The Sonnets by William Shakespeare - cynara tutoring rosalita (Part the Fifth)

I am not going to get home until rather late tonight, and then I have to watch the season finale of Downton Abbey, so here's Sonnet 128 a little bit early:

How oft when thou, my music, music play’st
Upon that blessèd wood whose motion sounds
With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway’st
The wiry concord that mine ear confounds,
Do I envy' those jacks that nimble leap
To kiss the tender inward of thy hand,
Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest reap,
At the wood’s boldness by thee blushing stand.
To be so tickled they would change their state
And situation with those dancing chips,
O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait,
Making dead wood more blest than living lips.
    Since saucy jacks so happy are in this,
    Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.

OK, my initial interpretation is that our narrator is musing while watching his beloved play a musical instrument (something wooden, or I've missed my guess). And as he watches her fingers play over the surface of the (instrument), he wishes that "dead wood" she is touching and caressing was his face instead. Good so far?

The only thing that stands between me and this interpretation is that he keeps mentioning jacks, which I cannot imagine as part of any musical instrument but rather a child's game involving a rubber ball and some metal pronged tokens. I have no idea if that sort of jacks even existed in Shakespeare's time, but that's the mental image I seem to be stuck with.

Please, someone set my feeble mind free and tell me what those cursed jacks are!

I have one, not two, while you most likely have none. But you never know on-line.

'saucy jacks = impudent keys of the keyboard; but with obvious reference to other vulgar and pushy men, his sexual rivals, with whom she was familiar; and to penises. Compare, in the preface to Laura, by Robert Tofte (1597): so we, by your countenances, shall be sufficiently furnished to encounter against any foul-mouthed JACKS whatsoever. See also SB p.439. The sonnet is deliberately laden with sexual innuendo. One imagines that having one's mistress sit at the virginals to play the latest love song could be quite sexy. (See the illustration above, and at the bottom of the page. The title of the book is suggestive. Other female musicians are shown to the left). Shakespeare does not often use the word 'virginal', but when he does it is always in a sexual context, most explicitly in Two Noble Kinsmen, a non-canonical play, but large sections of it being attributed to Shakespeare:
Pal. She met him in an arbour:
What did she there, coz? Play o' the virginals?
Arc. Something she did Sir.
Pal. Made her groan a month for't;
Or two, or three, or ten. TNK.III.3.33-6.

Other quotations are given above, at line 6. Note that the Puritans strongly disapproved of music and dancing, as it encouraged too free and easy a contact between the sexes.'

Ooh. I've seen that finale episode - do you mean the one that technically ended the season, or the "Christmas special" which was the most recent episode to air?

#2 by AlbertoGiuseppe> Heh heh. Yes, I have none if that's what we're talking about! Actually, it works with either definition, since I don't have a piano, either. :-)

#3 by Cynara> I think it was the Christmas special. It is the last episode we get before Season 4, anyway. It's the episode where the one main character "leaves the stage", so to speak. If I was more familiar with Shakespeare, I'm sure I could come up with a suitably Will-ian euphemism. :-)

Now, sonnets: ding ding ding! Jacks are indeed keys. A virginal's wires are plucked by keys/jacks/chips, like a harpsichord (I think). Colloquially, a Jack was also a common man - any "Bob, Dick, or Harry" as we might say. So those keys are kissing the palm of her hand, as a lover might, and they're saucy because they're ordinary guys aspiring to this angel of the keyboard.

This poem feels much flirtier than our poet has been in a while - remember way back at the beginning? "Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?" It's also fairly saucy itself, as Alberto (you're looking at my best source, BTW) suggests. Here's another source: "To ‘tickle’ or play an instrument was normal (a quill was sometimes used to strike the strings) and was used often bawdily; Saviolina is pictured in Jonson’s Every Man Out of His Humour playing on the viol de gambo: “You see the subject of her sweet fingers there? Oh shee tickles it so, that shee makes it laugh most Diuinely . . I haue wisht my selfe to bee that Instrument.”"

Personally, I think there are some shenanigans beyond facial caresses in the poet's mind, with all these leaps, standings, lips, blushings, and, pardon me, wood.

>4 rosalita: Oooh, yes. Whew. I suppose they couldn't have done anything else. What other excuse could they have used? A foreign posting... a sudden agoraphobia...?

#5 by Cynara> That struck me, too, that it seemed more playful than many of the more recent sonnets. The first blush of a new love, perhaps?

And re: DA. I was accidentally spoiled ahead of time and knew that particular actor had not signed on for Season 4, so I was expecting something to happen but I didn't know what. I was a nervous wreck while they were all out tramping about the Highlands waving guns around and wading into the middle of fast-moving rivers and whatnot. I should have known it wouldn't be that obvious.

Warning! Sonnet 129 and the discussion that follows is PG-13. Please make sure all children have their eyes covered before proceeding (and their ears, if you plan to read it aloud):

Th' expense of spirit in a waste of shame
Is lust in action, and till action, lust
Is perjured, murd'rous, bloody, full of blame,
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust,
Enjoyed no sooner but despisèd straight,
Past reason hunted, and no sooner had,
Past reason hated as a swallowed bait
On purpose laid to make the taker mad;
Mad in pursuit, and in possession so,
Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme;
A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe;
Before, a joy proposed; behind, a dream.
    All this the world well knows, yet none knows well
    To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.

Well! Our narrator is experiencing some very deep emotions in this one, isn't he? Such a vitriolic rant against the evils of lust — evils that even knowing they will come, he finds himself helpless to avoid. Poor, poor, helpless men. Bless their little hearts.

I like this one. It's fun to read aloud in a super-dramatic sort of way. And I love the way he contrasts the way we think lust will be and the way it really is once we experience it. Past reason hunted, and no sooner had, / Past reason hated as a swallowed bait. I can only say again, poor poor pitiful Shakespeare, being led around by his Will-y.

poor poor pitiful Shakespeare, being led around by his Will-y.
Oh, Julia, I think that would have gotten a belly laugh from Will. It certainly got one from me.

Yay! I was hoping for a good reaction and a belly laugh definitely qualifies. I would like to think ol' Will would have appreciated a little bawdy double-entendre.

But yes - we've hardly ever heard our poet this wrought up about anything. It's strong language and violent emotion, and I don't think it would have sounded out of place in one of his plays. Conventionally, this is thought of as one of the "Dark Lady" sonnets - of course this assumes all kinds of things about the sonnets, but it doesn't sound terribly like anything he's written about the Fair Youth.

I do like the contrast of the harsh sentiments and sounds - we've heard a lot of warbling about the youth's beauty. I'm also enjoying the shift in tone. He's been unhappy and reproachful before, but we've never heard such a frenzy of loathing, which sounds a bit like self-loathing to me. Will was no puritan.

sounds a bit like self-loathing to me
Yes, I think so too. He knows he should know better than to let his libido lead him on, but he falls every time.

It's like Lucy and the football in the Peanuts comic strip. Charlie Brown knows she is going to pull it away at the last second; she always does. But he lines up for a kick every time. :-)

Ooh, another famous one! Sonnet 130:

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.

Our narrator says his mistress isn't anything to write home about: her eyes don't sparkle like the sun; her lips are not a vibrant red; her skin is less than a perfect pale ivory; her hair is a mess and her breath stinks. And yet, she is all the more beautiful to him just by being herself than she could ever be by being compared to nature.

Of course, you have to get all the way to the final couplet to get that last bit of cheerful thought. Most of the sonnet is somewhat less than flattering of the old girl. We've seen Will compare the beauty of a lover to nature before, but the first thing that struck me was the contrast between this and the way the poet waxed rhapsodic about the fair youth's triumphant rule over the beauty found in nature. Here, he's saying his lover is not more beautiful than the most beautiful rose, but it doesn't matter. Sounds like a man who's fallen hard to me.

I can only hear this one in Catherine Tate's Lauren voice : 'Bite me alien boy!'

He's also laughing at the blazon, a traditional style of poem where the attributes of the poet's beloved are likened to various things. It's become a total cliche, in fact - your eyes are as blue as the sky, your skin is as white as cream, your hair is as golden as the sun, your lips are like cherries, your butt is like two peaches from the garden of immortals, etc. etc. Will himself has flirted with this device in his sonnets to the youth. OK, here's a real one:

FROM FIDESSA

My Lady's hair is threads of beaten gold;
Her front the purest crystal eye hath seen;
Her eyes the brightest stars the heavens hold;
Her cheeks, red roses, such as seld have been;
Her pretty lips of red vermilion dye;
Her hand of ivory the purest white;
Her blush AURORA, or the morning sky.
Her breast displays two silver fountains bright;
The spheres, her voice; her grace, the Graces three;
Her body is the saint that I adore;
Her smiles and favours, sweet as honey be.
Her feet, fair THETIS praiseth evermore.
But Ah, the worst and last is yet behind :
For of a griffon she doth bear the mind!

-By Bartholomew Griffin. Published 1596

I've learned that Will may have known of a mini-fad for the "contrablazon", which "celebrated a woman’s parts, including her most intimate, in a parodic and sometimes lewd way."

At the end of his sonnet, Will says that his mistress is as beautiful as any woman "belied with false compare", i.e. "misrepresented by ridiculous comparisons."

Notes on vocab
"wires" - would have evoked gold wires used in jewellery
"reeks" - probably not as harsh as the modern connotations

The blazon! Another thing I've learned. I have to say, that one you posted is rather amusing. Although I am confused: what, exactly is her front? At first I thought it was her bosoms, but then further down (er, so to speak) we get the line about her breast displays two silver fountains bright which I'm not going to lie, made me laugh right out loud. "Hey, lady! Nice silver fountains you got there!"

It only seems natural that such excessive (to me) verse would have spawned a counter-trend.

Thanks for the vocab notes. I was at a loss for what 'wires' might have signified, although I suspected that 'reeks' surely didn't mean the same thing as it does now. That would even beyond a contra-brazon, I think!

And speaking of hearing this in voices:

Alan Rickman does a sultry (or perhaps woozy?) reading.

