SHAKESPEARES

Thou art the graue where buried loue doth live,
Hung with the tropheis of my louers gon,
Who all their parts of me to thee did giue,
That due of many, now is thine alone.
Their images I lou'd, I view in thee,
And thou (all they) haft all the all of me.

If thou futuiue my well contented daie,
When that churle death my bones with duft shall couer
And haft by fortune once more re-suruay:
These poore rude lines of thy deceased Louer:
Compare them with the bett'ring of the time,
And though they be out-stript by euery pen,
Reyerue them for my loue, not for their rime,
Exceeded by the hight of happier men.
Oh then voutsafe me but this louing thought,
Had my friends Mufe growne with this growing age,
A dearer birth then this his loue had brought
To march in ranckes of better equipage:
But since he died and Poets better proue,
Theirs for their ftule ile read, his for his loue.

33
FVll many a glorious morning haue I feene,
Flatter the mountaine tops with foueraine eie,
Kissing with golden face the meddowes greene;
Guilding pale streames with heauenly alcumy:
Anon permit the basest cloudes to ride,
With oughly rack on his celestiall face,
And from the for-lorne world his vifage hide
Stealing vn'eene to weft with this disgrace:
Euen so my Sunne one early morne did fhine,
With all triumphant splendor on my brow,
But out alack, he was but one houre mine,
The region cloude hath mask'd him from me now.
Yet him for this, my loue no whit difdaineth,
Suns of the world may ftaine, whc heauens fun ftainteh.

34

SONNETS.

34
WV
Hy didst thou promife such a beautious day,
And make me trauaile forth without my cloake,
To let bace cloudes ore-take me in my way,
Hiding thy brau'ry in their rotten smoke.
Tis not enough that through the cloude thou breake,
To dry the raine on my ftorme-beaten face,
For no man well of such a value can fpeake,
That heales the wound, and cures not the difgrace:
Nor can thy shame giue phificke to my griefe,
Though thou repent, yet I haue ſtill the loffe,
Th' offenders forrow lends but weake reliefe
To him that beares the strong offenſes loffe.
Ah but thofe teares are pearle which thy loue ſheeds,
And they are ritch, and ransome all ill deeds.

35
NO
more bee greeu'd at that which thou haft done,
Rofes haue thornes; and filuer fountaines mud,
Cloudes and eclipses ftaine both Moone and Sunne,
And loathsome canker liues in sweeteſt bud,
All men make faults, and euen I in this,
Authorizing thy trefpas with compare,
My ſelfe corrupting faluing thy amiffre,
Excufing their fins more then their fins are:
For to thy ſenſuall fault I bring in fence,
Thy aduerſe party is thy Aduocate,
And gainſt my ſelfe a lawfull plea commence;
Such ciuill war is in my loue and hate,
That I an accofary needs muſt be,
To that sweet theſe which fouelyrobs from me,

36
I
Et me confefſe that we two muſt be twaine,
Although our vndeuided loues are one:
So (hall thofe blots that do with me remaine,
Without thy helpe, by me be borne alone.
In our two loues there is but one respect,

Though

SHARE-SPEARES

Though in our liues a ferable spight,
Which though it alter not loues sole effect,
Yet doth it steale sweet hours from loues delight,
I may not euer-more acknowledge thee,
Leaft my bewailed guilt should do thee shame,
Nor thou with publike kindneſſe honour me,
Vholeſe thou take that honour from thy name:
But doe not ſo, I loue thee in ſuch ſort,
As thou being mine, mine is thy good report.

A S a decrepit father takes delight,
To ſee his adiue childe do deeds of youth,
So I, made lame by Fortunes deareſt spight
Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth.
For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit,
Or any of these all, or all, or more
Intitled in their parts, do crowned ſit,
I make my loue ingrafted to this ſtore:
So then I am not lame, poore, nor diſpif'd,
Whilſt that this ſhadow doth ſuch ſubſtance giue,
That I in thy abundance am ſuffic'd,
And by a part of all thy glory liue:
Looke what is beſt, that beſt I wiſh in thee,
This wiſh I haue, then ten times happy me.

