From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate; For thy sweet love remember'd, such wealth| brings, That then I scorn to change my state with kings. XXX. 'Tis not enough that through the cloud thou To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face, When to the sessions of sweet silent thought Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss: I summon up remembrance of things past, Which I new pay as if not paid before. Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts, How many a holy and obsequious tear Thou art the grave where buried love doth live, XXXII. If thou survive my well-contented day, The offender's sorrow lends but weak relief And they are rich, and ransome all ill deeds, No more be grieved at that which thou hast Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud; All men make faults, and even I in this, For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense, To that sweet thief, which sourly robs from me. Let me confess that we two must be twain, In our two loves there is but one respect, When that churl Death my bones with dust shall Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight. cover, And shalt by fortune once more re-survey Compare them with the bettering of the time; O then vouchsafe me but this loving thought! Had my friend's muse grown with this growing age, A dearer birth than this his love had brought, XXXIII. Full many a glorious morning have I seen E'en so my sun one early morn did shine, The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now; XXXIV. Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day, I may not evermore acknowledge thee, Unless thou take that honour from thy name: As a decrepit father takes delight I make my love engrafted to this store: And by a part of all thy glory live, XXXVIII, How can my muse want subject to invent, verse Thine own sweet argument, too excellent Oh give thyself the thanks, if aught in me Be thou the tenth muse, ten times more in worth O how thy worth with manners may I sing, That due to thee, which thou deservest alone. And that thou teachest how to make one twain, Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all; What hast thou then more than thou hadst before? No love, my love, that thon may'st true love call; All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more. Then if for my love thou my love receivest, I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest; But yet be blamed, if thou thyself deceivest By wilful taste of what thyself refusest. I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief, Although thou steal thee all my poverty; And yet love knows, it is a greater grief To bear love's wrongs, than hate's known injury. Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shews, Kill me with spites; yet we must not be foes. XLI. Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits, When I am sometime absent from thy heart, Thy beauty and thy years full well befits, For still temptation follows where thou art. Gentle thou art, and therefore to be won, And chide thy beauty and thy straying youth, Her's, by thy beauty tempting her to thee, XLII. That thou hast her, it is not all my grief, And yet it may be said I loved her dearly; That she hath thee, is of my wailing chief, A loss in love that touches me more nearly. Loving offenders, thus I will excuse ye:Thou dost love her, because thou know'st I love her; And for my sake even so doth she abuse me, And both for my sake lay on me this cross: When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see, For all the day they view things unrespected; But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee, And darkly bright, are bright in dark directed, Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright, How would thy shadow's form form happy show To the clear day with thy much clearer light, When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so? How would (I say) mine eyes be blessed made By looking on thee in the living day, Wheu in dead night thy fair imperfect shade Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay? All days are nights to see, till I see thee, And nights, bright days, when dreams do show thee me. XLIV. If the dull substance of my flesh were thought, Injurious distance should not stop my way: For then, despite of space, I would be brought From limits far remote, where thou dost stay. No matter then, although my foot did stand Upon the farthest earth removed from thee, For nimble thought can jump both sea and land, As soon as think the place where he would be. But ah! thought kills me, that I am not thought, To leap large lengths of miles, when thou art gone, But that, so much of earth and water wrought, I must attend Time's leisure with my moan; Receiving nought by elements so slow But heavy tears, badges of either's woe. XLV. The other two, slight air and purging fire, For when these quicker elements are gone My life, being inade of four, with two alone, By those swift messengers return'd from thee, XLVI. Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war, How to divide the conquest of thy sight; Mine eye my heart thy picture's sight would bar, My heart mine eye the freedom of that right. My heart doth plead, that thou in him dost lie, A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart; The clear eye's moiety, and the dear heart's part: Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took, And each doth good turns now unto the other: When that mine eye is famish'd for a look, Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother, With my love's picture then my eye doth feast, And to the painted banquet bids my heart: Another time mine eye is my heart's guest, And in his thoughts of love doth share a part: So, either by thy picture or my love, Thyself away art present still with me; For thou not farther than my thoughts canst move, And I am still with them, and they with thee; Or if they sleep, thy picture in my sight Awakes my heart to heart's and eye's delight. XLVIII. How careful was I, when I took my way, Each trifle under truest bars to thrust, That, to my use, it might unused stay From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust. But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are, Most worthy comfort, now my greatest grief, Thou, best of dearest, and mine only care, Art left the prey of every vulgar thief. Thee have I not lock'd up in any chest, Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art, Within the gentle closure of my breast, From whence at pleasure thou may'st come and part; And even thence thou wilt be stolen I fear, Against that time, if ever that time come, And scarcely greet me with that sun, thine eye, When love, converted from the thing it was, Shall reasons find of settled gravity, Against that time do 1 ensconce me here Within the knowledge of my own desert, And this my hand against myself uprear, To guard the lawful reasons on thy part: To leave poor me thou hast the strength of laws, Since, why to love, I can alledge no cause. L. How heavy do I journey on the way, When what I seek,- my weary travel's end,Doth teach that ease and that repose to say, Thus far the miles are measured from thy friend. The beast that bears me, tired with my woe, Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me, As if by some instinct the wretch did know His rider loved not speed, being made from thee: The bloody spur cannot provoke him on, That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide, Which heavily he answers with a groan, More, sharp to me than spurring to his side; For that same groan doth put this in my mind, My grief lies onward, and my joy behind. LI. Thus can my love excuse the slow offence Of my dull bearer, when from thee I speed: From where thou art why should I haste thence? Till I return, of posting is no need. me O, what excuse will my poor beast then find, When swift extremity can seem but slow? Then should I spur, though mounted on the wind; In winged speed no motion shall I know; Then can no horse with my desire keep pace; Therefore desire, of perfect love being made, Shall neigh (no dull flesh) in his fiery race; But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade; Since from thee going he went wilful slow, Towards thee I will run, and give him leave to go. LII. So am I as the rich, whose blessed key Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure, The which he will not every hour survey, For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure. Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare, Şince seldom coming, in the long year set, Like stones of worth they thinly placed are, Or captain jewels in the carcanet. So is the time that keeps you, as my chest, What is your substance, whereof are you made, Is poorly imitated after you; On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set, Speak of the spring, and foizon of the year; And you in every blessed shape we know. O how much more doth beauty beauteous seem, Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made: And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth, When that shall fade, my verse distills your truth. LV. Not marble, nor the gilded monuments Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme; But you shall shine more bright in these contents Than unswept stone, besmear'd with sluttish time. When wasteful war shall statues overturn, And broils root out the work of masonry, Nor Mars his sword, nor war's quick fire shall burn The living record of your memory, 'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said, So, love, be thou; although to day thou fill Let this sad interim like the ocean be Which parts the shore, where two contracted-new Come daily to the banks, that, when they see Return of love, more bless'd may be the view: Or call it winter, which being full of care, Makes summer's welcome thrice more wish'd, more rare. LVII. Being your slave, what should I do but tend Upon the hours and times of your desire? 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, Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you, Nor think the bitterness of absence sour, When you have bid your servant once adieu; Nor dare I question with my jealous thought, Where you may be, or your affairs suppose, But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought, Save, where you are, how happy you make those: So true a fool is love, that in your will (Though you do any thing) he thinks no ill. LVIII. That God forbid, that made me first your slave, I should in thought control your times of pleasure, Or at your hand the account of hours to crave, Being your vassal, bound to stay your leisure! Oh let me suffer (being at your beck) The imprison'd absence of your liberty, And patience, tame to sufferance, bide each check Without accusing you of injury. Be where you list; your charter is so strong, That you yourself may privilege your time: Do what you will, to you it doth belong 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. If there be nothing new, but that, which is, Hath been before, how are our brains beguiled, Which labouring for invention bear amiss The second burden of a former child? O that record could with a backward look, Even of five hundred courses of the sun, Show me your image in some antique book, Since mind as first in character was done! That I might see what the old world could say To this composed wonder of your frame; Whether we are mended, or whe'r better they, Or whether revolution be the same. O! sure I am, the wits of former days, To subjects worse have given admiring praise. LX. Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end; Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Nativity once in the main of light, Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd, Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, And Time that gave, doth now his gift confound. Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth, 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 stand, Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand LXI. Is it thy will, thy image should keep open Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee O no! thy love, though much, is not so great; To play the watchman ever for thy sake: For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake elsewhere, From me far off, with others all-too-near. LXII. Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye, Methinks no face so gracious as is mine, But when my glass shows me myself indeed, Beated and chopp'd with tann'd antiquity, Mine own self-love quite contrary I read, Tis thee (myself) that for myself I praise, Against my love shall be, as I am now, With Time's injurious hand crush'd and o'erworn: When hours have drain'd his blood, and fill'd his brow With lines and wrinkles; when his youthful morn For such a time do I now fortify My sweet love's beauty, though my lover's life. His beauty shall in these black lines be seen, And they shall live, and he in them still green. LXIV. When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced The rich-proud cost of out-worn buried age; And brass eternal slave to mortal rage; When sometime lofty towers I see down-razed, When I have seen the hungry ocean gain Advantage on the kingdom of the shore, And the firm soil win of the wat'ry main, Increasing store with loss, and loss with store; When I have seen such interchange of state, Or state itself confounded to decay; Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate That time will come and take my love away. This thought is as a death, which cannot choose But weep to have that which it fears to lose. LXV. Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, But sad mortality o'ersways their power, O how shall summer's honey breath hold out Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid? O none, unless this miracle have might, That in black ink my love may still shine bright. LXVI. Tired with all these, for restful death I cry, - And gilded honour shamefully misplaced, And art made tongue-tied by authority, And captive good attending captain ill: LXVII. Ah! wherefore with infection should he live, Why should false painting imitate his cheek, Why should he live now Nature bankrupt is, And proud of many, lives upon his gains, Thus is his cheek the map of days out-worn, Before the golden tresses of the dead, Robbing no old to dress his beauty new; Nay, if you read this line, remember not But let your love e'en with my life decay: O, lest the world should task you to recite Unless you would devise some virtuous lie, O, lest your true love may seem false in this, And live no more to shame nor me nor you. That time of year thou may'st in me behold As This Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view, crown'd; But those same tongues that give thee so thine own, They look into the beauty of thy mind, To thy fair flowers add the rank smell of weeds: That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect, So thou be good, slander doth but approve No longer mourn for me when I am dead, strong, love that well which thou must leave ere long. LXXIV. But be contented: when that fell arrest So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life, LXXV. So are you to my thoughts, as food to life, Save what is had or must from you be took. |