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Lean penury within that pen doth dwell,
When thou shalt be dispos'd to set me light, Let him but copy what in you is writ,
And place my merit in the eye of Scorn, Sot making worse what nature made so clear,
Upon thy side against myself I'll fight, (sworn. And such a counter part shall fame his wit,
And prove thee virtuous, though thou art for. Making his style admired everywhere.
With mine own weakness being best acquainted, You to your beauteous blessings add a curse,
Upon thy part I can set down a story Being fond on praise, which makes your praises
Of faults conceal’d, wherein I am attainted ;
That thou, in losing me, shalt win much glory ; worse.
And I by this will be a gainer too ;
For bending all my loving thoughts on thee, LXXXV.
The injuries that to myself I do,
Doing thee vantage, double-vantage me.
Such is my love, to thee I so belong,
That for thy right myself will bear all wrong.
LXXXIX. words, And, like unletter'd clerk, still cry Amen
Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault, To every hymn that able spirit affords,
And I will comment upon that offence : In polish'd form of well-refined pen.
Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt; Hearing you praised, I say, 'tis so, 'tis true, Against thy reasons making no defence. And to the most of praise add something more;
Thou canst not, love, disgrace me half so ill, But that is in my thought, whose love to you, To set a form upon desired change, Though words come hindmost, holds his rank ! As I'll myself disgrace: knowing thy will, before.
I will acquaintance strangle, and look strange; Then others for the breath of words respect, Be absent from thy walks ; and in my tongue Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect. Thy sweet-beloved name no more shall dwell;
Lest I (too much profane) should do it wrong,
And haply of our old acquaintance tell.
For thee, against myself I'll vow debate,
For I must ne'er love him whom thou dost Was it the proud full sail of his great verse,
bate. Bound for the prize of all-too-precious you, That did my ripe thoughts in my brain in
XC. hearse, Making their tomb the womb wherein they
Then hate me when thou wilt ; if ever, now;
Now while the world is bent my deeds to cross, grew ? Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write
Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow, Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead?
And do not drop in for an after-loss: (sorrow, No, neither he, nor his compeers by night
Ah! do not, when my heart hath 'scaped this Giving him aid, my verse astonished.
Come in the rearward of a conquered woe; He, nor that affable familiar ghost
Give not a windy night a rainy morrow, Which nightly gulls him with intelligence,
To linger out a purpos'd overthrow. As victors, of my silence cannot boast;
If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last, I was not sick of any fear from thence.
When other petty griefs have done their spite, But when your countenance fill'd up his
But in the onset come; so shall I taste line,
At first the very worst of fortune's might; Then lack'd I matter; that enfeebled mine.
And other strains of woe, which now seem
Compar'd with loss of thee will not seem so. LXXXVII. Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing,
XCI. And like enough thou know'st thy estimate ; Some glory in their birth, some in their skill, The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing; Some in their wealth, some in their body's force: My bonds in thee are all determinate.
Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill; For how do I hold thee but by thy granting? Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their And for that riches where is my deserving ?
horse: The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting, And every humor hath his adjunct pleasure, And so my patent back again is swerving. | Wherein it finds a joy above the rest ; Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not But these particulars are not my measure, knowing,
All these I better in one general best. Or me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking; Thy love is better than high birth to me, So thy great gift, upon misprision growing, Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' cost, Comes home again, on better judgment making. Of more delight than hawks or horses be; Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flat. And having thee, of all men's pride I boast. ter,
Wretched in this alone, that thou may'st take In sleep a king, but waking, no such matter. All this away, and me most wretched make.
Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege; xcІ.
The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge.
Some say, thy fault is youth, some wantonness; Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs, Some say, thy grace is youth and gentle sport; When in the least of them my life hath end. Both grace and faults are lov'd of more and I see a better state to me belongs
less : Than that which on thy humor doth depend. Thou mak'st faults graces that to thee resort. Thou canst not vex me with inconstant inind, As on the finger of a throned queen Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie.
The basest jewel will be well esteem'd ; O what a happy title do I find,
So are those errors that in thee are seen, Happy to have thy love, happy to die!
To truths translated, and for true things deem'd. But what's so blessed-fair that fears no blot? How many lambs might the stern wolf betray, Thou may'st be false, and yet I know it not: If like a lamb he could his looks translate !
How many gazers might'st thou lead away,
If thou wouldst use the strength of all thy state! ҳСІ.
But do not so; I love thee in such sort, So shall I live, supposing thou art true,
As thou being mine, mine is thy good report.
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen! Is writ, in moods and frowns and wrinkles What old December's bareness everywhere! strange;
And yet this time remov'd was summer's time; But Heaven in thy creation did decree,
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase, That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell; Bearing the wanton burden of the prime, • Whate'er thy thoughts or thy heart's workings be, Like widow'd wombs after their lord's decease : Thy looks should nothing thence but sweetness | Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me tell.
