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Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine,
Even as when first I hallow'd thy fair name. To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
So that eternal love in love's fresh case For as you were when first your eye 1 ey'i,
Weighs not the dust and injury of age, Such seems your beauty still. Three winters' cold Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place, Have from the forests shook three summers' pride; But makes antiquity for aye his page; Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd
Finding the first conceit of love there bred, In process of the seasons bave I seen ;
Where time and outward form would show it Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd,
O, never say that I was false of heart,
As easy might I from myself depart,
Like him that travels, I return again;
Just to the time, not with the time exchang d, Let not my love be call'd idolatry,
So that myself bring water for my stain. Nor my beloved as an idol show,
Never believe, though in my nature reign'd Since all alike my songs and praises be,
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, To one, of one, still such, and ever so.
That it could so preposterously be stain'd, Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind,
To leave for nothing all thy sum of good; Still constant in a wondrous excellence;
For nothing this wide universe I call,
Save thou, my rose; in it thou art my all.
Alas, 't is true, I have gone here and there,
And made myself a motley to the view, Three themes in one, which wondrous scope affords. Gordo mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most Fair, kind, and true, have often liv'd alone,
dear, Which three, till now, never kept seat in one.
Made old offences of affections new.
Most true it is, that I hare lookd on truth су.
Askance and strangely; but, by all above, When in the chronicle of wasted time
These blenches gave my heart another youth, I see descriptions of the fairest wights,
And worse essays prov'd thee my best of love. And beauty making beautiful old rhyme,
Now all is done, have what shall have no end : In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights,
Mine appetite I never more will grind Tben in the blazon of sweet beauty's best,
On newer proof, to try an older friend, Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,
A God in love, to whom I am confin'd. I see their antique pen would have express d
Then give me welcome, next my heaven the best, Even such a heauty as you master now.
Even to thy pure and most most loving breast. So all their praises are but prophecies
CXI. of this our time, all you prefiguring; And, for they look d but with divining eyes,
O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide,
For we, which now behold these present days, That did not better for my life provide,
Thence comes it that my name receives a brand,
And almost thence my nature is subdued Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul
To what it works in, like the dyer's hand : Of the wide world dreaming on things to come, Pity me then, and wish I were renew'd; Can yet the lease of my true love control,
Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink Suppos d as forfeit to a confin'd doom.
Potions of eysell,e 'gainst my strong infection; The mortal moon hath her eclipse endur'd,
No bitterness that I will bitter think, And the sad augurs mock their own presage ;
Nor double penance, to correct correction. Incertainties now crown themselves assurd,
Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye,
Even that your pity is enough to cure me.
For what care I who calls me well or ill,
& Motley was the dress of the domestic fool, or jester ; and What's in the brain that ink may character,
thus the buffoon himself came to be called a motley.
h Gor'd-wounded. Which hath not figurd to thee my true spirit !
• Blenches-deviations. What 's new to speak, what now to register,
d Have. This is the word of the old copy. The reading of That may express my love, or thy dear merit?
all modern editions isNothing, sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine,
" Now all is done, save what shall have no end." I must each day say o'er the very same;
“Now all is done" clearly applies to the blenches, the pork9 essays ; but the poet the adds, ' have thou what shall have uo
end," -my constant affection, my undivided friendship. • Subscribes-submits-acknowledges as a superior.
You are niy all-the-world, and I must strive
If this be error, and upon me prov'd,
I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd.
Accuse me thus; that I have scanted all
Wherein I should your great deserts repay; To critic and to flatterer stopped are.
Forgot upon your dearest love to call, Mark how with my neglect I do dispense
Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day; You are so strongly in my purpose bred,
That I have frequent been with unknown minds, That all the world besides metlinks are dead. And given to time your own dear-purchasd right;
That I have hoisted sail to all the winds
Which should transport me farthest from your sight Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind;
Book both my wilfulness and errors down, And that which governs me to go about
And on just proof surmise accumulate, Doth part his function, and is partly blind,
Bring me within the level of your frown, Seems seeing, but effectually is out;
But shoot not at me in your waken'u hate :
Since my appeal says, I did strive to prove
Like as, to make our appetites more keen,
With eager" compounds we our palate urge; The mountain or the sea, the day or night,
As, to prevent our maladies unseen, The crow, or dove, it shapes them to your feature.