Stephen Fry starts out querulous, but brings it home in the couplet.

And Loki himself, Tom Hiddleson, treads a middle path - conversational, but poetic.

I think her front is her brow - but yes the fountains are hilarious to modern eyes. I can't help but think of a water-garden-of-Versailles effect.

There's a similar tradition in Chinese poetry, but the comparisons are different, of course - her fingers are as slender as green onions, etc.

I like all of those! It's fascinating to hear three different vocal interpretations of the same sonnet.

Are we all ready for Sonnet 131? Here we go:

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.

I had to read this one through several times before I got what I think is the gist. He seems to be saying that although his lover is not conventionally beautiful (some say, that thee behold, / thy face hath not the pow'r to make love groan) to society, he finds her beautiful, although he doesn't feel he can say so aloud.

I can understand already why this set of sonnets are referred to as the "Dark Lady" sonnets, as this is not the first time he has referred to his mistress as dark, even black. Cynara, correct me if I'm wrong, but I assume he is not meaning to indicate that she has any African blood but rather that she is dark-haired, dark-eyed, perhaps an olive complexion — more of a Mediterranean (Italian or Greek, maybe) background?

Also, we get a hint that all is not well in Love Land for our narrator and his dark lady. She's apparently a bit of a rogue — In nothing art thou black save in thy deeds — so she misbehaves (is it genuine misdeeds or merely a failure to conform to the conventions of the times?), and that's a big part of what makes other people say she is not beautiful.

This one made me think about the nature of conventional and unconventional beauty, and to wonder what lies ahead for our perhaps hapless narrator, caught in the web of a black widow. I sense things will not end well!

I'd say yes all around to your reading. And yeah, I think your dark lady assumptions are broadly correct; there were black people in England during the Renaissance, and my cursory research suggests that Will certainly would certainly have seen and possibly known black people (my info on numbers isn't clear enough for me to figure out the likelihood). There's a great article here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-18903391

So, could she have been black? Yeah, it's not impossible (though I believe that relatively few black Englishwomen were of a socioeconomic status that would suggest music lessons, though that's not the same as none).

In Shakespeare's plays you have both black African characters and white characters who are called "black", for any reason from from dark hair to having a tan (a tan by English standards).

OK, so she could have been of African descent, but unlike today when to refer to someone as black generally indicates some sort of African heritage, being called black back in Shakespeare's time might have but did not necessarily indicate such a thing.

If I were going to talk completely out of my ear (or as Click & Clack would have it, "unencumbered by the thought process"), I would postulate that the rigid alliance of "black" to mean only "African" didn't become commonplace until the slave-holding era, when it was more necessary than ever to designate those of African descent as being "other" and less than human.

If you check out that BBC article, you can see that "blacke moore" or some similar term seems to have been common in records, though "blacke" also appears.

More darkness ahead in Sonnet 132:

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.

Our poet sees pity in the eyes of his beloved, pity for the disdainful way his beloved has treated him. Rather than be ashamed or angry about being pities, he welcomes it and thinks its presence makes the rest of his beloved even more beautiful. He hopes that someday his beloved's heart will take pity on him as much as her eyes do.

A couple of vocabulary questions, if I may:
Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain — is this the "ruth" that forms the base of "ruthless"? It's funny that "ruthless" has survived into modern English but you never hear of anyone having "ruth", do you? I think we should make an effort to bring that back!

O let it then as well beseem my heart — I'm not sure of the meaning of beseem, although I think the general gist of it comes through the context.

I may be a master of the understatement, but this does not strike me as a particulary happy or harmonious relationship!

It's funny, because to me this seems a fairly conventional, even cute, sonnet on the traditional theme of oh-you-cruel-lady-who-isn't-currently-having-sex-with-me, take pity on me and, well.... John Donne did a lovely line in these, as did many contemporary sonnetteers, though without all this play with "wicked" and "black".

The language is lovely - I really like "pretty ruth" 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.

Okay, so maybe he's playing with blazons again, but I like it.

Yes! That's the same ruth.

Here's beseem: "befit, be fitting (for), be seemly (for)"

Something I found and liked: "the poet will not declare why the pity is needed, but he enjoys the twist in the end, that the beauty who is denying him all this is both black and not black, fair and not fair, foul and not foul, wicked and not wicked, all at the same time." If you want to dig in to multiple meanings of words, puns, homonyms (morning/mourning, etc.) this is rich earth.

There are more tempestuous times ahead.

"There are more tempestuous times ahead," says our guiding genius, Cynara. Could they be starting in Sonnet 133? Let's see!

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.

OK, never mind that starting a sonnet with a word I don't know is never good. "Beshrew"? Really, Will? But let's move on ...

... and when we do, we see there is a storm a-brewing indeed! I'm not sure I'm reading this right, but it appears our trois has been ménàging again. Could this be the Fair Youth making an encore appearance, or is it someone else who is toyig so cruelly with the affections of both Will and his Dark Lady? Or have I got it all wrong?

Well, if I have, at least I know Cynara will be along to help me out. It's sonnets like these that make me appreciate you all the more, Cyn!

You guys are awesome, this is really helping me understand Shakespeare better. Just yesterday I had no idea what he was writing about, but it is all becoming clear now

I'm glad you're enjoying it, 98! Did you start all the way back at the beginning, or just jump in here?

One, sorry for the delay. I just haven't been able to get well, so I've been tired in the evenings & going to bed early, when I should be Shakespearing! Be patient with me, because I'm really enjoying this bit and I want to do it soon! I hope tonight, though I have a very long day.

>27 booktroll98: Welcome, booktroll! That's a lovely thing to hear.

A teaser, then: "beshrew" was a mild oath, like "drat"! Literally it meant "make bad!" One source suggests that it's a "ladylike" oath.

And yes, many readers think that this is the same love triangle we saw a while back, when our poet was unhappy over the youth and his mistress getting together.

No worries, Cynara! We'll still be here when you are well again. It's been a heckuva winter for illness all over, it seems.

But thanks for the teasers to tide us over until your triumphant return. :-)

Shakespeare thought

Today I was reading an old New Yorker. That often happens - my mother passes them along as she finishes them, or as she unearths them, and at one point I had a huge stack of them. I often have a one-, two-, or ten-year-old New Yorker stuffed into my purse.

This one was not so old, and it included a profile of Mark Rylance, of whom I had not heard, but who is considered one of the foremost Shakespearian actors of our time. He was also the first artistic director of the Globe reconstruction in London, and often performed there, in men's roles or women's.

He's noted for the naturalness of his delivery - I think it was de Nero who the article quoted as saying that Rylance speaks Shakespeare "like it was written for him last night," and Rylance himself says that Shakespeare's language has always felt natural to him, maybe more natural than modern English.

I was inspired to look him up, and I wondered if I could find a clip of him reading a poem. I love that kind of performance, where the actor so fully understands and lives the lines that they make perfect sense to the audience. I did find a great clip of him onstage at the Globe, but no sonnets.

And that connected up with a rogue thought I'd had earlier - that we're really reading the only Shakespeare works that were *meant* to be read, as opposed to seen and heard onstage (okay, the only readable works, pace Lucretia). Unlike the plays, these sonnets were meant to be experienced just as we are experiencing them - you and the page. Nothing between you and Will's frenzied emotions but a shoddy typeface and a few scraps of exegisis.

More on actual sonnets later. Tomorrow?

I know what you mean about old New Yorkers. I now subscribe to the digital edition, so they pile up on my iPad but at least I don't have to vacuum around them any more. :-)

That's an interesting thought about the sonnets being the only Shakespeare that was meant to be read instead of performed. I wonder if that changed the way he wrote them?

I've never heard of Rylance, either, but you've made me want to seek him out. It's such a joy to hear Shakespare recited well!

My apologies for the delay; having made this big to-do about getting back to this poem, I've had trouble finding something substantial to say. I'm afraid I've been letting "perfect" be the enemy of "good", as they say.

Do you remember seeing this prison metaphor before? We've seen tons of legal language, as the poet debated the rights and wrongs of the relationship with himself and his love, but I'm pretty sure we haven't seen wounding, torture, slavery, and prison together before. Then there's the couplet, which is a mix of protest and loverlike vow that I find brilliantly uncomfortable.

No apologies necessary! I'm sure even Will got writer's block once in a while. As you say, this is a rather graphic poem in its pain imagery. It's easy to imagine it was written by someone who was genuinely tormented by his life's circumstances.

Let's talk about a new sonnet! Presenting Sonnet 134:

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.

In which Will takes the time to spell out just what kind of threesome trouble he's gotten himself into: He is in love with two others, but is willing to give up one to win the other. But he cannot, because the one he is willing to give up (the Dark Lady, I think?) is not willing to set the other (the Fair Youth?) free. So there's Will, in danger of ending up with no one while the Dark Lady toys with the Fair Youth, who is too innocent to see what she is doing.

Some vocabulary that struck me when I read this one was the imagery of money that he uses throughout. He talks about being "mortgaged" to the Dark Lady's will, and that the Youth "learned but surety-like to write for me, / Under that bond that him as fast doth bind". And of course he refers to the Lady as a usurer (someone who lends money at unreasonably high interest rates), and about suing "a friend came debtor for my sake". And finally in the last line, "He pays the whole (of the debt I assume), and yet am I not free." I'm not sure of the significance of this, but it was striking to me.

Way back near the beginning of our enterprise (can it really have been almost a year ago?), Cynara suggested we keep an eye out for times when Shakespeare uses the word "will" in one form or another. There's both "will" and "wilt" aplenty in this one, though I have no idea if it signifies anything. I must say, he clearly spells out his dilemma in a way that makes me feel just a little bit sorry for him. I can't wait to keep reading and find out how it all works out!

// willing to give up one to win the other//

I think our poet is suggesting at the beginning that he will give himself up to the lady, cast himself utterly into her ownership, if she'll release the youth to be the poet's comforter. There's our first four lines.

But nope, that won't work, because the lady - and probably the youth too - won't hear of it. She's too greedy, and the youth is too "kind" to agree to be rescued, which sounds ambiguous. Is it that he's too well brought-up to turn down a lady's favours? Really?

