Sonnet 2

When fortie Winters shall beseige thy brow,

And digge deep trenches in thy beauties field,

Thy youthes proud livery so gaz'd on now,

Will be a totter'd weed of smal worth held:

Then being askt, where all thy beautie lies,

Where all the treasure of thy lusty daies,

To say within thine owne deep sunken eyes,

Were an all-eating shame and thriftlesse praise.

How much more praise deserv'd thy beauties use,

If thou couldst answere this faire child of mine,

Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse

Prooving his beautie by succession thine,

This were to be new made when thou art ould,

And see thy blood warme when thou feel'st it cold.

Meaning and Commentary - Sonnet 2

My translation:

After you have lived forty years,

And your beautiful face is covered in deep wrinkles,

Your youthful good looks, that everyone admires,

Will become nothing but a trembling old dried up weed.

When people ask you where all your beauty went,

And where, too, is all that sex appeal you used to have,

To have to reply, "Sucked into myself and gone,"

Is such a damned pity, and wasteful way to eulogize your lost beauty.

Your beauty would deserve even more commendation,

If you could answer, "This, my beautiful son or daughter,

Pays the debt of my loss of beauty, and makes the appropriate apologies for my old age"

Which would prove that your beauty still lives in your child.

So you would begin a new life when you are old,

And you would live on in him, even when you are dead.

nate kaye - flickr

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In Sonnet 2, the author begs the subject to consider that beauty does not last, and old age withers even the most beautiful creatures: "When forty Winters shall beseige thy brow, /And digge deep trenches in thy beauties field." "Winters" is capitalized and, upon the reading of it aloud, should be given great weight. The author has three other seasons to choose from, and he chooses winter; the hardest, darkest time. It is not the summers' heat and spring rains that age us, it is the winter's cold, frigid, cracked iciness that puts trenches in our brows.

Digge deep. Once again, alliteration and elongation, such as in selfe substantiall fewell (1.6). The word dig is onomatopoetic and can be visceral in the saying of it. It's a sweaty man bearing a shovel, carving out the earth, throwing the worms and dirt behind him. Say it five times slowly and you will literally feel like you are digging. Digge deep trenches in thy beauties field. Imagine a flower filled meadow wrecked by the trenches of war. How great a loss is youth! I am twenty seven and in the summer of mine, I would say, and already do not have the blemishless face I had five years ago. Little fine lines have appeared around my eyes and forehead. These things come faster than you think. Consider those in your family who have lost the beauties of their youths, "Oh your grandma used to be so beautiful." Think of actresses like Dakota Fanning, Emma Stone, Kristin Stewart. Or think of Candace Bergen, Cybil Shepherd, and Elizabeth Taylor!! Loss of beauty must be excruciating! These once beautiful faces are now wrought with the scars of life. Shakespeare mercilessly continues this metaphor, prophesying that the gorgeous flowers that now grace the meadow of his face will one day become totter'd weed[s] that have no worth.

young hollywood doomed to grow old

Aside: Some translations have taken it upon themselves to go against the 1609 quarto and have changed "totter'd" to "tattered." Because "livery" is the subject of this description, the adjective, be it "tatter'd," now makes reference to his fancy clothes (proud livery), rather than his looks. This interrupts the metaphor and changes meaning mid sentence. I disagree mightily with this arrogant supposition. Reason number one: I like to stay as close to the quarto as possible. When one begins to assume that Shakespeare didn't mean to write this or that, he opens up an entire new can of worms. Number two: The metaphor flows beautifully through the entire thought: his face is a fresh, spring field which, after enough winters, will be reduced to a trembling weed. I suppose I could compromise and allow a double-entendre here, but that does not excuse changing the word. Tottered means trembling, Tattered means frayed. Reason number three: Alexander Schmidt's Shakespeare Lexicon and Quotation Dictionary, defines "livery" in this case not as "dress or garb" but as "outward appearance, aspect." Case closed.

