Sonnet 74: But Be Contented When That Fell Arrest
William Shakespeare
But be contented when that fell arrest Without all bail shall carry me away; My life hath in this line some interest, Which for memorial still with thee shall stay. When thou reviewest this, thou dost review The very part was consecrate to thee, The earth can have but earth, which is his due; My spirit is thine the better part of me. So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life, The prey of worms, my body being dead, The coward conquest of a wretch's knife, Too base of thee to be rememberd, The worth of that is that which it contains, And that is this, and this with thee remains.
Next 10 Poems
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 75: So Are You To My Thoughts As Food To Life
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 76: Why Is My Verse So Barren Of New Pride?
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 77: Thy Glass Will Show Thee How Thy Beauties Wear
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 78: So Oft Have I Invoked Thee For My Muse
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 79: Whilst I Alone Did Call Upon Thy Aid
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 8: Music To Hear, Why Hear'st Thou Music Sadly?
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 80: O, How I Faint When I Of You Do Write
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 81: Or I Shall Live Your Epitaph To Make
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 82: I Grant Thou Wert Not Married To My Muse
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 83: I Never Saw That You Did Painting Need
Previous 10 Poems
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 73: That Time Of Year Thou Mayst In Me Behold
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 72: O, Lest The World Should Task You To Recite
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 71: No Longer Mourn For Me When I Am Dead
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 70: That Thou Art Blamed Shall Not Be Thy Defect
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 7: Lo, In The Orient When The Gracious Light
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 69: Those Parts Of Thee That The World's Eye Doth View
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 68: Thus Is His Cheek The Map Of Days Outworn
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 67: Ah, Wherefore With Infection Should He Live
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 66: Tired With All These, For Restful Death I Cry
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 65: Since Brass, Nor Stone, Nor Earth, Nor Boundless Sea