The next two lines are fuzzy, and it's hard to be sure how Will understood bonds, and what he means by 'write for me', though it seems to say that the youth only got involved with the lady because he was doing some favour for the poet. There's our second quatrain.

Then, he accuses the lady of taking anything her beauty will get her. The next line is sterner still - not only is she a "usurer" (as readers of The Merchant of Venice will remember, moneylenders were despised and at times criminalized), but she "put'st forth all to use" and if that's not a sexual slur, I haven't seen one yet.

She's suing a friend who was willing to give himself up/indebt himself for the poet's sake, and so the poet is losing him too. That's the third quatrain, and the final couplet is pretty clear.

Notes
It's funny - he casts himself and the youth as entirely passive here. They're like those annoying girls in tragedies who can only beat the bad guy through suicide. Here they both are, trying to nobly save the other from the dreadful fate of an affair with this gorgeous, fascinating woman through the self-sacrificing action of shouldering that burden themselves. It reminds me of Monty Python and the Holy Grail: "Can I have just a little of the peril?"

I'm not sure the 'wills' in this sonnet have any particular significance, but it's always a good thing to keep an eye on.

I hope it's a comfort to you, as it is to me, that these particular financial and legal metaphors don't seem to make a great deal of sense to anyone else, either.

"Will", ca. 1600:

1. Wish, desire; thing desired.
2. Carnal desire, lust, sexual longing.
3. The auxiliary verb denoting a future tense, as in 'it will be so, thou wilt vouchsafe'.
4. Willfulness, obstinacy, determination.
5. A slang term for the male sex organ. As in - this night he fleshes his will in the spoil of her honour. AW.IV.iii.14.
6. A slang term for the female sex organ.
7. The name 'William'.

I have to say I'm disappointed. I mean, I went to all the trouble of noticing the financial and legal metaphors and felt all proud of myself for doing so. And now I find out that no one really knows what they mean! :-)

I'm glad you pointed out that passivity that Will assumes for himself and the youth. You're right; it's as if neither of them have any, well, free will. Would you consider that to be in keeping with the gender roles of the time? It seems we are constantly being told how any sexual impropriety is the fault of the woman, and all the restrictions and rules that keep women subservient are for their own protection from men who cannot possibly be expected to control their own urges.

I admire the Elizabethans for finding a slang term that can mean either the male or the female sex organ. That's some creative slanging, right there.

I think the passivity is in keeping with that coy faux-courtly thing you find in poetry - alack, alas, my cruel mistress is cruel and I must lay me down and die for she will not sleep with me, etc. etc.

However, there's also a strong theme of women's uncontrollable urges in this period - this idea that women are physical, passionate creatures (and therefore sinful) who are also not as morally developed as men, so they must be married off and restricted for their own good. Female sexuality is scary and strong, and women can't really control it. Men are considered less sexual and more spiritual - like the Dark Lady and the Youth. Women can't really achieve *true* love or friendship because of their limitations.

Now, even if Will did buy into this in his poetry, I think he transcended it in his plays for the most part.

A bit of a late start tonight, but here without further ado is Sonnet 135:

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.

Well, well, well. Or should I say "Will, will, will"? It's a good thing that Cynara provided us with that list of synonyms for the word "will" back in Post 37, as it sure came in handy with this sonnet!

This seems to be a rather bawdy addition to the sonnet family, eh? I think I even blushed when I read "Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious, / Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine?" I mean, really! *fans self rapidly*

So, lots of wordplay but at the end the narrator seems to be making a plea for his lover to leave her other lover behind (no double entendre intended) and devote her sexual appetites to him alone. The selective capitalizing of Will in the sonnet makes me wonder: Were we meant to think that both men were named Will? And does that fit with speculation of who the youth was meant to be? I need to go back and read our introductory posts from last year.

Where's Alberto? Alberto, chime in! You always have the low-down on fair youth speculation. :-)

Ooooooh Will, you filthy, filthy man. No wonder Thomas Bowdler went at you with a pair of scissors in the 19th century.

Layers of meaning
As much as I respect the goal of "No Fear Shakespeare," it comes thudding to the ground when presented with this kind of poem, where every word does triple or quadruple duty:

"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."

ROFL, as the kids say.

I applaud the frankness, and it definitely helps one get the gist. It delivers meanings #5 and #6 from above in abundance, as it positively bristles with penises, etc.. However, it misses "willfulness, obstinacy, determination" and of course can't capture the plaintive yet naughty tone of the original, or the silky elegance of the language (as well as the shadows of another William-lover in some of the other lines).

Who?
This poem is the one where I feel most comfortable dropping my "poet" designation for the speaker, and just calling him William Shakespeare. I mean, really. Yes, it's *a* part of him, and not the whole man (is it just me, or are the double-entendres leaking into this commentary?), but it feels prissy to call the speaker anything but what he calls himself.

Two Wills
Yes, there is speculation that our fair youth might have been a Will - maybe even the "Mr. W. H." of the dedication. If we looked, I bet we could find some ambiguous passages earlier about names, reflections, or "wills" that have been used to support that hypothesis.

Did he show these to her?
Would it be a good idea to present this little jeu d'esprit about her promiscuity, the size of her obstinacy, and the size of her reproductive equipment? Some think not: "It must be said that the poem is not entirely flattering to the woman addressed. One wonders whether or not she was ever shown any of these productions. Probably not, because they are written so entirely from a male perspective that it would be considered appropriate only to circulate them within a coterie of male friends. Women were considered to be deficient in understanding of many topics. "

How complicated can this get?

Here's my major source addressing the first line, "Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy Will,":

"'No matter what or who other women have to satisfy their desires, you have your own Will(iam)', or 'you have your own insatiable vagina (Will)', or 'you have a compliant male whose penis (Will) satisfies you'.

The line echoes proverbial and folk wisdom about women's desires, and their ability to have their way by fair means or foul. As for example 'Women will have their wills' and 'Will will have will though will woe win', which last presumably means 'Desire will have what it wants, even though it brings sorrow', applicable to both males and females.

The predominant meaning of 'Will' here is possibly 'William', which could apply to a) the poet; b) the poet's friend; c) the woman's husband. There is general agreement about a), but no one knows if b) and c) are relevant. None of the other lines of the poem confirm unequivocally that there is more than one William, although it seems quite clear that there is more than one lover. If the poet's friend's name is Will then it narrows the field of candidates of known names who might be the 'lovely boy' of the sonnets. But the evidence is far from clear and may be interpreted either way, for Will or not for Will."
(http://www.shakespeares-sonnets.com/sonnet/135)

And, in our continuing seminar on Elizabethan dirty talk, I feel I should forewarn you that "nothing and something were slang terms for sexual organs, both male and female. "

Wow, and here I thought it was just a dirty poem. :-) That is some great information, Cynara. All the wordplay is rather dizzying, but in a good way. That paraphrase from No Fear Shakespare is a hoot. You can see they were rather flummoxed by the many meanings of "will", though they seem to have honed in on the naughty bits (oh, there are those double entendres again).

Thank you for the forewarning in Message 42. I suspect that must refer to our next sonnet, which I am just about to go read aloud. Be right back!

Ah, I see Sonnet 136 is a continuation sonnet, picking up where #135 left off. Let's look:

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.

I think I have a brain sprain after attempting to read that one out loud! Will will fulfill and fill it full with wills, and my will one had me fumbling and giggling all at the same time.

I am interpreting Line 8 ( Among a number one is reckoned none) as the Elizabethan version of the song lyric "One is the loneliest number that you'll ever know." Apologies for planting that earworm amongst you.

And then thou lov'st me, for my name is Will — that's kinda sweet, eh?

Thanks for letting me know where No Fear Shakespeare is lacking as that's where I get my translations!

>45 Morphidae: It's good as far as it goes, Morphy! It's a great thing to refer to.

All right, now as you've noticed, #136 is cut from the same cloth as its predecessor in this sequence. We have the same thrashing about with "wills" - and I think the primary meanings are: our poet, his little poet, and the lady's sexual desire. This sonnet doesn't reprove her obstinacy so much as it presents a sophistry, starting in line 7;

Since one among a multitude may as well be no-one (to take a modern example, one nay vote among a million yeas may as well not exist), then compared to your great multitute of lovers, I'm like nothing! And if I'm like nothing, then why not let me have you, too?

He also includes a great number of suggestions that every level of "will" must be acceptable to her, given her great sexual appetites ('will' again, of course).

And yeah, that final line is very sweet-sounding, though the rest of the poem isn't. I think it's partly because it feels so personal and so direct from the Great Man. "My name is Will" - again, I wonder if he'd recognize our great bard, inventor of humanity, greatest genius ever, etc., "William Shakespeare."

Since one among a multitude may as well be no-one (to take a modern example, one nay vote among a million yeas may as well not exist), then compared to your great multitude of lovers, I'm like nothing! And if I'm like nothing, then why not let me have you, too?
This! I think you've hit the nail right on the head with this analysis, Cynara. Not that I knew that when I read it, but when I read what you wrote it struck me as exactly right, and re-reading the sonnet with that in mind reinforced the idea.

I've got to say, the suggestion that these were meant for a sniggering circle of male friends seems to fit almost too well, here.

Yes, this one and the last one especially. They kind of give me that creepy feeling of knowing people were talking about you behind your back. I hope whoever the Dark Lady was, she didn't know about these sonnets.

Apologies for the late post tonight. I had to cheer on my Iowa Hawkeyes to a first-round victory in the NIT Tournament (that's college basketball for you non-USAers or non-sports fans). A solid win over Indiana State tonight, and the next game scheduled for Friday night vs. Stony Brook University. Another home game, too, so let's hope for another sellout crowd.

Ahem. But back to our sonnets, and just in time for Sonnet 137:

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

"She's no good, she's no good, she's no good, baby she's no good." Our poet is at his wit's end. He can't understand why he's so infatuated with this ... er, overly friendly ... woman when he should know better.