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We have established that losing one's youthful good looks to old age is a painful experience. Shakespeare warns his subject, being askt, where all thy beautie lies, you should have a rebuttle ready. Maybe this seems absurd. Who is going to say, "Oh, such a pity you are old when you used to be so beautiful. Where did it go?" Everyone, and if they don't say it they will think it. Did you see Candace Bergen in Sex and the City the Movie Pt 1? She looked old, and overweight and wrinkly. It is the painful truth. When people gain a lot of weight, or get sick, you think others don't make comments? I live in New York City. People comment on strangers all the time. Catcalls abound. You think fat people don't get made fun of to their face? When you are old and ugly, people will look at pictures of you and say, "You were so beautiful, Cybil Shepherd. What happened?" or, "Everyone wanted to do you, man. You were sexy. Where did that beauty go?" If you're hot now, you have it coming for you. Just a fact. Or worse...

Where all the treasure of thy lustie daies. These sonnets are undeniably written to a man. What is the treasure of lust to a man? His penis. I have been alluding to women losing their beauty. A man losing the treasure of [his] lust? He can't get it up, people. Oh, old age. What a thing to look forward to.

How are you going to protect yourself from these nosy jerks? What do you do when you have a woman in bed and you know she longs for the treasure of your lusty days? If you have no children to whom you have bestowed your beauty, you have to shrug your shoulders and say, "Within mine own deepe sunken eyes," lost forever, and because you have no more "treasure," this beauty will never be recovered. "What a waste!" sayeth Shakespeare, "Your beauty is better than anyone living. It deserves reproduction and further praise in copy!" How much better would it be if you could, instead give your accuser a wry smile, because they have probably always been very fat, and never had the amazing talent of being able to produce a sexy heir, and say, "Well, I gave my beauty to my kid since it was mine to give him, and so it lives on!"

Shakespeare answers what the ideal response would be: "this faire child of mine, /Shall sum my count and make my old excuse." The nosy, fat asker of where beauty lies, has is now referred to as a creditor to whom a debt is owed. Remember Sonnet 1: "this glutton be, /to eat the world's due." The youth is so uniquely and strangely beautiful, that he owes the world a child in whom that beauty can live on. The creditor who asks where all thy beautie lies, is knocking at your door ready to repossess your house for the beauty that you owe him. How can you say to him, "I used it up on life." You might as well say, "Vegas." How much better would it be to bring out Susie or Johnny or Hamnet and say, "Here, sir. Because I have invested my talents in a stock that is growing, I can pay that debt to you and the world and then some. This shall sum up my count rather, pay the debt on my account, and you and I are square."

Shakespeare concludes his poem with a familiar tactic, the very same we saw in Sonnet 1; appeal to his mortality. Reproduce and you live on forever. Do not reproduce and you will die. This means of persuadingthe youth to marry is repeated relentlessly in the last couplet for each of these first seventeen sonnets, although there is an abrupt transition in sixteen and seventeen that are the beginnings of a swift change in the author's heart.

Sonnet I

From fairest creatures we desire increase,

That thereby beauties Rose might never die,

But as the riper should by time decease,

His tender heire might beare his memory:

But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes,

Feed'st thy lights flame with selfe substantiall fewell,

Making a famine where aboundance lies,

Thy selfe thy foe, to thy sweet selfe too cruell:

Thou that art now the worlds fresh ornament,

And only herauld to the gaudy spring,

Within thine owne bud buriest thy content,

And tender chorle makest waft in niggarding:

Pitty the world, or else this glutton be,

To eate the worlds due, by the grave and thee.

Meaning and Commentary

Misspellings? Italics? Random Capitalizations?

Meaning and Commentary - Sonnet 1

My translation:

The world wants more beautiful beings to procreate

So that the perfect example of beauty will live on forever,

And as this perfection gets older and the beauty fades,

A handsome son or daughter will be a reminder of that perfection.

But you being a selfish narcissist, are married to your own face,

And service only yourself with masturbation,

Leaving the rest of the world starving while you feast and overindulge.

These actions are masochistic, you are hurting yourself too, you know.

You who are, now, the most beautiful being the world has to offer

The unique one who can bring spring out of winter,

You keep your talents all to yourself,

And, gentle boor (sweet miser), waste them in this way.

Too bad for the rest of us, because this selfish person (ahem. YOU),

Will die, and as if in cahoots with death, your talents are wasted twice.

