by William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616)

But wherefore do not you a mightier way
Language: English 
Available translation(s): ITA
But wherefore do not you a mightier way
Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time?
And fortify your self in your decay
With means more blessed than my barren rhyme?
Now stand you on the top of happy hours,
And many maiden gardens, yet unset,
With virtuous wish would bear you living flowers,
Much liker than your painted counterfeit:
So should the lines of life that life repair,
Which this, Time's pencil, or my pupil pen,
Neither in inward worth nor outward fair,
Can make you live your self in eyes of men.
  To give away yourself, keeps yourself still,
  And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill.

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Authorship

Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)

Available translations, adaptations, and transliterations (if applicable):


Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

Text added to the website: 2007-10-12 00:00:00
Last modified: 2014-06-16 10:01:45
Line count: 14
Word count: 110