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The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now,
Thus is his cheek the map of days out-worn, Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth;
When beauty liv'd and died as flowers do now, Suns of the world may stain, when heaven's sun
Before these bastard signs of fair were boru, staineth.
Or durst inhabit on a living brow; Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits,
Before the golden tresses of the dead, When I am sometime absent from thy heart,
The right of sepulchres, were shorn away, Thy beauty and thy years full well befits,
To live a second life on second head, For still temptation follows where thou art.
E'er beauty's dead fleece made another gay; Gentle thou art, and therefore to be won,
In him those holy antique hours are seen, Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assail'd;
Without all ornament, itself, and true, And when a woman woos, what woman's son
Making no summer of another's green, Will sourly leave her till she have prevail'd ?
Robbing no old to dress his beauty new; Ah me! but yet thou might’st my sweet forbear,
And him as for a map doth nature store,
To shew false art what beauty was of yore.
No longer mourn for me when I am dead,
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell Thine, by thy beauty being false to me.
Give warning to the world that I am fled
From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell:
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,
If thinking on me then should make you woe. The canker-blooms have full as deep a die,
O if (I say) you look upon this verse, As the perfumed tincture of the roses,
When I perhaps compounded am with clay, Hang on such thorns and play as wantonly
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse, When summer's breath their masked buds discloses : But let your love e'en with my life decay: But for their virtue only is their show,
Lest the wise world should look into your moan,
And mock you with me after I am gone.
0, lest the world should task you to recite And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,
What merit liv'd in me, that you should love When that shall fade, my verse distils your truth.
After my death, dear love, forget me quite,
For you in me can nothing worthy prove; Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
Unless you would devise some virtuous lie, Of princes, shall out-live this powerful rhyme; To do more for me than mine own desert, But you shall shine more bright in these contents And hang more praise upon deceased I, Than unswept stone, besmear'd with sluttish time.
T'han niggard truth would willingly impart: When wasteful war shall statues overturn,
O, lest your true love may seem false in this, And broils root out the work of masonry,
That you for love speak well of me untrue, Nor Mars's sword, nor war's quick fire shall burn My name be buried where my body is, The living record of your memory.
And live no more to shame por me nor you. 'Gainst death and all oblivious enmity
For I am 'sham’d by that which I bring forth,
And so should you, to love things nothing worth.
[room, That wear this world out to the ending doom.
That time of year thou may'st in me behold So till the judgment that yourself arise,
When yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes.
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. When I have seen by Time's fell hand defac'd
In me thou seest the twilight of such day,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou seest the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, And the firm soil win of the wat’ry main,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire, Increasing store with loss, and loss with store;
Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by. When I have seen such interchange of state,
This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love mere Or state itself confounded to decay ;
strong, Ruin has taught me thus to ruminate
To love that well which thou must leave ere loug. That Time will come and take my love
away. This thought is as a death, which cannot choose
Why is my verse so barren of new pride But weep to have that which it fears to lose.
So far from variation or quick change?
And I For 1: Por I
At f And CODE
Why, with the time, do I not glance aside
Therefore in that I cannot know thy change.
Is writ, in moods and frowns and wrinkles strange,
But heaven in thy creation did decree,
That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell; * Shewing their birth, and where they did proceed ?
Whate'er thy thoughts or thy heart's workings be, O know, sweet love, I always write of you,
Thy looks should nothing else but sweetness tell. And you and love are still my argument;
How like Eve's apple doth thy beauty grow,
If thy sweet virtue answer not thy show!
How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!
What old December's barenness every where ! And found such fair assistance in my verse,
And yet this time remov'd was summer's time; Eat As every alien pen hath got my use,
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase,
Bearing the wanton burden of the prime,
Like widow'd wombs after their lords’ decease :
Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me
But hope of orphans, and unfather'd fruit; berlangan And given grace a double majesty.
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, 1aphe rate Yet be most proud of that which I compile, And thou away, the very birds are mute; Whose influence is thine, and born of thee.
Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer,
From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April, dress'd in all his trim,
Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing ;
"Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell
Could make me any summer's story tell,
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they
Nor did I wonder at the lilies white, (grew:
Nor praise the deep vermillion in the rose;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
As with your shadow I with these did play.
My love is strengthen’d, though more weak in seem-
I love not less, though less the show appear: (ing;
That love is merchandis’d, whose rich esteeming
As Philomel in summer's front doth sing,
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 sometimes hold my tongue,
Because I would not dull you with my song.
