And shalt by fortune once more re-survey
These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover;
Compare them with the bettering of the time;
And though they be outstripp'd by every pen,
Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme,
Exceeded by the height of happier men.

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,
To march in ranks of better equipage:
But since he died, and poets better prove,
Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love."

Full many a glorious morning have I seen
Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye,
Kissing with golden face the meadows green,
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy;
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride
With ugly rack on his celestial face,16
And from the forlorn world his visage hide,
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace.
Even so my sun one early morn did shine,
With all-triumphant splendour on my brow;
But, out, alack! he was but one hour mine;
The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now.
Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth;
Suns of the world may stain, when heaven's sun
staineth.

* Knight arranges this Sonnet and the next two in a series of six, entitled " Injury." In our figuring, it follows the CXLIV.

16 Rack is thin, attenuated vapour; explained in The Tempest, Act iv. sc. 1, note 16.

H

Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day,
And make me travel forth without my cloak,
To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way,
Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke?
"Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break.
To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face;
For no man well of such a salve can speak,
That heals the wound, and cures not the disgrace:
Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief;
Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss:
Th' offender's sorrow lends but weak relief
To him that bears the strong offence's cross.
Ah! but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds,
And they are rich, and ransom all ill deeds.

17

No more be griev'd at that which thou hast done:
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud;
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.
All men make faults, and even I in this,
Authorizing thy trespass with compare;
Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss,18
Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are:
For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense,

19

*The remaining Sonnets in this series of six, as arranged by Knight, are the XL., XLI., and XLII.

17 Instead of cross, the old copy here repeats loss. Malone made the change.

H.

18 Amiss was sometimes used as a substantive, for any thing done amiss. See Venus and Adonis, note 1.

H.

19 That is, making the excuse too great for the offence. - The meaning of the next three lines seems to be, "I bring in my rea son to excuse thy fault, and to commence a plea against myself for being as much in fault as thou."

H.

(Thy adverse party is thy advocate,)

And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence.
Such civil war is in my love and hate,

That I an accessory needs must be

To that sweet thief, which sourly robs from me.

20

Let me confess that we two must be twain,
Although our undivided loves are one:
So shall those blots that do with me remain,
Without thy help, by me be borne alone.
In our two loves there is but one respect,
Though in our lives a separable spite;
Which though it alter not love's sole effect,
Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight.
I may not evermore acknowledge thee,
Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame;
Nor thou with public kindness honour me,
Unless thou take that honour from thy name :
But do not so; I love thee in such sort,
As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report.

XXXVII.

As a decrepit father takes delight

32.

To see his active child do deeds of youth,
So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite,"
Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth;

This and the next three Sonnets are in Knight's arrangement a series by themselves, entitled "Humility." In our figuring, they follow the XXXII.

20 That is, a cruel fate, that spitefully separates us.

21 The Poet often uses dear as an epithet of any thing that moves intense feeling, whether of love or the reverse. See Twelfth Night, Act v. sc. 1, note 3.

H.

For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit,
Or any of these all, or all, or more,
Entitled in thy parts* 22 do crowned sit,

I make my love engrafted to this store:
So then I am not lame, poor, nor despis'd,
Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give,
That I in thy abundance am suffic'd,

And by a part of all thy glory live.

Look, what is best, that best I wish in thee:
This wish I have; then, ten times happy me

How can my Muse want subject to invent,
While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse
Thine own sweet argument, too excellent

For every vulgar paper to rehearse?

O! give thyself the thanks, if aught in me,
Worthy perusal, stand against thy sight;
For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee,
When thou thyself dost give invention light?
Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth
Than those old nine which rhymers invocate;
And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth
Eternal numbers to outlive long date.

If my slight Muse do please these curious days,
The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise.

O! how thy worth with manners may I sing,
When thou art all the better part of me?

What can mine own praise to mine own self bring!
And what is't but mine own, when I praise thee?

This Sonnet is the fourth and last in Knight's series on "Ha mility."

"The meaning seems to be, "ennobled in thy parts." H.

Even for this let us divided live,

And our dear love lose name of single one;
That by this separation I may give

That due to thee which thou deserv'st alone.
O absence! what a torment would'st thou prove,
Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave
To entertain the time with thoughts of love,
Which time and thoughts so sweetly doth deceive;
And that thou teachest how to make one twain,
By praising him here, who doth hence remain.

Take all my loves, my love; yea, take them all:
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?
No love, my love, that thou 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 blam'd, 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 wrong, than hate's known injury.
Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,
Kill me with spites; yet we must not be foes.

Those petty 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.

This Sonnet and the next two are classed by Knight as in continuation of the XXXV., in the series on "Injury."