But hope of orphans, and unfather'd fruit; How like Eve's apple doth thy beauty grow, For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, If thy sweet virtue answer not thy show! 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 XCIV.
near. They that have power to hurt and will do none,
When proud-pied April, dress'd in all his trim, They rightly do inherit heaven's graces,
Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing And husband nature's riches from expence; That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him. They are the lords and owners of their faces, Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell Others but stewards of their excellence.
Of different flowers in odor and in hue, The summer's flower is to the summer sweet, Could make me any summer's story tell, Though to itself it only live and die;
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they · But if that flower with base infection meet,
grew : The basest weed out-braves his dignity:
Nor did I wonder at the lilies white, For sweetest things turn sourest by their Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose; deeds;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight, Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds. | Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
Yet seem'd it winter still, and you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play: xcv. How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame,
XCIX. Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose, Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name! The forward violet thus did I chide ;0, in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose! Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet That tongue that tells the story of thy days,
that smells, Making lascivious comments on thy sport, If not from my love's breath? The purple pride Cannot dispraise but in a kind of praise ; Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells, Naming thy name blesses an ill report.
In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dy'd. O what a mansion have those vices got,
The lily I condemned for thy hand, Which for their habitation chose out thee ! And buds of marjoram had stolen thy hair : Where beauty's veil doth cover every blot, The roses fearfully on thorns did stand, And all things turn to fair, that eyes can see! | One blushing shame, another white despair;
A third, nor red nor white, had stolen of both, 10 blame me not if I no more can write !
Dulling my lines, and doing me disgrace.
For to no other pass my verses tend,
And more, much more, than in my verse can
Your own glass shows you, when you look Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song,
To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were, when first your eye I ey'd, Rise, restive Muse, my love's sweet face survey,
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters' If Time have any wrinkle graven there;
Have from the forests shook three summers' If any, be a satire to decay, And make Time's spoils despised every where.
pride; Give my love fame faster than Time wastes
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumin turn'd, life;
In process of the seasons have I seen, So thou prevent'st his scythe, and crooked
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd, knife.
Since first I saw you fresh which yet are green.
Steal from his figure, and no pace perceiv'd;
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends,
stand, For thy neglect of truth in beauty dy'd ?
Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceiv'd. Both truth and beauty on my love depends ; For fear of which, hear this, thou age unSo dost thou too, and therein dignify'd.
bred, Make answer, Muse: wilt thou not haply say, Ere you were born, was beauty's summer dead. Truth needs no color with his color fix'd, Beauty no pencil, beauty's truth to lay ; But best is best, if never intermix'd ?Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb ?
Let not my love be call'd idolatry, Excuse not silence so ; for it lies in thee
Nor my beloved as an idol show, To make him much outlive a gilded tomb,
Since all alike my songs and praises be, And to be prais'd of ages yet to be.
To one, of one, still such, and ever so. Then do thy office, Muse; I teach thee how
Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind,
Still constant in a wondrous excellence ;
One thing expressing, leaves out difference.
Fair, kind, and true, is all my argument, My love is strengthen'd, though more weak in | Fair, kind, and true, varying to other words : seeming;
And in this change is my invention spent, I love not less, though less the show appear; Three themes in one, which wondrous scope af. That love is merchandiz'd, whose rich esteeming
fords. The owner's tongue doth publish every where.
Fair, kind, and true, have often liv'd alone; Our love was new, and then but in the spring, Which three, till now, never kept seat in one. When I was wont to greet it with my lays ; As Philomel in summer's front doth sing,
сут. And stops his pipe in growth of riper days: Not that the summer is less pleasant now
When in the chronicle of wasted time Than when her mournful hymns did hush the I see descriptions of the fairest wights. night,
And beauty making beautiful old rhyme, But that wild music burthens every bough,
In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights, And sweets grown common lose their dear de- | Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best, light.
Of band, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, Therefore, like her, I sometime hold my tongue, I
I see their antique pen would have express'd Because I would not dull you with my song. | Even such a beauty as you master now.
So all their praises are but prophecies . CIII.
Of this our time, all you prefiguring ;
And, for they look'd but with divining eyes, Alack ! what poverty my muse brings forth, They had not skill enough your worth to sing : That having such a scope to show her pride, For we, which now behold these present days, The argument, all bare, is of more worth,
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to Than when it hath my added praise beside.
Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul | 0, for my sake do you with fortune chide,
Than public means, which public manners breeds.
And thou in this shalt find thy monument, Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye, When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are! Even that your pity is enough to cure me.
сх. What's in the brain that ink may character, Your love and pity doth the impression fill Which hath not figur'd to thee my true spirit! | Which vulgar scandal stamp'd upon my brow; What's new to speak, what now to register, For what care I who calls me well or ill, That may express my love or thy dear merit? So you o'er-green my bad, my good allow ? Nothing, sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine, You are my all-the-world, and I must strive I must each day say o'er the very same;
To know my shames and praises from your Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine, None else to me, nor I to none alive, (tongue; Even as when first I hallow'd thy fair name. That my steel'd sense or changes, right or wrong. So that eternal love in love's fresh case
In so profound abysm I throw all care Weighs not the dust and injury of age,
Of others' voices, that my adder's sense Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place,
To critic and to flatterer stopped are. But makes antiquity for aye his page ;
Mark how with my neglect I do dispense :Finding the first conceit of love there bred, You are so strongly in my purpose bred, Where time and outward form would show it That all the world besides methinks are dead.
