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I may be straight, though they themselves le No, let me be obsequious in thy heart, bevel;

And take thou my oblation, poor but free, By their rank thoughts my deeds must not be Which is not mix'd with seconds, knows no art sbown;

But mutual render, only me for thee. Unless this general evil they maintain,

Hence, thou suborn d informer! a true soul All men are bad and in their badness reign. When most impeach'd stands least in thy


Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain
Full characier'd with lasting memory,

thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power Which shall above that idle rank remain, Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his sickle, hour; Beyond all date, even to eternity:

Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st Or, at the least, so long as brain and heart

Thy lovers withering as thy sweet self grow'st; Have faculty by nature to subsist;

If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack, Till each to raz d oblivion yield his part As thou go'st onwards, still will pluck thee Of thee, thy record never can be miss'd.

back, That poor retention could not so much hold,

She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill Nor need I tallies thy dear love to score ;

May time disgrace and wretched minutes kill. Therefore to give them from me was I bold,

Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure ! To trust those tables that receive thee more :

She may detain, but not still keep, her treasure: To keep an adjunct to remember thee

Her audit, though delay'd, answer'd must be, Were to import forgetfulness in me.

And her quietus is to render thee.



CXXVII. No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change : In the old age black was not counted fair, Thy pyranids built up with newer might To me are nothing novel, nothing strange;

Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name; They are but dressings of a former sight.

But now is black beauty's successive heir, Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire

And beauty slander'd with a bastard shame: What thou dost foist upon us that is old ;

For since each hand hath put on nature's And rather make them born to our desire

power, Than think that we before have heard them told. Fairing the foul with art's false borrow'd face, Thy registers and thee I both defy,

Sweet beauty hath no dame, no holy bower, Not wondering at the present nor the past,

But is profan'd, if not lives in disgrace. For thy records and what we see doth lie,

Therefore my mistress' eyes are raven black, Made more or less by thy continual haste.

Her eyes so suited, and they mourners seen This I do vow, and this shall ever be,

At such who, not born fair, no beauty lack, I will be true, despite thy scythe and thee.

Sland'ring creation with a false esteem:

Yet so they mourn, becoming of their woe,

That every tongue says beauty should look so. CXXIV. If my dear lore were but the child of state, It might for Fortune's bastard be unfather'd, As subject to Time's love or to Time's hate, How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds gather'd.

With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway'st No, it was builded far from accident;

The wiry concord that mine ear confounds, It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls

Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap Under the blow of thralled discontent,

To kiss the tender inward of thy hand, Whereto the inviting time our fashion calls : Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest It fears not policy, that heretic,

reap, Which works on leases of short number'd hours, At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand! But all alone stands hugely politic,

To be so tickld, they would change their state That it nor grows with heat nor drowns with And situation with those dancing chips, showers.

O’er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait, To this I witness call the fools of time, Making dead wood more bless'd than living Which die for goodness, who have liv'd for lips. crime.

Since saucy jacks so happy are in this,

Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss. CXXV. Were't anght to me I bore the canopy, With my extern the outward honouring, Or laid great bases for eternity,

The expense of spirit in a waste of shame Which prove more short than waste or ruining ? Is lust in action; and till action, last Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour Is perjur'd, murderous, bloody, full of blame, Lose all, and more, by paying too much rent, Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust; For compound sweet foregoing simple savour, Enjoy'd no sooner but despised straight; Pitiful thrivers, in their gazing spent ?

Past reason hunted ; and no sooner had,


Past reason hated, as a swallow'd bait,

Me from mysef thy cruel eye hath taken,
On purpose laid to make the taker mad :
Mad in pursuit, and in possession so ;

And my next self thou harder bast engross'd:

Of him, myself, and thee, I am forsaken; Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme ;

A torment thrice threefold thus to be cross'd, A bli:s in proof, and prov'd, a very woe;

Prison my heart in thy steel bosom's ward, Before, a joy propos') ; behind, a dream.

But then my friend's heart let my poor heart All this the world well knows; yet none knows

bail ; well To shun the heaven that leads men to this Thou canst not then use rigour in my gaol :

Whoe'er keeps me, let my heart be his guard ; hell.

And yet thou wilt ; for I, being pent in thee, CXXX.

