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But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer, Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth ;
And make me travel forth without my cloak,
To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way,
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
No more be griev'd 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.
Authorizing thy trespass with compare ;
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 thiet, which sourly robs from me.
Let me confess that we two must be twain,
Although our undivided loves are one :
So shall those blots that do with me remain,
In our two loves there is but one respect,
Though in our lives a separable spite,
Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight.
Nor thou with public kindness honour me,
Unless thou take that honour from thy name :
But do not so; I love thee in such sort,
As thou being mine, mine is thy good report.
As a decrepit father takes delight
To see his active child do deeds of youth,
(cover; So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite,
For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit,
Or any of these all, or all, or more,
Entiiled in thy parts do crowned sit,
I make my love engrafted to this store :
So then I'am not lame, poor, nor despis’d,
Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give,
That I in thy abundance am sufficed,
And by a part of all thy glory live.
Look what is best, that best I wish in thee;
This wish I have; then ten times happy me.
How can my muse want subject to invent,
While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse
For who's so dumb !hat cannot write to theo,
When thou thyself dost give invention light ?
And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth
XLIV. O, how thy worth with manners may I sing, If the dull substance of my flesh were thought, When thou art all the better part of me? Injurious distance should not stop my way; What can mine own praise to mine own self bring? For then, despite of space, I would be brought And what is't but mine own, when I praise thee? From limits far remote, where thou dost stay. Even for this let us divided live,
No matter, then, although my foot did stand And our dear love lose name of single one; Upon the farthest earth remov'd from thee, That by this separation I may give
For nimble thought can jump both sea and land,
Sinks down to death, oppress'd with melancholy; I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief,
Until life's composition be recur'd Although thou steal thee all my poverty;
By those swift messengers return'd from thee, And yet love knows, it is a greater grief
Who even but now come back again, assurd
Mine eye my heart thy picture's sight would bar, For still temptation follows where thou art. Mine heart mine eye the freedom of that right. Gentle thou art, and therefore to be won,
My heart doth plead, that thou in him dost lie, Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assail'd; (A closet never pierc'd with crystal eyes,) And when a woman woos, what woman's son But the defendant doth that plea deny, Will sourly leave her till she have prevail'd. And says in him thy fair appearance lies. Ah me! but yet thou might'st, my sweet, forbear, To 'cide this title is impannelled And chide thy beauty and thy straying youth, A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart; Who lead thee in their riot even there
And by their verdict is determined Where thou art forc'd to break a two-fold truth : The clear eye's moiety, and the dear heart's part: Hers, by thy beauty tempting her to thee,
As thus; mine eye's due is thine outward part, Thine, by thy beauty being false to me.
And my heart's right thine inward love of heart. XLII.
XLVII. That thou hast her, it is not all my grief,
Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took, And yet it may be said I lov'd her dearly; And each doth good turns now unto the other; That she hath thee, is of my wailing chief, When that mine eye is famish'd for a look, A loss in love that touches me more nearly. Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother, Loving offenders, thus I will excuse ye :--. With my love's picture then my eye doth feast,
Thou dost love her, because thou knew'st I love her; And to ihe painted banquet bids my heart : And for my sake even so doth she abuse me, Another time mine eye is my heart's guest, Suffering my friend for my sake to approve her; And in his thoughts of love doth share a part : If I lose thee, my loss is my love's gain,
So, either by thy picture or my love, And, losing her, my friend hath found that loss; Thyself away, art present still with me; Both find each other, and I lose both twain, For thou not farther than my thoughts canst move. And both for my sake lay on me this cross : And I am still with them, and they with thee; But here's the joy; my friend and I are one;
Or, if they sleep, thy picture in my sight Sweet fattery!--then she loves but me aloné. Awakes my heart to heart's and eye's delight. XLIII.
Each trifle under truest bars to thrust;
Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art, When in dend night thy fair imperfect shade Within the gentle closure of my breast, (parts Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay ? From whence at pleasure thou may'st come and All days are nights io see, till I see thee, (me. And even thence thou wilt be stolen, I fear, And nights, bright days, when dreams do show thee For truth proves thiovish for a prize so dear.
LIV. Against that time, if ever that time come, 0, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem, When I shall see thee frown on my defects, By that sweet ornament which truth doth give! When as thy love hath cast his uimost sum, The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem Callid to that audit by advis'd respects;
For that sweet odour which doth in it live. Against that time, when thou shali strangely pass, The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye, And scarcely greet me with that sun, thine eye ; As the perfumed tincture of the roses ; When love, converted from the thing it was, Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly Shall reasons find of settled gravity ;
When summer's breath their masked buds discioses; Against that time do I ensconce me here,
But, for their virtue only is their show, Within the knowledge of mine own desert, They live unwoo'd, and unrespected fade; And this my hand against myself uprear,
Die to themselves; Sweet roses do not so; To guard the lawful reasons on thy part:
of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours mado; To leave poor me thou hast the strength of laws, And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth, Since, why to love, I can allege no cause.
When thai shall fade, my verse distils your truth. L.
