The Complete Works of William Shakespeare

Contents THE SONNETS ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL THE TRAGEDY OF ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA AS YOU LIKE IT THE COMEDY OF ERRORS THE TRAGEDY OF CORIOLANUS CYMBELINE THE TRAGEDY OF HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK THE FIRST PART OF KING HENRY THE FOURTH THE SECOND PART OF KING HENRY THE FOURTH THE LIFE OF KING HENRY THE FIFTH THE FIRST PART OF HENRY THE SIXTH THE SECOND PART OF KING HENRY THE SIXTH THE THIRD PART OF KING HENRY THE SIXTH KING HENRY THE EIGHTH THE LIFE AND DEATH OF KING JOHN THE TRAGEDY OF JULIUS CAESAR THE TRAGEDY OF KING LEAR LOVE’S LABOUR’S LOST THE TRAGEDY OF MACBETH MEASURE FOR MEASURE THE MERCHANT OF VENICE THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING THE TRAGEDY OF OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE KING RICHARD THE SECOND KING RICHARD THE THIRD THE TRAGEDY OF ROMEO AND JULIET THE TAMING OF THE SHREW THE TEMPEST THE LIFE OF TIMON OF ATHENS THE TRAGEDY OF TITUS ANDRONICUS TROILUS AND CRESSIDA TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN THE WINTER’S TALE A LOVER’S COMPLAINT THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM THE PHOENIX AND THE TURTLE THE RAPE OF LUCRECE VENUS AND ADONIS THE SONNETS 1 From fairest creatures we desire increase, That thereby beauty’s rose might never die, But as the riper should by time decease, His tender heir might bear his memory: But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes, Feed’st thy light’s flame with self-substantial fuel, Making a famine where abundance lies, Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel: Thou that art now the world’s fresh ornament, And only herald to the gaudy spring, Within thine own bud buriest thy content, And, tender churl, mak’st waste in niggarding: Pity the world, or else this glutton be, To eat the world’s due, by the grave and thee. 2 When forty winters shall besiege thy brow, And dig deep trenches in thy beauty’s field, Thy youth’s proud livery so gazed on now, Will be a tattered weed of small worth held: Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies, Where all the treasure of thy lusty days; To say, within thine own deep sunken eyes, Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise. How much more praise deserv’d thy beauty’s use, If thou couldst answer ‘This fair child of mine…