Perforce am thine, and all that is in me.
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun ;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red :

If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head! So, now I have confess'd that he is thine,
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,

And I myself am mortgag‘d to thy will,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;

Myself I'll forfeit, so that other mine And in some perfumes is there more delight

Thou wilt restore, to be my comfort still : Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free, I love to hear ber speak, yet well I know

For thou art covetous and he is kind; That music hath a far more pleasing sound :

He learn'd but surety-like to write for me,

Under that bond that him as fast doth bind. I grant I never saw a goddess go, My mistress, when she walks, 'treads on the The statue of thy beauty thou wilt take, ground:

Thou usurer, that puttist forth all to use, And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare

And sue a friend came debtor for my sake; As any she belied with false compare.

So him I lose through my unkind abuse.

Him have I lost; thou hast both him and me:

He pays the whole, and yet am I not free. CXXXI. Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art,

CXXXV. As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel ;

Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy Will, For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart

And Will to boot, and Will in overplus ; Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel.

More than enough am I that vex thee still, Yet, in good faith, some say that thee behold, To thy sweet will making addition thus. Thy face hath not the power to make love Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious, groan :

Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine ? To say they err I dare not be so bold,

Shall will in others seem right gracions, Although I swear it to myself alone.

And in my will no fair acceptance shine ? And to be sure that is not false I swear,

The sea, all water, yet receives rain still, A thousand groans, but thinking on thy face,

And in abundance addeth to his store ; One on another's neck, do witness bear

So thou, being rich in Will, add to thy Will Thy black is fairest in my judgment's place.

One will of mine, to make thy large l'ill more, In nothing art thou black save in thy deeds,

Let no unkind, no fair beseechers kill; And thence this slander, as I think, proceeds.

Think all but one, and me in that one Will.


CXXXVI. Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me,

If thy soul check thee that I come so near, Knowing thy heart torments me with di-dain, Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy Will, Have put on black and loving mourners be, And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there; Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain.

Thus far for love, my love-suit, sweet, fulfil. And truly not the morning sun of heaven Will will fulfil the treasure of thy love, Better becomes the gray cheeks of the east, Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one. Nor that full star that ushers in the even In things of great receipt with ease we prove Doth half that glory to the sober west,

Among a number one is reckon'd none: As those two mourning eyes become thy face: Then in the number let me pass untold, 0! let it then as well beseem thy heart

Thongh in thy store's account I one must be ; To mourn for me, since mourning doth thee For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold grace,

That nothing me, a something sweet to thee: Anil suit thy pity like in every part.

Make but my pame thy love, and love that still, Then will I swear beauty herself is black, And then thou lov'st me, for my name is Will. And all they foul that thy complexion lack.


Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine
Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan eyes,
For that deep wound it gives my friend and me! That they behold, and see not what they see?
Is 't not enough to torture me alone,

They know what beauty is, see where it lies, But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be ? / Yet what the best is take the worst to be.


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If eyes, corrupt by over-partial looks,
Be anchor'd in the bay where all men ride,
Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes,

For they in tbee a thousand errors note;

But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise, Whereto the judgment of my heart is tied ? Why should my heart think that a several plot Who, in despite of view, is pleas'd to dote; Which my heart knows the wide world's common

Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune de

lighted ; place? Or mine eyes seeing this, say this is not,

Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone,

Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited
To put fair truth upon so foul a face?
In things right true my heart and eyes have to any sensual feast with thee alone :

But my five wits nor my five senses can
And to this false plague are they now trans-

Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee, ferr'd.

Who leaves unsway'd the likeness of a man,

Thy proud beart's slave and vassal wretch to be: CXXXVIII,

Only my plague thus far I count my gain, When my love swears that she is made of truth,

That she that makes me sin awards me pain. I do believe her, though I know she lies, That she might think me some untutor'd

CXLII. youth, Unlearned in the world's false subtleties, Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate, Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young, Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving: Although she knows my days are past the best, 0! but with mine compare thou tbine owo Simply 1 credit her false-speaking tongue:

state, On both sides thus is simple truth suppress'd.

And thou shalt find it merits not reproving ; But wherefore says she not she is unjust?

Or, if it do, not from those lips of thine, And wherefore say not I that I am old ?

That have profan'd their scarlet ornaments 0! love's best habit is in seeming trust,

And seal'd faise bonds of love as oft as mine, And age in love loves not to have years told :

Robb’d others' beds' revenues of their rents. Therefore I lie with her, and she with me,

Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lov'st those
And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be.

Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee :
Root pity in thy heart, that, when it grows,

Thy pity may deserve to pitied be.