How can my Mufe want ſubieſt to inuent
While thou doſt breath that poort into my verſe,
Thine owne ſweet argument, to excellent,
For euery vulgar paper to rehearſe:
Oh giue thy ſelſe the thankes if ought in me,
Worthy perſal ſtand againſt thy fight,
For who's ſo dumbe that cannot write to thee,
When thou thy ſelſe doſt giue inuention light?
Be thou the tenth Mufe, ten times more in worth
Then thatſe old nine which rimers inuocate,
And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth

Eternall

SONNETS.

Eternal numbers to out-liee long date.
If my flight Mufe doe plearſe these curious daies,
The paine be mine, but thine ſhal be the praisè.

O How thy worth with manners may I ſinge,
When thou art all the better part of me?
What can mine owne praisè to mine owne ſelſe brings:
And what is't but mine owne when I praisè thee,
Euen for this, let vs deuide liue,
And our deare loue loofe name of ſingle one,
That by this ſeperation I may giue:
That due to thee which thou deferuſt alone:
Oh abſence what a torment wouldſt thou proue,
Were it not thy ſoure leifure gaue ſweet leaue,
To entertaine the time with thoughts of loue,
VWhich time and thoughts ſo sweetly doſt deceiue.
And that thou teacheſt how to make one twaine,
By prauising him here who doth hence remaine.

Take all my loues, my loue, yea take them all,
What haſt thou then more then thou haſt before?
No loue, my loue, that thou maſt true loue call,
All mine was thine, before thou haſt this more:
Then if for my loue, thou my loue receiueſt,
I cannot blame thee, for my loue thou vſeſt,
But yet be blam'd, if thou this ſelſe deceaueſt,
By wilſull taſte of what thy ſelſe reſuſeſt.
I doe forgiue thy robb'rie gentle theefe,
Although thou ſteale thee all my povertie:
And yet loue knowes it is a greater grieſe
To beare loues wrong, then hates knowne iniury.
Lafiuious grace, in whom all il wel ſhowes,
Kill me with spights yet we muſt not be foes.

T Hove pretty wrongs that liberty commits,
When I am some-time abſent from thy heart,

D

Thy

SNARE-SPIRARES.

Thy beautie, and thy yeares full well befirs,
For still temptation followes where thou art.
Gentle thou art, and therefore to be wonne,
Beautious thou art, therefore to be affailed.
And when a woman woes, what womans soune,
Will sourely leaue her till he haue preuailed.
Aye me, but yet thou mightst my feate forbeare,
And chide thy beauty, and thy ftraying youth,
Who lead thee in their ryot euen there
Where thou art forst to breake a two-fold truth:
Hers by thy beauty tempting her to thee,
Thine by thy beautie beeing false to me.

42
That thou haft her it is not all my griefe,
And yet it may be faid I lou'd her deerely,
That she hath thee is of my wayling cheeſe,
A loſſe in loue that touches me more neerely.
Louing offendors thus I will excufe yee,
Thou dooſt loue her, because thou knowſt I loue her,
And for my ſake euen so doth ſhe abuse me,
Suffring my friend for my ſake to approoue her,
If I looſe thee, my loſſe is my loues gaine,
And looſing her, my friend hath found that loſſe,
Both finde each other, and I looſe both twaines,
And both for my ſake lay on me this croſſe,
But here's the joy, my friend and I are one,
Sweete flattery, then ſhe loues but me alone.

43
W
Hen moſt I winke then doe mine eyes beſt ſee,
For all the day they view things vnrefpected,
But when I ſleepe, in dreames they looke on thee,
And darkely bright, are bright in darke directed,
Then thou whole ſhaddow ſhaddowes doth make bright,
How would thy ſhadowes forme, forme happy ſhow,
To the cleere day with thy much cleerer light,
When to vn-ſeeing eyes thy ſhade ſhines ſo?