For if it see the rud'st or gentlest sight,
The mountain or the sea, the day or night, (ture.
Incapable of more, replete with you,
Alas, 'tis true, I have gone here and there,
cxiy. And made myself a motley to the view,
Or whether doth my mind, being crown'd with Gor'd mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is
you, most dear,
Drink up the monarch's plague, this flattery, Made old offences of affections new.
Or whether shall I say mine eye saith true, Most true it is, that I have look'd on truth And that your love taught it this alchemy, Askance and strangely; but, by all above, To make of monsters and things indigest, These blenches gave my heart another youth, Such cherubins as your sweet self resemble, And worse essays prov'd thee my best of love. | Creating every bad a perfect best, Now all is done, save what shall have no end : | As fast as objects to his beams assemble ? Mine appetite I never more will grind
0, 'tis the first ; 'tis flattery in my seeing, On newer proof, to try an older friend,
And my great mind most kingly drinks it up; A God in love, to whom I am confin'd.
Mine eye well knows what with his gust is 'greeThen give me welcome, next my heaven the And to his palate doth prepare the cup: (ing, best,
If it be poison'd, 'tis the lesser sin Eren to thy pure and most most loving breast.' That mine eye loves it, and doth first begin.
| Thus policy in love, to anticipate cxv.
The ills that were not, grew to faults assur'd, Those lines that I before have writ, do lie,
And brought to medicine a healthful state, Even those that said I could not love you dearer; 1
Which, rank of goodness, would by ill be cur'd. Yet then my judgmont knew no reason why
But thence I learn, and find the lesson true, My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer.
Drugs poison him that so fell sick of you. But reckoning time, whose million'd accidents Creep in 'twixt vows, and change decrees of
CXIX. kings. Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp'st intents, What potions have I drunk of Syren tears, Divert strong minds to the course of altering Distill'd from limbecs foul as hell within, things;
Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears, Alas! why, fearing of time's tyranny,
Still losing when I saw myself to win! Might I not then say, now I love you best, What wretched errors hath my heart committed, When I was certain o'er incertainty,
Whilst it hath thought itself so blessed never! Crowning the present, doubting of the rest ? How have mine eyes out of their spheres been Love is a babe; then might I not say so,
fitted, To give full growth to that which still doth In the distraction of this madding fever ! grow ?
O benefit of ill! now I find true
That better is by evil still made better;
And ruin'd love, when it is built anew,
Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater, Let me not to the marriage of true minds
So I return rebuk'd to my content,
And gain by ill thrice more than I have spent.
сxx. That looks on tempests, and is never shaken ; It is the star to every wandering bark,
That you were once unkind, befriends me now, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be And for that sorrow, which I then did feel, taken,
Needs must I under my transgression bow, Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and Unless my nerves were brass or hammer'd steel. cheeks
For if you were by my unkindness shaken, Within his bending sickle's compass come; As I by yours, you have pass'd a hell of time: Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken But bears it out even to the edge of doom. To weigh how once I suffer'd in your crime. If this be error, and upon me prov'd,
O that our night of woe might have remember'd I never writ, nor no man ever lov’d.
My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits,
The humble salve which wounded bosoms fits!
But that your trespass now becomes a fee ; Accuse me thus ; that I have scanted all
Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom Wherein I should your great deserts repay; Forgot upon your dearest love to call
CXXI. Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day; That I have frequent been with unknown minds, 'Tis better to be vile, than vile esteem'd, And given to time your own dear-purchas'd When not to be receives reproach of being, right;
| And the just pleasure lost, which is so deem'd That I have hoisted sail to all the winds Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing. Which should transport me farthest from your For why should others' false adulterate eyes sight.
Give salutation to my sportive blood ? Book both my wilfulness and errors down, Or on my frailties why are frailer spies, And on just proof, surmise accumulate,
Which in their wills' count bad what I think Bring me within the level of your frown,
good ? But shoot not at me in your waken'd hate: N0.-I am that I am ; and they that level Since my appeal says, I did strive to prove At my abuses, reckon up their own: The constancy and virtue of your love. I may be straight, though they themselves be
By their rank thoughts my deeds must not be CXVIII.
Unless this general evil they maintain,
All men are bad, and in their badness reign.
CXXII. Even so, being full of your ne'er-cloying sweetness,
| Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain To bitter sauces did I frame my feeding,
Full character'd with lasting memory, And, sick of welfare, found a kind of meetness Which shall above that idle rank remain, To be diseas'd, ere that there was true needing. Beyond all date, even to eternity: