Shakespeare’s Sonnet #130: “My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun”
My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;
Reading of Sonnet 130
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The images in the YouTube video are from an original 1609 edition of Shake-speares Sonnets held by the British Library. It is one of only thirteen copies in existence. Images courtesy of the Octavo Corporation.
Modernized Spelling and Punctuation
My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound.
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
Simplified Modern English Translation
My mistress’ eyes are not at all like the sun;
coral is much redder than her lips;
her skin tone is not fair and white, but brown;
and her hair is not made up of golden threads, but rather black ones.
I have seen roses dappled with red and white,
but I see no such roses in her cheeks;
and there is more delight in some perfumes
than in the odor of my mistress’ breath.
I love to hear her speak, yet I well know
that music has a far more pleasing sound.
I grant you I never saw how a goddess might pass by;
my mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
as any woman belied with false compare.
Text from Original 1609 Quarto
Transcription courtesy of University of Virginia Library:
My Mistres eyes are nothing like the Sunne,
Currall is farre more red, then her lips red,
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun:
If haires be wiers, black wiers grow on her head:
I haue seene Roses damaskt, red and white,
But no such Roses see I in her cheekes,
And in some perfumes is there more delight,
Then in the breath that from my Mistres reekes.
I loue to heare her speake, yet well I know,
That Musicke hath a farre more pleasing sound:
I graunt I neuer saw a goddesse goe,
My Mistres when shee walkes treads on the ground,
And yet by heauen I thinke my loue as rare,
As any she beli’d with false compare.