SHAKESPEARES.

Were it not sinfull then striuing to mend,
To marre the subieſt that before was well,
For to no other pafle my verſes tend,
Then of your graces and your gifts to tell.
And more, much more then in my verſe can fit,
Your owne glaſſe ſhowes you, when you looke in it.

104

TO me faire friend you neuer can be old,
For as you were when firſt your eye I eyde,
Such ſeemes your beautie ſtill: Three Winters colde,
Haue from the forreſts ſhooke three ſummers pride,
Three beautious ſprings to yellow Autumne turn'd,
In proceſſe of the ſeafons haue I ſeene.
Three Aprill perfumes in three hot Iunes burn'd,
Since firſt I ſaw you fresh which yet are greene.
Ah yet doth beauty like a Dyall hand,
Steale from his figure, and no pace percei'u'd,
So your ſweete hew, which me thinkes ſtill doth ſtand
Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceaue.
For feare of which, heare this thou age vnbred,
Ere you were borne was beauties ſummer dead.

105

LEt not my loue be cal'd Idolatrie,
Nor my beloved as an Idoll ſhow,
Since all alike my ſongs and prafies be
To one, of one, ſtill ſuch, and euer so.
Kinde is my loue to day, to morrow kinde,
Still conſtant in a wondrous excellence,
Therefore my verſe to conſtancie confin'd,
One thing expreſſing, leaues out difference.
Faire, kinde, and true, is all my argument,
Faire, kinde and true, varrying to other words,
And in this change is my inuencion ſpent,
Three theams in one, which wondrous ſcope affords.
Faire, kinde, and true, haue often liu'd alone.
Which three till now, neuer kept ſeate in one.

When

SONNETS.

106

WHen in the Chronicle of waſted time,
I fee diſcriptions of the faireſt wights,
And beautie making beautiſull old rime,
In praufe of Ladies dead, and louely Knights,
Then in the blazon of ſweet beauties beſt,
Of hand, of foote, of lip, of eye, of brow,
I fee their antique Pen would haue expreſt,
Euen ſuch a beauty as you maiſer now.
So all their prafies are but prophefies
Of this our time, all you preſinguring,
And for they look'd but with deuining eyes,
They had not ſtill enough your worth to ſing:
For we which now behold these preſent dayes,
Haue eyes to wonder, but lack toungs to praufe.

107

NOT mine owne ſeares, nor the prophetick ſoule,
Of the wide world, dreaming on things to come,
Can yet the leaſe of my true loue controule,
Suppofde as forfeit to a confin'd doome.
The mortall Moone hath her eclipſe in du'd,
And the ſad Augurs mock their owne preſage,
Incertenties now crowne them ſelues affur'd.
And peace proclaimes Oliues of endleſſe age,
Now with the drops of this moſt balmie time,
My loue lookes fresh, and death to me ſubſcribes,
Since ſpight of him Ile lie in this poore rime,
While he inſults ore dull and ſpeachleſſe tribes.
And thou in this ſhalt finde thy monument,
When tyrants creſts and tombs of braſſe are ſpent.

108

WHAT'S in the braine that Inck may character,
Which hath not figur'd to thee my true ſpirit,
What's new to ſpeake, what now to regifter,
That may expreſſe my loue, or thy deare nient?
Nothing ſweet boy, but yet like prayers diuine,

G 3

Imuſt

SHAKESPEARES.

I must each day say ore the very fame,
Counting no old thing old;thou mine,I thine,
Euen as when firſt I hallowed thy faire name.
So that eternall loue in loues fresh cafe,
Waighes not the duſt and iniury of age,
Nor giues to neceſſary wrinkles place,
But makes antiquitie for aye his page,
Finding the firſt conceit of loue there bred,
Where time and outward forme would ſhow it dead,

109

O Neuer ſay that I was ſale of heart,
Though absence ſeem'd my flame to quallifie,
As eſſe might I from my ſelfe depart,
As from my ſoule which in thy breſt doth lye :
That is my home of loue,if I haue rang'd,
Like him that trauels I returne againe,
Iuſt to the time,not with the time exchang'd,
So that my ſelfe bring water for my ſaine,
Neuer beleeue though in my nature raign'd,
All frailties that beſiege all kindes of blood,
That it could ſo prepofterouſlie be ſtain'd,
To leaue for nothing all thy ſumme of good :
For nothing this wide Vniiuerſe I call,
Saue thou my Rose,in it thou art my all.

110

A Las'tis true,I haue gone here and there,
And made my ſelfe a motley to the view,
Gor'd mine own thoughts, fold cheap what is moſt deare,
Made old offences of affeſtions new.
Moſt true it is,that I haue lookt on truth
Aſconce and ſtrangely: But by all aboue,
These blenches gaue my heart an other youth,
And worſe effaies prou'd thee my beſt of loue,
Now all is done,haue what ſhall haue no end,
Mine appetite I neuer more will grin'de
On newer proofe,to trie an older friend,
A God in loue,to whom I am confin'd.

Then

SONNETS.

Then giue me welcome next my heauen the beſt,
Euen to thy pure and moſt moſt louing breſt.

111

O For my ſake doe you wiſh fortune chide,
The guiltie goddeſſe of my harmſull deeds,
That did not better for my life prouide,
Then publick meanes which publick manners breeds.
Thence comes it that my name receiues a brand,
And almoſt thence my nature is ſubdu'd
To what it workes in like the Dyers hand,
Pitty me then,and wiſh I were renu'de,
Whiſt like a willing pacient I will drinke,
Potions of Eysell gainſt my ſtrong inſection,
No bitterneſſe that I will bitter thinke;
Nor double pennance to correct correction,
Pittie me then deare friend,and I aſſure yee,
Euen that your pittie is enough to cure mee.

112

Y Our loue and pittie doth th'impreſſion fill,
Which vulgar ſcandall ſtampt vpon my brow,
For what care I who calles me well or ill,
So you ore-greene my bad,my good alow?
You are my All the world,and I muſt ſtrive,
To know my ſhames and praises from your tounge,
None eſſe to me,nor I to none aline,
That my ſteel'd ſence or changes right or wrong,
In ſo profound Abiſme I throw all care
Of others voyces,that my Adders ſence,
To cryttick and to flatterer ſtopped are:
Marke how with my neglect I doe dispence.
You are ſo strongly in my purpofe bred,
That all the world beſides me thinkes y'are dead.

113

S Ince I left you,mine eye is in my minde,
And that which gouernes me to goe about,
Doth part his function,and is partly blind,

Seemes

SHAKE-SPEARES.

Seemes seeing, but effectually is out:
For it no forme deluers to the heart
Of bird, of flowre, or shape which it doth lack,
Of his quick obiects hath the minde no part,
Nor his owne vifion houlds what it doth catch:
For if it see the rud it or gentleft fight,
The moft sweet-fauor or deformed creature,
The mountaine, or the sea, the day, or night:
The Croe, or Doue, it shapes them to your feature.
Incapable of more repleat, with you,
My moft true minde thus maketh mine vntrue.

OR whether doth my minde being crown'd with you
Drinke vp the monarks plague this flattery ?
Or whether shall I say mine eie faith true,
And that your loue taught it this Alcumie?
To make of monsters, and things indigefl,
Such cherubines as your sweet selfe resemble,
Creating euery bad a perfect beft
As faft as obiects to his beames aflemble:
Oh tis the firſt, tis flatry in my seeing,
And my great minde moſt kingly drinkes it vp,
Mine eie well knowes what with his guſt is greeing,
And to his pallat doth prepare the cup.
If it be poifon'd, tis the leſſer finne,
That mine eye loues it and doth firſt beginne.

THOſe lines that I before haue writ doe lie,
Euen thoſe that faid I could not loue you deerer,
Yet then my iudgement knew no reaſon why,
My moſt full flame ſhould afterwards burne cleerer.
But reckening time, whoſe milliard accidents
Creepe in twixt vowes, and change decrees of Kings,
Tan facred beautit, blunt the ſharpe ſt intents,
Diuerſ ſtrong mindes to th' course of altring things:
Alas why fearing of times tiranie,

Might

SONNETS.

