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L. Mine ere and heart are at a mortal war,
Flow heavy do I journey on the way, How to divide the conquest of thy sight; When what I seek—my weary travel's endMine eye my heart thy picture's sight would bar, Doth teach that ease and that repose to say, My heart mine eye the freedom of that right. “Thus far the miles are measur'd from thy Vy heart doth plead, that thou in him dost lie, friend!” (A closet never pierc'd with crystal eyes,) The beast that bears me, tired with my woe, But the defendant doth that plea deny,
Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me, And says in him thy fair appearance lies. As if by some instinct the wretch did know To 'cide this title is impannelled
His rider lov'd not speed, being made from thee: A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart; The bloody spur cannot provoke him on And by their verdict is determined [part: | That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide, The clear eye's moiety, and the dear heart's Which heavily he answers with a groan, As thus ; mine eye's due is thine outward More sharp to me than spurring to his side ; part,
For that same groan doth put this in my mind, And my heart's right thine inward love of My grief lies onward, and my joy behind. heart.
Thus can my love excuse the slow offence
Of my dull bearer, when from thee I speed : And each doth good turns now unto the other:
From where thou art why should I haste me When that mine eye is famish'd for a look,
Till I return, of posting is no need. (thence ? Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother,
| 0, what excuse will my poor beast then find, With my love's picture then my eye doth feast,
When swift extremity can seem but slow? And to the painted banquet bids my heart:
Then should I spur, though mounted on the wind; Another time mine eye is my heart's guest,
| In winged speed no motion shall I know: And in his thoughts of love doth share a part:
| Then can no horse with my desire keep pace; So, either by thy picture or my love,
Therefore desire, of perfect love being made, Thyself away art present still with me; (move, Shall neigh (no dull flesh) in his fiery race ; For thou not farther than my thoughts canst
5 | But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade ; And I am still with them, and they with thee;
Since from thee going he went wilful slow, Or if they sleep, thy picture in my sight
Towards thee I'll run, and give him leave to go. Awakes my heart to heart's and eye's delight.
So am I as the rich, whose blessed key
The which he will not every hour survey, That, to my use, it might unused stay
For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure. From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust! Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare, But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are, Since seldom coming, in the long year set, Most worthy comfort, now my greatest grief, Like stones of worth they thinly placed are, Thou, best of dearest, and mine only care, Or captain jewels in the carcanet. Art left the prey of every vulgar thief.
So is the time that keeps you, as my chest, Thee have I pot lock'd up in any chest,
Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide, Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art, To make some special instant special-blest, Within the gentle closure of my breast, [part; By new unfolding his imprison'd pride. From whence at pleasure thou may'st come and Blessed are you, whose worthiness gives scope,
And even thence thou wilt be stolen I fear, . Being had, to triumph, being lack'd, to hope. For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear.
What is your substance, whereof are you made,
Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit
Speak of the spring, and foizon of tbe year;
The one doth shadow of your beauty show,
And you in every blessed shape we know.
To leave poor me thou hast the strength of But you like none, none you, for constant Since, why to love, I can allege no cause.
LVIII. O how much more doth beauty beauteous seem, That God forbid, that made me first your slave. By that sweet ornament which truth doth give!
I should in thought control your times of pleas. The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem
ure, For that sweet odor which doth in it live.
Or at your hand the account of hours to crave, The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye,
Being your vassal, bound to stay your leisure ! As the perfumed tincture of the roses,
0, let me suffer (being at your beck) Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly
The imprison'd absence of your liberty, When summer's breath their masked buds dis
And patience, tame to sufferance, bide each But, for their virtue only is their show, (closes :
check They live unwoo'd, and unrespected fade;
Without accusing you of injury. Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so;
Be where you list; your charter is so strong, Of their sweeth deaths are sweetest odors made:
: | That you yourself may privilege your time:
Thot voi And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,
Do what you will, to you it doth belong When that shall fade, by verse distills your
Is your | Yourself to pardon of self-doing crime.
I am to wait, though waiting so be hell;
Not blame your pleasure, be it ill or well.
LIX. But you shall shine more bright in these con
If there be nothing new, but that, which is, tents
time. Than unswept stone, besmeard with sluttish
Hath been before, how are our brains beguild, When wasteful war shall statues overturn,
Which laboring for invention bear amiss And broils root out the work of masonry, [burn
The second burthen of a former child ? Nor Mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall
0, that record could with a backward look, The living record of your memory,
Even of five hundred courses of the sun, 'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity
Show me your image in some antique book,
[room, Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find
Since mind at first in character was done!
