that unfair which fairly doth excel;
- For never-resting time leads summer on
- To hideous winter, and confounds him there;
- Sap check'd with frost, and lusty leaves quite gone,
- Beauty o'ersnow'd and bareness everywhere;
- Then, were not summer's distillation left,
- A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass,
- Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft,
- Nor it, nor no remembrance what it was:
- But flowers distill'd though they with winter meet,
- Leese but their show; their substance still lives sweet.
- WSEND
-