Treasure Island

Jonathan ROBIN

(22 September / London)

Sonnet Cycle to M C after W S Sonnets CXL - CLIV


Sonnet Cycle to M C after W S Sonnets CXL - CLIV

[c] Jonathan Robin

CARE IS OUR DREAM

Sonnet Cycle after William Shakespeare: Part II
Sonnets CXL - CLIV

Shakespeare Sonnet CXL

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-wrestling world is grown so bad,
Mad slanderers by mad ears believèd be.
That I may not be so, nor thou belied,
Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide.

Sonnet CXL

Sorrow's inspiration helps express
Appreciation of this pleasure-pain,
No wisdom in the world could ever dress
Gladder picture, or more sweet refrain.
Throughout your absence I in joy must grieve,
On prayers for future tryst discover bliss,
My notions of time, space, fresh warp weft weave
As each knight who would live a day-dream's kiss!
Mock not. Should I despair I would grow mad,
And in my madness might speak ill of you,
Unbelieved, believing all are bad,
Deaf to truth, to slander prey, taboo.
Enchantment wonder spells, meets wanderer’s joy,
Clear eyes look straight through heart no art need cloy.

Shakespeare Sonnet CXLI

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 unsway'd the likeness of a man,
Thy pround 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.


Sonnet CXLI

Suffice it that you know 'tis not my eyes
Alone adore, for they score errors note.
Nor yet my heart alone that love supplies,
God knows how deeply I upon you dote.
The answer comes not still from tongue's sweet tone
Or senses summoned to their highest pitch,
Meeting sheer delight, together grown,
As near or far, I never felt so rich.
My senses five, through serving you, see light
Affording life a motivation true
Unjustified without you, pointless quite:
Dissuade me pretexting false virtue.
Enduring pain today paves future joy,
Cleaves gain tomorrow to reign’s fey employ.

Shakespeare Sonnet CXLII


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' revenues of their rents.
Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lovest those
Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune 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!


Sonnet CXLII

Sin seems sweet love, base vice must virtues hate
As hate of sin for love is root, branch, tree
Now meditate on inner feelings, see
Great merit none should question, none debate.
Though, if they do so, it can’t be your state
Or through two scarlet lips that perjury
May e’er be found, its ground stems more from me
Adulterine appearing early, late.
May pity in your heart find root, pair fate,
Approve alliance, growth, shared constancy,
Unknot complexes, validate fair plea,
Dovetail harmonies legitimate
Example set which may not be denied,
Can Nature nature’s call defy or hide?

Shakespeare Sonnet CXLIII

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 pursuit 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 runn'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.


Sonnet CXLIII

So, as a careful housewife runs to catch
A feathered dream whose theme would break away,
Nests down her babe and, making swift dispatch,
Goes delving after all she’d wish could stay.
The child meanwhile may cry, would chaser chase,
Open tear tap to trap dear mother's eye -
Mother, who before from babe turned face
Away from dream is blown, lest child should sigh.
Maid, thus you follow that which from you flies,
As babe I chase lest I be left behind,
Urgent seems double need, to make, break ties!
Dichotomy defy! Please kiss, be kind!
Enjoyment trace, let both embrace shared will,
Chérie refuse not hand that seeks you still.


Shakespeare Sonnet CXLIV

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, coloured 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.

Sonnet CXLIV

Spliced loves I have, of comfort and despair,
As taunting spirits both wraiths haunt faith still:
Now one, the better, is a woman fair
Gone wrong the other, - strongman coloured ill.
Tempting me to hell my evil fiend
Only would draw the better from my side,
Might soul corrupt, turns angel devil screened,
Alters her essence pure for his foul pride.
Modified, pride turns to purity
Angel smoothing Angle’s angles rough,
Unquestioned joy is found in unity,
Drawn skeins ‘twixt victor, vanquished, soft and tough,
Ensuring Heaven drives away Hell’s doubt,
Chance karmic waits while fate turns devils out.


Shakespeare Sonnet CXLV

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 tong 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 heaven to hell is flown away.
'I hate' from hate away she threw,
And saved my life, saying 'Not you'.