How

SONNETS.

How would (I say) mine eyes be bleſſed made,
By looking on thee in the liuing day?
When in dead night their faire imperfect ſhade,
Through heavy ſleepe on ſightleſſe eyes doth ſtay?
All dayes are nights to see till I see thee,
And nights bright dayes when dreams do ſhow thee me,

44
I
If the dull subſtance of my ſleſh were thought,
Injurious diſtance ſhould not stop my way,
For then diſpight of ſpace I would be brought,
From limits farre remote, where thou dooſt ſtay,
No matter then although my ſoote did ſtand
Vpon the fartheſt earth remoou'd from thee,
For nimble thought can iume both ſea and land,
As ſoone as thinke the place where he would be.
But ah, thought kills me that I am not thought
To leape large lengths of miles when thou art gone,
But that so much of earth and water wrought,
I muſt attend, times leaſure with my mone.
Receiuing naughts by elements to ſloe,
But heauie teares, badges of either's woe,

45
T
He other two, ſlight ayre, and purging ſire,
Are both with thee, where euer I abide,
The firſt my thought, the other my deſire,
The ſeſent abſent with ſwift motion ſlide.
For when theſe quicker Elements are gone
In tender Embaſſie of loue to thee,
My life being made of ſoure, with two alone,
Sinkes downe to death, oppreſt with melancholie.
Vntill liues compoſition be recured,
By thoſe ſwift meſſengers return'd from thee,
Who euen but now come back againe affuſed,
Of their faire health, recounting it to me.
This told, I joy, but then no longer glad,
I ſend them back againe and ſtraight grow ſad.

D 2

Mine

SHAKESPEARES.

46
M
ine eye and heart are at a mortall warre,
How to deuide the conqueſt of thy fight,
Mine eye,my heart their pietures fight would barre,
My heart,mine eye the freeedome of that right,
My heart doth plead that thou in him dooſt lye,
(A cloſet neuer pearſt with chriſtall eyes)
But the defendant doth that plea deny,
And ſayes in him their faire appearance lyes,
To ſide this title is impannelled
A queſt of thoughts,all tennants to the heart,
And by their verdict is determined
The cleere eyes moyitie,and the deare hearts part,
As thus,mine eyes due is their outward part,
And my hearts right,their inward loue of heart.

47
B
etwixt mine eye and heart a league is tooke,
And each doth good turnes now vnro the other,
When that mine eye is famiſht for a looke,
Or heart in loue with ſighes himſelfe doth ſimother;
With my loues picture then my eye doth ſeaſt,
And to the painted banquet bids my heart:
An other time mine eye is my hearts gueſt,
And in his thoughts of loue doth ſhare a part.
So either by thy picture or my loue,
Thy ſeife away,are preſent ſill with me,
For thou nor farther then my thoughts canſt moue,
And I am ſill with them,and they with thee.
Or if they ſleepe,thy picture in my fight
Awakes my heart,to hearts and eyes delight.

48
H
ow careful was I when I tooke my way,
Each trifle vnder trueſt barres to thruft,
That to my vſe it might vn-vſed ſtay
From hands of falſehood,in ſure wards of truſt ?
But thou,to whom my iewels trifles are,

Moft

SONNETS.

Moft worthy comfort,now my greateſt grieſe,
Thou beſt of deereſt,and mine onely care,
Art left the prey of euery vulgar theefe.
Thee haue I not lockt vp in any cheſt,
Sae where thou art not,though I ſeele thou art,
Within the gentle closure of my breſt,
From whence at pleafure thou maiſt come and part,
And euen thence thou wilt be ſolne I ſeare,
For truth prooues theeuſh for a prize so deare.

