Sonnet 107

Designed and letterpress printed broadside of Shakespeare’s Sonnet 107 for the Bodleian Library’s celebration in 2016. Printed on various colors of handmade papers papers. This one is printed in black and transparent white from wood type and photopolymer plates on blue Japanese paper.

Available to purchase in the shop.

Sonnet 107
Not mine owne feares, nor the prophetick soule,
Of the wide world dreaming on things to come,
Can yet the lease of my true love controule,
Supposde as forfeite to a confin’d doome.
The mortall Moone hath her eclipse indur’de,
And the sad Augurs mock their owne presage,
Incertenties now crowne them-selves assur’de,
And peace proclaimes Olives of endlesse age.
Now with the drops of this most balmie time,
My love lookes fresh, and death to me subscribes,
Since spight of him Ile live in this poore rime,
While he insults ore dull and speachlesse tribes.
And thou in this shalt finde thy monument,
When tyrants crests and tombs of brasse are spent.
—William Shakespeare