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Original text:
A Crown of sonnets, but vnfinished.
11. Sonnet
Thogh the most parfet stile kannot attaine
the praise, to praise enowgh the meanest parte
of yow, the ornament of natures arte
worth of this worlde, of all ioies the Souueraine
And thogh I know, I labour shall in vaine
to painte in words, the deadly wounds, the darte
of yowr faier eyes doth giue, since mine own hart
knows not the measure, of my loue and paine
yet since yowr wil the charge on mee doth lay
yowr wil the law I onely reuerence
Skilles, and prailes I doe yow obey
Nor merit seeke, but pitty if thus I
doe folly shew, to proue obedience
who giues himself, may il his words deny
1590s-1600s
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Contemporary text:
A crown of sonnets, but unfinished.
11. Sonnet
Though the most perfect style cannot attain
The praise, to praise enough the meanest parte
Of you, the ornament of Nature’s art,
Worth of this world, of all joys the Sovereign;
And though I know, I labour shall in vain
To paint in words, the deadly wounds, the dart
Of your fair eyes doth give, since mine own heart
Knows not the measure, of my love and pain:
Yet since your will the charge on me doth lay,
Yowr will, the law I only reverence
Skill-less, and prais-less I do you obey;
Nor merit seek, but pity, if thus I
Do folly show, to prove obedience;
Who gives himself, may ill his words deny.
1590s-1600s
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Notes
См. также / See also