Might I not then ſay now I loue you beſt,
When I was certaine ore in-certainty,
Crowning the preſent, doubting of the reſt:
Loue is a Babe, then might I not ſay so
To giue full growth to that which ſtill doth grow.

LEt me not to the marriage of true mindes
Admit impediments, loue is not loue
Which alters when it alteration findes,
Or bends with the remouer to remoue.
O no, it is an euer fixed marke
That lookes on tempeſts and is neuer ſhaken;
It is the ſtar to euery wandring barke,
Whofe worths vnknowne, although his highth be taken.
Lou's not Times foole, though roſe lips and cheeks
Within his bending ſickles compaſſe come,
Loue alters not with his breecſe houres and weekes,
But beares it out euen to the edge of doomes:
If this be error and vpon me proued,
I neuer writ, nor no man euer loued.

ACCufe me thus, that I haue ſcanted all,
Wherein I ſhould your great deferts repay,
Forgot vpon your deareſt loue to call,
Whereto al bonds do tie me day by day,
That I haue frequent binne with vnknown mindes,
And giuen to time your owne deare purchaf'd right,
That I haue hoyſted ſaile to al the windes
Which ſhould transport me fartheſt from your fight.
Booke both my wilſulneſſe and errors downe,
And on iuſt proofe ſurmiſe, accumulate,
Bring me within the leuel of your ſrowne,
But ſhoote not at me in your wakened hate:
Since my appeale faies I did ſtrie to prooue
The conſtancy and virtue of your loue.

H

118

SHAKESPEARES

118

Like as to make our appetites more keene
With eager compounds we our pallat vrge,
As to preuent our malladies vnfeene,
We ficken to shun fickneſſe when we purge.
Euen so being full of your nere cloying ſweetneſſe,
To bitter ſawces did I frame my feedings
And ficke of wel-fare found a kind of meetneſſe,
To be diſeaf'd ere that there was true needing.
Thus pollicie in loue t'anticipate
The ills that were, not grew to faults affured,
And brought to medicine a healthfull ſtate
Which rancke of goodneſſe would by ill be cured.
But thence I learne and find the leſſon true,
Drugs poyſon him that so fell ſicke of you.

119

WHAT
Hat poisons haue I drunke of Syren teares
Diffil'd from Lymbecks foule as hell within,
Applying feares to hopes, and hopes to feares,
Still loofing when I saw my ſelfe to win?
What wretched errors hath my heart committed,
Whill it hach thought it ſelfe so bleſſed neuer?
How haue mine cies out of their Spheares bene ſitted
In the diſtraCTION of this madding ſeuer?
O benefit of ill, now I find true
That better is, by euil ſtill made better.
And ruin'd loue when it is built anew
Growes fairer then at firſt, more ſtrong, far greater.
So I returne rebukt to my content,
And gaine by ills thrife more then I haue ſpent.

120

THAT
you were once vnkind be-friends mee now,
And for that ſorrow, which I then didde ſeele,
Neeſes muſt I vnder my tranſgreſſion bow,
Vnleſſe my Nerues were braſſe or hammered ſteele;
For if you were by my vnkindneſſe ſhaken

SONNETS.

As I by yours, y'haue paſt a hell of Time,
And I a tyrant haue no leaſure taken
To waigh how once I ſuffered in your crime,
O that our night of wo might haue remembred
My deepeſt ſence, how hard true ſorrow hits,
And ſoone to you, as you to me then tendred
The humble ſalue, which wounded boſomes fits!
But that your trefpaffe now becomes a ſee,
Mine ransoms yours, and yours muſt ransome mee,

121

TIS better to be vile then vile eſteemed,
When not to be, receiues reproach of being,
And the iuſt pleafure loft, which is ſo deemed,
Not by our ſeeling, but by others ſeeing.
For why ſhould others false adulterat eyes
give ſalutation to my ſportiue blood?
Or on my frailties why are frailers ſpies;
Which in their wilſ count bad what I think good?
Noe, I am that I am, and they that leuell
At my abufes, reckon vp their owne,
I may be ſtraight though they them ſelues be beuſe
By their rancke thoughtes, my deedes muſt not be ſhow,
Vnleſſe this generall euill they maintaine,
All men are bad and in their badneſſe raigne.

