A very Shakespearean Valentine

PROJECT 2ND TERM

A VERY SHAKESPEAREAN VALENTINE

During the second term you are going to be working on a Valentine’s Day project called “A Very Shakespearean Valentine”. You need to work in groups (minimum 2, maximum 5). This is what you need to do:

  1. Read the selected sonnets by Shakespeare in English with their Spanish translation. You will find the sonnets below these instructions.
  2. Ask the teacher to assign you one of the sonnets.
  3. Prepare a poster to illustrate what that sonnet means to you. You need to include the sonnet in English in your poster. You have got two weeks to do this.

The best posters will be used in a Glogster. 2º Bachillerato students will be reciting the sonnets and the recordings will also be included in the Glogster.

SONNET 18

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

(¿A un día de verano compararte?

Más hermosura y suavidad posees.

Tiembla el brote de Mayo bajo el viento

y el estío no dura casi nada.

A veces demasiado brilla el ojo

solar, y otras su tez de oro se apaga;

toda belleza alguna vez declina,

ajada por la suerte o por el tiempo.

Pero eterno será el verano tuyo.

No perderás la gracia, ni la Muerte

se jactará de ensombrecer tus pasos

cuando crezcas en versos inmortales.

Vivirás mientras alguien vea y sienta

y esto pueda vivir y te dé vida.)

SONNET 43

When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see,
For all the day they view things unrespected;
But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee,
And darkly bright, are bright in dark directed.
Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright,
How would thy shadow’s form form happy show
To the clear day with thy much clearer light,
When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so!
How would, I say, mine eyes be blessed made
By looking on thee in the living day,
When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade
Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay!
All days are nights to see till I see thee,
And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.

(Veo mejor si cierro más los ojos

que el día entero ven lo indiferente

pero al dormir, soñando te contemplan

y brillantes se guían en lo oscuro.

Tú, cuya sombra lo sombrío aclara,

si ante quienes no ven tu sombra brilla,

¡qué luz diera la luz de tu sombra

al claro día por tu luz más claro!

¡Ay, qué felicidad para mis ojos

si te miraran en el día vivo,

ya que en la noche muerta, miro, ciego,

de tu hermosura la imperfecta sombra!

Los días noches son, si no te veo,

y cuando sueño en ti, días las noches.)

SONNET 57

Being your slave what should I do but tend
Upon the hours, and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend;
Nor services to do, till you require.
Nor dare I chide the world without end hour,
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour,
When you have bid your servant once adieu;
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought
Save, where you are, how happy you make those.
So true a fool is love, that in your will,
Though you do anything, he thinks no ill.

(Esclavo soy, y esclavas son mis horas, 

Del arbitrio y afán de tu deseo, 

Pues vanas son las horas de mi vida 

En que tú no requieres mis servicios. 

No me atrevo a llamar lenta la espera 

Cuando miro el reloj mientras te aguardo, 

Ni a juzgar amargas tus ausencias 

Cada vez que despides a tu siervo, 

Ni inquiero con preguntas recelosas 

Dónde estás, qué haces o discurres. 

Melancólico esclavo, en nada pienso 

Salvo en ti, y en la ventura de otros.

Tan necio es el amor, que tus caprichos acepta 

dócilmente aunque lo hieras.)

SONNET 105

Let not my love be called idolatry,
Nor my beloved as an idol show,
Since all alike my songs and praises be
To one, of one, still such, and ever so.
Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind,
Still constant in a wondrous excellence;
Therefore my verse to constancy confined,
One thing expressing, leaves out difference.
Fair, kind, and true, is all my argument,
Fair, kind, and true, varying to other words;
And in this change is my invention spent,
Three themes in one, which wondrous scope affords.
Fair, kind, and true, have often lived alone,
Which three till now, never kept seat in one.

(No se llame a mi amor idolatría

Ni se muestre como ídolo a mi amado

Porque todos mis cantos y alabanzas

Consagro siempre al único y al mismo.

Gentil es hoy mi amor, gentil mañana,

Constante en admirables excelencias

Y mis versos, cautivos de constancia,

Expresan con porfía el mismo asunto.

Gentil, leal y bello es mi argumento,

Gentil, leal y bello si varío,

Pues en tal variación mi ingenio agoto,

Tres temas en un tema que es fecundo,

Tres virtudes que si han vivido aisladas

Nunca antes en uno armonizaron.)

SONNET 130

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 damask, 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.

(No son soles los ojos de mi amada,

Y el coral es más rojo que su boca:

No es nieve la morena piel que toca

Su cabellera endrina y acerada,

Blanca es la rosa, rosa o encarnada

Pero a ninguna su mejilla evoca;

Y un perfume mayor placer provoca

Que el soplo de su boca perfumada.

Amo su voz, aun cuando bien se sabe

Que es más dulce la música y más suave.

Y, aunque diosas no he visto caminar,

Sé que ella camina sobre el suelo.

Pero juro, con todo, por el cielo,

Que nadie se le puede comparar.)

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