What a poetic way of calling a woman a slut: If eyes corrupt by over-partial looks / Be anchored in the bay where all men ride indeed.

I think I'm getting a clearer picture that our poet is infatuated with a woman that he knows is not good for him, who will bring him nothing but grief, but in the grip of little Will he is helpless to resist. I'm not sure the picture of exactly why he's so infatuated is quite so clear, unless it's just her ... availability.

And of course I have no idea what happens next, which is exciting!

this ... er, overly friendly ... woman
I've said it before - Julia, you're hilarious.

What a poetic way of calling a woman a slut
Yeah. She harbours all boats, and she's also a "common" field, where any man can, ah, graze his sheep. Not the most flattering metaphors.

I should add that these poems are, so far as I know, unprecedented inasmuch as they're deeply conflicted sonnets to a very unconventional woman. We're a long way from the chaste goddesses of a few decades ago.

Also, we're back to the poet's eyes and mind fighting with each other - cursing "blind love" (blindfolded Cupid) for confusing his sight. Remember all the mind/sight/heart poems about the youth? Different flavour, eh?

I'm not sure the picture of exactly why he's so infatuated is quite so clear
I figure he's sexually infatuated, though I wonder if, for the poet, half the fascination isn't his own complicated and strong feelings of attraction, repulsion, and self-disgust.

As for the next one, I cannot imagine why it's never caught on for weddings.

Remember all the mind/sight/heart poems about the youth? Different flavour, eh?
Yes, very different tone indeed!

It's also striking to me how the poet's point of view appears to have shifted just from the beginning of this set. He's gone from "her beauty is unconventional but that just means beauty needs to be re-defined" to "I know she's ugly but who cares when you get her between the sheets in the dark!"

As for the next one, I cannot imagine why it's never caught on for weddings.

Oh, you are such a tease! I won't look ahead until I get home tonight, but you've got me wondering ... NO! I will not Google it. I will not. :p

That's right! You stand up to the temptation of reading Shakespeare sonnets during the day. I never heard of such an idea.

Finally! I'm home and can read the next sonnet. Here's Sonnet 138:

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.

Oh, I love this one! Not the sentiment, because that's pretty cynical (executive summary: lovers lie to each other in order to keep lying with each other). But there's some understated humor here. The idea that our poet thinks that pretending to believe his lover's lies will make her think he is young and naïve is kind of adorable, although as we see he doesn't really believe that.

I can see why you don't think this is a natural for a wedding toast, Cynara (ha!) but as an unmarried child of divorce I feel like he's captured the essence of marriage pretty well: O love's best habit is in seeming trust, / And age in love loves not t'have years told. My apologies to all of you currently nestled in tender, loving, wedded bliss. :-D

Maybe I do love this one for its cynicism, come to think of it ...

Oh, dear...I will myself away for a few days and miss all the willful talk of somethings and nothings...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=18TLHhhHZCA

It is pretty funny, isn't it? No apologies necessary - I am a smug married, but I'm also a child of divorce, so I understand your skepticism.

#56 by AlbertoGiuseppe> Whew, you're back! I was afraid all the bawdy talk had driven you undercover, so to speak. :-)

#57 by Cynara> Fair enough!

#56 Honestly, Alberto, you leave us alone for a week and look what happens.

There's a pleasant note of rueful self-knowledge in this one. For once, the joke is on them both, and there's an equality in that.

I've seen it suggested that there are, again, a few double entendres here - "made of truth" vs. "a maid of truth" (as opposed to a maid of joy/fille de joie?) and lies - as in lying to others, lying to your self, and lying with others, particularly in the final couplet

This is also one of the few sonnets that appears elsewhere in an earlier form. Here it is:

When my love sweares that she is made of truth,
I do believe her (though I know she lies)
That she might thinke me some untutor'd youth,
Unskilful in the worlds false forgeries.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinkes me young,
Although I know my yeares be past the best :
I smiling, credite her false speaking tounge,
Outfacing faults in love, with loves ill rest.
But wherefore sayes my love that she is young ?
And wherefore say not I that I am old :
O, Loves best habit's in a soothing toung,
And Age in love, loves not to have yeares told.
Therefore I'le lye with Love, and love with me,
Since that our faultes in love thus smother'd be.

Which do you prefer? Any particular changes that strike you?

Other than the more authentic Elizabethan spellings and such in the version you posted, they seem pretty similar. The one you posted seems more generic, if that makes sense. Especially in the final couplet; instead of saying "I lie with her and she with me", he says "I'll lie with Love, and love with me". Also the last line seems gentler in the earlier version you posted: "our faults in love thus smother'd be" seems less cynical then "in our faults by lies we flattered be." I guess the version that ended up in the Sonnets seems more self-aware and more specific to me, but I might just be seeing things!

Going line-by-line I notice that in line four he's abandoned the first-letter alliteration of "false forgeries" for the more hissing "false subtleties."

In line six, he's shifted who knows about his real age - in the earlier version, he knows his years are past the best - in the final version, she knows it - (and he knows that she knows, etc.).

I like line seven's initial "simply," as it hearks back to that naive youth he's pretending to be.

Line eight is a bit of a pretzel in the original, and I admit that I don't entirely understand it. By the time of the Thomas Thorpe edition, he's ironed it out into the candid "On both sides thus is simple truth suppressed."

The new lines 9 & 10 are better too, I think - I like that in the new version, she's hiding being unjust, not being young.

I agree about the final couplet - the original is just a bit too cuddly for the original poem. However, if I were Will and had to show one of them to her and one to my friend, I know which I'd show who.

I'm battling a stomach bug today, so no promises that my comments on Sonnet 139 will be at all insightful. Come to think of it, I should say that every time ...

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 outr'ght with looks, and rid my pain.

Our fellow is feeling a bit mopey because his love has a roving eye (and doubtless roving other-body-parts as well). He's urging her not to be subtle about it but rather to just tell him it's over, so that he can experience the pain of loss all at once.

Some nice lines here:

Wound me not with thine eye, but with thy tongue; / Use pow'r with pow'r, and slay me not by art.

Yet do not so, but since I am near slain, / Kill me outr'ght with looks, and rid my pain.

What do the rest of you think?

Will's back to standard Petrarchan ideas here - cruel mistresses who wound with a glance, etc. However, the traditional complaint (her coldness) is replaced by something more in keeping with the lady's reported character: her eyes are flirting with other men, and making lascivious promises, which wounds our poet the most cruelly of all.

And, in pure Italian style, we have a volta after the second quatrain - "Let me excuse thee" - and note that it goes from second person to third person. He turns from her to us, and justifies her actions.

I like "dear heart".

Ah yes, the volta! I think it's been a while since we've seen one of those?

I've been re-reading it, and trying to decide if the switch from addressing his love to addressing his readers makes the whole thing seem more plaintive, or less. I think more, because after admitting her faults in the first part, he then turns and makes excuses for why she acts the way she does to us. It's as if she's breaking his heart, but he doesn't want us to think badly of her.

They've practically all got a "turn", but we haven't been talking about them much. In 138 it's at the couplet, as it often is in the Shakespearian sonnet.

138 is rather lovely, particularly the earlier form, and to my quick (de-) recollection the sonnet which most directly deals with truth and lie (within differing contexts or systems: Love vs each separately.) 139 deals with similar but changes context and expression of preference (and another pop tune...) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=njhliS6vnOU

I'm glad you like 138, too, Alberto! It's maybe not as classically lovely in its sentiments as some of the other "famous" sonnets, but I really like it.

Shall we take a peek at Sonnet 140?

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.

I'd rather you lied and pretended you love me than face the truth of your faithlessness, because if I have to face the fact you don't love me my pain might lead me to say bad things about you and I couldn't bear for others to think badly of my lover.

I think?

It's not clear to me whether our poet is begging for mercy or threatening his lover with slander. I have to say I love the final line, though: Bear thine eyes straight, though they proud heart go wide.

Once again, I have a song that proves Will was a country music songwriter before his time: Toby Keith's "Wish I Didn't Know Now What I Didn't Know Then.

Back tomorrow! Sorry for the delay.

begging for mercy or threatening his lover with slander
Ding ding ding! Yes, both. Here, from my sources, a parallel Donne poem:

Yet let not thy deep bitterness beget
Careless despair in me, for that will whet
My mind to scorn; and Oh, love dulled with pain
Was ne'er so wise nor well armed as disdaine.
Then with new eyes I shall survey thee, and spy
Death in thy cheeks, and darkness in thine eye.
Though hope bred faith and love, thus taught, I shall,
As Nations do from Rome, from thy love fall.
My hate shall outgrow thine, and utterly
I will renounce thy dalliance.

Elegy VI.35-44.

Toby Keith's "Wish I Didn't Know Now What I Didn't Know Then.
I have just listened to the whole of Mr. Keith's song, and I agree that he and Will would have had some things to talk about.

I have just listened to the whole of Mr. Keith's song, and I agree that he and Will would have had some things to talk about.
I bet Will would have killed for that curly mullet, too!

I like the Donne poem. I may have to check that guy out when we've used up Will. :-)

Be careful, rosa - before you know it, you'll be into the hard stuff.

You'll notice I very carefully did not mention anything about tutoring! I'm sure you are counting the days until you are rid of this meddlesome newbie. :-)

By "the hard stuff" I was trying to suggest that Shakespeare is a gateway drug that leads to Donne, and before you know it you'll be mainlining Spencer or something. :) I love tutoring you, and I'd by no means rule Donne out; let's just get Will done & then think. I might be in the mood to tutor a novel.

Now you're just talking crazy! What tiny little bits of Spenser I've seen around might as well have been written in Swahili for all my comprehension. :-)

I'll be back very soon with Sonnet 141.

See, I told you I'd be right back! Sonnet 141:

In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes,
For they in thee a thousand errors note;
But ’tis my heart that loves what they despise,
Who in despite of view is pleased to dote.
Nor are mine ears with thy tongue’s tune delighted,
Nor tender feeling to base touches prone,
Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited
To any sensual feast with thee alone.
But my five wits, nor my five senses, can
Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee,
Who leaves unswayed the likeness of a man,
Thy proud heart’s slave and vassal wretch to be.
    Only my plague thus far I count my gain,
    That she that makes me sin awards me pain.