We sicken to shun sickness, when we purge ; Incapable of more, replete with you,
Even so, being full of your ne'er-cloying sweetness, My most true mind thus maketh mine untrue. C To bitter sauces did I frame my feeding,
And, sick of welfare, found a kind of meetness
To be diseas'd, ere that there was true needing. Or whether doth my mind, being crown'd with you,
Thus policy in love, to anticipate Drink up the monarch's plague, tbis flattery,
The ills that were not, grew 10 faults assured, Or whether shall I say mive eye saith true,
And brought to medicine a healthful state, And that your love taught it this alchymy,
Which, rank of goodness, would by ill be curel. To make of monsters and things indigest
But thence I learn, and find the lesson true,
Drugs poison him that so fell sick of you.
What potions have I drunk of Syren tears,
Distill d from limbecs foul as hell within, Mine eye well knows what with bis gust is 'greeing, Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears, And to his palate doth prepare the cup:
Still losing when I saw myself to win! If it be poison'd, 't is the lesser sin
What wretched errors hath my heart committed, That mine eye loves it, and doth first begin.
Whilst it hath thought itself so blessed never!
In the distraction of this madding ferer!
O benefit of ill! now I find true
And ruin'd love, when it is built anew,
Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater. But reckoning time, whose million d accidents
So I return rebuk'd to my content, Creep in 'twixt vows, and change decrees of kings, Aud gain by ill thrice more than I have spent. Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp'st intents, Divert strong minds to the course of altering things; Alas! why, fearing of Time's tyranny,
That you were once unkind, befriends me now, Might I not then say, "Now I love you best," And for that serrow, which I then did feel, When I was certain o'er incertainty,
Needs must I under my transgression bow, Crowning the present doubting of the rest ?
Unless my nerves were brass or hammer'd steel. Love is a babe ; then might I not say so,
For if you were by my unkindness shaken, To give full growth to that which still doth grow? As I by yours, you have pass d a hell of time;
And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken
To weigh how once I suffer'd in your crime. Let me not to the marriage of true minds
O that our night of woe might have remember d. Admit impediments. Love is not love
My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits, Which alters when it alteration finds,
And soon to you, as you to me, then tenderd Or bends with the remover to remove :
The humble salve which wounded bosoms fits! O no; it is an ever-fixed mark,
But that your trespass now becomes a fee; That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;
Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me. It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth 's unknown, although his height be taken. Love 's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks *T is better to be vile than vile esteem d, Within his bending sickle's compass come;.
When not to be receives reproach of being, Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemd But bears it out even to the edye of doom.
Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing. • Latch signifies to lay hold of. b Favour-countenance.
a Eager-sour; the French aigre. € Urtrue is here used as a substantive.
Fitted-subjected to fits. e Remember'd-reminied.
For why should others' false adulterate eyes
Which is not mix'd with seconds a knows no art, Give salutation to my sportive blood ?
But mutual render, only me for thee. Or on my frailties why are frailer spies,
Hence, thou suborn d informer! a true soul, Which in their wills count bad what I think good ? When most impeachd, stands least in thy control. No.-I am that I am ; and they that level
Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st
If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack,
As thou goest onwards, still will pluck thee back, Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain
She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill Full character'd with lasting memory,
May time disgrace, and wretched minutes kill. Which shall above that idle rank remain,
Yet fear her, thou minion of her pleasure; Beyond all date, even to eternity :
She may detain, but not still keep her treasure : Or at the least so long as brain and heart
Her audit, though delay'd, answer'd must be,
And her quietus is to render thee.
In the old age black was not counted fair,
Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name; Therefore to give them from me was I bold,
But now is black beauty's successive heir, To trust those tables that receive thee more :
And beauty slander'd with a bastard shame : To keep an adjunct to remember thee,
For since each hand hath prit on nature's power, Were to import forgetfulness in me.
Fairing the foul with art's false borrow'd face,
Sweet beanty hath no name, no holy hour,
But is profan'd, if not lives in disgrace.