Sonnet CXLV

Soft lips, that Cupid's bow helped draw,
Are they to frame refusal firm,
Negating love, pronounce its term,
Go on as if naught passed before?
Thus when 'I hate' my love did state
One’s day turned night. Could tongue so sweet
Mete harsher judgement, Doomsday meet?
Admitting, then, my sorry state,
My love, to lift weight borne by few -
Added to those harsh words “I hate”
“Undoubtedly all men but you! ”
Delight! my nightmare turned to fête.
Emerging light rewards love’s token,
Credit from foreclosure woken.


Shakespeare Sonnet CXLVI

Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,
Fooled by these rebel powers 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 shall thou feed on Death, that feeds on men,
And Death once dead, there's no more dying then.

Sonnet CXLVI

Sad soul, mad centre of my sinful earth,
Awake! Why fool yourself? Love lives Time’s prey,
Now here, now there, then buried, slipped away,
Great delusions [b]urned, earn no rebirth.
Theories of resurrection hold no worth,
One moment here, next gone, - Time won't delay.
Manors proud eat dust on judgement day
As worms look on askance, ‘spite tripled girth.
Misuse not time, live splitting sides in mirth,
As, once departed, there’s no second play
Uniting incarnations on Tao Way.
Dross peddle not, spurn outward show on Earth.
Everlasting night leaves mortals in the dark,
Cancer strikes Death through your timeless mark.


Shakespeare Sonnet CXLVII

My love is as a fever, longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease;
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
The uncertain sickly appetite to please.
My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I desperate 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,
As random from the truth vainly express’d;
For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.


Sonnet CXLVII

Sickness, illness, fever, malady,
Ague is this love, vast on itself fast feeds
Never rests, but pesters, nagging needs
Gives rise to further needs as all can see.
To love stands Reason as physician poor,
One moment hot, one moment cold love blows,
Meagre cure’s in sight while fever flows,
And once blood clots all rots, - Death’s sinecure.
Madness conquers Reason as unrest
Advances speech to mine defensive art,
Using verse Shakespearian to express –
Despondent there, ecstatic here - hope’s heart.
Ever I swear you fair, yet my poor pen
Can’t do you justice, efforts fail again!
Shakespeare Sonnet CXLVIII



O me! what eyes hath Love put in my head,
Which have no correspondence with true sight;
Or, if they have, where is my judgement 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 vex’d 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.


Sonnet CXLVIII


Second sight Love's thrust into my eyes
And some may ask if they relation bear –
Near or far - to truth's fine judgement hair,
Given that I find fair what otherwise
Too many see as dross, loss, common guise.
One prize I seek, a peak beyond compare -
Mount Everest no laurels there could share -
An angel as an angel in disguise.
May it be said that Love’s eye time defies.
As, often tearful, dreams seem supreme snare,
Ugly, flawed beyond repair, what stare
Dares sun seek through cloud cover light denies?
Eros, cunning, traps souls’ sparks, hearts blinds,
Conceals real fault lines, lies eyes elsewhere find.

Shakespeare Sonnet CXLIX


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.

Sonnet CXLIX

Should ever you announce ‘I love you not! ’
Although your part I take against my own,
No plans may make but take your thoughts full blown, -
Giving all to umbilical knot,
Think once again! Cupid appears a sot -
Owing all, eye guyed by silly cone,
Make no mistake once one love's light is known, -
As true commitment, ne’er to be forgot.
Mediocre merit overblown
Accounts for doubts, true altar alters not.
Unlimited should worship’s state be shown,
Despising definitions trite, bolt shot.
Eyes which master mine, bewitch my mind,
Cure through insight, view, blindness left behind.
Shakespeare Sonnet CL



O! from what power hast thou this powerful 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 warranties 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 rais’d love in me,
More worthy I to be belov’d of thee.

Sonnet CL

Say, whence do you draw energy and might
Allowing thus both heart and mind to sway,
Neutralising faculties of sight,
Giving the lie to light, night calling day?
Tell me how come I lose all sense of right
October calling March, December, May?
Mind mirage, you excite, the brain takes fright,
Assured your lure sows seeds of disarray,
More I may dote, more I am smote to stay,
All giving, yet, through giving, taking more,
Undeceiving not, I'd wither by the way,
Deign heed this plea, abhor not purest core.
Enchanted I, despite scored faults well spelled,
Can reciprocity then be withheld?

Shakespeare Sonnet CLI


Love is too young to know what conscience is;
Yet who know 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 farther 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.