LV. How heavy do I journey on the way,
Not marble, nor the gilded monuments When what I seek,-my weary travel's end, - Of princes, shall out-live this powerful rhyme; Doth teach that ease and that repose to say, But you shall shine more bright in these contents Thus for the miles are measur'd from thy friend! Than unswept stone, besmear'd with sluttish time. The beast that bears me, tired with my woe,
When wasteful war shall statues overturn, Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me,
And broils root out the work of masonry, As if by some instinct the wretch did know Nor Mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall burn His rider lov'd not speed, being made from thee : The living record of your memory. The bloody spur cannot provoke him on
'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity (room That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide ; Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find Which heavily he answers with a groan,
Even in the eyes of all posterity, More sharp to me than spurring to his side; That wear this world out to the ending doom. For that saine groan doth put this in my mind,
So, lill the judgment that yourself arise,
You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes.
To-morrow sharpen'd in his former might:
LVII. So am I as the rich, whose blessed key
Being your slave, what should I do but tend Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure, Upon the hours and times of your desire ? The which he will not every hour survey,
I have no precious time at all to spend For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure, Nor services to do, till you require. Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare, Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour, Since seldom coming, in the long year set, Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you, Like stones of worth they thinly placed are, Nor think the bitterness of absence sour, Or captain jewels in the carcanet.
When you have bid your servant once adieu; So is the time that keeps you, as my chest, Nor dare I question with my jealous thought, Or as the wardrobe, which the robe doth hide, Where you may be, or your affairs suppose ; . To make some special instant special-blest, But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought, By new unfolding his imprison'd pride.
Save, where you are, how happy you make those ; Blessed are you, whose worthiness gives scope, So true a fool is love, that in your will Being had, to triumph, being lack'd, to hope. (Though you do any thing) he thinks no ill, LIII.
LVIIL What is your substance, whereof are you made, That God forbid, that made me first your slave, That millions of strange shadows on you tend? I should in thought control your times of pleasure, Since every one hath, every one, one shado, Or at your band the account of hours to crave, And
you, but one, can every shadow lend. Being your vassal, bound to stay your leisure ! Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit
0, let me suffer (being at your beck) Is poorly imitated after you ;
The imprison'd absence of
your liberty On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set,
And patience, tame to sufferance, bide each check, And you in Grecian tires are painted new: Without accusing you of injury. Speak of the spring, and foison of the year ; Be where you list your charter is so strong, The one doth shadow of your beauty show, That you yourself may privilege your time : The other as your bounty doth appear ;
Do what you will, to you it doth belong And you in every blessed shape we know. Yourself io pardon of self-doing crime. In all external grace you have some part,
I am to wait, though waiting so be hell But you like none, none vou, for constant heart. Not blame your pleasure, be it ill or well.
LXIV. If there be nothing new, but that, which is,
When I have seen by Time's fell hand defac'd Hath been before, how are our brains beguild,
The rich-proud cost of out-worn bury'd age; Which, labouring for invention, bear amiss When sometime lofty towers I see down-raz'd, The second burthen of a former child ?
And brass eternal slave to mortal rage : O, that record could with a backward look,
When I have seen the hungry ocean gain Even of five hundred courses of the sun,
Advantage on the kingdom of ihe shore, Show me your image in some antique book,'
And the firm soil win of the watery main, Since mind at first in character was done!
Increasing store with loss, and loss with store; That I might see what the old world could say
When I have seen such interchange of state, To this composed wonder of your frame;
Or state itself confounded to decay; Whether we are mended, or whe'r better they,
Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate Or whether revolution be the same.
That time will come, and take my love away. O! sure I am, the wits of former days
This thought is as a death, which cannot choose To subjects worse have given admiring praise.
But weep to have that which it fears to lose.
Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, So do our minutes hasten to their end;
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, Each changing place with that which goes before ; Whose action is no stronger than a flower ? In sequent ioil all forwards do contend.
O, how shall summer's boney breath hold out Nativity once in the main of light,
Against the wreckful siege of battering days, Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd, When rocks impregnable are not so stout, Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight,
Nor gates of steel so strong, but time decays ? And time that gave, doth now his gift confound.
O, fearful meditation! where, alack, Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth,
Shall times's best jewel from time's chest lie hid ? And delves the parallels in beauty's brow;
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back? Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth,
Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid ? And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow :
O none, unless this miracle have might, And yet, to times in hope, my verse shall stand,
That in black ink my love may still shine bright, Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.
Tir'd with all these, for restful death I cry,
And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity,
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, So far from home, into my deeds to pry ;
And right perfection wrongfully disgrac'd, To find out shames and idle hours in me,
And strength by limping sway disabled, The scope and tenor of thy jealousy?
And art made iongue-ty'd by authority,
Ah! wherefore with infection should he live,
And with his presence grace impiety, And all my soul, and all my every part;
That sin by him advantage should achieve, And for this sin there is no remedy,
And lace itself with his society ? It is so grounded inward in my heart.
Why should false painting imitate his check. Methinks no face so gracious is as mine,
And steal dead seeing of his living hue ? No shape so true, no truth of such account ; Why should poor beauty indirectly seek And for myself mine own worth do define, Roses of shadow, since his rose is true ? As I all other in all worths surmount.