49
A
Gainſt that time (if euer that time come)
When I ſhall ſee thee frowne on my deſeſts,
When as thy loue hath caſt his vtmoſt ſumme,
Cauld to that audite by aduſ'd reſpects,
A gainſt that time when thou ſhalt ſtrangely paffe,
And ſcarcely greete me with that ſunne thine eye,
When loue converted from the thing it was
Shall reaſons finde of ſetled grauitie.
A gainſt that time do I inſonce me here
Within the knowledge of mine owne deſart,
And this my hand,againſt my ſelſe vpreare,
To guard the lawfull reaſons on thy part,
To leaue poore me,thou haſt the ſtrength of lawes,
Since why to loue,I can alledge no caufe.

50
H
ow heauie doe I journey on the way,
When what I ſeeke (my wearie trauels end)
Doth teach that eafe and that repofe to ſay
Thus farre the miles are meaſurde from thy friend,
The beaſt that beares me,tired with my woe,
Plods duly on,to beare that waight in me,
As if by ſome inſtinet the wretch did know
His rider lou'd not ſpeed being made from thee:
The bloody ſpurre cannot prouoke him on,
That ſome-times anger thruſts into his hide,
Which heauily he anſwers with a grone,

D 3

More

SHAKESPEARES.

More Sharpe to me then Spurring to his Side,
For that fame Grone doth put this in my Mind,
My Greefe lies onward and my Ioy behind.

51
THUS can my loue excuse the flow offence,
Of my dull bearer, when from thee I speed,
From where thou art, why should I haft me thence,
Till I returne of poſting is no need.
O what excuse will my poore beaſt then find,
When ſwift extremity can feeue but flow,
Then ſhould I ſpurre though mounted on the wind,
In winged ſpeed no motion ſhall I know,
Then can no horſe with my deſire keepe pace,
Therefore deſire (of perſects loue being made)
Shall naigh noe dull ſleſh in his ſiery race,
But loue, for loue, thus ſhall excufe my iade,
Since from thee going, he went wilſull flow,
Towards thee ile run, and giue him leaue to goe.

52
SO am I as the rich whose bleſſed key,
Can bring him to his ſweet vp-locked treaſure,
The which he will not eu'ry hower ſuruay,
For blunting the fine point of ſeldome pleaſure.
Therefore are ſeaſts ſo ſollemne and ſo rare,
Since ſildom comming in the long yeare ſet,
Like ſtones of worth they thinly placed are,
Or captaine Iewells in the carconet.
So is the time that keepes you as my cheſt,
Or as the ward-robe which the robe doth hide,
To make ſome ſpeciall inſtant ſpeciall bleſt,
By new vnſoulding his imprifon'd pride.
Bleſſed are you whose worthineſſe giues skope,
Being had to tryumph, being lackt to hope.

53
VV
Hat is your ſubſtance, whereof are you made,
That millions of ſtrange ſhaddowes on you tend?

Since

SONNETS.

Since euery one, hath euery one, one ſhade,
And you but one, can euery ſhaddow lend:
Deſcribe Adonis and the counterſet;
Is poorely immitated after you,
On Hellens cheeke all art of beautie ſet;
And you in Grecian tires are painted new:
Speake of the ſpring, and ſoyzon of the yeare,
The one doth ſhaddow of your beautie ſhow,
The other as your bountie doth appeare,
And you in euery bleſſed ſhape we know.
In all externall grace you haue ſome part,
But you like none, none you for conſtant heart.

54
OH how much more doth beautie beautious ſeeme,
By that ſweet ornament which truth doth giue,
The Rofe lookes faire, but fairer we it deeme
For that ſweet odor, which doth in it liue:
The Canker bloomes haue full as deepe a die,
As the perſumed tincture of the Rofes,
Hang on ſuch thornes, and play as wantonly,
When sommers breath their masked buds diſcloſes:
But for their virtue only is their ſhow,
They liue vnwoo'd, and vnrefpected fade;
Die to themſelues. Sweet Rofes doe not ſo,
Of their ſweet deathes, are ſweeteſt odors made:
And ſo of you, beautious and louely youth,
When that ſhall vade, by verſe diſtils your truth.

