The Place 2 Be

Critique of Sonnet 128
SHAKESPEARE’S SONNETS

Theme:      To Kiss the Music Player
Content:    A very sensual sonnet whose maxim could well have been: "If music be the food of love, play on". The author envies the intimacy that the musical instrument has with his subject while she plays and is ultimately willing to share her.


How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st
Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds
With thy sweet fingers when thou gently sway'st
The wiry concord that mine ear confounds,


Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap
To kiss the tender inward of thy hand
Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest reap,
At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand!


To be so tickled they would change their state
And situation with those dancing chips
O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait,
Making dead wood more blessed than living lips.


Since saucy jacks so happy are in this,
Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.


A manuscript of a slightly different version of this sonnet is now held in the Bodleian Library.
Differences are highlighted:

How oft when thou, dear dearest music playest
Upon that blessed wood whose motions sounds,
With thy sweet fingers when thou gently swayst
The wiry concord that mine ear consounds,
O how I envy those keys that nimble leaps,
To kiss the tender inward of thy hand,
Whilst my poor lips which should that harvest reaped
At the wood boldness by thee blushing stand,
To be so touched the fain would change their state
And situation with those dancing chips
O'er whom your fingers walk with gentle gait,
Making dead wood more blessed than living lips.
Since then those keys so happy are in this,
Give them your fingers, me your lips to kiss.


Compare this sonnet with Henry Constable's

Of Her Excellency Both in Singing and Instruments

Not that thy hand is soft, is sweet, is white,
Thy lips sweet roses, breast sweet lily is,
That love esteems these three the chiefest bliss
Which nature ever made for lips' delight.
But when these three to show their heavenly might
Such wonders do, devotion then for this
Commandeth us, with humble zeal to kiss
Such things as work miracles in our sight.
A lute of senseless wood by nature dumb
Touched by thy hand doth speak divinely well
And from thy lips and breast sweet tunes do come
To my dead heart the which new life do give
Of greater wonders heard we never tell
Than for the dumb to speak, the dead to live.


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Critical text © NigelDavies.home@Virgin.net


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