That I might see what the old world could say Even in the eyes of all posterity That wear this world out to the ending doom.
To this composed wonder of your frame; So till the judgment that yourself arise,
Whether we are mended, or where better they, You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes.
Or whether revolution be the same.
0! sure I am, the wits of former days
Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said,
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled
So do our minutes hasten to their end; Thy hungry eyes, even till they wink with ful Each changing place with that which goes beTo-morrow see again, and do not kill
fore, The spirit of love with a perpetual dulness.
| In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Let this sad interim like the ocean be [new | Nativity once in the main of light, Which parts the shore, where two contracted. | Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd. Come daily to the banks, that, when they see
| Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, Return of love, more blest may be the view;
And time that gave, doth now his gift conOr call it winter, which, being full of care,
found. Makes summer's welcome thrice more wish'd,
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth, more rare.
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow;
Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow.
And yet, to times in hope, my verse shall Being your slave, what should I do but tend
stand, Upon the hours and times of your desire ?
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. 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,
LXI. Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you, Nor think the bitterness of absence sour, | Is it thy will, thy image should keep open When you have bid your servant once adieu ; My heavy eyelids to the weary night? Nor dare I question with my jealous thought Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken, Where you may be, or your affairs suppose, While shadows, like to thee, do mock my sight? But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought, Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee Save, where you are how happy you make those: / So far from home, into my deeds to pry; So true a fool is love, that in your will
To find out shames and idle hours in me, (Though you do any thing) he thinks no ill. The scope and tenor of thy jealousy!
000! thy love, though much, is not so great; , 0, how shall summer's honey breath hold out It is my love that keeps mine eye awake; Against the wreckful siege of battering days, Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat, When rocks impregnable are not so stout, To play the watchman ever for thy sake: Nor gates of steel so strong, but time decays ? For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake else. O fearful meditation ! where, alack! where,
Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie From me far off, with others all-too-near.
hid ? Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot
Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid ? Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye,
0 none, unless this miracle have might, And all my soul, and all my every part,
That in black ink my love may still shine And for this sin there is no remedy,
As, to behold desert a beggar born, But when my glass shows me myself indeed,
And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity, Beated and chopp'd with tann'd antiquity,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn, Mine own self-love quite contrary I read,
And gilded honor shamefully misplac'd, Self so self-loving were iniquity.
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, 'Tis thee (myself) that for myself I praise,
And right perfection wrongfully disgrac'd, Painting my age with beauty of thy days.
And strength by limping sway disabled,
And art made tongue-tied by authority,
And folly (doctor-like) controlling skill,
And simple truth miscallid simplicity, Against my love shall be, as I am now,
And captive good attending captain ill : With Time's injurious hand crush'd and o'er
Tir'd with all these, from these would I be worn;
gone, When hours have drain'd his blood, and fill'd! Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.
his brow With lines and wrinkles; when his youthful morn
LXVII. Hath travellid on to age's steepy night; And all those beauties, whereof now he's king, Ah !. wherefore with infection should he live, Are vanishing or vanish'd out of sight,
And with bis presence grace impiety, Stealing away the treasure of his spring;
That sin by him advantage should achieve, For such a time do I now fortify
And lace itself with his society ? Against confounding age's cruel knife,
Why should false painting imitate his cheek, That he shall never cut from memory
And steal dead seeing of his living hue ?
His beauty shall in these black lines be seen, Roses of shadow, since his rose is true ?
Beggar'd of blood to blush through lively
veins ? LXIV.
For she hath no exchequer now but his, When I have seen by Time's fell hand defac'd
And proud of many, lives upon his gains. The rich-proud cost of outworn buried age;
0, him she stores, to show what wealth she When sometime lofty towers I see down-ras'd,
had, And brass eternal, slave to mortal rage;
In days long since, before these last so bad.
'; | Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn, When I have seen such interchange of state, Or state itself confounded to decay ;
When beauty liv'd and died as flowers do Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate
now, That time will come and take my love away.
Before these bastard signs of fair were borne, This thought is as a death, which cannot
| Or durst inhabit on a living brow;
Before the golden tresses of the dead,
The right of sepulchres, were shorn away,
Ere beauty's dead fleece made another gay:
In him those holy antique hours are seen,
Without all ornament, itself, and true, Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless | Making no summer of another's green, But sad mortality o'ersways their power, (sea, | Robbing no old to dress his beauty new; How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, And him as for a map doth nature store, Whose action is no stronger than a flower ? To show false art what beauty was of yore.
| 0, lest your true love may seem false in this, LXIX.
