No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change.

Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck

O, call not me to justify the wrong.

O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide

O, from what power hast thou this powerful might

O, how I faint when I of you do write

O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem

O, how thy worth with manners may I sing
O, lest the world should task you to recite
O me, what eyes hath Love put in my head
O, never say that I was false of heart.

O, that you were yourself! but, love, you are
O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power

O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends
Or I shall live your epitaph to make.

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43

Or whether doth my mind, being crown'd with you

59

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea.
Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind.

So am I as the rich, whose blessed key
So are you to my thoughts as food to life
So is it not with me as with that Muse
So, now I have confess'd that he is thine
So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse
So shall I live supposing thou art true
Some glory in their birth, some in their skill
Some say, thy fault is youth, some wantonness
Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said.

Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all
That god forbid that made me first your slave
That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect .

.

That thou hast her, it is not all my grief.
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
That you were once unkind befriends me now.
The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
The forward violet thus did I chide
The little Love-god lying once asleep.
The other two, slight air and purging fire
Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now
Then let not winter's ragged hand deface
They that have power to hurt and will do none
Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me
Those hours, that with gentle work did frame.
Those lines that I before have writ do lie
Those lips that Love's own hand did make .

Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view
Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits

Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art.

Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes.
Thus can my love excuse the slow offence
Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn.
Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts
Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain.

Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear
Tired with all these, for restful death I cry
'T is better to be vile than vile esteem'd.
To me, fair friend, you never can be old.
Two loves I have, of comfort and despair

Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend

Was it the proud full sail of his great verse
Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed
Were't aught to me I bore the canopy
What is your substance, whereof are you made
What potions have I drunk of Siren tears
What's in the brain that ink may character
When forty winters shall besiege thy brow
When I consider every thing that grows.
When I do count the clock that tells the time
When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced

When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes
When in the chronicle of wasted time

When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see
When my love swears that she is made of truth
When thou shalt be disposed to set me light
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long
Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid
Who is it that says most? which can say more
Who will believe my verse in time to come
Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy will
Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day
Why is my verse so barren of new pride.

Your love and pity doth the impression fill .