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O, that you were yourself! but, love, you are No longer yours than you yourself here live: Against this coming end you should prepare, And your sweet semblance to some other give. So should that beauty which you hold in lease Find no determination: then you were Yourself again after yourself's decease, When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear. Who lets so fair a house fall to decay, Which husbandry in honour might uphold Against the stormy gusts of winter's day And barren rage of death's eternal cold? O, none but unthrifts! Dear my love, you know You had a father: let your son say so.
About the headline (FAQ)
- by William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616), no title, appears in Sonnets, no. 13 [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)
- by Richard Simpson (1820 - 1876), "Sonnet XIII", 1864 [medium voice and piano] [ sung text not yet checked against a primary source]
Settings in other languages, adaptations, or excerpts:
- Also set in Russian (Русский), a translation by Samuil Yakovlevich Marschak (1887 - 1964) , "Сонет XIII" FRE FRE ITA ; composed by Dmitry Borisovich Kabalevsky.
Other available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- FRE French (Français) (François Pierre Guillaume Guizot) , no title, appears in Œuvres Complètes de Shakspeare Volume VIII, in Sonnets, no. 13, first published 1863
- FRE French (Français) (François-Victor Hugo) , no title, appears in Sonnets de Shakespeare, no. 13, first published 1857
- ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , "Sonetto XIII", copyright © 2011, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website: 2003-11-13
Line count: 14
Word count: 108
Oh, se sempre tu ti appartenessi! Ma, mio caro bene, tu sarai tuo solo finché non sarai morto: dovresti prepararti a questa fine che viene e trasferire in un altro questo tuo dolce volto. Così questa bellezza che ti è stata prestata non troverebbe termine: perché ritroveresti te stesso ancora, dopo che cesserà tua vita, nella tua dolce prole e nei suoi gesti. Chi un così bello edificio lascerebbe crollare, mentre una cura oculata potrebbe renderlo forte perché possa resistere al tempestoso infuriare, delle bufere invernali, e al gelo della morte? Oh, soltanto uno sprecone! Amore, se ben puoi dire adesso che hai avuto un padre: dica un tuo figlio lo stesso.
- Translation from English to Italian (Italiano) copyright © 2011 by Ferdinando Albeggiani, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
- a text in English by William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616), no title, appears in Sonnets, no. 13
This text was added to the website: 2011-11-11
Line count: 14
Word count: 112