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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,

Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.
Ah! yet doth beauty, like a dial hand,
Steal from his figure, and no pace perceiv'd;

O, never say that I was false of heart,
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand, Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify!
Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceiv'd.

As easy might I from myself depart,
For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred, As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie:
Ere you were born, was beauty's summer dead. That is my home of love: if I have rangd,

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,
Therefore my verse, to constancy confin'd,

Save thou, my rose; in it thou art my all.
One thing expressing, leaves out difference.
Fair, kind, and true, is all my argument,
Fair, kind, and true, varying to other words ;

Alas, 't is true, I have gone here and there,
And in this change is my invention spent,

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,
They had not skill enough your worth to sing : The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds,

For we, which now behold these present days, That did not better for my life provide,
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise. Than public means, which public manners breeds.

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,
And peace proclaims olives of endless age.

Even that your pity is enough to cure me.
Now with the drops of this most balmy time
My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes,"
Since spite of him I 'll live in this poor rhyme, Your love and pity doth the impression fill
While he insults o‘er dull and speechless tribes. Which vulgar scandal stamp'd upon my brow;
And thou in this shalt find thy monument,

For what care I who calls me well or ill,
When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent. So you o'ergreen my bad, my good allow ?!

& 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.


i Allore-approve.






You are niy all-the-world, and I must strive

If this be error, and upon me prov'd,
To know my shames and praises from your tongue;

I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd.
None else to me, nor I to none alive,
That my steeld sense or changes, right or wrong.
In so profound abysm I throw all care

Accuse me thus; that I have scanted all
Of other's voices, that my ardder's sense

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 :
For it no form delivers to the heart

Since my appeal says, I did strive to prove
Of bird, of flower, or shape, which it doth latch ;* The constancy and virtue of your love.
Of his quick objects hath the mind no part,

Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch;
For if it see the rud'st or gentlest sight,

Like as, to make our appetites more keen,
The most sweet favour, or deformed 'st creature,

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,
Such cherubins as your sweet self resemble,

Drugs poison him that so fell sick of you.
Creating every bad a perfect best,
As fast as objects to his beams assemble?
O, 't is the first; 't is flattery in my seeing,

What potions have I drunk of Syren tears,
And my great mind most kingly drinks it up:

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!
How have mine eyes out of their spheres been fitted,

In the distraction of this madding ferer!
Those lines that I before have writ, do lie;

O benefit of ill! now I find true
Even those that said I could not love you dearer; That better is by evil still made better;
Yet then my judginent knew no reason why

And ruin'd love, when it is built anew,
My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer.

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

At my abuses, reckon up their own :
I may be straight, though they themselves be bevel ; O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power
By their rank thoughts my deeds must not be shown; Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his sickle, hour;
Unless this general evil they maintain,-

Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st
All men are bad, and in their badness reign. Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow'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,
Have faculty hy nature to subsist ;

And her quietus is to render thee.
Till each to raz'd oblivion yield his part
Of thee, thy record never can be miss'd.
That poor retention could not so much hold,

In the old age black was not counted fair,
Nor need I tallies thy dear love to score;

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,
сххни. .

But is profan'd, if not lives in disgrace.
No! Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change : Therefore my mistress' eyes are raven black,
Thy pyramids built up with newer might

Her eyes so suited ; and they mourners seem
To me are nothing novel, nothing strange;

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.
Under the blow of thralled discontent,

Whereto the inviting time our fashion calls :
It fears not policy, that heretic,

The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
Which works on leases of short-number'd hours, Is lust in action; and till action, lust
But all alone stands hugely politic,

Is perjur'd, murderous, bloody, full of blame,
That it nor grows with heat, nor drowns with showers. Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust;
To this I witness call the fools of time,

Enjoyd no sooner, but despised straight;
Which die for goodness, who have liv'd for crime. Past reason hunted ; and no sooner had,

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.

the brain."


If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; And sue a friend, came debtor for my sake;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. So him I lose through my unkind abuse.
I have seen roses damask’d, red and white,

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 ?
Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art,

The sea, all water, yet receives rain still,
As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel ; And in abundance addeth to his store;
For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart So thou, being rich in will, add to thy will
Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel.

One will of mine, to make thy large will more.
Yet, in good faith, some say that thee behold,

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.
To say they err, I dare not be so bold,

Although I swear it to myself alone.
And, to be sure that is not false I swear,

If thy soul check thee that I come so near,
A thousand groans, but thinking on thy face,

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.
Then will I swear beauty herself is black,

If eyes, corrupt by over-partial looks,
And all they foul that thy complexion lack. Be anchor'd in the bay where all men ride,

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,
Perforce am thine, and all that is in me.

Although she knows my days are past the best,
Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue;

On both sides thus is simple truth supprest.
So now I have confess'd that he is thine,

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,
For thou art covetous, and he is kind !

And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be
He learn'd but, surety-like, to write for me,
Under that bond that him as fast doth bind.

The statute of thy beanty thou wilt take,

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,
Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside.
What need'st thou wound with cunning, wben thy might Two loves I have of comfort and despair,
Is more than my o'erpress'd defence can 'bide? Which like two spirits do suggest* me still :
Let me excuse thee : ah! my love well knows The better angel is a man right fair,
Her pretty looks have been mine enemies ;

The worser spirit a woman, colour'd ill.
And therefore from my face she turns my foes, To win me soon to hell, my female evil
That they elsewhere might dart their injuries : Tempteth my better angel from my side,
Yet do not so; but since I am near slain,

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 :
Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press

But being both from me, both to each friend,
My tongue tied patience with too much disdain; I guess one angel in another's heli.
Lest sorrow lend me words, and words express

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.
If I might teach thee wit, better it were,
Though not to love, yet, love, to tell me so;
(As testy sick men, when their deaths be near,

Those lips that Love's own hand did make
No news but health from their physicians know;) Breath d forth the sound that said, “ I hate,"
For, if I should despair, I should grow mad,

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.
For they in thee a thousand errors note;

I hate" from hate away she threw,
But 't is my heart that loves what they despise,
Who in despite of view is pleas'd to dote.

And sav'd my life, saying—“not you."
Nor are mine ears with thy tougue's tune delighted;

Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone,
Nor taste nor smell, desire to be invited

Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,

Fool'd by those rebel powers that thee array,
To any sensual feast with thee alone :
But my five wits, nor any five senses can

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,
Only my plague thus far I count my gain,
That she that makes me sin, awards me pain.

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 ;
Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate,

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;
Lo, as a careful Loisewife runs to catch

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 ;
Sets down her babe, and makes all swift despatch For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee briglit,
In pursuit of the thing she would have stay;

Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.
Whilst her neglected child holds her in chace,
Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent
To follow that which flies before her face,

O me! what eyes bath love put in my lead,
Not prizing her poor infant's discontent;

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,
And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind :

What means the world to say it is not so ?
So will I pray that thou mayst have thy Will,
If thou tum back, and my loud crying still.

Suggesi-tempt. b Censuros--judges est malea.



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