122.

T
Thy guift, thy tables, are within my braine
Full character'd with laſting memory,
Which ſhall aboue that idle rancke remaine
Beyond all date, euen to eternity.
Or at the leaſt, ſo long as braine and heart
Haue facultie by nature to ſubſiſt,
Til each to raz'd obliuion yeeld his part
Of thee, thy record neuer can be miſt.
That poore retention could not ſo much hold,
Nor need I tallies thy deare loue to skore,
Therefore to giue them from me was I bold,
H a

H a

SHAKESPEARES

To trust those tables that receaue thee more,
To keepe an adiunckt to remember thee,
Were to import forgetfulneſſe in mee.

123

NO! Time, thou ſhalt not boſt that I doe change,
Thy pyramyds buylt vp with newer might
To me are nothing nouell, nothing ſtrange,
They are but dreflings of a former fight:
Our dates are breeſe, and therefor we admire,
What thou doſt ſoſt vpon vs that is ould,
And rather make them borne to our deſire,
Then thinke that we before haue heard them tould:
Thy regiſters and thee I both deſe,
Not wondring at the preſent, nor the paſt,
For thy records, and what we fee doth lye,
Made more or les by thy continuall haſt:
This I doe vow and this ſhall euer be,
I will be true diſpight thy ſyeth and thee.

124

Y F my deare loue were but the childe of ſtate,
It might for fortunes baſterd be vnfathered,
As ſubieet to times loue, or to times hate,
Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gatherd,
No it was buyldeſt far from accident,
It ſuffers not in ſmilinge pomp, nor falls
Under the blow of thralled diſcontent,
Whereto th' inuiting time our ſaſhion calls:
It ſeares not policy that Heritiche,
Which workes on leafes of ſhort numbred howers,
But all alone ſtands hugely politick,
That it nor growes with heat, nor drownes with ſhowres.
To this I witnes call the ſoles of time,
Which die for goodnes, who haue liu'd for crime.

125

VV Er't ought to me I bore the canopy,
With my extern the outward honoring,

Or

SONNETS.

Or layd great bafes for eternitie,
Which proues more ſhort then waſt or ruining?
Hauie I not ſeene dwellers on forme and ſauro
Loſe all, and more by paying too much rent
For compound ſweet; Forgoing ſimple ſauro,
Pittifull thriuors in their gazing ſpent.
Noe, let me be obſequious in thy heart,
And take thou my oblacion, poore but free,
Which is not mixt with ſecons, knows no art,
But mutuall render, onely me for thee.
Hence, thou ſubbornd I informer, a trew ſoule
When moſt impeačt, ſtands leaſt in thy controule.

126

O Thou my louely Boy who in thy power,
Doeſt hould times fickle glaſſe, his fickle, howeſt
Who haſt by wayning growne, and therein thou'ſt
Thy louers withering, as thy ſweet ſelfe grow'ſt.
If Nature (foueraine mifteres ouer wrack)
As thou goeſt onwards ſtill will plucke thee backe,
She keepeſ thee to this purpofe, that her skill,
May time diſgrace, and wretched mynuit kill.
Yet ſeare her O thou minnion of her pleafure,
She may detaine, but not ſtill keepe her treſure!
Her *Audite* (though delay'd) anſwer'd muſt be,
And her *Quierus* is to render thee.

127

IN the ould age blacke was not counted faire,
Or if it weare it bore not beauties name:
But now is blacke beauties ſucceffue heire,
And Beautie ſlanderd with a baſtard ſhame,
For ſince each hand hath put on Natures power,
Fairing the ſoule with Arts ſaulſe borrow'd ſace,
Sweet beauty hath no name no holie boure,
But is prophan'd, it not liues in diſgrace.

H3

Therefore.

