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Yet mortal looks adore his beauty till,
*,༑ ་ ༩
Attending on his golden pilgrimage.
But when from high-most pitch, with weary care,
Like feeble age he reeleth from the day;
The eyes ('fore duteous) now converted are
From his low-track, and look another way.
So thou, thyself out-going in thy noon,
Unlook'd on dieft, unless thou get a son.
Magazine of Beauty.
Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
Upon thyself thy beauty's legacy?
Nature's bequest gives nothing, but doth lend,
And being frank, the lends to those are free,
Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse
The bounteous largess given thee to give ?
Profitless usurer, why dost thou use
So great a sum of fums, yet can'st not live?
For having traffick with thyself alone,...
Thou of thyself thy sweet self doft deceive ;
Then how when nature calls thee to be gone,
What acceptable audit can'st thou leave?
, Thy unus'd beauty must be tomb'd with thee, Which used lives th' executor to be.
Those hours, that with gentle work did frame
The lovely gaze, where every eye doth dwell,
Will play the tyrants to the very fame,
And that unfair, which fairly doth excel.
For never-refting time leads summer on
To hideous winter, and confounds him there;
Sap check'd with frost, and lufty leaves quite gone;
Beauty o'er-snow'd, and þarrenness every where.
Then were not summer's distillation loft
A liquid prisoner, pent in walls of glass,
Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft,
Nor it nor no remembrance what it was.
But flowers distillid, tho’they with winter meet,
Lose but their show, their substance still lives sweet,
Then let not winter's ragged hand deface
In thee thy summer, ere thou be distillid,
Make sweet fome vial, treasure thou some place
With beauty's treasure, e'er it be self-kill'd:
That use is not forbidden usury,
Which happies those that pay the willing loan;
That's for thyself to breed another thee, 1, tin,
Or ten times happier, be it ten for one:
Ten times thyself were happier than thou art,
If ten of thine ten times refigur'd thee;
Then what could death do, if thou should'st depart,
Leaving thee living in posterity?
Be not self-will'd, for thou art much too fair
To be death’s conqueft, and make worms thine heir.
An Invitation to Marriage.
Musick to hear, why hear'st thou musick fadly?
Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy:
Why lov'st thou that, which thou receiv'st not gladly?
Or elle receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy?
If the true concord of well-tuned founds,
By unions married do offend thy ear,
They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds
In fingleness the parts that thou should'st bear. i
Mark how one string, sweet husband to another,
Strikes each in each by mutual ordering;
Resembling fire and child, and happy mother,
Who all in one, one pleasing note do fing:
Whose speechless song, being many, seeming one,
Sings this to thee, thou single wilt prove none.
Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye,
That thou consum'st thyself in single life?
Ah! if thou issue-less falt hap to die,
The world will wail thee like a makeless wife:
The world will be thy widow, and still weep,
That thou no form of thee hast left behind ;.
When every private widow well may keep,
By childrens eyes, her husband's shape in mind :
Look what an unthrift in the world doth spend,
Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it :
But beauty's waste hath in the world an end,
And kept unus'd, the us’rer so destroys it.
No love towards others in that bosom fits,
That on himself such murd'rous shame commits.
For shame! deny, that thou bear'st love to any,
Who for thyself art so unprovident ;
Grant, if thou wilt, thou art belov’d of many,
But that thou none lov'st, is most evident:
For thou art fo pofless'd with murd'rous haté,
That’gainst thyself thou stick'st not to conspire,
Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate,
Which to repair, should be thy chief desire.
O change thy thought, that I may change my mind!
Shall hate be fairer lodg'd than gentle love?
Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind,
Or to thyself, at least, kind-hearted prove :
Make thee another self, for love of me,
That beauty still may live in thine or thee,
As faft as thou shalt wane, fo faft thou grow'st
In one of thine, from that which thou departest;
And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow'st,
Thou may'st call thine, when thou from youth con,
Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase; (verteft.
Without this, folly, age, and cold decay';
If all were mindedíso, the times should ceafe,' w in 'I
And threescore years would make the world away.
Let those whom nature hath not made for store,
Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish:
Look whom she best endow'd, she gave the more ;
Which bounteous gift thou should'nt in bounty cherish:
She carv'd thee for her seal, and meant thereby
Thou should'st print more, nor let that copy die.
When I do count the clock, that tells the time, I
And see the brave day funk in hideous night;
When I behold the violet past prime,
And sable curls are silver'd o'er with white;
When lofty trees I fee barren of leaves,
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd,
And summer's green all girded up in fheaves, w 1.A
Borne on the bier, with white and briftly beard go
Then of thy beauty do I question make,
WebA That thou
the wastes of time muft go,,? Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake, u? And die as fast as they see others grow;
And nothing'gainst time's scithe can make defence, Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence,
When my love swears that she is made of truth,
I do believe her (tho' I know the lyes).
That she might think me some untutor’diyouth, ? A
Unskilful in the world's false forgeries.Trio 1579 n.
Thus vainly thinking, that she thinks me youngy: A
Altho' I know my years be past the best ;
I smiling, credit her false speaking tongue, " 191911
Out-facing faults in love, with love's ill rest.c:09.77
But wherefore says my love, that she is young?!!!
And wherefore fay not I, that I am old 2 DnA
O love's best habit is a smoothing tonguey **
And age (in love) loves not to have years told.
Therefore I'll lye with love, and love with me,
Since that our faults in love thus smother'd bei
Two loves I have, of comfort and despair,
That like two spirits do suggest me ftill :
My better angel is a man (right fair)
My worser fpirit a woman colour'd ill.)
To win me soon to hell, my feinale evil
Tempteth my better angel from my side,
And would corrupt my faint to be a devll,
Wooing his purity with her fair pride.
And whether that my angel be turn’d fiend,
Suspect I may, yet not directly tell ;
For being both to me, both to each friend,
I guess one angel in another's hell.
The truth I shall not know, but live in doubt,
Till my bad angel fire my good one out. 14:57
Did not the heavenly rhetorick of thine eye, 'Gainst whom the world could not hold argument, bl