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XCIX.. 71. The forward violet thus did I chide : “Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that
98.* Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long To speak of that which gives thee all thy might? Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song," Darkening thy power, to lend base subjects light? Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem In gentle numbers time so idly spent ; Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem, And gives thy pen both skill and argument. Rise, resty Muse! my love's sweet face survey, . If Time have any wrinkle graven there; If any, be a satire to decay, And make Time's spoils despised every where. Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life ; So thou prevent'st his scythe and crooked knife.
0, truant Muse! what shall be thy amends,
* This and the eight following are classed in a series of eleven, addressed, probably, to the same friend as the first nineteen. ló our figuring, they come next after the CXLV.
42 Fury was often thus used for poetic inspiration. So in some verses signed “ Hobynoll,” written in praise of The Faerie Queene :
“Collyn, I see, by thy new-taken taske,
Some sacred fury hath enricht thy braynes,
Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb?
CIL. My love is strengthen'd, though more weak in seem
ing; I love not less, though less the show appear : That love is merchandiz'd, whose rich esteeming The owner's tongue dcth publish every where. Our love was new, and inen but in the spring, When I was wont to greet it with my lays ; As Philomel in summer's front doth sing, And stops her pipe in growth of riper days: Not that the summer is less pleasant now, Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night But that wild music burdens every bough, And sweets grown common lose their dear delight : Therefore, like her, I sometime hold my tongue, Because I would not dull you with my song.
For to no other pass my verses tend,
102. To me, fair friend, you never can be old ; For as you were, when first your eye I ey'd, Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold Have from the forests shook three summers' pride; Three beauteous springs to yellow autumu turn'd In process of the seasons have I seen; Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd, Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green. Ah! yet doth beanty, like a dial hand, Steal from his figure, and no pace perceiv’d; So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand, Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceiv'd : For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred, Ere you were born, was beauty's summer dead.
CV. Let not my love be call'd idolatry, Nor my beloved as an idol show, Since all alike my songs and praises be, To one, of one, still such, and ever so. Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind, Still constant in a wondrous excellence; Therefore my verse, to constancy confin’d, One thing expressing, leaves out difference. Fair, kind, and true, is all my argument, Fair, kind, and true, varying to other words ; And in this change is my invention spent, Three themes in one, which wondrous scope affords
Fair, kind, and true, have often liv'd alone;
When in the chronicle of wasted time
CVII. 105. Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul Of the wide world, dreaming on things to come, Can yet the lease of my true love control, Suppos'd as forfeit to a confin'd doom. The mortal moon hath her eclipse endur'd, And the sad augurs mock their own presage ; Incertainties now crown themselves assur’d, And peace proclaims olives of endless age. Now with the drops of this most balmy time My love looks fresh, and death to me subscribes ; " Since, spite of him, I'll live in this poor rhyme, While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes :
43 That is, resigns or submits. See King Lear, Act i. sc. 2, note 4.