diff --git a/input/pg100_Sample.txt b/input/pg100_Sample.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000000000000000000000000000000000000..b64ff2c041171fd2c724130d74e28488471dc3d2 --- /dev/null +++ b/input/pg100_Sample.txt @@ -0,0 +1,174 @@ +THE SONNETS + +by William Shakespeare + + + + 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, + Thy self 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 deserved thy beauty's use, + If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine + Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse' + Proving his beauty by succession thine. + This were to be new made when thou art old, + And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold. + + + 3 + Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest, + Now is the time that face should form another, + Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest, + Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother. + For where is she so fair whose uneared womb + Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry? + Or who is he so fond will be the tomb, + Of his self-love to stop posterity? + Thou art thy mother's glass and she in thee + Calls back the lovely April of her prime, + So thou through windows of thine age shalt see, + Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time. + But if thou live remembered not to be, + Die single and thine image dies with thee. + + + 4 + Unthrifty loveliness why dost thou spend, + Upon thy self thy beauty's legacy? + Nature's bequest gives nothing but doth lend, + And being frank she lends to those are free: + Then beauteous niggard why dost thou abuse, + The bounteous largess given thee to give? + Profitless usurer why dost thou use + So great a sum of sums yet canst not live? + For having traffic with thy self alone, + Thou of thy self thy sweet self dost deceive, + Then how when nature calls thee to be gone, + What acceptable audit canst thou leave? + Thy unused beauty must be tombed with thee, + Which used lives th' executor to be. + + + 5 + Those hours that with gentle work did frame + The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell + Will play the tyrants to the very same, + And that unfair which fairly doth excel: + For never-resting time leads summer on + To hideous winter and confounds him there, + Sap checked with frost and lusty leaves quite gone, + Beauty o'er-snowed and bareness every where: + Then were not summer's distillation left + A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass, + Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft, + Nor it nor no remembrance what it was. + But flowers distilled though they with winter meet, + Leese but their show, their substance still lives sweet. + + + 6 + Then let not winter's ragged hand deface, + In thee thy summer ere thou be distilled: + Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place, + With beauty's treasure ere it be self-killed: + That use is not forbidden usury, + Which happies those that pay the willing loan; + That's for thy self to breed another thee, + Or ten times happier be it ten for one, + Ten times thy self were happier than thou art, + If ten of thine ten times refigured thee: + Then what could death do if thou shouldst depart, + Leaving thee living in posterity? + Be not self-willed for thou art much too fair, + To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir. + + + 7 + Lo in the orient when the gracious light + Lifts up his burning head, each under eye + Doth homage to his new-appearing sight, + Serving with looks his sacred majesty, + And having climbed the steep-up heavenly hill, + Resembling strong youth in his middle age, + Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still, + Attending on his golden pilgrimage: + But when from highmost pitch with weary car, + Like feeble age he reeleth from the day, + The eyes (fore duteous) now converted are + From his low tract and look another way: + So thou, thy self out-going in thy noon: + Unlooked on diest unless thou get a son. + + + 8 + Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly? + Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy: + Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not gladly, + Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy? + If the true concord of well-tuned sounds, + By unions married do offend thine ear, + They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds + In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear: + Mark how one string sweet husband to another, + Strikes each in each by mutual ordering; + Resembling sire, and child, and happy mother, + Who all in one, one pleasing note do sing: + Whose speechless song being many, seeming one, + Sings this to thee, 'Thou single wilt prove none'. + + + 9 + Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye, + That thou consum'st thy self in single life? + Ah, if thou issueless shalt hap to die, + The world will wail thee like a makeless wife, + The world will be thy widow and still weep, + That thou no form of thee hast left behind, + When every private widow well may keep, + By children's eyes, her husband's shape in mind: + Look what an unthrift in the world doth spend + Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it; + But beauty's waste hath in the world an end, + And kept unused the user so destroys it: + No love toward others in that bosom sits + That on himself such murd'rous shame commits. + + + 10 + For shame deny that thou bear'st love to any + Who for thy self art so unprovident. + Grant if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many, + But that thou none lov'st is most evident: + For thou art so possessed with murd'rous hate, + That 'gainst thy self thou stick'st not to conspire, + Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate + Which to repair should be thy chief desire: + O change thy thought, that I may change my mind, + Shall hate be fairer lodged than gentle love? + Be as thy presence is gracious and kind, + Or to thy self at least kind-hearted prove, + Make thee another self for love of me, + That beauty still may live in thine or thee.