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Sonnet 126

Original Text

O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power Dost hold Time’s fickle glass, his fickle hour; Who hast by waning grown, and therein show’st Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow’st.

Modern English

O you, my lovely boy, who hold in your hands Time's fickle mirror and his fleeting hour; who have grown more beautiful even as you've aged, and in doing so show your admirers withering while you continue to bloom.

Original Text

If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack, As thou goest onwards, still will pluck thee back, She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill May time disgrace and wretched minutes kill.

Modern English

If Nature, the sovereign mistress over all ruin, keeps drawing you back even as you move forward, she does it for her own purposes — so that her power can humiliate Time and kill off his wretched minutes.

Original Text

Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure! She may detain, but not still keep, her treasure: Her audit (though delayed) answered must be, And her quietus is to render thee.

Modern English

But be afraid of her, O you who are her favorite: she can hold you back a while, but she cannot keep her treasure forever. Her accounts, though long delayed, will one day have to be settled, and the only way she can square them is to surrender you.

Shakespeare's Sonnets

Sonnet 126

Sonnet 126