SHAKE-SPEARES

Therefore my Miftersſle eyes are Rauen blacke,
Her eyes ſo ſuted, and they mourners ſeeme,
At ſuch who not borne faire no beauty lack,
Slandring Creation with a falſe eſteme,
Yet ſo they mourne becomming of their woe,
That euery toung faies beauty ſhould looke ſo.

128

How oft when thou my muſike muſike playſt,
Vpon that bleſsed wood whole motion ſounds
With thy ſweet fingers when thou gently ſwayſt,
The wiry concord that mine ear ſe ſounds,
Do I enuie that ſoſe Iackes that nimble leape,
To kiffe the tender inward of thy hand,
Whilſt my poore lips which should that harueſt reape,
At the woods bouldnes by thee bluſhing ſtand.
To be ſo tield they would change their ſtate,
And ſituation with thate dancing chips,
Ore whome their fingers walke with gentle gates,
Making dead wood more bleſt then liuing lips,
Since fauſe Iackes ſo happy are in this,
Giue them their fingers, me thy lips to kiffe.

129

Th'expence of Spirit in a waſte of ſhame
Is luſt in action, and till action, luſt
Is periurd, murdrous, blouddy full of blame,
Sauage, extreame, rude, cruell, not to truſt,
Inioyd no sooner but diſpised ſtraight,
Paſt reaſon hunted, and no sooner had
Paſt reaſon hated as a ſwallowed bayt,
On purpose layd to make the taker mad.
Made In purſut and in poſſeſſon ſo,
Had, hauing, and in queſt, to haue extreame,
A bluſſe in proofe and proud and very wo,
Before a ioy propoſd behind a dreame,
All this the world well knowes yet none knowes well,
To ſhun the heauen that leads men to this hell.

My

SONNETS.

130

MY Miftres eyes are nothing like the Sunne,
Currall is farre more red, then her lips red,
If ſnow be white, why then her breſts are duns;
If haires be wiers, black wiers grow on her heads
I haue ſcene Rofes damaskt, red and white,
But no ſuch Rofes ſee I in her cheekes,
And in ſome perfumes is there more delight,
Then in the breath that from my Miftres reekes.
I loue to heare her ſpeake, yet well I know,
That Muſicke hath a farre more pleafing ſound:
I graunt I neuer ſaw a goddeſſe goe,
My Miftres when ſhee walkes treads on the ground,
And yet by heauen I thinke my loue as rare,
As any ſhe beli'd with falſe compare.

131

THou art as tiranous, ſo as thou art,
As thate wholeſe beauties proudly make them cruel;
For well thou know'st to my deare doting hart
Thou art the faireſt and moſt precious Iewell.
Yet in good faith ſome ſay that thee behold,
Thy face hath not the power to make loue grone;
To ſay they erre, I dare not be ſo bold,
Although I ſweare it to my ſelfe alone.
And to be ſure that is not falſe I ſweare
A thouſand grones but thinking on thy ſace,
One on anothers necke do witneſſe beare
Thy blacke is faireſt in my iudgements place.
In nothing art thou blacke ſaue in thy deeds,
And thence this ſlaUNDER as I thinke proceeds.

132

THine ies I loue, and they as pittying me,
Knowing thy heart torment me with diſdaine,
Hae put on black, and louing mourners bee,
Looking with pretty ruth vpon my pains,

And

CHAKSPEARES

And truly not the morning Sun of Heauen
Better becomes the gray cheeks of th' East,
Nor that full Starre that vſhers in the Eauen
Doth halfe that glory to the sober Weſt
As thofe two morning eyes become thy face:
O let it then as well beſeeme thy heart
To mourne for me ſince mourning doth thee grace,
And fute thy pitty like in every part.
Then will I ſweare beauty her ſelfe is blacke,
And all they foule that thy complexion lacke.