If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide, 0! call not me to justify the wrong

By self-example may'st thou be denied !
That thy unkindness lays upon my heart;
Wound me not with thine eye, but with thy

L'se power with power, and slay me not by art. Lo, as a careful housewife runs to catch
Tell me thou lov'st elsewhere ; but in my One of her feather d creatures broke away,

Sets down her babe, and makes all swift dispatch Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside : In pursuit of the thing she would have stas; What need’st thou wound with cunning, when Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase, thy might

Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent Is more than my o'erpress'd defence can bide? To follow that which flies before her face, Let me excuse thee: ah! my love well knows Not prizing her poor infant's discontent : Her pretty looks have been mine enemies ; So runn'st thou after that which flies from And therefore from my face she turns my

thee, foes,

Whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind ; That they elsewhere might dart their injuries : But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me,

Yet do not so; but since I am near slain, An I play the mother's part, kiss me, be kindi: Kill me outright with looks, and rid my pain. So will I pray that thou may'st have tur Wul

If thou turn back and wy loud crying still.



Be wise as thou art cruel ; do not press
My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain; Two loves I have of comfort and despair,
Lest sorrow lend me words, and words express Which like two spirits do suggest me still:
The manner of my pity-wanting pain.

The better angel is a man, right fair,
If I might teach thee wit, better it were, The worser spirit a woman, colour'd ill.
Though not to love, yet, love, to tell me so; To win me soon to hell, my female evil
As testy sick men, when their deaths be near, Tempteth my better angel from my side,
No news but health from their physicians know; And would corrupt my saint to be a devil,
For, if I should despair, I should grow mad, Wooing his purity with her foul pride.
And in my madness might speak ill of thee : And whether that my angel be turn'd fieri
Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad, Suspect I may, yet not directly tell ;
Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be.

But being both from me, both to each frierol, That I may not be so, nor thou beli'd,

I guess one angel in another's hell : Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doute heart go wide.

Till my bad angel fire my good one out.

Those lips that Love's own hand did make
Breath'd forth the sound that said "I hate,'
To me that languish'd for her sake :
But when she saw my woeful state,
Straight in her heart did merey come,
Chiding that tongue that ever sweet
Was us d in giving gentle doom ;
And taught it thus anew to greet;
*I hate' she alter'd with an end,
That follow'd it as gentle day
Doth follow night, who, like a fiend,
From heaven to hell is flown away ;

I bate' from hate away she threw,
And sav'd my life, saying 'Not you.'

Canst thou, O cruel ! say I love thee not,
When I against myself with thee partake ?
Do I not think on thee, when I forgot
Am of myself, all tyrant, for thy sake?
Who hateth thee that I do call my friend?
On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon ?
Nay, if thou lour'st on me, do I not spend
Revenge upon myself with present moan?
What merit do I in myself respect,
That is so proud thy service to despise,
When all my best doth worship thy defect,
Commanded by the motion of thine eyes ?

But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind;
Those that can see thou lov'st, and I am blind.


CL. Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth, 0! from what power hast thou this powerful Press’d by these rebel powers that thee array,

might Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth, With insufficiency my heart to sway? Painting thy outward walls so costly gay ? To make me give the lie to my true sight, Why so large cost, having so short a lease, And swear that brightness doth not grace the Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend ?

day? Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,

Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill, Eat up thy charge? Is this thy body's end ? That in the very refuse of thy deeds Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, There is such strength and warrantise of skill, And let that pine to aggravate thy store ; That, in my mind, thy worst all best exceeds! Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross ; Who taught thee how to make me love thee more, Within be fed, without be rich no more: The more I hear and see just cause of hate? So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on 0! though I love what others do abhor, men,

With others thou should'st not abhor my state: And Death once dead, there's no more dying If thy unworthiness rais'd love in me, then.

More worthy I to be belov'd of thee. CXLVII. My love is as a fever, longing still For that which longer nurseth the disease ; Love is too young to know what conscience is ; Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, Yet who knows not conscience is born of love? The uncertain sickly appetite to please. Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss, My reason, the physician to my love,

Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove : Angry that his prescriptions are not kept, For, thou betraying me, I do betray Hath left me, and I desperate now approve My nobler part to my gross body's treason; Desire is death, which physic did except. My soul doth tell my body that he may Past cure I am, now reason is past care,

Triumph in love ; flesh stays no further reason, And frantic-mad with evermore unrest ;

But rising at thy name doth point out thee My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's are, As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride, At random from the truth, rainly express'd ; He is contented thy poor drudge to be, For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side. bright,

No want of conscience hold it that I call Who art as black as hell, as dark as night. Her love' for whose dear love I rise and fall,


