I thought you might like to see how the obscure language of Shakespearian times has hidden the true meaning of the Sonnets. But you must prepare yourself for a shock! For once translated into something you can understand the language become somewhat colourful and even rude in the extreme at times.
Contrary to what many believe these sonnets were not all written by William Shakespeare himself. However this isn't some story to take away the man's talent and credited it to some Nobleman or other writer. Just a conversation between him and his muse. Which in this case is Queen Elizabeth the First. Nevertheless when the muse answers the writer, it's not done in William's words, but her own words.
What these few Sonnets show here is William's desire that the Queen should marry and have children. It shows the age gap between him and her and how the Queen constantly puts herself down, even her own sexuality.
I have only shown the first ten Sonnets, to distinguish between Shakespeare and Elizabeth's written parts I have coloured Shakespeare's words RED and Elizabeth's BLUE. Additional words need for context or that are not translated (but needed) are shown as green.
The texts of these Sonnets will be in the early stages of his work starting around 1580. Some of the other Sonnet's (not featured in the ten here) will date after that date to around about 1592.
The un-translated version, but showing who wrote what, is in this PDF file: Sonnets all 154
THE SONNETS
by
William Shakespeare and Elizabeth Tudor (Queen Elizabeth I)
No 1
From
beautified whores men desire sex,
That
thereby beauty's Rose might never die,
But
as the grim reaper should by time end,
His
tender heir might carry his memory:
But
you concerned by your own clear womb,
Feed’s
your eternal flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making
a famine where abundance lies,
You
are your own enemy, to your lushes self too cruel:
You
are now the world's newest ornament,
And
only announcements to the tasteless spring,
Within
your own bud (inner-self) you hide your
feelings,
And
an affectionate ill-bred person wastes time in being mean:
Have
Pity on this world, or else this useless person stay,
Have
sex with the world now, or end in up dead.
No 2
When
your forty, worn in face,
And
time digs deep trenches in your beautiful complexion,
Your youth's good looks so gazed on now,
Your sex drive will be a tattered weed absolutely worthless :
Then when someone asks, where is your beauty,
Where has all the fertile juice of your sexy days gone;
Then you say within my own deep sunken arsehole,
Together with all my masturbation guilt, and my flattery,
How
much more flattery can you take and be beautiful,
You
could always say 'This beautiful child of mine
Shall sum me up, and even make up excuses for me'
Showing of his beauty by succession like mine.
The
result is to be new made when you feel old,
And
see your fertile juices warm when your ice-cold.
No 3
Look
in your mirror and tell the face you see,
Now
is the time that face should form another,
Whose
fresh repair is the best to do soon before you can’t,
You
annoy the world, un-consecrate some virgin.
For
where is she so beautiful whose intact womb
Scorns
the stick-ing (ploughing) of you sexual
activity?
Or
who is he, so fond will be the tomb,
Or
his masturbation to stop changes?
You
are your mother's Mary image
and she sees in you
Recalling
the lovely April day of her prime,
So
you through windows of this age shall view,
Despite
the wrinkles this is your golden time.
But
if you carry on living like this,
Die
(come) single and your imitation dies with you.
No 4
Poor
loveliness why don’t you spend,
On
yourself your beauty's legacy?
Nature's
legacy gives nothing but doth lend,
And
being honest she bends to those who are free:
Then
beauteous mean why do you abuse,
That
massive dick given you and fuck instead?
Profitless
lender why don’t you use
So
great a cunt of all cunts and still can not come?
For
having a wank with yourself alone,
You
doing it yourself you taste nothing,
Then
how when nature ends your life,
What
acceptable audit will you leave?
Your
unused beauty must be in-tombed with you,
Which
if used makes a profit to be.
No 5
Those
hours that with no sexy work did frame
The
lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell
Sexy
people play the tyrants to the very same,
And
the unbeautiful which is beautifully good at:
For
never-resting time leads summer on (youth)
To
hideous winter and confounds him there, (old
age)
Sap
checked with frost and sexy leaves quite gone, (ugly)
Beauty
covered in snowed and bareness everywhere:
Then
were is summer's distillation left! As
A
liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass,
Beauty's
effect without beauties benefits ,
And
no longer with any idea of what it was.
But
flowers distilled though they with winter meet,
Loose
but their show, their perfume always lives sweet-tasting.
No 6
Then
let not old age ragged dick deface,
In
you your youth even though it has been:
Make
sweet-tasting some vial; treasure you some place,
With
beauty's fertile juice, even if it be self-destroyed:
That
use is not forbidden lending,
Which
pleases those that pay the willing loan;
That's
the stuff for yourself to breed another you,
Or
ten children, happier be it ten for one,
Ten
times yourself were happier than you are,
If
ten of you ten times remodelled yourself:
Then
what could death do if you should depart,
Leaving
you living in forever?
Be
not self-willed for you are much too beautiful,
To
be death's conquest and make worms your heir.
No 7
Look
in the east when the gracious light
Lifts
up his burning foreskin, each under eye
Do
homage to his new-appearing sight,
Serving
with looks his sacred majesty,
And
having climbed the steep-up heavenly hill,
Resembling
strong youth in his middle age,
Yet
mortal looks adore his beauty always,
Attending
on his golden pilgrimage:
But
when from high most pitch with weary bog,
Like
feeble age he droops from the day,
Those
arseholes (‘fore duteous) now converted are
From
his low tract and look another way:
So
you, yourself out-going in thy noon:
Unlooked
on will shrivel unless you get a son.
No 8
Music
to hear, why does music make you cry?
Sweet
things with sweet things war not, joy delights in joy:
Why
love loves you that which you receive and received not gladly,
Or
else received it with pleasure that annoys you?
If
the true agreement of well-tuned sounds,
Or
unions married do offend your ear,
They
do but sweetly argue with you, who confounds
In
singleness the parts that you should really carry:
See
how one string is sweet husband to another,
Striking
each in each by mutual ordering;
Resembling
father and child and happy mother,
Who
all in one, one pleasing note do sing:
These
speechless song being many, seeming the same,
Sings
this to you, 'You single will amount to nothing'.
No 9
Is
it for fear to wet a widow's cock,
That
you indulge in the single life?
Alas,
if you issueless should happen to die,
The
world will cry for you like a it was your wife,
The
world will be thy widow and always weep,
That
there is no form of you left behind,
When
every private widow womb may keep,
By
children's eyes, her husband's genitals in mind:
See
what a generous world this is and how it spends
Shifts
but his place, for always the world enjoys it;
But
beauty in the world has an end,
And
kept unused the user so destroys it:
No
love toward others in this bosom is
So
that you waste time so killing guilty perpetrators.
No 10
Great
guilty and a contradiction that you have no love for any
Who
are you to say, you who are so irresponsible.
Except
if you can, you are worshipped by many,
Of
course it is clear to everybody that you do not love any:
For
you are so obsessed with a killing hatered,
That
against yourself you fight till fight fights itself,
Trying
to win beauty and ruin it.
Although
rebuilding it should be your foremost goal:
Woman change your thoughts, that I may change my mind,
Should
hate be more beautifully lodged than sexiness?
Be
as you appear, that is gracious and kind,
Or
at least to yourself kind-hearted prove,
Make
you another one of you, for love of me
That
beauty always may live in your child or you.