55
NOT marble, nor the gilded monument,
Of Princes ſhall out-lieue this powrefull rime;
But you ſhall ſhine more bright in these contents
Then vnſwapt ſtone, befmeer'd with fluttifull time.
When waſtefull warre ſhall *Statues* ouer-turne,
And broiles roote out the worke of mafonry,
Nor *Mars* his ſword, nor warres quick fire ſhall burne
The liuing record of your memory.

Gainſt

SHAKESPEARES.

Gainst death, and all obliuous emnity
Shall you pace forth, your praise shall fill finde roome,
Euen in the eyes of all pofterity
That weare this world out to the ending doome.
So til the iudgement that your selfe arife,
You liue in this, and dwell in louers eies.

56
Sweet loue renew thy force, be it not faid
Thy edge should blunter be then apetite,
Which but too daie by feeding is alaied,
To morrow sharpned in his former might,
So loue be thou, although too daie thou fill
Thy hungrie eies, euen till they winck with fulneſſe,
Too morrow fee againe, and doe not kill
The ſpirit of Loue, with a perpetual dulneſſe:
Let this sad Intrim like the Ocean be
Which parts the shore, where two contracted new,
Come daily to the banckes, that when they fee:
Returne of loue, more bleft may be the view.
As cal it Winter, which being full of care,
Makes Somers welcome, thrice more wif'd, more rare:

57
B eing your ſlaue what ſhould I doe but tend,
Vpon the houres; and times of your defire?
I haue no precious time at al to ſpend;
Nor ſeruices to doe til you require.
Nor dare I chide the world without end houre,
Whilft I (my ſoueraine) watch the clock for you,
Nor thinke the bitterneſſe of abſence ſowre,
VWhen you haue bid your ſeruant once adieue,
Nor dare I queſtion with my ialious thought,
VWhere you may be, or your affaires ſuppoſe,
But like a ſad ſlaue ſtay and thinke of nought
Saue where you are, how happy you make thofe,
So true a fooler is loue, that in your Will,
(Though you doe any thing) he thinkes no ill,

58

SONNETS.

58
That God forbid, that made me first your ſlaue,
I should in thought controule your times of pleasure,
Or at your hand th' account of houres to craue,
Being your vaffail bound to ſlaie your leisure.
Oh let me suffer (being at your beck)
Th' imprisonment of abſence of your libertie,
And patience tamed, to ſufferance bide each check,
Without accufing you of iniury.
Be where you lift, your charter is so strong,
That you your ſelfe may priuilege your time
To what you will, to you it doth belong,
Your ſelfe to pardon of ſelfe-doing crime.
I am to waite, though waiting so be hell,
Not blame your pleasure be it ill or well.

59
If their bee nothing new, but that which is,
Hath beene before, how are our braines beguild,
Which laboring for inuention beare amiffle
The second burthen of a former child?
Oh that record could with a back-ward looke,
Euen of ſiue hundreth courſes of the Sunne,
Show me your image in some antique booke,
Since minde at first in carreeter was done.
That I might see what the old world could ſay,
To this compoſed wonder of your frame,
Whether we are mended, or where better they,
Or whether reuolution be the fame.
Oh ſure I am the wits of former daies,
To ſubjects worſe haue giuen admiring prouſe.

60
Like as the waues make towards the pibled shore,
So do our minuities haſten to their end,
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In ſequent toile all forwards do contend.
Natiuity once in the maine of light,

E

Crawls

SHAKESPEARES

Crawies to maturity, wherewith being crown'd,
Crooked eclipses gainst his glory fight,
And time that gaue, doth now his gift confound.
Time doth transfixe the florish set on youth,
And delues the paralels in beauties brow,
Feedes on the rarities of natures truth,
And nothing stands but for his fieth to mow.
And yet to times in hope, my verse shall stand
Praising thy worth, disfight his cruell hand.

