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The Winter E​.​P. – Shakespeare​’​s Sonnets

by Hallam London

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SONNET XCVII How like a winter hath my abscence been
 From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year! 
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!
 What old December’s bareness everywhere! And yet this time removed was summer’s time,
 The teeming autumn big with rich increase,
 Bearing the wanton burden of the prime,
 Like widowed wombs after their lords’ decease: Yet this abundant issue seemed to me
 But hope of orphans, and unfathered fruit,
 For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,
 And thou away, the very birds are mute. Or if they sing, ‘tis with so dull a cheer,
 That leaves look pale, dreading the winter’s near.
SONNET XCVIII From you have I been absent in the spring,
 When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim,
 Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing,
 That heavy Saturn laughed and leapt with him. Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell
 Of different flowers in odour and in hue,
 Could make me any summer’s story tell:
 Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew: Nor did I wonder at the lily’s white,
 Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose,
 They were but sweet, but figures of delight:
 Drawn after you, you pattern of all those. Yet seemed it winter still, and you away,
 As with your shadow I with these did play.
SONNET XXXIV Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day, And make me travel forth without my cloak, To let base clouds o’ertake me in my way, Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke? ’Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break, To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face, For no man well of such a salve can speak, That heals the wound, and cures not the disgrace: Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief; Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss: The offender’s sorrow lends but weak relief To him that bears the strong offence’s cross. Ah! but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds, And they are rich and ransom all ill deeds.
SONNET XXXV No more be grieved at that which thou hast done: Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud: Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun, And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud. All men make faults, and even I in this, Authorizing thy trespass with compare, Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss, Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are; For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense, Thy adverse party is thy advocate, And ’gainst myself a lawful plea commence: Such civil war is in my love and hate, That I an accessary needs must be, To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me.
SONNET CXXIX The expense of spirit in a waste of shame Is lust in action: and till action, lust Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame, Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust; Enjoyed no sooner but despised straight; Past reason hunted; and no sooner had, Past reason hated, as a swallowed bait, On purpose laid to make the taker mad. Mad in pursuit and in possession so; Had, having, and in quest to have extreme; A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe; Before, a joy proposed; behind a dream. All this the world well knows; yet none knows well To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.


Some of William Shakespeare’s ageless sonnets turned into contemporary alternative pop songs.

EAN 4250618760322


released August 12, 2012

William Shakespeare’s Sonnets
composition, vocals, guitars, keyboards and all programming by Hallam London

“Waste Of Shame” contains two wonderful sound recordings by Félix Blume – thank you for sharing them, Félix! www.felixblume.com
Special thanks to Becky Matthews for her help on the additional line in “Waste Of Shame”

recorded, mixed and mastered by Hallam London

Cover design: GRUNDSATZ Büro für Grafikdesign, Kerstin Hübsch, www.grundsatz-grafikdesign.de

Thanks to: my husband, my families, Alex Fuchs, Micha Wünsch, Kerstin Hübsch, Mathias Bäumel, Nicola Moczek, Claus Dethleff, Rita Richter




Hallam London Dresden, Germany

From indie rock to postpunk – at times danceable, at times melancholy but always intensive.


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