Sonnet 1

From vainest monsters we desire decrease,
That our beauty’s roses might never die,
But as the reaper should by time increase,
His gruesome task makes lives a memory:
But thou contracted to the devil’s lies,
Feed’st his great flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thy self man’s foe, for thy greed be too cruel:
Thou that consumes the world’s fresh ornament,
And overshadowing the gaudy spring,
Within thine black heart bury thy content,
And cheat us no more with thy niggarding:
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world’s due, by the grave and thee.

Original, with commentary here


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s