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O me! what eyes hath Love put in my head, In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn, Which have no correspondence with true sight; But thou art twice forsworn, to

me love Or, if they have, where is my judgment fled,

swearing ; That censures falsely what they see aright? In act thy bed-vow broke, and new faith torn, If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote, In vowing new hate after new love bearing. What means the world to say it is not so ? But why of two oaths' breach do I accuse thee, If it be not, then love doth well denote

When I break twenty? I am perjur'd most; Love's eye is not so true as all men's : no, For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee, How can it? O! how can Love's eye be true, And all my honest faith in thee is lost : That is so vex'd with watching and with tears ? For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep No marvel then, though I mistake my view;

kindness, The sun itself sees not till heaven clears.

Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy ; O cunning Love! with tears thou keep'st me And, to enlighten thee, gave eyes to blindness, blind,

Or made them swear against the thing they see; Lest eres well-seeing thy foul faults should For I have sworn thee fair; more perjur'd I, find.

To swear against the truth so foul a lie !


Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep :
A maid of Dian's this advantage found,
And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep
In a cold valley-fountain of that ground;
Which borrow'd from this holy fire of Love
A dateless lively heat, still to endure,
And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove
Against strange maladies a sovereign cure.
But at my mistress' eve Love's brand new-fir'd,
The boy for trial needs would touch my breast;
I, sick withal, the help of bath desir'd,
And thither hied, a sad distemper'd guest,

But found no cure: the bath for my help lies

Where Cupid got new fire, my mistress' eyes.

FROM off a hill whose concave womb re-worded
A plaintful story from a sistering vale,
My spirits to attend this double voice accorded,
And down I laid to list the sad-tun'd tale;
Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale,
Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain,
Storming her world with sorrow's wind




Upon her head a platted hive of straw,
Which fortified her visage from the sun,
Whereon the thought might think sometime it Where want cries some, but where excess begs


The carcass of a beauty spent and done :
Time had not scythed all that youth begun,
Nor youth all quit; but, spite of heaven's fell


Some beauty peep'd through lattice of sear'd age.

Oft did she heave her napkin to her eyne,
Which on it had conceited characters,
Laundering the silken figures in the brine
That season'd woe had pelleted in tears,
And often reading what content it bears;
As often shrieking undistinguish'd woe
In clamours of all size, both high and low.


The little Love-god lying once asleep
Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand,
Whilst many nymphs that vow'd chaste life to

Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand
The fairest votary took up that fire
Which many legions of true hearts had warm'd;
And so he general of hot desire

Sometimes her levell'd eyes their carriage ride,
As they did battery to the spheres intend;
Sometime, diverted, their poor balls are tied
To the orbed earth; sometimes they do extend
Their view right on; anon their gazes lend
To every place at once, and nowhere fix'd,
The mind and sight distractedly commix'd.

Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarm'd.
This brand she quenched in a cool well by,
Which from Love's fire took heat perpetual,
Growing a bath and healthful remedy
For men diseas'd; but I, my mistress' thrall,
Came there for cure, and this by that I prove,
Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.

Her hair, nor loose nor tied in formal plat,
Proclaim'd in her a careless hand of pride;
For some, untuck'd, descended her sheav'd hat,
Hanging her pale and pined cheek beside;

Some in her threaden fillet still did bide,
And true to bondage would not break from

Though slackly braided in loose negligence.

A thousand favours from a maund she drew
Of amber, crystal, and of beaded jet,
Which one by one she in a river threw,
Upon whose weeping margent she was set;
Like usury, applying wet to wet,

Or monarchs' hands that let not bounty fall

Of folded schedules had she many a one,
Which she perus'd, sigh'd, tore, and gave the

Crack'd many a ring of posied gold and bone.
Bidding them find their sepulchres in mud:
Found yet more letters sadly penn'd in blood,
With sleided silk feat and affectedly
Enswath'd, and seal'd to curious secrecy.

These often bath'd she in her fluxive eyes,
And often kiss'd, and often 'gan to tear;
Cried 'O false blood! thou register of lies.
What unapproved witness dost thou bear;
Ink would have seem'd more black and damte?


This said, in top of rage the lines she rents,
Big discontent so breaking their contents.

A reverend man that graz'd his cattle nigh
Sometime a blusterer, that the ruffle knew
Of court, of city, and had let go by
The swiftest hours, observed as they flew,
Towards this afflicted fancy fastly drew;
And, privileged by age, desires to know
In brief the grounds and motives of her woe,

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