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 So shall I live, supposing thou art true,
Have from the forests shook three summer's pride;
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd,
Since first I saw you fresh which yet are green.
Thine Know; Have Looki
Better North Doth As the
Ah! yet doth beauty, like a dial hand,
But makes antiquity for aye his page;
O never say that I was false of heart,
Tho' absence seem'd my flame to qualify.
As easy might I from myself depart, Let not my love be call’d idolatry,
As from my soul which in thy breast doth lie: Nor my beloved as an idol show,
That is my home of love: if I have rang'd, Since all alike my songs and praises be,
Like him that travels, I return again; To one, of one, still such, and ever so.
Just to the time, not with the time exchang'd,– Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind,
So that myself bring water for my stain. Still constant in a wondrous excellence;
Never believe, tho' in my nature reign'd Therefore my verse, to coustancy confin’d,
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, One thing expressing, leaves out difference. That it could so preposterously be stain'd, Fair, kind, and true, is all my argument,
To leave for nothing all thy sum of good; Fair, kind, and true, varying to other words ; For nothing this wide universe I call, And in this change is my invention spent,
Save thou, my rose; in it thou art my
all. Three themes in one, which wondrous scope affords. Fair, kind, and true, have often liv'd alone,
Alas, 'tis true, I have gone here and there, Which three, till now, never kept seat in one.
And made myself a motley to the view,
Gor'd mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most When in the chronicle of wasted time
Made old offences of affections new. (dear, I see descriptions of the fairest wights,
Most true it is, that I have look'd on truth And beauty making-beautiful old rlıyme,
Askance and strangely; but, by all above, In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights; These blenches gave my heart another youth, Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best,
And worse essays prov'd thee my best of love.
Now all is done, save what shall have no end:
newer proof, to try an older friend, So all their praises are but prophecies
A God in love, to whom I am confin'd. or this our time, all you prefiguring;
Then give me welcome, next my heaven the best,
O, for my sake, do thou with fortune chide,
That did not better for my lise provide,
And almost thence my nature is subdu'd
To what it works in, like the dyer's hand. The mortal moon hath her eclipse endur'd,
Pity me then, and wish I were renew'd; And the sad augurs mock their own presage; Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink Incertainties now crown themselves assur'd, Potions of eysell, 'gainst my strong infection; And peace proclaims olives of endless age.
No bitterness that I will bitter think, Now with the drops of this most balmy time
Nor double penance to correct correction.
E'en that your pity is enough to cure me.
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove: Which hath not figur'd to thee my true spirit? O no! it is an ever-fixed mark, What's new to speak, what new to register,
That looks on tempests, and is never shaken; That may express my love, or thy dear merit?
It is the star to every wandering bark, Nothing, sweet boy: but yet, like prayers divine,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be I must each day say o'er the very same;
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine,
Within his bending sickle's compass come; E'en as when first I hallow'd thy fair name.
Love alters not with bis brief hours and weeks, So that eternal love in love's fresh case
But bears it out e'en to the edge of doom. Weighs not the dust and injury of age,
If this be error, and upon me prov'd, Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place,
I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd.,
Use p. Tello Dear What
F And That
Perse Vow Aw Thou My
Mild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty,
Brighter than glass, and yet, as glass is, brittle,
A little pale, with damask dye to grace her,
None fairer, nor one falser to deface her. Past reason hunted; and no sooner had,
Her lips to mine how often hath she join'd, Past reason hated, as a swallow'd bait,
Between each kiss her oaths of true love swearing! On putpose laid to make the taker mad :
How many tales to please me hath she coin'd,
Dreading my love, the loss whereof still fearing!
Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were jestings.
She burnt with love, as straw with fire flameth,
She bade love last, and yet she fell a turning.
Was this a lover, or a lecher whether?
If music and sweet poetry agree,
As they must needs, the sister and the brother, Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east,
Then inust the love be great 'twixt thee and me, Nor that full star that ushers in the even
Because thou lov'st the one, and I the other. Doth half that glory to the sober west,
Downland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch As those two mourning eyes become thy face.
Upon the lute doth ravish huinan sense ; O let it then as well beseem thy heart
Spenser to me, whose deep conceit is such, To mourn for me, since mourning doth thee grace,
As passing all conceit, needs no defence. And suit thy pity like in every part.
