But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer, Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth ;
And night doth nightly make grief's length seem Suns of the world may stain, when heaven's sun


When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day,
I all alone beweep my out-cast state,

And make me travel forth without my cloak,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,

To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate, Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke?'
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, "Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break,
Featur'd like him, like him with friends possess'd, To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face,
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, For no man well of such a salve can speak,
With what I most enjoy contented least;

That heals the wound, and cures not the disgrace :
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,

Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief;
Haply I think on thee,--and then my state

Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss :
(Like to the lark at break of day arising

The offender's sorrow lends but weak relief
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate :) To him that bears the strong offence's cross.
For thy sweet love remember'd, such wealth brings, Ah! but those tears are pearl, which thy love sheds,
That then I scorn to change my state with kings. And they are rich, and ransom all ili deeds.


No more be griev'd at that which thou hast done :
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought

Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud;
I summon up remembrance of things past,

Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste: All men make faults, and even I in this,

And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.
Then can I drown an eye, unus'd to flow.
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night, Myself corrupiing, salving thy amiss,

Authorizing thy trespass with compare ;
And weep afresh love's long-since-cancell'd wo,

Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are :
And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight.

For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense,
Then can I grieve at grievances fore-gone,

(Thy adverse party is thy advocate,)
And heavily from wo to wo tell o'er

And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence ;
The sad account of fore-bernoaned moan.

Such civil war is in my love and hate,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.

That I an accessary needs must be
But if the while I think on ihee, dear friend,

'To that sweet thiet, which sourly robs from me.
All losses are restor’d, and sorrows end.


Let me confess that we two must be twain,
Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts,

Although our undivided loves are one :
Which I by lacking have supposed dead;

So shall those blots that do with me remain,
And there reigns love, and all love's loving parts, Without thy help, by me be borne alone.
And all those friends which I thought buried.

In our two loves there is but one respect,
How many a holy and obsequious tear

Though in our lives a separable spite,
Hath dear religious love stol'n from mine eye, Which though it alter not love's sole effect,
As interest of the dead, which now appear

Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight.
But things remov'd, that hidden in thee lie! I may not evermore acknowledge thee,
Thou art the grave where buried love doth live, Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame;
Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone,

Nor thou with public kindness honour me,
Who all their parts of me to thee did give;

Unless thou take that honour from thy name :
That due of many now is thine alone :

But do not so; I love thee in such sort,
Their images I lov'd I view in thee,

As thou being mine, mine is thy good report.
And thou (all they) hast all the all of me.


As a decrepit father takes delight

To see his active child do deeds of youth,
If thou survive my well-contented day,
When that chur Death my bones with dust shall Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth;

(cover; So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite,
And shalt by fortune once more re-survey

For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit,
These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover,

Or any of these all, or all, or more,
Compare them with the beitering of the time,

Entiiled in thy parts do crowned sit,
And, though they be out-stripp'd by every pen,
Reserve them for my love, not for iheir rhyme,

I make my love engrafted to this store :

So then I'am not lame, poor, nor despis’d,
Exceeded by the height of happier men.

Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give,
O, then vouchsafe me but this loving thought!

That I in thy abundance am sufficed,
Hal my friend's muse grown with this growing age,
A dearer birth than this his love had brought,

And by a part of all thy glory live.
To march in ranks of better equipage :

Look what is best, that best I wish in thee;

This wish I have; then ten times happy me.
But since he died, and poets better prove,
Theirs for their style r'u real, his for his love.


How can my muse want subject to invent,

While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse
Full many a glorious morning bave I seen Thine own sweet argument, too excellent
Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye, For every vulgar paper to rehearse ?
Kissing with golden face the meadows green, 0, give thyself the thanks, if aught in me
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchymy ; Worthy perusal, stand against thy sight;
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride

For who's so dumb !hat cannot write to theo,
With ugly rack on his celestial face,

When thou thyself dost give invention light ?
And from the forlorn world his visage hide, Be thou the tenth muse, ten times more in worth
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace : Than those old nine, which rhymers invocate ;
Even so my sun one early morn did shine,

And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth
With all triumphant splendour on my brow; Eternal numbers to out-live long date.
But out, alack! he was but one hour mine, If my slight muse do please these curious days,
The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now. The pain be mine but thine shall be the praise

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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,
That due to thee, which thou deserv'st alone. As soon as think the place where he would be.
O absence, what a torment would'st thou prove, But ah! thought kills me, that I am not thought,
Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave To leap large lengihs of miles, when thou art gone,
To entertain the time with thoughts of love, But that so much of earth and water wrought,
(Which time and thoughts so sweetly doth deceive,) I must attend time's leisure with my moan;
And that thou teachest how to make one twain, Receiving nought by elements so slow
By praising him here, who doth hence remain. But heavy tears, badges of either's wo:

Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all; The other two, slight air and purging fire,
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before ? Are both with thee, wherever I abide ;
No love, my love, that thou may'st true love call; The first my thought, the other my desire,
All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more. These present-absent with swift motion slide
Then, if for my love thou my love receivest, For when these quicker elements are gone
I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest; In tender embassy of love to thee,
But yet be blam'd, if thou thyself deceivest My life, being made of four, with two alone
By wilful taste of what thyself refusest.

