William Shakespeare, Sonnet cvii
Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul
Of the wide world dreaming on things to come,
Can yet the lease of my true love control,
4
The mortal moon hath her eclipse endur'd ,
And the sad augers mock their own presage;
Incertainties now crown themselves assur'd ,
8
And peace proclaims olives of endless age.
Now with the drops of this most balmy time
My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes, [*]
Since spite of him I'll live in this poor rhyme,
12
While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes.
And thou in this shalt find thy monument,
When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent.
Notes
line 10: Subscribes -- submits -- acknowledges as a superior. [ Back to text ]
Most notes to Shakespeare's sonnets are from Charles Knight's edition, but those in square brackets are mine.