61
I sit thy wil, thy Image should keepe open
My heavy eieids to the weary night?
Doft thou defure my slumbers should be broken,
While shadowes like to thee do mocke my fight?
Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee
So farre from home into my deeds to prye,
To find out shames and idle houres in me,
The skope and tenure of thy Ielouie?
O no, thy loue though much, is not so great,
It is my loue that keepes mine eie awake,
Mine owne true loue that doth my reft defeat,
To plaie the watch-man cuer for thy fake,
For thee watch I, whilft thou doft wake elsewhere,
From me farre of, with others all to neere.

62
S Inne of selfe-loue poſſeſeth al mine eie,
And all my foule, and al my euery part;
And for this finne there is no remedie,
It is so grounded inward in my heart.
Me thinkes no face so gratious is as mine,
No shape so true, no truth of such account,
And for my ſelfe mine owne worth do define,
As I all other in all worths ſurmount.
But when my glaſſe ſhewes me my ſelfe indeed
Beated and chopt with rand antiquitie,
Mine owne ſelfe loue quite contrary I read

Selve

SONNETS.

Selve, so ſelfe louing were iniquity,
Tis thee (my ſelfe) that for my ſelfe I prieſe,
Painting my age with beauty of thy daies,

63
A Gainſt my loue ſhall be as I am now
With times iniurious hand chruſht and ore-worne,
When houres haue dreind his blood and fild his brow
With lines and wrinckles, when his youthfull morne
Hath trauaild on to Ages ſteepie night,
And all those beauties whereof now he's King
Are vanifhing, or vanifht out of light,
Stealing away the treaſure of his Spring.
For ſuch a time do I now forſtie
A gainſt confounding Ages cruell knife,
That he ſhall neuer cut from memory
My ſweet loues beauty, though my louers life,
His beautie ſhall in theſe blaſſe lines be ſene,
And they ſhall line, and he in them ſtill greene.

64
W Hen I haue ſene by times ſell hand defaced
The rich proud cost of outworne buried age,
When ſometime loftie towers I see downe rafed,
And braſſe eternall ſlaue to mortall rage.
When I haue ſene the hungry Ocean gaine
Aduantage on the Kingdome of the ſhoare,
And the firme ſoile win of the watry maine,
Increaſing ſtore with loffe, and loffe with ſtore.
When I haue ſene ſuch interchange of ſtate,
Or ſtate it ſelfe confounded, to decay,
Ruine hath taught me thus to ruminate
That Time will come and take my loue away.
This thought is as a death which cannot choofe
But weepe to haue, that which it feares to looke,

65
S Ince braſſe, nor ſtone, nor earth, nor boundleſſe ſea,
But ſad mortality ore-ſwaies their power,

E 2

How

SHAKESPEARES

How with this rage shall beautie hold a plea,
Whofe action is no stronger then a flower?
O how shall summers hunny breath hold out,
Againft the wrackfull fledge of battring dayes,
When rocks impregnable are not so floute,
Nor gates of ftuele so strong but time decayes?
O fearfull meditation, where alack,
Shall times beſt Iewell from times cheſt lie hid?
Or what strong hand can hold his ſwift ſtooe back,
Or who his ſpoile or beautie can forbid?
O none, vnleſſe this miracle haue might,
That in black inck my loue may ſtill ſhine brighte.

Tyr'd with all theſe for reſtfull death I cry,
As to behold deſert a begger borne,
And needie Nothing trimd in iollitie,
And pureſt faith vnhappily forſworne,
And gilded honor ſhamefully miſplaſt,
And maiden vertue rudely ſtrumpeted,
And right perſection wrongfully diſgrac'd,
And ſtrength by limping ſway diſabled,
And arte made tung-tide by authoritie,
And Folly (Doctor-like) controuling skill,
And ſimple-Truth miſcalde Simplicitie,
And captiue-good attending Captaine ill.
Tyr'd with all theſe, from theſe would I be gone,
Saue that to dye, I leaue my loue alone.

