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MR. W. H.




T. T.

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Thy unus'd beauty must be tomb'd with thee, Frox fairest creatures we desire increase,

Which, used, lives thy executor to be. That thereby beauty's rose might never die,

V. But as the riper should by time decease, Those hours, that with gentle work did frame, His lender heir might bear his mentory:

The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell, But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes, Will play the tyrants to the very same, Feed'st thy light's fame with self-substantial fuel. And ihai unfair, which fairly doth excel; Making a famine where abundance lies,

For never-resting time leads summer on Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel, To hideous winter and confounds him there; Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament, Sap check'd with frost, and lusty leaves quite gone, And only herald to the gaudy spring,

Beauty o'er-snow'd, and bareness every where : Within thine own bud buriest thy content, Then, were not summer's distillation left, And, tender churl, mak'st waste in niggarding. A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass, Pity' the world, or else this glutton be,

Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft, To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee. Nor it, nor no remembrance what it was : II.

But flowers distill'd, though they with winter meet,

Lose but their show; their substance still livos When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,

sweet, And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,

Thy youth's proud livery, so gaz'd on now,
Will be tatier'd weed, of small worth held :

Then let not winter's ragged hand deface
Then, being ask'd where all thy beauty lies,

In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd: Where all the treasure of thy lusty days;

Make sweet some phial, treasure thou some placa To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes,

With beauty's treasure, ere it be self-kill'd.
Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.

That use is not forbidden usury,
How much more praise deserv'd thy beauty's use, That's for thyself to breed another thee,

Which happies those that pay the willing loan ;
If thou could'st answer—This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count, and make my old escuse,-

Or ten times happier, be it ten for one ;

Ten times thyself were happier than thou art, Proving his beauty by succession thine. This were to be new made, when thou art old,

If ten of thine ten times refigur'd thee :
And see thy blood warm, when thou feel'st it cold. Then what could death do, if thou should'st depart,

Leaving thee living in posterity ?

Be not self-will’d, for thou art much too fair
Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest,

To be death's conquest, and make worms thine heir. Now is the time that face should form another;

Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest, Lo, in the orient when the gracious light
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother. Lifts up his buruing head, each under eye
For where is she so fair, whose un-ear'd womb Doth homage to his new-appearing sight,
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry ?

Serving with looks his sacred majesty ;.
Or who is he so fond, will be the lomb

And having climb'd the steep-up heavenly hilla of his sell-love, to stop posterity ?

Resembling strong youth in his middle age,
Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thoe Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,
Calls back the lovely April of her prime : Attending on his golden pilgrimago;
So thou through windows of thinc age shalt see,

But when from high-most pitch, with weary car, Despite of wrinkles, this the golden time,

Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day, But if thou live, remember'd not to be,

'fore duteous, now converted are Die single, and thine image dies with thee. From his low tract, and look another way :

So thou, thyself out-going in thy noon,

Unlook'd on diest, unless thou get a son.
Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend

Upon thyself thy beauty's legacy ?
Nature's bequest gives nothing, but doth lend;

Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly? And being frank, she lends to those are free.

Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy: Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse

Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not gladly? The bounteous largess given thee to give ?

Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy Profitless usurer, why dost thou use

If the true concord of well-tuned sounds, So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live?

By unions married, do offend thine ear, For having traffic with thyself alone,

They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive. In singleness the parts that thou should'st bear. Then how, when nature calls thee to be gone, *i. e. Thomas Thorpe, in whose name the Sonnets What acceptable audit canst thou leave

I were first entered in Stationers' Hall.

The eyes,

Mark, how one string, sweet husband to another, Who lets so fair a house fall to decay,
Strikes each in each, by mutual ordering ;, Which husbandry in honour might uphold,
Resembling sire and child and happy mother, Against the stormy gusts of winter's day,
Who all in one, one pleasing note do sing : And barren rage of death's eternal cold?
Whose speechless song, being many, seeming one, O! none but unthrifts :--Dear my love, you know,
Sings this to thee, “thou single wilt prove none.” You had a father ; let your son say so.

Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye,

Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck ;
That thou consum'st thyself in single life ? And yet methinks I have astronomy ;
Ah! if thou issueless shall hap to die,

But not to tell of good, or evil luck,
The world will wail thee, liko a makeless wife; Of plagues, of dearths, or season's quality :
The world will be thy widow, and still weep, Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,
That thou no form of thee hast left behind, Pointing to each his thunder, rain, and wind;
When every private widow well may keep, Or say, with princes if it shall go well,
By children's eyes, her husband's shape in mind. By oft predici that I in heaven find :
Look, what an unthrift in the world doth spend, But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,
Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it; And (constant stars) in them I read such arty
But beauty's waste hath in the world an end, As truth and beauty shall together thrive,
And kept unus'd, the user so destroys it.

If from thyself to store thou would'st convert : No love towards others in that bosom sits,

Or else of thee this I prognosticate,
Thal on himself such murderous shame commits. Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and dater

For shame! deny that thou bear'st love to any, When I consider every thing that grows
Who for thyself art so unprovident.

Holds in perfection but a little moment;
Grant if thou wilt, thou art belov'd of many, That this huge state presenteth nought but showir
But that thou none lov'st, is most evident; Whereon the stars in secret influence comment ;
For thou art so possess'd with murderous hate, When I perceive that men as plants increase,
That 'gainst thyself thou stick’st not to conspire ; Cheered and check'd even by the self-same sky,
Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate,

Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,, Which to repair should be thy chief desire. And wear their brave state out of memory; 0, change thy thought, that I may change my mind! Then the conceit of this inconstant stay, Shall hate be fairer lodg’d than gentle love? Sets you most rich in youth before my sight, Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind, Where wasteful time debateth with decay, Or to thyself, at least, kind-hearted prove : To change your day of youth to sullied night; Make thee another self, for love of me,

And, all in war with time, for love of you, That beauty still may live in thine or theo. As he takes from you, I engraft you new. XI.

XVI. As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st But wherefore do not you a mightier way. In one of thine, from that which thou departest;. Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time? And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow'st, And fortify yourself in your decay Thou may'st call thine, when thou from youth con. With means more blessed than my barren: rhyme ?! Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase ; (vertest. Now stand you on the top of happy hours ; Without this, folly, age, and cold decay:

And many maiden gardens, yet unset, If all were minded so, the times should cease, With virtuous wish would bear you living flowers, And threescore years would make the world away. Much liker than your painted counterfeit : Let those whom nature hath not made for store, So should the lines of life that life repair, Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish : Which this, Time's pencil, or my pupil pen, Look, whom she best endow'd, she gave thee more; Neither in inward worth, nor outward fair, Which bounteous gift thou 'should'st in bounty Can make you live yourself in eyes of men. cherish:

To give away yourself, keeps yourself still;
She carv'd thee for her scal, and meant thereby And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill..
Thou should'st print more, nor let that copy die.


Who will believe my verse in time to como,
When I do count the clock that tells the time,

If it were fill'd with your most high deserts ?
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night ;
When I behold the violet past prime,

Though yet heaven knows, it is but as a tomb

Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts.. And sable curls, all silverd o'er with white;

If I could write the beauty of your eyes, When lofty trees I see harren of leaves,

And in frush numbers number all your graces, Which eret from heat did canopy the herd, And summer's green all girded up in sheaves,

The age to conne would say, this poet lies, Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard ;

Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd eartály facet, Then of thy beauty do I question make,

So should my papers, yellow'd with their age,

Be scorn'd, like old men of less truth than tonguo ;That thou among the wastes of time must go, Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake,

And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage,

And stretched metre of an antique song : And die as fast as they see others grow; And nothing 'gainst time's scythe can make defence, But were some child of yours alive thai timo, Save breed, to brave him, when he takes thee hence. You should live twico ;-in it, and in my rhyme.. XIII.

XVIII. 0, that you were yourself! but, love, you aro Shall I compare thee to a summer's day ? No longor yours, ihan you yourself here live : Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Against this coming end you should prepare, Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And your sweet semblance to some other give. And summer's lease hath all too short a date : Sn should that beauty which you hold in lease, Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, Find no determination: then you were

And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; Yourself again, after yourself's decease,

And every fair from fair sometime declinos, When yoar sweet issuo your sweet form should bear. By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd',

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Who plead for love, and look for recompence,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest ; More than that tongue that more hath more on
Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou growest : 0, learn to read what silent love hath writ:
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.