Thou lov'st to hear the sweet melodious sound, Then will I swear beauty herself is black,
That Phæbus' lute, the queen of music, makes: And all they foul that thy complexion lack.
And I in deep delight am chiefly drown'd,
When as himself to singing he betakes. O call not me to justify the
One god is god of both, as poets feign; wrong, That thy unkindness lays upon my heart ;
One knight loves both, and both in thee remain. Wound me not with thine eye, but with thy tongue ; Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluck'd, soon faded, Use power with power, and slay me not by art.
Pluck'd in the bud, and faded in the spring! Tell me thou lov'st elsewhere ; but in my sight,
Bright orient pearl, alack! too timely shaded! Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside. Fair creature, kill'd too soon by death's sharp sting! What need'st thou wound with cunning, when thy
Like a green plum that hangs upon a tree,
And falls, through wind, before the fall should be.
I weep for thee, and yet no cause I have ;
For why? thou left'st me nothing in thy will.
And yet thou left'st me more than I did crave;
For why? I craved nothing of thee still:
O yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee;
Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me.
and youth, Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye,
Cannot live together;
Youth is full of pleasance,
Age is full of care :
Age like winter weather ;
Youth like suinmer brave,
Youth is hot and bold,
Age is weak and cold;
Youth is wild, and age is tame.
Age, I do abhor thee;
Youth I do adore thee;
L 0 H T
B F А T
L T B I
O, my love, my love is young:
Vow, alack, for youth anmeet, Age I do defy thee;
Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet. O sweet shepherd, hie thee,
Do not call it sin in me, For methinks thou stay'st too long.
That I am forsworn for thee ;
Thou for whom e'en Jove would swear Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good,
Juno but an Ethiope were ; A shining gloss that fadeth suddenly ;
And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love."
As it fell upon a day,
In the merry month of May, As faded gloss no rubbing will refresh,
Sitting in a pleasant shade As flowers dead lie wither'd on the ground,
Which a grove of myrtles made, As broken glass no cement can redress,
Beasts did leap, and birds did sing, So beauty, blemish'd once, for ever's lost,
Trees did grow, and plants did spring: In spite of physic, painting, pain, and cost.
Every thing did banish moan, Good night, good rest. Ah! neither be my share :
Save the nightingale alone : She bade good night, that kept my rest away;
She, poor bird, as all forlorn, And daft me to a cabin hang'd with care,
Leand her breast up-lill a thorn, To descant on the doubts of my decay. [row;"
And there sung the dolefull'st ditty,
That to hear it was great pity: “ Farewell," quoth she, “and come again to-morFarewell, I could not, for I supp'd with sorrow.
Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry, Yet at my parting sweetly she did smile,
Teru, Teru, by and by: In scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether:
That to hear her so complain, May be, she joy'd to jest at my exile,
Scarce I could from tears refrain; May be, again to make me wander thither:
For her griefs, so lively shewn, Wander, a word for shadows like myself,
Made me think upon mine own. As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf.
Ah! (thought I) thou mourn'st in vain;
None take pity on thy pain :
King Pandion, he is dead;
All thy friends are lapp'd in lead: While Philomela sings, I sit and mark,
All thy fellow birds do sing, And wish her lays were tuned like the lark ; Careless of thy sorrowing. For she doth welcome day-light with her ditty, Even so, poor bird, like thee, And drives away dark dismal dreaming night:
None alive will pity me.
Whilst as fickle fortune smil'd,
Words are easy like the wind;
Faithful friends are hard to find.
No man will supply thy want.
Bountiful they will him call; On a day (alack the day :)
And with such like flattering, Love, whose month was ever May,
“ Pity but he were a king." Spy'd a blossom passing fair,
If he be addict to vice, Playing in the wanton air.
Quickly him they will entice; Through the velvet leaves the wind,
If to women he be bent, All unseen, 'gan passage find;
They have him at commandement; That the lover, sick to death,
But if fortune once do frown, Wish'd himself the heaven's breath :
Theu farewel his great renowo : “ Air,” quoth he,“ thy cheeks may blow;
They that fawn'd on him before, Air, would I might triumph so !
Use his company no more. But, alas! my hand hath sworn
He that is thy friend indeed, Ne'er 10 pluck thee from thy thorn :
He will help thee in thy need;