A H wherefore with inſection ſhould he liue,
And with his preſence grace impieſt,
That ſinne by him aduantage ſhould atchiue,
And lace it ſelſe with his ſocietie?
Why ſhould ſalſe painting immitate his cheeſe,
And ſteale dead ſeeing of his liuing hew?
Why ſhould poore beautie indirectly ſeeke,
Roses of ſhaddow, ſince his Rofe is true?

Why

SONNETS.

Why ſhould he liue, now nature bankrout is,
Beggerd of blood to bluſh through liuely vaines,
For ſhe hath no exchecker now but his,
And proud of many, liues vpon his gaines?
O him ſhe flores, to ſhow what welth ſhe had,
In daies long ſince, before theſe laſt ſo bad.

T Hus is his cheeſe the map of daies out-worne,
When beauty liu'd and dy'ed as flowers do now,
Before theſe baſtard ſignes of faire were borne,
Or durſt inhabit on a liuing brow?
Before the goulden trefſes of the dead,
The right of ſepulchers, were ſhorne away,
To liue a ſcond life on ſecond head,
Ere beauties dead ſleece made another gay:
In him thate holy antique howers are ſeene,
Without all ornament, it ſelſe and true,
Making no ſummer of an others greene,
Robbing no ould to drefſe his beauty new,
And him as for a map doth Nature ſtore,
To ſhew ſaulſe Art what beauty was of yore.

T Hove parts of thee that the worlds eye doth view,
Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend,
All toungs (the voice of ſoules) giue thee that end,
Vttring bare truth, euen so as ſoes Commend.
Their outward thus with outward prauife is crowd,
But thate ſame toungs that giue thee ſo thine owne,
In other accents doe this prauife confound
By ſeeing farther then the eye hath ſhowne.
They looke into the beauty of thy mind,
And that in gueſe they measure by thy deeds,
Then churlſs their thoughts (although their ies were kind)
To thy faire flower ad the ranke ſmell of weeds,
But why thy odor matcheth not thy ſhow,
The ſolye is this, that thou doſt common grow.

E 3

Thas

SHAKESPEARES

70
That thou are blam'd shall not be thy defect,
For slanders marke was euer yet the faire,
The ornament of beauty is defect,
A Crow that flies in heauens sweeteft ayre.
So thou be good, slander doth but approue,
Their worth the greater beeing woo'd of time,
For Canker vice the sweeteft buds doth loue,
And thou prefent it a pure vnstayned prime.
Thou haft paft by the ambush of young daies,
Either not affayld, or victor beeing charg'd,
Yet this thy praiske cannot be soe thy praisc,
To tye vp enuy, euermore inlarged,
If some defect of ill maskt not thy show,
Then thou alone king domes of hearts shouldst owe.

71
Noe Longer mourne for me when I am dead,
Then you shall heare the surly fullen bell
Giue warning to the world that I am fled
From this vile world with vildes wormes to dwell:
Nay if you read this line, remember not,
The hand that writ it, for I loue you so,
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,
If thinking on me then should make you woe.
O if (I say) you looke vpon this verfe,
When I (perhaps) compounded am with clay,
Do not so much as my poore name reherse;
But let your loue euen with my life decay.
Leaft the wife world should looke into your mone,
And mocke you with me after I am gon.

72
O Leaft the world should taske you to recite,
What merit liu'd in me that you should loue
After my death (deare loue) for get me quite,
For you in me can nothing worthy proue.
Valeffe you would deuise some vertuous lye,

To

SONNETS.

To doe more for me then mine owne defect,
And hang more praisc vpon deceaſed I,
Then nigard truth would willingly impart:
O leaſt your true loue may seeme falce in this,
That you for loue ſpeake well of me vntrue,
My name be buried where my body is,
And liue no more to ſhame nor me; nor you.
For I am ſhand by that which I bring forth,
And so should you, to loue things nothing worth.