Her eyes so suited ; and they mourners seem
At such, who, not born fair, no beauty lack, They are but dressings of a former sight.
Slandering creation with a false esteem: Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire
Yet so they mourn, becoming of their woe, What thou dost foist upon us that is old;
That every tongue says, beauty should look so. And rather inake them born to our desire, Than think that we before have heard them told. Thy registers and thee I both defy,
How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st, Not wondering at the present nor the past;
Upou that blessed wood whose motion sounds For thy records and what we see do lie,
With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway'st Made more or less by thy continual haste :
The wiry concord that mine ear confounds, This I do vow, and this shall ever be,
Do I envy those jacks,that nimble leap I wili be true, despite thy scythe and thee;
To kiss the tender inward of thy hand,
Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest real, cxxiv.
At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand ! If my dear love were but the child of state,
To be so tickled, they would chinge their state It might for Fortune's bastard be unfather d,
And situation with those dancing chips, As suhject to Time's love, or to Time's hate,
O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait, Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gather d. Making dead wood more bless d than living lips. No, it was builded far from accident;
Since saucy jacks so happy are in this, It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls
Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.
The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
Is perjur'd, murderous, bloody, full of blame,
Enjoyd no sooner, but despised straight;
Past reason hated, as a swallow'd bait,
On purpose laid to make the taker mad : Were it aught to me I bore the canopy,
Mac in pursuit, and in possession so; With my extern the outward honouring,
Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme; Or laid great bases for eternity,
A bliss in proof,—and prov'd, a very woe; Which prove more short than waste or ruining ? Before, a joy propos'd; behind, a dream : Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour
All this the world well knows; yet none knows well Lose all, and more, by paying too much rent
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell. For compound sweet foregoing simple savour, Pitiful thrivers, in their gazing spent? No;- let me be obsey 'ous in thy heart,
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; And take thou my oblation, poor but free,
Coral is far more red than her lips' red • a Berel— bent in an angle.
* Secmds. The poet's friend has his chier oblation: no seconds, • Malone says, " That poor retention is the table-book given or inferior persons, are mixed up with his tribute of affectio... to him by his friend, incapable of retaining, or rather of con- ! b Jacks --the small hammers, moved by the keys, which taining, so much as the tablet
strike the strings of a virginal.
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; And sue a friend, came debtor for my sake;
Him bave I lost; thou hast both bim and me; But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
He pays the whole, and yet am I not free. And in some perfumes is there more delight
cxxxv. Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak,—yet well I know
Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy will, That music bath a far more pleasing sound;
And will to boot, and will in over-plus; I grant I never saw a goddess go,
More than enough am I that vex thee still, My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground;
To thy sweet will making addition thus. And yet, by Heaven, I think my love as rare
Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious, As any she belied with false compare.
Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine!
Shall will in others seem right gracious, сxxxІ. .
And in my will no fair acceptance shine ?
The sea, all water, yet receives rain still,
One will of mine, to make thy large will more.
Let no unkind, no fair beseechers kill; Thy face hath not the power to make love groan
Think all but one, and me in that one Will.
If thy soul check thee that I come so near,
Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy Will, One on another's neck, do witness bear
And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there; Thy black is fairest in my judgment's place.
Thus far for love, my love-suit, sweet, fulfil. In nothing art thou black, save in thy deeds, Will will fulfil the treasure of thy love, And thence this slander, as I think, proceed Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one,
lu things of great receipt with ease we prove;
Among a number one is reckond none. Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me,
Then in the number let me pass untold, Knowing thy heart, torment me with disdain ;
Though in thy stores' account I one must be; Have put on black, and loving mourners be,
For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain.
That nothing me, a something sweet to thee : And truly not the morning sun of heaven
Make but my name thy love, and love that still, Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east,
And then thou lov'st me,- for my name is Will. Nor that full star that ushers in the even
CXXXVII. Doth half that glory to the sober west, As those two mourning eyes become thy face : Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eres, 0, let it then as well beseem thy heart
That they behold, and see not what they see? To mourn for me, since mourning doth thee grace, They know what beauty is, see where it lier And suit thy pity like in every part.
Yet what the best is, take the worst to be.