Or, as Springsteen put it, I can't understand it, you ain't pretty at all / But I come when you whisper, I run when you call. Our poet seems determined to make it clear that he is not infatuated with his lover's beauty, her sweet voice or gentle touch, nor the way she smells (!) or tastes (!!). And he's certainly not attracted to her because she treats him so well. There seems to be no rational basis for his attraction, and yet ... ’tis my heart that loves what they despise.

This one has a very easy rhythm for an amateur like me to read aloud, with a minimum of pretzeled syntax. She that makes me sin awards me pain, indeed. Or as Johnny Cougar once said, it hurts so good.

Yes, she's his sin and his penance all at once. Surely there's a country and western song about that somewhere?

There must be, but the only ones that came immediately to mind were the Springsteen and the Cougar. I'll do some more thinking ...

This one reminds me of #130, above. I don't know why it isn't more popular, really, except that it's a bit more conventional.

It also seems a little less exuberant, maybe? Sonnet 130 could have been written by a man giddy in love with an unconventional-looking woman (whatever that might be). This one seems more likely to have been written by a man in the grips of an unhealthy obsession.

...your edited dialogues with, well, this...would be a kick to read/watch and listen to: http://artsbeat.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/04/03/taking-shakespeares-sonnets-to-the-...

Very cool!

Here we are at Sonnet 142:

Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate,
Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving.
O but with mine compare thou thine own state,
And thou shalt find it merits not reproving;
Or, if it do, not from those lips of thine,
That have profaned their scarlet ornaments
And sealed false bonds of love as oft as mine,
Robbed others' beds' revénues of their rents.
Be it lawful I love thee as thou lov’st those
Whom thine eyes woo as mine impórtune thee.
Root pity in thy heart, that when it grows,
Thy pity may deserve to pitied be.
    If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide,
    By self-example mayst thou be denied.

My first reaction to this one was that it sounded a bit peevish. Our poet seems a bit put out with his lover, apparently because she is criticizing him for, um, dipping his fly rod in other people's ponds. This is annoying to him because she has been known to let just anyone drop a line in her pond. So speak.

Overall, it seems like an exceedingly elegant way to phrase the classic schoolboy retort: "I know you are, but what am I?"

>83 AlbertoGiuseppe: - that's so neat! It reminds me of that app that was announced last year - I should look that up, too

>85 rosalita:
I'm trying so hard to avoid all the very crude and inappropriate comments this one provokes. Only Shakespeare could make this sound classy. That couplet! "Hey baby, if you're ever hard-up for a lay, someone might use your own example of denial against you!" Is he asking for a hand-out? What does he think this is, a soup kitchen?

A soup kitchen with an exclusive clientele of one customer. And that customer can eat at any soup kitchen he wants.

Well, maybe not that exclusive, given that she has "sealed false bonds of love as oft as mine,/ Robbed others' beds' revénues of their rents."

Yes, good point. The door swings both ways on this soup kitchen.

This isn't meant to sound like a threat, but I'll be back very soon with Sonnet 143. :-)

Told you so:

Lo, as a careful housewife runs to catch
One of her feathered creatures broke away,
Sets down her babe and makes all swift dispatch
In púrsuit of the thing she would have stay;
Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase,
Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent
To follow that which flies before her face,
Not prizing her poor infant’s discontent:
So run’st thou after that which flies from thee,
Whilst I, thy babe, chase thee afar behind.
But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me,
And play the mother’s part, kiss me, be kind.
    So will I pray that thou mayst have thy Will,
    If thou turn back and my loud crying still.

There have been a number of times since we started on this sonnet journey when I've finished a poem and thought to myself, "Geez, what a crybaby!" How refreshing to see Will admit it right out loud in this one.

What do we think is the "feathered creature" that his lover neglects him to chase after? Is it another man? Another woman? Fame and fortune? Something else?

And has his dignity lapsed so low that he can compare himself to a petulant child without embarrassment?

"In the war of love, who flees, wins.." (Italian proverb)

Italians know what's what, don't they, Alberto? :-)

I've got to say that I love this one for the extended metaphor. It's at times like this that I remember that Will wasn't a court poet or a university poet - he was someone whose neighbours kept chickens, and this is a little slice of Elizabethan life.

Who looks at a crying infant running after his chicken-chasing mother and thinks "that's just like me"? Will, I suppose. It seems of a piece with his general disgust at his attachment to the lady.

(A quick aside...)
http://www.journals.elsevier.com/cortex/featured-articles/shakespeare-on-the-bra...

Let's press on to Sonnet 144:

Two loves I have, of comfort and despair,
Which, like two spirits, do suggest me still;
The better angel is a man right fair,
The worser spirit a woman colored ill.
To win me soon to hell, my female evil
Tempteth my better angel from my side,
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil,
Wooing his purity with her foul pride.
And whether that my angel be turned fiend
Suspect I may, but not directly tell;
But being both from me both to each friend,
I guess one angel in another’s hell.
    Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt,
    Till my bad angel fire my good one out.

Ah, the triangle is heating up again. That nasty dark lady — the "worser spirit" who is "colored ill" — has seduced away Will's first love, the fair youth — he who is "the better angel" and "right fair". Funny, the better angel seems to be completely without agency in this scenario, doesn't he? It's all down to the woman.

Maybe I am suffering from sonnet fatigue, because this three-way angst annoys and bores me at this point.

>96 AlbertoGiuseppe: Alberto, that's so cool! I can see how that would work. Remember our "find-the-verb" games from the beginning of this tutoring?

I, to follow from this present toward
A distant tutor's starting games, and
To lighten Rosalita's bidding
Bored, weighted with again Will's 'woe is me',
With a clip over ripe over macho
Over-blown here a link, link to even
Further distants this my over-groan post,
And again link the verb which links it all.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hyomm4ltWtg

Yes, sonnet fatigue is a real problem, affecting more people than you may think. Donate today...

Trying to see through the fog of the past 143 sonnets, however, this one is charmingly easy to read, and does seem to validate much of our storytelling around the dark lady and fair youth. Still, I find the characterization of the lady as an outright demon jarring, and as you point out, the fair angel doesn't seem to have much control over his own actions. It doesn't show our poet at his most sympathetic. I did like the closing line.

On the other hand, I was teaching a silent, terrified class The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock today, and it was uphill work. I truly love that poem, but I couldn't get a handle on how to approach it with the class. "I should have been a pair of ragged claws/ Scuttling across the floors of silent seas." I would have given a lot for a nice sonnet.

I'm sorry for being AWOL. I know you must be feeling like we are chained together in a galley ship, Cynara, and you'll never be free again. One step closer: Sonnet 145.

Those lips that love’s own hand did make
Breathed forth the sound that said “I hate”
To me that languished for her sake;
But when she saw my woeful state,
Straight in her heart did mercy come,
Chiding that tongue that, ever sweet,
Was used in giving gentle doom,
And taught it thus anew to greet:
“I hate” she altered with an end
That followed it as gentle day
Doth follow night, who like a fiend
From heav'n to hell is flown away.
    “I hate” from hate away she threw,
    And saved my life, saying “not you.”

So the dark lady has a conscience? Seeing how stricken our narrator became when she berated him, she softened her tirade and made it seem to be about someone else. I hate ... not you.

Which is true? Is she a harridan and a wench who uses men up like Kleenex and then tosses them in the trash? Or is there a tender heart beating somewhere under all that darkness?

Lots of questions for a sonnet that is really quite easy to read and understand the literal sense of. As always, though, Will leaves me feeling there are undercurrents I am not aware of. He seems to say three things within the space of a single line, all contradictory and all possible. So what to believe?

I don't feel at all like a galley slave, though I admit I am having more difficulty reacting to these nuggets of verse as poetry. Well, "will shall be the sterner, heart the bolder, / spirit the greater as our strength lessens."

I do like the turnaround, and this poem's gentleness, compared to all the brow-clutching, crying, and moaning that's been doing on. Perhaps the mistress isn't, as you say, all that bad?

Here's one thing to notice: the shape of the poem. Does it seem a little... slimmer? Count some feet. Iambic tetrameter is more often used for comedy or light verse, so maybe that's why this poem sounds rather chirpy to me by contrast. You wouldn't think going from ten to eight syllables a line would have much of an effect, but I think it does.

Also, check out how he uses enjambment in the final quatrain.

Nice call on the enjambment, Cyn, which I hadn't noticed on my first read-through. It gives it a little bit of an unusual feel, as does the fewer syllables/line, which I also hadn't noticed. It does make it seem lighter; "chirpy" is a good word for it.

"will shall be the sterner, heart the bolder, / spirit the greater as our strength lessens."
I like this a lot. Where is it from?

I freely admit to not having read the whole thing, but it's from a heroic Anglo-Saxon poem, "The Homecoming of Beorhtnoth Beorhthelm's Son." It's been translated by many scholars over time, but that particular phrasing is J.R.R. Tolkein's. In the original, it reads "Hige sceal þe heardra, heorte þe cenre, mod sceal þe mare þe ure maegen lytlað". Link here: http://www.csun.edu/~dar04956/literature/lordoftherings/tolkien_homecoming.pdf

Nice!

Sonnet 146 awaits us:

Poor soul, the center of my sinful earth,
(Thrall to) these rebel pow'rs that thee array,
Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth,
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay?
Why so large cost, having so short a lease,
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend?
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,
Eat up thy charge? Is this thy body’s end?
Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant’s loss,
And let that pine to aggravate thy store;
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross;
Within be fed, without be rich no more.
    So shalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men,
    And death once dead, there’s no more dying then.

Wherein our poet does a little navel-gazing, addressing this sonnet to his own soul. He seems to be asking it why it expends so much effort to make his outward appearance as youthful and fancy as possible when age and death are inevitable. At least, I think that's what he's saying. This one is a little mysterious to me.