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
To bear love's wrong, than hate's known injury. Of thy fair health, recounting it io me:
Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows, This told, I joy; but then no longer glad,
Kill me with spitos; yet we must not be fuos. I send them back again, and straight grow sad.

Those protty wrongs that liberty commits, Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war,
When I am sometime absent from thy heart, How to divide the conquest of thy sight;
Thy beauty and thy years full well befits,

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.

When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see, How careful was I, when I took my way,
For all the day they view things unrespected;

Each trifle under truest bars to thrust;
But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee, That, to my use, it might unused stay
And darkly bright, are bright in dark directed, From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust!
Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright, But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are,
How would thy shadow's form form happy show Most worthy comfort, now my greatest grief,
To the clear day with thy much clearer light, Thou, best of dearest, and mine only care,
When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so? Art left the prey of every vulgar thief.
How would (1 say) mine eyes be blessed made Thee have I not lock'd up in any chest,
By looking on thee in the living day,

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,
My grief lies onward, and my joy behind.

You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes.

Thus can my love excuse the slow offence Sweet love, renew thy force ; be it not said,
of my dull bearer, when from thee I speed : Thy edge should blunter be than appetite;
From where thou art why should I haste me thence? Which but to-day by feeding is allay'd,
Till I return, of posting is no need.

To-morrow sharpen'd in his former might:
0, what excuse will my poor beast then find, So, love, be thou ; although to-day thou fill
When swift extremity can seem but slow ? Thy hungry eyes, even till they wink with fulness,
Then should I spur, though mounted on the wind ? To-morrow see again, and do not kill
In winged speed no motion shall I know : The spirit of love with a perpetual dulness.
Then can no horse with my desire keep pace; Let this sad interim like the ocean be
Therefore desire, of perfect love being made, Which parts the shore, where two contracfed-new
Shall neigh (no dull flesh) in his fiery race; Come daily to the banks, that, when they see
But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade ; Return of love, more blest may be the view;
Since from thee going he went wilful-slow, Or call it winter, which being full of care, (rare.
Towards thee I'll run, and give him leave to go. Makes summer's welcome thrice more wish'd, more

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.

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, But sad mortality o'er-sways their power,

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,
Is it thy will, thy image should keep open As, to behold desert a beggar born,
My heavy eye-lids to the weary night?

And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity,
Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken, And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
While shadows, like to thee, do mock my sight? And gilded honour shamefully misplac'd,
Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee

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,
O no! thy love, though much, is not so great ; And folly (doctor-like) controlling skill,
It is my love that keeps mine eye awake; And simple truth miscall'd siinplicity,
Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat, And captive good attending captain ill:
To play the watchman ever for thy sake : Tir'd with all these, from these would I be gone,
For thee watch I, whilst thou dosi wake elsewhere Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.
From me far off, with others all-too-near,


Ah! wherefore with infection should he live,
Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye,

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,
With time's injurious haud crush'd and o'er worn; Or durst inhabit on a living brow;
When hours have drain'd his blood, and fill'd his brow Before the golden tresses of the dead,
With lines and wrinkles; when his youthful morn

The right of sepulchres, were shorn away,
Hath travell’d on to age's steepy night;

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,
For such a time do I now fortify

Making no summer of another's green,
Against confounding age's cruel knife,
That he shall never cut from memory

Robbing no old to dress his beauty new ;

And him as for a map doth nature store,
My sweet love's beauty, though my lover's life :

To show false art what beauty was of yore.
His beauty shall in these black lines be seen,
And they shall live, and he in them still green. | Before the golden tresses of the dead,

The right of sepulchres, were shorn away,
Show me your image in some antique book.

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
And that, in guess, they measure by thy deeds ; The prey of worms, my body being dead;
Then (churls) their thoughts, although their eyes The coward conquest of a wretch's knife,
were kind,

Too base of thee to be remembered.
To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds : The worth of that, is that which it contains,
But why thy odour matcheth not thy show, And that is this, and this with thee remains.
The solve is this,-thal thou dost common grow.

That thou art blam'd shall not be thy desech,

So are you to my thoughts, as food to life,
For slander's mark was ever yet the fair;

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;
A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air.
So thou be good, slander doth but approve

Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon
Thy worth ihe greater, being woo'd of time;

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,
The hand that writ it; for I love you so,

And keep invention in a noted wecd,
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, That every word doth almost tell my name ;
If thinking on me then should make you wo.

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,
When I perhaps compounded am with clay, And you and love are still my argument;
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse;

So all my best is dressing old words new,
But let your love even with my life decay:
Lest the wise world should look into your moan,

Spending again what is already spent

For as the sun is daily new and old,
And mock you with me after I am gone.

So is my love still telling what is told.

O, lest the world should task you to recite
What merit liv'd in me, that you should love

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.

That time of year thou may'st in me behold,
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang So oft have I invok'd thee for my muse,
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, And found such fair assistance in my verse,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. As every alien pen hath got my use,
In me thou seest the twilight of such day

And under thee their poesy disperse.
As after sunset fadeth in the west ;

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..

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