That you for love speak well of me untrue, Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth
My name be buried where my body is,
And live no more to shame por me nor you. view, Want nothing that the thought of hearts can
For I am sham'd by that which I bring forth,
And so should you, to love things nothing mend :
worth, All tongues (the voice of souls) give thee that due,
LXXIII. Uttering bare truth, even so as foes commend. Thine outward thus with outward praise is That time of year thou may'st in me behold crown'd;
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang But those same tongues that give thee so thine
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, own,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds In other accents do this praise confound,
sang. By seeing farther than the eye hath shown.
| In me thou seest the twilight of such day, They look into the beauty of thy mind,
As after sunset fadeth in the west, And that, in guess, they measure by thy deeds ;
Which by and by black night doth take away, Then (churls) their thoughts, although their eyes Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. were kind,
In me thou seest the glowing of such fire, To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds :
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, But why thy odor matcheth not thy show, As the death-bed whereon it must expire, The solve is this,—that thou dost common Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by. grow.
This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love
more strong, LXX.
To love that well which thou must leave ere That thou art blam'd shall not be thy defect,
Which for memorial still with thee shall stay. And thou present'st a pure unstained prime.
When thou reviewest this, thou dost review Thou hast pass'd by the ambush of young days,
ampusn of young, days, The very part was consecrate to thee. Either not assail'd, or victor being charg'd;
The earth can have but earth, which is his due; Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise, My spirit is thine, the better part of me: To tie up envy, evermore enlarg'd:
So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life, If sone suspect of ill mask'd not thy show,
The prey of worms, my body being dead;
The coward conquest of a wretch's knife,
The worth of that, is that which it contains,
And that is this, and this with thee remains.
Or as sweet-season'd showers are to the ground; The hand that writ it; for I love you so,
And for the peace of you I hold such strife
Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure;
ure: Lest the wise world should look into your Sometime, all fall with feasting on your sight, moan,
And by and by clean starved for a look ; And mock you with me after I am gone. Possessing or pursuing no delight,
Save what is had or must from you be took.
Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day,
Or gluttoning on all, or all away.
To new-found methods and to compounds Than niggard truth would willingly impart:
Why write I still all one, ever the same, | But since your worth (wide, as the ocean is,) And keep invention in a noted weed,
The humble as the proudest sail doth bear, That every word doth almost tell my name, (ceed? My saucy bark, inferior far to his, Showing their birth, and where they did pro On your broad main doth wilfully appear. O know, sweet love, I always write of you, Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat, And you and love are still my argument; Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride; So all my best is dressing old words new, Or, being wreck’d, I am a worthless boat, Spending again what is already spent :
He of tall building, and of goodly pride: For as the sun is daily new and old,
Then if he thrive, and I be cast away, So is my love still telling what is told.
The worst was this ;-my love was my decay.
The glass will show thee how thy beauties wear,
These offices, so oft as thou wilt look,
You still shall live (such virtue hath my pen)
mouths of men.
LXXXII. So oft have I invok'd thee for my muse,
I grant thou wert not married to my muse, And found such fair assistance in my verse, And therefore may'st without attaint o'erlook As every alien pen hath got my use,
The dedicated words which writers use And under thee their poesy disperse.
Of their fair subject, blessing every book. Thine eyes, that taught the dumb on high to sing, Thou art as fair in knowledge as in hue, And heavy ignorance aloft to fly,
Finding thy worth a limit past my praise ; Have added feathers to the learned's wing, And therefore art enforc'd to seek anew And given grace a double majesty.
Some fresher stamp of the time-bettering days. Yet be most proud of that which I compile, And do so, love ; yet when they have devis'd Whose influence is thine, and born of thee: | What strained touches rhetorick can lend, In others' works thou dost but mend the style, Thou truly fair wert truly sympathiz'd And arts with thy sweet graces graced be; In true plain words, by thy true telling friend ;
But thou art all my art, and dost advance And their gross painting might be better usd As high as learning my rude ignorance.
Where cheeks need blood; in thee it is abus'd.
Then thank him not for that which he doth say,
There lives more life in one of your fair eyes
LXXXIV. 0, how I faint when I of you do write,
Who is it that says most? which can say more, Knowing a better spirit doth use your name, Than this rich praise,-that you alone are you? And in the praise thereof spends all his might, I In whose confine immured is the store To make me tongue-tied, speaking of your fame! | Which should example where your equal grew.