As is that second line beginning. In my book of sonnets, the "Thrall to" is in square brackets but of course on LT that would make a touchstone to nowhere. I don't know what the significance is.

I am having a lousy, lousy week, which is my excuse for finding that final couplet to be so wonderfully apt. And death once dead, there's no more dying then. Doesn't that sound lovely?

According to No Fear Shakespeare, that part of the sonnet has been damaged and they have no idea what the words there actually are. "Thrall to" is the best guess.

I'd fallen behind, but wanted to say I loved Julia's comment that, There have been a number of times since we started on this sonnet journey when I've finished a poem and thought to myself, "Geez, what a crybaby!" How refreshing to see Will admit it right out loud in this one. Ha!

I also wish I could be in Cynara's class for The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. Love that poem!

Could it be I'm getting used to the structure of these sonnets, finally? The last ones seem easier to follow, before your coaching, than many that came before.

Oh, jnwelch, how devoutly I wish you could be in my class this afternoon. I have just realized that today I will be:

a) supplying for
b) Grade 12s in the spring (who have already received their university acceptances and therefore have totally checked out),
c) teaching them a modernist poem with which they struggled on Monday
d) last period
e) on a Friday.

I am so boned. I find myself hoping that people will skip if they don't want to be there, because otherwise it's going to be 75 minutes of me parroting "so what does that mean to you?" to a silent classroom. Auuuugh.

Re. number 146:

That's definitely the main reading, and it seems to fall into a genre of "we adorn our bodies but neglect our souls" laments from the period. To me, it sounds a bit Puritan for our crypto-Catholic board-treading Will, but maybe he's experimenting.

Another possibility I came across is that the poem is directed toward the dark lady (metaphorically "his soul" because he loves her), and is a rebuke for her hard-partying vain lascivious lifestyle.

>109 Cynara: I remember being one of those grade 12s in the spring after I knew where I was going to college, and I have a lot more sympathy now for my teachers back then and you now, Cynara. Yikes. I was surely mentally checked out at that point. You're a brave woman. And on a Friday to boot. Maybe it's time to show them the J. Alfred Prufrock movie? I'm sure you wish there were one.

I was at work when we covered #138 up there (When my love sweares that she is made of truth), so I never got to share this video from my list. It's not a famous actor this time - I think he's just some guy who loves this poem - but he recites very well.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2CPaRt05Stk

#108 by jnwelch> Thanks, Joe! I've fallen into the habit of writing whatever flashes into my mind as I'm reading the sonnets. Usually it's drivel, but every once in a while I make a hit. As far as whether they are easier to read, I do think that reading a lot of them does seem to make the latter ones easier to understand, like being exposed to a foreign language over time. Although every once in a while Will throws in a curveball that I can't make heads or tails of.

#110 by Cynara> and is a rebuke for her hard-partying vain lascivious lifestyle
Oh, goody. Because we really need more "boo-hoo, I'm sad/bad/mad and it's all your fault" sonnets, don't we?

#112 by Cynara> That's a nice find! Thanks for sharing it.

I'll be back soon with Sonnet 147.

Sonnet 147, you say? Don't mind if I do.

My love is as a fever, longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease,
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
Th' uncertain sickly appetite to please.
My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I desp'rate now approve
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now reason is past care,
And frantic mad with evermore unrest,
My thoughts and my discourse as madmen’s are,
At random from the truth vainly expressed;
    For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright,
    Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

Whew! That is a final couplet with some punch to it! It is tough and cold and mean and I love it. I want to memorize it so I can throw it back in the face of someone in my life who bedevils me as thoroughly (although in a decidedly different way) as the dark lady vexes the poet.

The second comment I want to make on this one is that I found the whole "love is a fever" extended metaphor here to be very effective and rather entertaining to read. Sometimes when Will gets going on a metaphor he loses me along the way, either because he uses language in a way that's not familiar to our modern ears or because the metaphor itself seems a bit strained. But I thought this one held up all the way through and it leads up so nicely to that gut-punch of a final couplet.

I guess I like "mad" Will better than "sad" Will. Show some fight, man!

Yeeeeah! I love the final couplet, too. No whine in that, just a thundering denunciation (and a renunciation of his earlier poems). It sounds like he's ready to go out with the boys and get hammered on a tun of canary. I suspect that the evening will end in sentimental tears, but it should be fun for a while.

You'll note that our first line has only nine syllables, but since it still has five strong ones it doesn't sound lopsided.

"Love is an illness" is also a new metaphor for this sequence, isn't it?

I'm trying to think of another sonnet that has the "love is an illness" trope, and nothing is coming to mind. I do think you're right that it's new.

I didn't even notice that the first line only has nine syllables. I think the enjambment helps hide that a bit, since I was trying to read the first two lines almost as one without an obvious break after "longing still".

OK, at the risk of looking ridiculous I have to ask: what is a "tun of canary"? Getting hammered I am familiar with. :-)

A tun is a small cask, and canary was a kind of sack, something like sherry.

Ha ha ha ha! I might as well fess up that my best guess was that "tun" was a UK/Canadian variant spelling of "ton" and canary = bird = woman. Thus, he was getting hammered (drunk) and debauching a pubful of ladies. Sometimes I don't know how my mind ended up in this gutter, but here it is.

...he may have been doing that, too.

And here it is in the plays:
"O knight, thou lackest a cup of canary; when did I see thee so put down?"
"Farewell, my hearts: I will to my honest knight Falstaff, and drink canary with him."
"But, i' faith, you have drunk too much canaries; and that's a marvellous searching wine, and it perfumes the blood ere one can say 'What's this?'" (Just like cider)

And here's a reference: http://www.elizabethan.org/compendium/19.html

What's so special about the number 148? Well, according to anthropologist Robin Dunmbar, it's the approximate number of close social connections that apes can maintain. Oh, and it's also this:

O me! what eyes hath love put in my head,
Which have no correspondence with true sight!
Or, if they have, where is my judgment fled,
That censures falsely what they see aright?
If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote,
What means the world to say it is not so?
If it be not, then love doth well denote
Love’s eye is not so true as all men’s: no,
How can it? O how can love’s eye be true,
That is so vexed with watching and with tears?
No marvel then, though I mistake my view;
The sun itself sees not till heaven clears.
    O cunning love! With tears thou keep’st me blind,
    Lest eyes well seeing thy foul faults should find.

I don't know how many close social relationships our poet was maintaining when he wrote this one. We know of at least two, eh? As much trouble as those two gave him, it would be a wonder if he ever ventured further.

Yes, yes, our poet has once again been deceived by his eyes. Or maybe it was his heart. Or some other body part. Anyhoo, deceived he was and vexed he is, by golly. How naughty of love to "keep'st me blind" with tears, thus hiding its faults from his view. Naughty, naughty love.

Augggrrhrhrhaug, I've been away from this thread too long.

. Anyhoo, deceived he was and vexed he is, by golly.
It's hilarious how blasé we've become about this. I would add "and he's on about his eyes again, isn't he?" Yes, he isn't trusting his sight because, well, either his eyes, Eros' eyes, or something Eros is doing to his eyes has gone askew and he doesn't know what he's looking at again. And, after all, the little winged love god is blind.

I feel kind of bad about being so glib about these latter sonnets, but reading the entire series all in order has kind of hardened me to whatever charms they may hold, I fear. Perhaps it was a mistake to attempt to read them like this, but on the other hand it's been fascinating to see the parallels and contrasts.

Hey, there are pros and cons. I don't think either of us will ever look at the sonnets this way again, but I know I've learned a ton about sonnets, both Will's and in general.

How about 149?

Canst thou, O cruel, say I love thee not,
When I against myself with thee partake?
Do I not think on thee, when I forgot
Am of myself, all, tyrant, for thy sake?
Who hateth thee that I do call my friend?
On whom frown’st thou that I do fawn upon?
Nay, if thou lour’st on me, do I not spend
Revenge upon myself with present moan?
What merit do I in myself respect,
That is so proud thy service to despise,
When all my best doth worship thy defect,
Commanded by the motion of thine eyes?
    But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind;
    Those that can see thou lov’st, and I am blind.

You know, I was right there with Will through the first half of this one. And then:
Nay, if thou lour’st on me, do I not spend / Revenge upon myself with present moan? Um, what?

Anyway, our poet seems peeved (now there's a surprise, eh?) He is happy to dote on his lover, snub anyone she dislikes, sacrifice his own happiness for her sake ... and it's not enough, apparently. She wants more. But what more? It's not clear to me what would make her happy, and it certainly isn't clear to our poor poet.

Oh, and he's back on those damned eyes again. Hers are hypnotizing him into doing her bidding; his are blind to her faults. What a pair, eh?

lour'st
Have you ever heard of "lowering clouds"? Same word - "frowning," more or less, which hearks back to the previous line.

More generally, we can read those lines as "No, if you frown on me, don't I take revenge on myself with immediate lamentation?" I like this characterization of the passage: "the phrase is unidiomatic and odd." Unidiomatic!

"it shows the poet casting round desperately for a solution, trying to come to terms with his rejection, and in the end only succeeding in explaining it in terms of rather worn out sonneteering conventions, which leave him as blind as ever." Also:
"There does not seem to be an obvious connection between the thought of the couplet and what has preceded it."

On to 150!

Just a few more to go!

Thanks for sticking with us, Morphy! My apologies for my wanderings.

I'm going to be out until late this evening (I only wish it was as exciting as that sounds), so here's Sonnet 150 a little early:

O from what pow'r hast thou this pow'rful might,
With insufficiency my heart to sway,
To make me give the lie to my true sight,
And swear that brightness doth not grace the day?
Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill,
That in the very refuse of thy deeds
There is such strength and warrantise of skill
That in my mind thy worst all best exceeds?
Who taught thee how to make me love thee more,
The more I hear and see just cause of hate?
O, though I love what others do abhor,
With others thou shouldst not abhor my state.
    If thy unworthiness raised love in me,
    More worthy I to be beloved of thee.