Sonnet CLI

See, love's too young to know what conscience makes,
And yet all know love's born from conscience fair,
Now, friend, don't fall into my own mistakes,
Guilty found, despite white guiltless air.
Treason showing me you may betray
Only yourself, for I your vassal be
My reason knows but your's, bends to true sway,
As prize triumphant, captive loyalty,
Most glad if by your side both day and night,
As serf both at your beck and call and free,
Uncomplaining, come what may, joy bright,
Delight discerned in perpetuity.
Eternally your star’s my heaven, thrall,
Clear conscience lauds, applauds love’s conscious, call.


Shakespeare Sonnet CLII


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 oath's breach do I accuse thee,
When I break twenty? I am perjured most;
For all my vows are oaths of thy deep kindness,
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 I,
To swear against the truth so foul a lie!

Sonnet CLII

Shared love here best attests that I’m forsworn
And you your self the same seem more than double,
Naming me, another bursts as bubble
Grant swift withdrawn, though drawn, faith found in pawn.
Though how can I accuse you as twice torn
Of twenty times the sin I’m guilty, trouble
My object of affection, turn to rubble
Adoration worn well, can’t be worn.
Magic kindness filling plenty’s horn
Abhors not joys, employs love’s harvest stubble,
Unearths no stars through telescopic Hubble,
Discovers boon outshining finest dawn.
Entire the truth I’ve sworn: you’re peerless fair,
Clod perjured I would be to nod elsewhere.
Shakespeare Sonnet CLII


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 oath's breach do I accuse thee,
When I break twenty? I am perjured most;
For all my vows are oaths of thy deep kindness,
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 I,
To swear against the truth so foul a lie!

Sonnet CLII BIS

Show me another who your praise has penned,
Adding such sparkle, none of it amiss!
Name me another who'd your worth defend
Given in sequent stanzas such as this?
Teach me of others who with words could blend
Open mind with inner eye for beauty, -
My love would never hesitate, but bend
A knee in homage - for your Love's my duty.
Mask hollow life would prove were love forsworn,
Attainted oath, inconstant vow, mind blind,
Unchallenged and self-evident crown worn,
Denies all others, challenges resigned.
Equal none are found in heart or soul:
Contradictions? None, unstained reign sole.


Shakespeare Sonnet CLIII


Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep:
A maid of Diana'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 hide, a sad distemper'd guest,
But found no cure: the bath for my help lies
Where Cupid found new fire, my mistress' eyes.


Sonnet CLIII

Sweet Cupid lay his bow aside, to sleep,
A maid of Diane's this advantage found,
Nearby did hasten to a mountain keep,
Glowing dart steeped in sweet valley sound.
Thus heat transferred from arrow head must seep
On waves of wonder quickly underground,
Magic flowed down to rise in fountain steep
Asudden sparkling everywhere around.
Maladie d’amour: one cure I’d reap,
A fruitful harvest crowned by Cupid’s brand,
Unique remedy to lave, bathe, steep,
Distemper healed, by chance lies close to hand.
Ease can’t be found outside one voice I prize,
Cupid fires heart’s dart through sapphire eyes.

Shakespeare Sonnet CLIV


The little Love-god lying once asleep
Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand,
Whilst many nymphs that vow’d 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 warm’d;
And so the general of hot desire
Was, sleeping, by a virgin hand disarm’d.
This brand she quenched in a cool well by,
Which from Love's fire took heat perpetual,
Growing a bath and healthful remedy
For men diseas’d; but I, my mistress' thrall,
Came there for cure, and this by that I prove,
Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.


Sonnet CLIV


Sweet Cupid lay his shaft aside, to sleep,
A virgin maiden this advantage found,
No hesitation showed, but swift would leap
Gave out this fire to fountain all around.
This tasted once, my Dear, in you could I
One sovereign Queen discover, keen and bright,
My love can’t date, nor greater love supply,
Apart from you no siren song I’d write.
Maid’s fabled sprig dipped in the sacred spring
Allowed heart’s heat from love’s eternal fire
Unstinted access to health’s virtuous ring
Dotation peerless. Slave to your desire
E’er there for cure I come, by this I prove:
Choice love warms water, water cools not Love.

Submitted: Saturday, October 17, 2009
Edited: Thursday, June 06, 2013

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