B Eſhrew that heart that makes my heart to groane
For that deepe wound it giues my friend and me,
I'ft not ynough to torture me alone,
But ſlaue to ſlauery my ſweet'ſt friend muſt be,
Me from my ſelfe thy cruell eye hath taken,
And my next ſelfe thou harder haſt ingroſſed,
Of him,my ſelfe,and thee I am forſaken,
A torment thrice three-fold thus to be croſſed:
Prifon my heart in thy ſteele boſomes warde,
But then my friends heart let my poore heart bale,
Who ere keepes me,let my heart be his garde,
Thou canſt not then vſe rigor in my Jaile.
And yet thou wilt, for I being pent in thee,
Perſorce am thine and all that is in me.

SO now I haue confest that he is thine,
And I my ſelfe am morgag'd to thy will,
My ſelfe Ile forfeit,ſo that other mine,
Thou wilt reſtore to be my comfort ſtill:
But thou wilt not,nor he will not be free,
For thou art couetous,and he is kinde,
He leard but ſuretie-like to write for me,
Vnder that bond that him as faſt doth binde,
The ſtature of thy beauty thou wilt take,
Thou vſurer that put it forth all to vſe,

And

SONNETS.

And ſue a friend,came debter for my ſake,
So him I loose through my vnkinde abufe.
Him haue I loft, thou haſt both him and me,
He paies the whole,and yet am I not free.

135
W Ho euer hath her wiſh,thou haſt thy *will*,
And *will* too boote,and *will* in ouer-plus,

More then enough am I that vexe thee ſtill,
To thy ſweet will making addition thus,
Wilt thou whose ſwill is large and ſpatious,
Not once vouchſafe to hide my will in thine,
Shall will in others ſeeme right gracious,
And in my will no faire acceptance ſhine:
The sea all water,yet receiues raine ſtill,
And in abundance addeth to his ſtore,
So thou beeing rich in *will* adde to thy *will*,
One will of mine to make thy large *will* more.
Let no vnkinde,no faire beſeechers kill,
Thinke all but one,and me in that one *will*.

136
I F thy ſoule check thee that I come ſo neere,
Sweare co thy blind ſoule that I was thy *will*,
And will thy ſoule knowes is admitted there,
Thus farre for loue, my loue-fute ſweet fullſull,
*will*, will fulfill the treaſure of thy loue,
I fill it full with wils,and my will one,
In things of great receit with eafe we prooue.
Among a number one is reckon'd none.
Then in the number let me paffe vntold,
Though in thy ſtores account I one muſt be,
For nothing hold me,ſo it pleafe thee hold,
That nothing me, a ſome-thing ſweet to thee.

Make but my name thy loue,and loue that ſtill,
And then thou loueſt me for my name is *will*.

137
T Hou blinde foole loue,what dooſt thou to mine eyes,
I
That

I

SHAKESPEARES

That they behold and seem not what they see:
They know what beautie is, see where it lyes,
Yet what the best is, take the worst to be.
If eyes corrupt by ouer-partiall lookes,
Be anchord in the baye where all men ride,
Why of eyes falfehood haft thou forged hookes,
Whereto the iudgement of my heart is tide?
Why should my heart thinke that a feuerall plot,
Which my heart knowes the wide worlds common place?
Or mine eyes seeing this, say this is not
To put faire truth vpon so foule a face,
In things right true my heart and eyes haue erred,
And to this falfe plague are they now tranſferred.

W
hen my loue ſweares that ſhe is made of truth,
I do beleue her though I know ſhe lyes,
That ſhe might thinke me ſome vntuterd youth,
Vulearned in the worlds falſe ſubtilties,
Thus vainely thinking that ſhe thinkes me young,
Although ſhe knowes my dayes are palt the beſt,
Simply I credit her falſe ſpeaking tongue,
On both ſides thus is ſimple truth ſuppreſſt:
But wherefore ſayes ſhe not ſhe is vnjuſt ?
And wherefore ſay not I that I am old ?
O loues beſt habit is in ſeeming truſt,
And age in loue, loues not t'haue yeares told,
Therefore I lye with her, and ſhe with me,
And in our ſaults by lyes we flattered be.