If eyes, corrupt by over-partial looks,
Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged hooks,
Whereto the judgment of my heart is tied ! Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan Why should my heart think that a several plot, For that deep wound it gives my friend and me! Which my beart knows the wide world's common place! Is 't not enough to torture me alone,
Or mine eyes, seeing this, say this is not, But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be ? To put fair truth upon so foul a face ! Me from myself th y cruel eye hath taken,
In things right true my heart and eyes have err d, And my next self thou harder bast engross'd;
And to this false plague are they now transferr'i. Or bim, myself, and thee, I am forsaken; A torment thrice three-fold thus to be cross d.
cXXXVIII. Prison my heart in thy steel bosom's ward,
When my love swears that she is made of truth, But then my friend's heart let my poor heart bail ; I do believe her, though I know she lies; Who e'er keeps me, let my heart be his guard; That she might think me some untutor d youth, Thou canst not then use rigour in my gaol :
Unlearned in the world's false subtilties. And yet thou wilt; for I, being pent in thee,
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although she knows my days are past the best,
On both sides thus is simple truth supprest.
But wherefore says she not she is unjust? And I myself am mortgag'd to thy will;
And wherefore say not I that I am old ? Myself I'll forfeit, so that other mine
0, love's best habit is in seeming trust, Thou wilt restore, to be iny comfort still:
And age in love loves not to have years told : But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free,
Therefore I lie with her, and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be
0, call not me to justify the wrong Thou usurer, that putt'st forth all to use,
That thy unkindness lays upon my heart;
Wound me not with thine eye, but with thy tongue : * Statute--security, or obligation.
Use power with power, and slay me not by art.
Tell me thou lov'st elsewhere ; but in my sight,
The worser spirit a woman, colour'd ill.
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil, Kill me outright with looks, and rid my pain. Wooing his purity with her foul pride.
And whether that my angel be turn d fiend,
Suspect I may, yet not directly tell :
But being both from me, both to each friend,
Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubi, The manner of my pity-wanting pain.
Till my bad angel fire my good one out.
Those lips that Love's own hand did make
To me that languish'd for her sake: And in my madness might speak ill of thee :
But when she saw my woeful state, Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad,
Straight in ber heart did mercy come, Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be.
Chiding that tongue, that ever sweet That I may not be so, nor thou belied,
Was used in giving gentle doom ; Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go And taught it thus anew to greet: wide.
“I hate,” she alter'd with an end,
That follow'd it as gentle day In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes,
Doth follow night, who like a fiend
From heaven to hell is flown away.
I hate" from hate away she threw,
And sav'd my life, saying—“not you."
Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,
Fool'd by those rebel powers that thee array,
Why dost thou pive within, and suffer dearthi
, Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee,
Pair.ting thy outward walls so costly gay? Who leaves unsway'd the likeness of a man,
Why so large cost, having so short a lease, Thy proud heart's slave and vassal wretch to be.
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend ?
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,
Eat up thy charge? Is this thy body's end ?
Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss,
And let that pine to aggravate thy store ;
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross; Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving :
Within be fed, without be rich no more : O, but with mine compare thou thine own state,
So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men, And thou shalt find it merits not reproviug;
And, Death once dead, there's no more dying then, Or, if it do, not from those lips of thine, That have profan'd their scarlet ornaments, And seal'd false bonds of love as oft as mine;
My love is as a fever, longing still Robb'd others' beds' revenues of their rents.
For that which longer nurseth the disease : Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lov'st those
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee :
The uncertain sickly appetite to please. Root pity in thy heart, that, when it grows,
My reason, the physician to my love, Thy pity may deserve to pitied be.
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept, If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide,
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve By self-example mayst thou be denied !
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now reason is past care,
And frantic mad with evermore unrest;
My thoughts and my discourse as mad men's are, One of ber feather'd creatures broke away,
At random from the truth vainly express d ;
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.
O me! what eyes bath love put in my lead,
Which have no correspondence with true sight! So runn’st thou after that which flies from thee,
Or, if they have, where is my judgment fled, Whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind ;
That censures b falsely what they see aright? But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me,
If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote,
What means the world to say it is not so ?
Suggesi-tempt. b Censuros--judges est malea.