Why should he live, now nature bankrupt is, But when my glass shows me myself indeed, Beggar'd of blood to blush through lively veins ? Beated and chopp'd with tann'd antiquity, For she hath no exchequer now but his, Mine own self-love quite contrary I read, And, proud of many, lives upon his gains. Self so self-loving were iniquity.
O, him she stores, to show what wealth she had. 'Tis thee (myself) that for myself I praise, In days long since, before these last so bad. Painting my age with beauty of thy days.
Thus is his cheek the map of days out-worn,
When beanty liv'd and died, as flowers do now, Against my love shall be, as I am now,
Before these bastard signs of fair were born,
The right of sepulchres, were shorn away,
To live a second life on second head ;' And all those beauties, whereof now he's king,
Ere beauty's dead fleece made another gay: Are vanishing or vanish'd out of sight,
In him those holy antique hours are seen, Stealing away the treasure of his spring;
Without all ornament, itself, and true,
Making no summer of another's green,
Robbing no old to dress his beauty new ;
And him as for a map doth nature store,
To show false art what beauty was of yore.
The right of sepulchres, were shorn away,
To live a second life on second head.' It was an ancient custom to insert real portraits among In our author's time, the false hair, usually worn the ornaments of illuminated manuscripts, with inscrip- perhaps in compliment to the queen, was of a sandy tions under them.-Steevens.
colour. Hence the epithet, golden.-Malone,
LXXIV. Thuse parts of thee that the world's eye doth view, But be contented: when that fell arrest Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend; Without all bail shall carry me away, All tongues (the voice of souls) give thee that due, My life hath in this line some interest, Ultering bare truth, even so as foes commend. Which for memorial still with thee shall stay. Thine outward thus with outward praise is crown'd; When thou reviewest this, thou dost review But those same tongues that give thee so thine own, The very part was consecrate tu thee. In other accents do this praise confound,
The earth can have but earth, which is his duc : By seeing further than the eye hath shown. My spirit is thine, the better part of me: They look into the beauty of thy mind,
So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life
Too base of thee to be remembered.
So are you to my thoughts, as food to life,
Or as sweet-season'd showers are to the ground, The ornament of beauty is suspect,
And for the peace of you I hold such strife
As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found;
Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon
Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure: For canker vice the sweetesi buds doth love,
Now counting best to be with you alone, And thou present'st a pure unstained prime.
Then better'd that the world may see my pleasure : Thou hast pass'd by the ambush of young days,
Some time all full with feasting on your sight, Either not assail'd, or victor being charg'd;
And by and by clean starved for a look Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise,
Possessing or pursuing no delight, To tie up envy evermore enlarg'd:
Save what is had or must from you be took, If some suspect of ill mask'd not thy show,
Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day, Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts should’st owe. Or gluttoning on all, or all away. LXXI.
LXXVI. No longer mourn for me when I am dead,
Why is my verse so barren of new pride? Than you shall hear the surly sullen belli
So far from variation or quick change ? Give warning to the world that I am fled
Why, with the time, do I not glance aside From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell :
To new-found methods and to compounds strango? Nay, if you read this line, remember not
Why write I still all one, ever the same,
And keep invention in a noted wecd,
Showing their birth, and where they did proceed ? O if (1 say) you look upon this verse,
O know, sweet love, I always write of you,
So all my best is dressing old words new,
Spending again what is already spent
For as the sun is daily new and old,
So is my love still telling what is told.
Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear, After my death,-dear love, forget me quite,
Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste; For you in me can nothing worthy prove ;
The vacant leaves thy minds imprint will bear, Unless you would devise some virtuous lie,
And of this book this learning may'st thou taste. To do more for me than mine own desert,
The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show, And hang more praise upon deceased I,
Of mouthed graves will give thee memory ; Than niggard truth would willingly impart:
Thou by thy dial's shady stealth may'st know 0, lest your true love may seem false in this,
Time's thievish progress to eternity, That you for love speak well of me untrue,
Look, what thy memory cannot contain, My name be buried where my body is,
Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find And live no more to shame nor me nor you.
Those children nurs'd, deliver'd from thy brain, For I am sham'd hy that which I bring forth,
To take a new acquaintance of thy mind. And so should you, to love things nothing worth.
These offices, so oft as thou wilt look,
Shall profit thee, and much enrich thy book.
And under thee their poesy disperse.
Thine eyes, that taught the dumb, on high to sing, Which by and by black night doth take away, And heavy ignorance aloft to fly, Death's second sell, that seals up all in rest. Have added feathers to the learned's wing, In me thou seest the glowing of such fire,
And given grace a double majesty. That on the ashes of his youth doth lie;
Yet be most proud of that which I compile, As the death-bed whereon it must expire,
Whose influence is thine, and born of thee : Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by. In others' works thou dost but mend the style, This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more And arts with thy sweet graces graced be; strong,
But thou art all my art, and dost advance To love that well, which thou must leave ere long: As high as learning my rude ignorance..