O
Call not me to iuſtifie the wrong;
That thy vnkindneſſe layes vpon my heart,
Wound me not with thine eye but with thy toung,
Vſe power with power, and ſlay me not by Art,
Tell me thou louſt eſſe-where; but in my ſight,
Deare heart forbeare to glance thine eye aſide,
What needſt thou wound with cunning when thy might

14

SONNETS

Is more then my ore-preſt defence can bide?
Let me excuse thee ah my loue well knowes,
Her prettie lookes haue beene mine enemies,
And therefore from my face ſhe turnes my foes,
That they elfe-where might dart their iniuries:
Yet do not so, but since I am neere ſlaine,
Kill me out-right with lookes, and rid my paine.

B
E wife as thou art cruell, do not preſſe
My toung -tide patience with too much diſdaine:
Leaſt ſorrow lend me words and words expreſſe,
The manner of my pittie wanting paine,
If I might teach thee witte better it weare,
Though not to loue, yet loue to tell me so,
As teltie ſick-men when their death is be neere,
No newes but health from their Phiſitions know,
For if I should diſpaire I should grow madde,
And in my madneſſe might ſpeake ill of thee,
Now this ill wresting world is growne so bad,
Madde ſlanderers by madde eares beleued be.
That I may not be so, nor thou be lyde,
(wide,
Beare thine eyes ſtraight, though thy proud heart goe

IN
faith I doe not loue thee with mine eyes,
For they in thee a thousandd errors note,
But t'is my heart that loues what they diſpife,
Who in diſpight of view is pleaſd to dote.
Nor are mine eares with thy toungs tune delighted,
Nor tender feeling to bafe touches prone,
Nor tafe, nor ſmell, defire to be inuited
To any ſenſuall ſeaſt with thee alone :
But my ſiue wits, nor my ſiue ſences can
Diſwade one ſoolſh heart from ſeruing thee,
Who leaues vnſwai'd the likeneſſe of a man,
Thy proud hearts ſlane and vassall wretch to be:
Onely my plague thus farre I count my gaine,
That ſhe that makes me ſinne, awards me paine.

12

LOUe

SHAKESPEARE'S

142
Loe is my finne, and thy deare vertue hate,
Hate of my finne, grounded on sinfull louing,
O but with mine, compare thou thine owne state,
And thou shalt finde it merrits not reproofing,
Or if it do, not from those lips of thine,
That haue prophan'd their scarlet ornaments,
And feald false bonds of loue as oft as mine,
Robd others beds reuenues of their rents,
Be it lawfull I loue thee as thou lou'st those,
Whome thine eyes wooe as mine importune thee,
Roote pittie in thy heart that when it growes,
Thy pitty may deferue to pittied bee.
If thou doost seeke to haue what thou doost hide,
By selfe example mai't thou be denide.

143
Oe as a carefull hufwife runnes to catch,
One of her fethered creatures broake away,
Sets downe her babe and makes all swif't dispatch.
In pur suit of the thing she would haue flays
Whilft her neglected child holds her in chace,
Cries to catch her whose bufie care is bent,
To follow that which flies before her face:
Not prizing her poore infants discontent;
So runft thou after that which flies from thee,
Whilft I thy babe chace thee a farre behind,
But if thou catch thy hope turne back to me:
And play the mothers part kiffe me, be kind.
So will I pray that thou maist haue thy Will,
If thou turne back and my loude crying still.

144
T
Wo loues I haue of comfort and dispaire,
Which like two spirits do fugieſt me still,
The better angell is a man right faire:
The worſer spirit a woman collour'd il,
To win me soone to hell my femall euill,

Tempteth

SONNETS.

Tempteth my better angel from my fight,
And would corrupt my faint to be a diuell:
Wooing his purity with her fowle pride.
And whether that my angel be turn'd finde,
Suspect I may, yet not directly tell,
But being both from me both to each friend,
I geſſe one angel in an others hel.
Yet this fal I nere know but liue in doubt,
Till my bad angel fire my good one out.