This sonnet is about the selfishness of masturbation. Seriously. If you are going to be squeamish you should probably stay away from Shakespeare. If not, read on:

1. "Selfe substantiall fewell." Most scholar's seem confused by these words, "How a candle is self sustaining I am sure I have no idea," they proclaim and move on. A candle melts and is gone, but where did Shakespeare write candle? The line is "thy light's flame." Semen, however, is self substance and fuel for all life. The author is persuading a beautiful young man to procreate by appealing to his ego and praising his good looks. We are talking about having a child here, which can only be done by having sex (in those days), and yet this selfish boy chooses to waste his semen on himself. He is "contracted," as in married, betrothed, and in love with his own eyes. He, like Narcissus before him, stares in the mirror and masturbates, wasting his semen and thereby robbing the world of his beautiful children. Shakespeare calls this masochism: "to thy sweets self too cruel." It is a dirty joke played underneath an otherwise confusing metaphor.

2. "Within thine own bud, buriest thy content," is another masturbation metaphor, however the historians seem to agree on this. Content is a double-entendre: substance and pleasure. Not quite as exciting as the first. Shakespeare tells the youth that he is the most beautiful being ever created, with unique and priceless talents, and yet he pleasures himself alone selfishly when he should be procreating, which would be to the benefit of all.

Another Point:

It isn't nearly as exciting as sexual self satisfaction, but it is infinitely important to notice the attitude toward the possibility of immortality in the sonnets; especially the first seventeen. In Sonnet 1, he brings attention to the subject's mortality, urging him to come to terms with the inevitability of death. He alludes to death three times in a fourteen line poem: "beauty's rose might never die" (2), "but as the Riper should by time decease" (3), and "by the grave and thee" (14). The point is this: there is no immortality beyond procreation. You will die and leave nothing for us to remember you by. This is travesty given your greatness.

His mind been severely changed by Sonnet 18.

Misspellings? Italics? Random Capitalizations?

I refuse to print the sonnets in "normal text." The letter e added to the end of a word is there for a reason. The fact that "substantiall" is elongated and "selfe" and "fewell," the same, are extremely important notes from the author to the reader. An educated actor, upon being presented with a part for a Shakespearean play knows to look to the First Folio. That is where you will find the text print naked like this. No Penguin bullshit or Folgers coffee whatever. First Folio only, and of course the Quarto for sonnets and poems. Otherwise you miss out on endless secrets that the author has left for his actor. Each letter is important.

Self substantial fuel. Selfe substantiall fewell. These are the most important words in the poem. How do I know? Shakespeare tells me so. He has elongated them. They are meant to be relished in the mouth like chocolate or first coffee in the morning, fine wine, the lips of a lover, sweat, sex: everything. The alliteration in self and substantial are exciting enough. Rub them together with fuel and combine. Perfection.

Rose. Rose. Italicized and Capitalized. You lose it completely when you read the poem alone in some gaudy transposed version. You don't have the poem anymore. You have mush.

I refuse. You can read the words. You know what they are, and then some. You know what they are and you know they are important.

Ahem. That being said.

A Guide to Shakespeare's Sonnets - An Introduction

"We have not reprinted the Sonnets, &c. of Shakespeare, because the strongest act of Parliament that could be framed, would fail to compel readers into their service..." - George Steevens (publisher).

In the wake of a ridiculously hurtful breakup I have turned my energies to The Sonnets. No act of Parliament has led me here. Rather that misery loves company, and so I came to the most reliable source of love-worn misery, the master poet of courtly love, Mr. William Shakespeare. To quell the fires of my burning ache, I dove in to the libraries of Manhattan to discover the background surrounding these exquisite poems.

So much friggin' mystery!

Love triangles, homosexuality, whores, and the painful competition of artistic and sexual rivalry surround these 154 sonnets in a fog that, although scholar after scholar has archaeologically delved into finding the answers, each one dispiritedly admits that their educated speculation will have to satisfy. The sum of which these thousand questions come down to two words.

Why and whom?

Thus, in the asylum of my little Lower East Side Apartment, my misery and I will attempt to study these professions of passion, and maybe come to some conclusions of my own...