I'll give our poet credit: He's more than capable of finding virtue in things of questionable value. He declares himself helpless before his lover's wickedness, incapable of seeing it clearly and confusing it with virtue. And because he's such a twisted mister, that proves he and his wicked lover belong together?

Anyway, I like the last quatrain best in this one:
Who taught thee how to make me love thee more,
The more I hear and see just cause of hate?
O, though I love what others do abhor,
With others thou shouldst not abhor my state.

I've been meaning to ask (and you know I refuse to sneak peeks ahead): Do we get any kind of resolution to this relationship by the last sonnet? Don't tell me if you think it would ruin the suspense of the last few sonnets.

It is a winningly perverse sonnet, don't you think?

Re. a resolution; I don't think so, but I'm not absolutely sure. I don't think the last one is an explicit resolution, but I'm not sure what the next few are like, and it's possible that I missed something in 154 when I read it ages ago.

Next: more Elizabethan dick jokes!

Cynara, stop trying to tempt me to read ahead. You know how I love a good Elizabethan dick joke. :-)

I hope you've all been as anxious to get to Sonnet 151 as I have:

Love is too young to know what conscience is,
Yet who knows not conscience is born of love?
Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss,
Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove;
For, thou betraying me, I do betray
My nobler part to my gross body’s treason.
My soul doth tell my body that he may
Triumph in love—flesh stays no father reason,
But, rising at thy name, doth point out thee
As his triumphant prize—proud of this pride,
He is contented thy poor drudge to be,
To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side.
    No want of conscience hold it that I call
    Her “love” for whose dear love I rise and fall.

There's more rising and falling in this sonnet than a good old-fashioned Catholic mass — different body parts though, knees and knobs, as it were. It struck me as I read this one through that for all his whingeing and groaning in earlier sonnets about how helpless he is before the force of nature that is his dark mistress, this one feels different. Yes, he's still rabbiting on about being a slave to his flesh — to stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side indeed. But he seems almost resigned to his fate here, not in a despairing way but almost in a shrugged-shoulders-"whatcha gonna do with wimmen" sort of way.

Of course it's quite possible that I am simply suffering a particularly severe case of Sonnet Fever — a variant of avian flu, strain WS154, if I'm not mistaken. No doubt transmitted to humans by some hapless swan on the Avon River.

I'm afraid I get totally distracted by the final quatrain and couplet. I know that the first quatrain is working out something about love and infidelity (Cupid is too young to have a conscience - therefore, people who are in love are also conscienceless?). The second quatrain seems to blame Cupid for betraying him into infidelity, but also says that this betrayal has caused him in turn to betray his "nobler part" (his conscience or soul?) by being overwhelmed by his lust.

As convoluted as this gets, I think I grasp that the poet manages to blame his infidelity (a betrayal of his own soul) on Cupid's betrayal of him (by making him fall in love) and by the poet's body's "treason" against his conscience. Even the poet's soul is giving out dodgy advice - telling his body that "he" may triumph in love. I just wish I could be clear about who that "he" is - the poet's soul or body? And who is he cheating on? Maybe the youth, by pursuing the lady?

Then, of course, we're on to the dick jokes, which, in my mind, rather undermine any seriousness I might have felt in the first two quatrains.

What is he saying in that last couplet? That his calling his lover "love" can't be so bad because he rises and falls for her love. I'm trying to look past the obvious double entendre here. Is he saying that he must love her, because he rises and falls for her: perhaps emotionally, or that his reputation rises and falls through his association with her?

I like your observation about the different tone here. He's making light of it for once.

We are getting so close to the end! Here's Sonnet 152:

In loving thee thou know’st I am forsworn;
But thou art twice forsworn to me love swearing,
In act thy bed-vow broke and new faith torn,
In vowing new hate after new love bearing.
But why of two oaths' breach do I accuse thee,
When I break twenty? I am perjured most,
For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee,
And all my honest faith in thee is lost;
For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness,
Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy,
And, to enlighten thee, gave eyes to blindness,
Or made them swear against the thing they see.
    For I have sworn thee fair: more perjured eye,
    To swear against the truth so foul a lie.

Again with the eyes! Dude, I know they're the windows to the soul, but enough already. We get it: She's a snake and you choose to turn a blind eye to her faults.

I don't know how anyone else feels, but that first quatrain was a real tongue-twister for me. Half the time when I read it through I decide that his lover had a baby ("vowing new hate after new love bearing"), but that seems uber unlikely, eh?

Ah, surprise. It turns out this is the last Dark Lady sonnet. Yay?

"In loving thee thou know’st I am forsworn;"
Yes, well - you are married, Will. Possibly the "bed-vow" she's breaking is also to a spouse? My research suggests that in line four he's reproaching her for (first) bearing love for him, then switching it to hate almost immediately - i.e. rejecting two men in quick succession.

It's not terribly convincing as a closing poem, is it? While I definitely see a continuing cast of characters and continuing themes, these don't really tell a story with a beginning, middle, or end.

I didn't know this was the last Dark Lady sonnet. It definitely doesn't feel like a finale to me. For all his lamentations here, it doesn't seem much different than any of the other sonnets when he's wailed about his powerlessness in the face of her sexual allure. There's no resolution in either direction (you're bad but I don't care OR get thee away from me, devil woman).

I like your thought that he might be chastising her for cheating on her spouse. Isn't it lovely to know that the tradition of hypocrisy was already alive and well in the 16th century?

The next two are based on a poem from the 5th century - two different takes on the same idea.

Well, let's not dally. Here's Sonnet 153, the penultimate verse in our little journey:

Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep.
A maid of Dian’s this advantage found,
And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep
In a cold valley-fountain of that ground,
Which borrowed from this holy fire of love
A dateless lively heat, still to endure,
And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove
Against strange maladies a sovereign cure.
But at my mistress' eye love’s brand new fired,
The boy for trial needs would touch my breast;
I, sick withal, the help of bath desired,
And thither hied, a sad distempered guest,
    But found no cure; the bath for my help lies
    Where Cupid got new fire—my mistress' eye.

I would never have guessed that this wasn't part of the Dark Lady series if Cynara hadn't clued me in. I hope this doesn't mean that her year or so of patient sonnet tutoring has all been in vain.

I'm curious to know more about the poem this is based on. At first (and second and third) read, it didn't leap to the front of the pack as one of my favorites.

Before the final sonnet ends this course of these Will's words and sets the beginning of a rich summer, to Rosalita and Cynara: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uiNMz_745vQ
Thank you both, very much.

LOL. Thank you, Alberto!

And, well, we certainly could think of #153 as part of the Dark Lady series. The only think keeping us from that interpretation is, I think, the classical source.

I quite like it, actually; I like the couplet.

Since I don't have any idea what that classical source is, I guess I'll just think of it as one of the Dark Lady sonnets.

You had only to ask!


Beneath these plane trees, detained by gentle slumber, Love slept, having put his torch in the care of the Nymphs; but the Nymphs said one to another: "Why wait? Would that together with this we could quench the fire in the hearts of men." But the torch set fire even to the water, and with hot water thenceforth the Love-Nymphs fill the bath.

This is from "the Greek Anthology" (specifically the Planudean Anthology, IX, 627, if that means anything to anyone - I'm drawing a blank) and is "attributed to Marcianus Scholasticus (5th cent. AD)."

There should be a drum roll here, I think. Our final sonnet, No. 154:

The little love-god lying once asleep
Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand,
Whilst many nymphs that vowed chaste life to keep
Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand
The fairest votary took up that fire,
Which many legions of true hearts had warmed;
And so the general of hot desire
Was, sleeping, by a virgin hand disarmed.
This brand she quenchèd in a cool well by,
Which from love’s fire took heat perpetual,
Growing a bath and healthful remedy
For men diseased; but I, my mistress' thrall,
    Came there for cure, and this by that I prove:
    Love’s fire heats water; water cools not love.

A variation on No. 153 and that classic poem. I think it seems more simple, less sophisticated, and rewards a more casual reading. Probably why I like it better. After more than a year and 154 sonnets, I'm still just a shallow jerk, apparently.

Whoo hoo! We did it! Bring on the ticker tape parade!

>you are not a shallow jerk! Is Will pissing you off?

Nah, Will's good. I guess I'm disappointed in myself because I don't feel I was very dedicated about trying to really grow in my understanding of poetry in general and the sonnets in particular. I hope you don't feel that you've wasted the last year of your life trying to get me to learn something I don't seem capable of.

Well, it also felt to me that the last sonnets ended with a whimper rather than a bang. It might not be totally your fault. I never did really gain much understanding either. To the end I was using No Fear Shakespeare to "get" every single line. But I consider it an accomplishment just to have read the sonnets - which I couldn't and wouldn't have done with out you and Cynara.

Thank you Cynara and Julia. I've enjoyed this course very much and feel that I've got all the pleasure and the advantage without doing any of the work!

Julia! I am going to take my tutor position as permission to address your implied self-assessment.

First, I'm sorry to hear that you don't think you've grown in your understanding of poetry over the past year. Respectfully, I would like to disagree. And because I'm a pedant, I'm going to disagree in the form of a list.

(But first) Is "understanding" the most important goal when it comes to reading poetry?
I'm not sure it is. To take an example very different from Shakespeare's poetry, I don't think I will ever entirely understand The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock - but as you may have noticed upthread, that hasn't stopped me from teaching it.

When it comes to "understanding" one of Shakespeare's sonnets, what I think of a) getting the "surface" meaning (which with his pretzelled sentences and archaic language is a job in itself), and b) getting some of the themes and possible double meanings.

Me, I privilege enjoyment over understanding. As far as that goes, I think we've learned that for us, the sonnets are best enjoyed a few at a time, instead of over an entire year, but we've both learned other things, too.

Anyway, it doesn't really matter what I think about understanding as a goal if it's yours. But don't you understand them better now?

Were I to lay it out in curricular terms, it might look like this:

***

Reading for Meaning

Demonstrating Understanding of Content
1.4 identify the important information and ideas in written texts, including complex and challenging texts, in a variety of ways (e.g. compare to country and western songs, respond to poetic concepts)

Reading Comprehension Strategies
1.2 select and use, with increasing facility, the most appropriate reading comprehension strategies to understand texts, including complex and challenging texts (e.g. researching, thinking back to earlier poems, asking Cynara what the red hell is going on).