73
That time of yeeare thou maift in me behold,
When yellow leaues, or none, or ſew doe hange
Vpon thofe boughes which ſhake againſt the could,
Bare rn'w'd quiers, where late the sweet birds ſang.
In me thou ſeeſt the twi-light of ſuch day,
As after Sun-ſet fadeth in the Weſt,
Which by and by blacke night doth take away,
Deaths ſecond ſelfe that ſeals vp all in reſt.
In me thou ſeeſt the glowing of ſuch fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lye,
As the death bed, whereon it muſt expire,
Conſum'd with that which it was nurriſht by.
This thou perceuſt, which makes thy loue more ſtrong,
To loue that well, which thou muſt leaue ere long.

74
B Ve be contented when that fell areſt,
With out all bayle ſhall carry me away,
My life hath in this line ſome intereſt,
Which for memoriall fill with thee ſhall stay.
When thou reueuſt this, thou doeſt reuew,
The very part was confecrate to thee,
The earth can haue but earth, which is his due,
My ſpirit is thine the better part of me,
So then thou haſt but loft the dregs of life,
The pray of wormes, my body being dead,
The coward conquelt of a wretches knife,

To

SHAKESPEARES

To bafe of thee to be remembred,
The worth of that, is that which it containes,
And that is this, and this with thee remaines.

75
SO are you to my thoughts as food to life,
Or as sweet leafon'd chewers are to the ground;
And for the peace of you, I hold such strife,
As twixt a mifer and his wealth is found.
Now proud as an inioyer, and anon
Doubting the filching age will fteale his treasur[e],
Now counting beft to be with you alone,
Then betterd that the world may see my pleasur[e],
Some-time all ful with feafting on your fight,
And by and by cleane starued for a looke,
Poffefting or purfuing no delight
Saue what is had, or muft from you be tooke.
Thus do I pine and furfet day by day,
Or gluttoning on all, or all away,

76
WV Hy is my verfe so barren of new pride?
So far from variation or quicke change?
Why with the time do I not glance afide
To new found methods, and to compounds strange?
Why write I ftill all one, euer the fame,
And keepe inuention in a noted weed,
That euery word doth almoſt fel my name,
Shewing their birth, and where they did proceed?
O know ſweet loue I alwaies write of you,
And you and loue are ſtill my argument:
So all my beſt is drefſing old words new,
Spending againe what is already ſpent:
For as the Sun is daily new and old,
So is my loue ſtill telling what is told,

77
T
Hy glaſſe will ſhew thee how thy beauties were,
Thy dyall how thy precious mynuits waſſe,

The

SONNETS.

The vacant leaues thy mindes imprint will beare,
And of this booke, this learning maſt thou taſte,
The wrinkles which thy glaſſe will truly ſhow,
Of mouthed graues will giue thee memorie,
Thou by thy dyals ſhady ſtealth maſt know,
Times theeuſh progrefſe to eternitie.
Looke what thy memorie cannot containe,
Commit to theſe waſte blacks, and thou ſhalt finde
Thofe children nurſt, deliuerd from thy braine,
To take a new acquaintance of thy minde.
Theſe offices, ſo oft as thou wilt looke,
Shall profit thee, and much inrich thy booke.

78
S O oft haue I inuok'd thee for my Mufe,
And found ſuch faire affiftance in my verſe,
As euery *Alien* pen hath got my vſe,
And vnder thee their poſſie diſperſe.
Thine eyes, that taught the dumbe on high to ſing,
And heauie ignorancerafto fl'e,
Hau[e] added fethers to the leameds wing,
And giuen grace a double Maieſtie.
Yet be moſt proud of that which I compile,
Whose influence is thine, and borne of thee,
In others workes thou dooſt but mend the ſtyle,
And Arts with thy ſweete graces graced be.
But thou art al my art, and dooſt aduance
As high as learning, my rude ignorancer.

79
W/Hilſt I alone did call vpon thy ayde,
My verſe alone had all thy gentle grace,
But now my gracious numbers are decayde,
And my ſick Mufe doth giue an other place.
I grant ( ſweet loue) thy louely argument
Deferues the trauaile of a worthier pen,
Yet what of thee thy Poet doth inuent,
He robs thee of, and payes it thee againe,

F

He