145
THOſe lips that Loues owne hand did make,
Breath'd forth the found that I hate,
To me that languifht for her ſake:
But when ſhe saw my woſull ſtate,
Straight in her heart did mercie come,
Chiding that tongue that euer ſweet,
Was viſe in giuing gentle dome:
And taught it thus a new to greete:
I hate ſhe altert with an end,
That follow'd it as gentle day,
Doth follow night who like a fiend
From heauen to hell is flownne away.
I hate, from hate away ſhe threw,
And ſau'd my life faying not you.

146
POore soule the center of my sinfull earth,
My sinfull earth theſe rebbell powres that thee array,
Why doſt thou pine within and ſuffer dearth?
Painting thy outward walls ſo coſtlie gay?
Why to large coſt hauing ſo ſhort a leafe,
Doſt thou vpon thy fading manſion ſpend?
Shall wormes inheritors of this exceſſe,
Eat vp thy charge? is this thy bodies end?
Then soule liue thou vpon thy ſeruants loſſe,
And let that pine to aggrauat thy ſtore;
Buy tearmes diuine in ſelling hours of droſſe

Within

SHARE-SPEARES

Within be fed, without be rich no more,
So fhalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men,
And death once dead, ther's no more dying then.

147
M Y loue is as a feaver longing ftill,
For that which longer nurfeth the diſeafe,
Feeding on that which doth preferue the ill,
Th' vncertaine ſicklie appetite to plichts;
My reaſon the Phifition to my loue,
Angry that his preſcriptions are not kept
Hath left me, and I desperate now approoue,
Desire is death, which Phifick did except.
Paſt cure I am, now Reaſon is paſt care,
And frantick madde with euer-more vnreſt,
My thoughts and my diſcourſe as mad mens are,
At random from the truth vainely expreſt.
For I haue ſworne thee faire, and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as darke as night.

148
O Me! what eyes hath loue put in my head,
Which haue no correspondence with true fight,
Or if they haue, where is my judgment fled,
That cenfures falsely what they fee aright?
If that be faire whereon my ſalſe eyes dote,
What meanes the world to ſay it is not so?
If it be not, then loue doth well denote,
Loues eye is not ſo true as all mens: no,
How can it? O how can loues eye be true,
That is ſo vext with watching and with teares?
No maruaile then though I miſtake my view,
The ſunne it ſelfe ſees not, till heauen cleares,
O cunning loue, with teares thou keepſt me blinde,
Leaſt eyes well ſeeing thy ſoule faults should ſinde.

149
C Anſt thou O cruell, ſay I loue thee not,
When I againſt my ſelfe with thee pertake:

Doe

SONNETS.

Doe I not thinke on thee when I forgot
Am of my ſelfe, all tirant for thy ſake?
Who hateth thee that I doe call my friend,
On whom frounſt thou that I doe ſaune vpon,
Nay if thou lowſt on me doe I not ſpend
Reuenge vpon my ſelfe with preſent mone?
What merrit do I in my ſelfe respect;
That is ſo proude thy ſeruice to diſpife,
When all my beſt doth worſhip thy defect.
Commanded by the motion of thine eyes.
But loue hate on for now I know thy minde,
Thofe that can fee thou louſt, and I am blind.

150
O H from what powre haſt thou this powrefull might,
VWith inſufficiency my heart to ſway,
To make me giue the lie to my true fight,
And ſwere that brightneſſe doth not grace the day?
Whence haſt thou this becomming of things il,
That in the very refuse of thy deeds,
There is ſuch ſtrength and warrant ſe of skill,
That in my minde thy worſt all beſt exceeds?
Who taught thee how to make me loue thee more,
The more I heare and ſee iuſt cauſe of hate,
Oh though I loue what others doe abhor,
VWith others thou ſhouldt not abhor my ſtate.
If thy vnworthineſſe raſd loue in me,
More worthy I to be belou'd of thee.

151
L Oue is too young to know what confidence is,
Yet who knowes not confidence is borne of loue,
Then gentle cheater vrge not my amiffe,
Leaſt guilty of my faults thy ſweet ſelfe proue,
For thou betraying me, I doe betray
My nobler part to my groſe bodies treaſon,
My ſoule doth tell my body that he may,
Triumph in loue, ſlesh ſtaies no farther reaſon,

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