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As faft as thou fhalt wane, fo faft thou grow'st
In one of thine, from that which thou departeft; 1
And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow'ft,
Thou may'ft call thine, when thou from youth con-
Herein lives wifdom, beauty, and increafe; [verteft.
Without this, folly, age, and cold decay
If all were minded fo, the times fhould ceafe, 16 I
And threefcore years would make the world away,
Let those whom nature hath not made for ftore,
Harfh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish:
Look whom fhe best endow'd, fhe gave the more;
Which bounteous gift thou fhould'ft in bounty cherish:
She carv'd thee for her feal, and meant thereby
Thou should'st print more, nor let that
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 paft prime,
And fable curls are filver'd o'er with white;
When lofty trees I fee barren of leaves,
Which erft from heat did canopy the herd, eqs !
And fummer's green all girded up in fheaves, w LIA
Borne on the bier, with white and briftly beard;oW
Then of thy beauty do I queftion make,
That thou among the waftes of time muft
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forfake, no!
And die as fast as they fee others grow;
And nothing 'gainst time's fcithe can make defence,
Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence,
When my love fwears that fhe is made of truth,
I do believe her (tho' I know fhe lyes)~~
That he might think me fome untutor❜d youth, ¿Å
Unfkilful in the world's falfe forgeries to sto mi
Thus vainly thinking, that the thinks me young, A
Altho' I know my years be past the best ; uodT
I fmiling, credit her falfe fpeaking tongue,H
Out-facing faults in love, with love's ill refticodu"??
But wherefore fays my love, that she is young??I
And wherefore fay not I, that I am old Banyant brA
O love's beft habit is a smoothing tongue, o
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 fmother'd be.
Two loves I have, of comfort and despair,
That like two fpirits do fuggeft me ftill:
My better angel is a man (right fair)
My worfer fpirit a woman (colour'd ill.)
To win me foon to hell, my female evil
Tempteth my better angel from my fide,
And would corrupt my faint to be a devil,
Wooing his purity with her fair pride.
And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend,
Sufpect 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 fhall not know, but live in doubt, 'Till my bad angel fire my good one out.
Did not the heavenly rhetorick of thine eye,
'Gainst whom the world could not hold argument, ob 1
Perfuade my. heart to this falfe perjury,
Vows for thee broke, deferve not punishment.
A woman I forfwore: but I will prove,
Thou being a goddess, I forfwore not thee:
My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love,
Thy grace being gain'd, cures all difgrace in me.
My vow was breath, and breath a vapour is;
Then thou, fair fun, that on this earth doth shine,
Exhale this vapour vow, in thee it is:
If broken then, it is no fault of mine.
If by me broke, what fool is not fo wife
To break an oath, to win a paradife?
So is it not with me, as with that muse,
Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse,
Who heaven itfelf for ornament doth ufe,
fair with his fair doth rehearse :
Making a compliment of proud compare
With fun and moon, with earth and fea's rich gems;
With April's firft-born flowers, and all things rare,
That heaven's air, in this huge rondure hems.
O! let me, true in love, but truly write,
And then believe me, my love is as fair
As any mother's child, tho' not fo bright
As thofe gold candles fix'd in heaven's air.
Let them fay more, that like of hearfay well;
I will not praife, that purpose not to fell.
As an unperfect actor on the ftage,
Who with his fear is put befides his part;
Or fome fierce thing replete with too much rage, Whose strength abundant weakens his own heart: So I, for fear of truft, forgot to say
The perfect ceremony of love's right,
And in mine own love's ftrength feem to decay,
O'ercharg'd with burden of mine own love's might.
O! let my looks be then the eloquence,
And dumb prefagers of my speaking breast;
Who plead for love, and look for recompence,
More than that tongue that more hath more exprest.
O learn to read what filent love hath writ!
To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.
My glass fhall not perfuade me I am old,
So long as youth and thou art of one date;
But when in thee time's forrows I behold,
Then look I death my days fhould expiate.
For all that beauty, that doth cover thee,
Is but the feemly raiment of my heart,
Which in thy breaft doth live, as thine in me,
How can I then be elder than thou art?
O therefore, love! be of thyfelf fo wary,
As I not for myself, but for thee, will,
Bearing thy heart, which I will keep fo chary,
As tender nurse her babe from faring ill.
Prefume not on thy heart, when mine is flain;
Thou gav'ft me thine, not to give back again.
Sweet Cytherea, fitting by a brook,
With young Adonis, lovely fresh and green,
Did court the lad with many a lovely look,
Such looks as none could look but beauty's queen.
She told him ftories, to delight his ears;
She fhow'd him favours, to allure his eye;
To win his heart, fhe touch't him here and there;
Touches fo foft, ftill conquer chastity.
But whether unripe years did want conceit,
Or the refus'd to take her figur'd proffer,
The tender nibbler wou'd not touch the bait,
But fmile and jeft at every gentle offer.
Then fell fhe on her back, fair queen, and toward,
He rose and ran away; ah! fool too froward.
If love make me forfworn, how fhall I fwear to love? O! never faith cou'd hold, if not to beauty vow'd : Tho' to myself forfworn, to thee I'll conftant prove. Thofe thoughts to me like oaks, to thee like ofiers bow'd Study his byas leaves, and makes his book thine eyes, Where all thofe pleasures live,that art can comprehend. If knowledge be the mark, to know thee fhall fuffice: Well learned is that tongue, that well can thee commend!
All ignorant that foul, that fees thee without wonder, Which is to me fome praife, that I thy parts admire : Thine eye fove's lightning feems, thy voice, his dreadful thunder,
Which (not to anger bent) is mufick and sweet fire. Celeftial as thou art, O! do not love that wrong! To fing heaven's praise with such an earthly tongue.
A woman's face, with nature's own hand painted, Haft thou the mafter, miftrefs of my paffion;