The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (1137 page)

Even that your pity is enough to cure me.

Oh, I know you curse my bad luck for my sake—

The guilty goddess of my hurtful deeds—

For not having a better way to make a living

Than by being in front of the public, which bred public manners.

So it is that my name has received a bad mark,

And it has brought down my very nature,

To what it works in, like the dyer’s hand covered with ink:

So, take pity on me and hope that I can be renewed,

While I, like a willing patient, will drink

Potions made with vinegar to clear up my infection,

And I will not think any bitterness is bitter,

Not will I protest a double penance to try to correct things.

Pity me, dear friend, and I assure you

That even your pity is enough to cure me.

Your love and pity doth the impression fill

Which vulgar scandal stamp'd upon my brow;

For what care I who calls me well or ill,

So you o'er-green my bad, my good allow?

You are my all the world, and I must strive

To know my shames and praises from your tongue:

None else to me, nor I to none alive,

That my steel'd sense or changes right or wrong.

In so profound abysm I throw all care

Of others' voices, that my adder's sense

To critic and to flatterer stopped are.

Mark how with my neglect I do dispense:

You are so strongly in my purpose bred

That all the world besides methinks are dead.

Your love and pity fill in the indentation

That vulgar scandal has stamped onto my forehead.

What do I care who calls me good or bad,

As long as you gloss over my bad, and allow for my good?

You are my entire world, and I must strive

To learn about my shames and praises from you:

No one else matters to me, and I matter to no one alive,

You can change my hardened sense whether it is right or wrong.

Into a deep chasm I throw all care

Regarding the opinions of others, and my snake-like awareness

Of criticism and flattery no longer works.

Notice how I disregard the neglect I am shown:

You are so strongly the main purpose of my life,

That it seems to me that the rest of the world is dead.

Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind;

And that which governs me to go about

Doth part his function and is partly blind,

Seems seeing, but effectually is out;

For it no form delivers to the heart

Of bird of flower, or shape, which it doth latch:

Of his quick objects hath the mind no part,

Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch:

For if it see the rudest or gentlest sight,

The most sweet favour or deformed'st creature,

The mountain or the sea, the day or night,

The crow or dove, it shapes them to your feature:

Incapable of more, replete with you,

My most true mind thus makes mine eye untrue.

Since I left you, my vision is turned inward,

And the part of me that controls my movement

Is half working and is half blind;

It sees things but it doesn’t register them,

And it doesn’t recognize the forms it sends to my heart,

Such as birds or flowers or any shape it latches onto;

The mind plays no part in recognizing these objects,

And does not see what vision catches sight of,

Whether it’s the crudest or gentlest sight,

The sweetest appearing or the most deformed creature,

The mountain or the sea, the day or night,

The crow or dove—it makes them all look like you.

Incapable of seeing anything else and full of you,

My mind is faithful but is causing me to see everything wrong.

Or whether doth my mind, being crown'd with you,

Drink up the monarch's plague, this flattery?

Or whether shall I say, mine eye saith true,

And that your love taught it this alchemy,

To make of monsters and things indigest

Such cherubins as your sweet self resemble,

Creating every bad a perfect best,

As fast as objects to his beams assemble?

O,'tis the first; 'tis flattery in my seeing,

And my great mind most kingly drinks it up:

Mine eye well knows what with his gust is 'greeing,

And to his palate doth prepare the cup:

If it be poison'd, 'tis the lesser sin

That mine eye loves it and doth first begin.

Does my mind, being invested with you,

Drink in the kingly affliction of flattery and delusion?

Or is it that what my eye sees is real,

And that your love has magically taught it how to alter things?

It has the ability to make monsters and deformed creatures

Into angels that sweetly resemble you,

And of creating every bad thing into a perfect best,

As soon as it comes into my line of vision.

Oh, it must be the first: my vision is full of delusions,

And my mind drinks it up like a king wanting flattery.

My eye knows well what my mind wants to see,

And prepares a cup the mind will relish:

If the cup is poisoned with falsehood, there is no harm,

My eye loves the false visions, too, and tastes them first.

Those lines that I before have writ do lie,

Even those that said I could not love you dearer:

Yet then my judgment knew no reason why

My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer.

But reckoning time, whose million'd accidents

Creep in 'twixt vows and change decrees of kings,

Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp'st intents,

Divert strong minds to the course of altering things;

Alas, why, fearing of time's tyranny,

Might I not then say 'Now I love you best,'

When I was certain o'er incertainty,

Crowning the present, doubting of the rest?

Love is a babe; then might I not say so,

To give full growth to that which still doth grow?

Those lines I wrote before tell lies,

Even those that said I could not love you more:

Then my judgment knew of no reason why

My fullest flame for you could ever burn clearer.

But time has passed, with a million accidents

Having crept in between our values that are capable of changing the decrees of kings,

Darkening sacred beauty, making the sharpest intentions dull,

And forcing strong minds to adjust to a changing course;

Alas, why then, fearful of time’s tyranny,

Did I not say then, ‘Now I love you best,’

When I was more certain than uncertain,

And I believed the present was complete, despite doubts about the future?

Love is a baby, so couldn’t I say

That even full grown, it will still continue to grow?

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove:

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come:

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

When it comes to the marriage of true minds,

I hope I will never admit there are obstacles. Love is not love

If it changes when it sees change in the loved one,

Or if it turns in a new direction when the lover leaves:

Oh, no! It is a constant and fixed mark

That looks upon storms and is not shaken;

It is like the star that guides the way of every wandering ship,

And whose worth is unknown, although its actual height can be measured.

Love is not Time’s fool, even though rosy lips and cheeks