Teacher prompt: “Now that you’ve finished reading the sonnet, what are some of the questions you’d like to discuss with the lurkers?”

Demonstrating Understanding of Content
1.3 identify the most important ideas and supporting details in texts, including complex and challenging texts. (you've been awesome at this in particular)

1.4 make and explain inferences of increasing subtlety and insight about texts, including complex and challenging texts, supporting their explanations with well-chosen stated and implied ideas from the texts

Extending Understanding of Texts
1.5 extend understanding of texts, including complex and challenging texts, by making rich and increasingly insightful connections between the ideas in them and personal knowledge, experience, and insights; other texts; and the world around them. (Okay, so this is the country song one).

Analysing Texts
1.6 analyse texts in terms of the information, ideas, issues, or themes they explore, examining how various aspects of the texts contribute to the presentation or development of these elements

Evaluating Texts
1.7 evaluate the effectiveness of texts, including complex and challenging texts, using evidence from the text insightfully to support their opinions. (e.g. "he really lost me around line eight because....")

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What was that? That was the sound of me losing all the lurkers 200 words ago. Fair enough, we all hate curriculum documents. Still with me, lady? Stick around a minute, I've got some other stuff you're great at.

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Understanding Form and Style

Text Forms
2.1 identify a variety of characteristics of literary, informational, and graphic text forms and demonstrate insight into the way they help communicate meaning (e.g., quoted material is used in a literary essay to support the analysis or argument, and the thesis is often restated and extended in the conclusion; recurring imagery and/or symbols often help to develop themes in poems, stories, and plays; the structure of a sonnet provides a framework for the poem’s content)

Teacher prompt, this time also stolen directly from the curriculum: “What can you expect to find in the concluding couplet of a Shakespearean sonnet?”

Reading with Fluency
Reading Unfamiliar Words
3.2 use decoding strategies effectively to read and understand unfamiliar words, including words of increasing difficulty

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Now, the tutoring threads don't involve formal assessments like essays or tests (or interpretive dance or whatever, it's a whole new world out there in education), but my informal assessments - discussing each poem as it arose - would suggest to me that you have developed a ton of new skills and knowledge: particularly Shakespeare's life & times, contemporary poetic tropes and forms, sonnet structure, terms for poetic criticism, and poetic devices and their uses.

You're much more comfortable with early modern English and poetic inversions of syntax, and you are confident in finding connections to other poems (and songs). Most of all, you aren't afraid to read the damned stuff! Read it, read it, read it, and the rest follows!

The only thing we haven't gotten into - and were we really here for it? - is the it university-English-department level of digging in and picking it apart. Maybe a thread per poem would have done that, but we can't realistically develop our thinking over a post or two.

I'm pleased with what I've gotten out of this process - a WAY more detailed knowledge of Will's sonnets and Elizabethan poetry than I'd had before, some brushing-up of my early modern English, and a chance to pick through them with you! I don't think I've told you this enough, but you've been a dream to tutor. I have honestly bragged to my family and teacher friends about what a wonderful 'student' I have - bright, dedicated, enthusiastic, and a lot of fun.

Now, I think both of us should leave these poems alone for a year or two, but after that... I think they might surprise us. Familiarity may breed contempt, but familiarity(contempt) + absence + time + eventual rediscovery(nostalgia) often equal a deeper understanding & enjoyment than one had the first time.

Anyway, this post is too long. I'm signing off for now.

We set to sea in twenty-twelve, young salts
Upon the wave of Will. We've seen some shores
And read some lines: if jammed with faults
Or past compare, we read and

oh heck, my iambic pentameter wants to go all six feet instead of five. Okay, let's try this again.

When we started in February of twenty-twelve
We were novices, mere acolytes. We did not know
Ladyes from Youths, nor why a poet's breast is
like a shop-window.

And if, at times, our pow'r flagged
And we cried out "please hold! Enough!
Dump the youth, and write a play!
You've fourteen sonnets on each theme!
And if I hear him apologizing for living one more time
I'm going to pitch a Tempest-fit."

(And this is harder than it looks
I'm going back to reading books
And laughing at cats on t'Internet.)

But here we stand upon the sand
Cast up wiser, with book at hand
And we'll set out again upon this sea,
Not as mappers or taxonomists, but as friends of
William S., to lend an ear and take our rest.

My thanks to Rosa, whose idea this was,
Morphy, Alberto, and lurking friends: t'was
An honour to be your sometime host,
To thrash on through and find the most
Perfect lines and silly phrase,
To all of you, my glass I raise.

*applauds*

Bravo! You are entirely too kind in your assessment of my part in this grand adventure, but I appreciate your saying it. To the extent that I was a wonderful student for you, you so far exceeded my expectations of what a tutor would be and do that I fear I've been spoiled for ever being a tutee again. It has been a grand ride, indeed, and I can't imagine taking it with anyone but you.

Your poem is perfect. Especially the end:

An honour to be your sometime host,
To thrash on through and find the most
Perfect lines and silly phrase,
To all of you, my glass I raise.

I though I should finish by making Will look good. We've been spoiled :-)

What fun. Thank you, Julia!

Julia,

I recently listened to them all, on audio, straight-through, and unaware or your marvelous thread!

Steve, that must have been quite the experience! How did you enjoy them? Cynara dug up audio versions of a number of the sonnets and it was always fascinating to hear the different readings, and how they differed from my own completely unskilled attempts at reading them aloud to myself. You probably noticed that some of them "scan" much better than others. Please feel free to share any observations you might have here in this thread; I'd be interested to get your perspective.

P.S. I love your profile picture!

>This is a second listing of my comment, since it is about the thread back in Part the Third (and the first listing is at the end of Part the Third.)

Following on Sonnet 73 in Part the Third: (The sonnet is repeated below, but interesting initial commentary is from 113 to 130 in Part 3, which also contains an interesting alternate reading of the sonnet.)

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou seest the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death’s second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou seest the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the deathbed whereon it must expire
Consumed with that which it was nourished by.
This thou perceiv’st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

My comment:
Just happened upon this delightful thread today, and although I'm not yet up to sonnet 73 in the thread, I jumped to it because it is my favorite. I have a slightly different interpretation to offer.

Even though most--but not all--people died much younger in those days, the sonnet struck me as being about that short portion of life "just before" dying, which my father went through long ago. When I read it, I couldn't get over how Shakespeare--in his great humanity--had experienced and had been able to write about this short time period preceding many deaths: "Death's first self". He uses three metaphors to describe those moments: the branches, almost denuded of leaves in the cold after the birds have departed, the brief remaining twilight for a minute or two AFTER the sun has set, and the last glowing embers of a fire that has "gone out".

I wouldn't have interpreted the sonnet this way if I hadn't witnessed this particular kind of death. And the closing couplet seemed to refer to his reaching out to my mother with what consciousness remained even more so during those last days.

I found the sonnet deeply consoling, read this way. And agreed, "Bare ruin'd choirs" is so beautiful, it's hard to believe.

Diane, how lovely that you have stumbled on this old thread, which Cynara and I had so much fun with whilst exploring the sonnets! I have to say, I really love your interpretation of Sonnet 73 as spotlighting that time of life just before someone dies. I seem to recall in my initial reading having a vague thought along those lines especially in connection with the lines talking about the twilight of the day just before full dark falls, but I didn't take it any further in my mind. What a lovely memory you have your father's final days as well; I can see why this is your favorite sonnet with so much personal meaning packed into it.

I hope you will plug along with the rest of the thread, and please don't be shy about posting your thoughts as you go. I welcome any chance to re-visit my old friend Will, especially when there are such thoughtful new shades of meaning to uncover!

Thanks. Well, I'm pretty far back, but I'll be delighted to make any comments--And hope others may join in, too--You can't say enough about Will's sonnets.

I'm glad to see this worthy thread revived. Somehow I got waylaid as we reached the end, so please, Cynara and Julia, accept my belated thanks. I loved Cynara's poem in >149 Cynara:, and now I know " why a poet's breast is like a shop-window". Though I must admit I'm still not sure I can separate Ladyes from Youths in these sonnets.

I had always wanted to read these, and it helped so much to have your learned, questioning, and humorous company along the way.

Thank you for joining us! I know my understanding & love of the sonnets has been deepened, and I hope yours was too.

Definitely, Cynara. In my case I was starting with a wondrous lack of knowledge, so my understanding & love had plenty of room to deepen, and did.

LOL. As did mine.

FYI - Shakespeare's sonnets figure in 1942 film, "Isle of Missing Men."

(The "isle" is an island prison off Australia, filled with convicts. A woman visits the island overnight.)

In this b&w film, one of those steamy romances set in hot climates (à la "Red Dust," only far inferior), the visiting female (a bleached blonde) is temporarily housed in a cottage on the island. To prevent her from being bored, one of the men picks out a book for her to read, "Shakespeare's Sonnets." She takes it enthusiastically and says, "I haven't read those in years!"

Ha! I've never heard of that film, Diane, but now I kind of want to see it. Or at least that little bit of it. Does she actually quote any of the sonnets?

No, she only holds the book for a while (maybe she looks at it, but I don't remember) and says (as I said, enthusiastically) what I more or less quoted above.

The film was shown by TCM yesterday, and it's not yet repeated on their calendar.

BTW, later the man comes back with a detective novel which he thinks she'll enjoy more than the sonnets, and she takes it.

You have to wonder what was going through the filmmaker's minds that they chose the Sonnets for that particular scene. Were they intending to signal that even though she is a hot blonde, she has an intellectual side? Very amusing.

She actually was an accomplished cello player and had been performing in LA, when she was hired to join a movie studio orchestra. Then did acting in a few insignificant roles, .

So maybe you're right, that she probably argued about adding mention of the sonnets.

To get further "Off Topic," she was married for four months to Johnny Stompanato--who later died "at the hands" of Lana Turner's daughter.