Mine eye hath play'd the painter, and hath steeld
Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws, Thy beauty's form in table of my heart;
And make the earth devour her own sweet brood; My body is the frame wherein 'uis held,

Pluck the heen teeth from the fierce liger's jaws, perspective it is best painter's art.
And burn the long-liv'd phenix in her blood;

For through the painter must you see his skill, Make glad and sorry seasons as thou Pret'st,

To find where your true image pictur'd lies; And do whate'er thou wilt, swifi-footed Time,

Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still, To the wide world, and all her fading sweets;

That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes. But I forbid thee one most heinous crime:

Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done; 0, carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow,

Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen;

Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun Hirn in thy course untainted do allow,

Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee; For beauty's pattern to succeeding men.

Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art, Yet, do thy worst, old Time : despite thy wrong,

They draw but what they see, know not the heart. My love shall in my verse ever live young.


Let those who are in favour with their stars,
A woman's face, with nature's own hand painted,

of public honour and proud titles boast, Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion;

Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars,

Unlook'd for joy in that I honour mosi.
A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted
With shifting change, as is false women's fashion; But as the marigold at the sun's eye ;

Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread,
An eye more brighi than theirs, less false in rolling, And in themselves their pride lies buried,
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth;
A man in hue all hues in his controlling, [zeth.

For at a frown they in their glory die. Which steals men's eyes, and women's souls ama- The painful warrior famoused for fight, And for a woman weri thou first created ;

After a thousand victories once foil'd; Till nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting,

Is from the book of honour razed quite, And by addition me of thee defeated,

And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd. By adding one thing to my purpose nothing,

Then happy I, that love and am belor'd,
But since she prick’ thee out for women's pleasure, Where I may not remove, nor be remov'd.
Mine be thy love, and thy love's use their ireasure.


Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage
So is it not with me, as with that muse

Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit;

To thee I send this written embassage,
Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse ;
Who heaven itself for ornament doth use,

To witness duty, not to show my wit :
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse;

Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine Making a couplement of proud compare,

May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it, With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems, In thy soul's thought, all naked, will bestow it:

But that I hope some good conceit of thine
With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare Till whatsoever star that guides my moving,
That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems.

Points on me graciously with fair aspect,
O let me, true in love, but truly write,
And then believe me, my love is as fair

And puts apparel on my tatter'd lovmg,

To show me worthy of thy sweet respect :
As any mother's child, though not so bright
As those gold candles fix'd in heaven's air:

Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee; (me. Let them say more that like of hearsay well;

Till then, not show my head where thou may'st prove I will not praise, that purpose not to sell.


Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,

The dear repose for limbs with travel tir'd; My glass shall not persuade me I am old,

But then begins a journey in my head, So long as youth and thou are of one date ;

To work my mind, when body's work's expir'd: But when in thee time's furrows I behold,

For then my thoughts (from far where I abide) Then look I death my days should expiaté.

Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee, For all that beauty that doth cover thee,

And keep my drooping eye-lids open wide, Is but the seemly raiment of my heart,

Looking on darkness which the blind do sce: Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me;

Save that my soul's imaginary sight How can I then be elder than thou art?

Presents thy shadow to my sightless view, O therefore, love, be of thyself so wary,

Which like a jewel hung in ghastly night, As I not for myself but for thee will;

Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new, Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary As tender nurse her babe from faring ill.

Lo thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind, Presume not on thy heart, when mine is slain ;

For thee, and for myself, no quiet find.
Thou gav'st me thine, not to give back again.


How can I then return in happy plight,

That am debarr'd the benefit of rest? As an unperfect actor on the stage,

When day's oppression is not eas'd by night, Who with his fear is put besides his part,

But dav by night, and night by day, oppress'd ? Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage, And each, though enemies to either's reign, Whose strength's abundance weakens his own Do in consent shake hands to torture me; So I, for fear of trust, forget to say [heart ; | The one bv toil, the other to complain The perfect ceremony of love's rite,

How far l toil, still farther off from thee. And in mine own love's strength seem to decay, I tell the dav, to please him, thon art bright, O'er-charg'd with burthen of mine own love's might. And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven. 0, let my books be then the eloquence

So Aalter I the swart-complexion'd night And dumb presagers of my speaking breast; When sparkling stars twire not, thou gild'st the eveni


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.

XLVIII. 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.

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