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My love is ftrength'ned, tho' more weak in feeming;
I love not lefs, tho' lefs the fhow appear:
That love is merchandiz'd, whose rich esteeming
The owner's tongue doth publish every where.
Our love was new, and then but in the spring,
When I was wont to greet it in my lays;
As Philomel in fummer's front doth fing,
And stops his pipe in growth of riper days.
Not that the fummer is lefs pleasant now,
Than when her mournful hymns did hush the
But that wild mufick burdens every bough,
And sweets grown common, lofe their dear delight.
Therefore like her I fometime hold my tongue,
Because I would not dull you with my fong.
Alack! what poverty my mufe brings forth !
That having fuch a scope to fhow her pride,
The argument all bare, is of more worth,
Than when it hath my added praife befide.
Oh! blame me not, if I no more can write!
Look in your glafs, and there appears a face,
That overgoes my blunt invention quite,
Dulling my lines, and doing me difgrace.
Were it not finful then, ftriving to mend,
To marr the fubject that before was well?
For to no other pafs my verfes tend,
Than of your graces, and your gifts to tell;
And more, much more, than in my verfe can fit,
Your own glass shows you, when you look in it.
A Lover's Excufe for his long Abfence.
Oh! never fay that I was falfe of heart,
Tho' abfence feem'd my flame to qualify;
As eafy might I from myfelf depart,
As from my foul which in my breast doth lie.
That is my home of love; if I have rang'd,
Like him that travels, I return again
Juft to the time, not with the time exchang'd;
So that myfelf bring water for my ftain.
Never believe, tho' in my nature reign'd
All frailties, that befiege all kinds of blood,
That it could fo prepofteroufly be ftain'd,
To leave for nothing all thy fum of good:
For nothing this wide univerfe I call,
Save thou, my rofe, in it thou art my all.
Alas! 'tis true, I have gone here and there;
And made myself a motly to thy view;
Gor'd mine own thoughts, fold cheap what is most
Made old offences of affections new.
Most true it is, that I have look'd on truth
Afkance and ftrangely: but by all above,
These blenches gave my heart another youth,
And worft affays prov'd thee my best of love.
Now all is done, have what fhall have no end,
Mine appetite I never more will grind
On newer proof, to try an older friend,
A god in love, to whom I am confin'd.
Then give me welcome, next my heaven the beft,
Even to thy pure and moft most loving breast,
with fortune chide
The guilty goddess of my harmlefs deeds,
That did not better for my life provide,
Than publick means which publick manners breeds.
Thence comes it, that my name receives a brand,
And almoft thence my nature is fubdu'd
To what it works in, like the dyer's hand.
Pity me then, and wish I were renew'd;
Whilft like a willing patient I will drink
Potions of eyfel 'gainft my ftrong infection,
No bitterness, that I will bitter think,
Nor double penance to correct correction.
Pity me then, dear friend, and I affure ye,
E'en that your pity is enough to cure me.
Your love and pity doth th' impreffion fill,
Which vulgar fcandal ftamp'd upon my brow;
For what care I who calls me well or ill,
you o'er-fkreen my bad, my good allow ?
You are my all, the world and I must strive,
To know my fhames and praises from your tongue;
None else to me, nor I to none alive,
That my fteel'd fenfe or changes right or wrong.
In fo profound abyfme I throw all care
Of others voices, that my adder's fenfe
To critick and to flatterer ftopped are:
Mark how with my neglect I do difpenfe.
You are fo ftrongly in my purpose bred,
That all the world befides me thinks I'm dead.-
Self- Flattery of her Beauty.
Since I left you mine eye is in my mind,
And that which governs me to go about,
Doth part his function, and is partly blind;
Seems feeing, but effectually is out.
For it no form delivers to the heart
Of birds, or flower, or fhape, which it doth lack;
Of his quick objects hath the mind no part,
Nor his own vifion holds what it doth catch:
For if it fee the rud'ft or gentleft fight,
The moft fweet favour or deformedst creature,
The mountain or the fea, the day or night,
The crow or dove, it fhapes them to your feature :
Incapable of more, replete with you,
My moft true mind thus maketh mine untrue.
Or whether doth my mind, being crown'd with
Drink up the monarch's plague, this flattery?
Or whether shall I fay mine eye faith true,
And that your love taught it this alchymy?
To make of monfters, and things indigeft,
Such cherubims as your fweet felf refemble;
Creating every bad a perfect best,
As faft as objects to his beams affemble?
Oh! 'tis the first, 'tis flatt'ry in my seeing,
And my great mind most kindly drinks it up;
Mine eye well knows what with his guft is 'greeing,
And to his palate doth prepare the cup.
If it be poifon'd, 'tis the leffer fin,
That mine eye loves it, and doth firft begin.
Thofe lines, that I before have writ, do lye, E'en those that faid I could not love you dearer:
Yet then my judgment knew no reason why,
My moft full flame fhould afterwards burn clearér.
But reck'ning time, whose million accidents
Creep in 'twixt vows, and change decrees of kings,
Can facred beauty, blunt the sharp'st intents,
Divert ftrong minds to th' courfe of alt'ring things
Alas! why fearing of time's tyranny,
Might I not then fay, now I love you best,
When I was certain o'er incertainty,
Crowning the prefent, doubting of the reft?
Love is a babe, then might I not fay fo,
To give full growth to that which ftill doth grow?
A Trial of Love's Conftancy.
Accufe me thus; that I have fcanted all,
Wherein I fhould your great deferts repay,
Forgot upon your deareft love to call,
Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day;
That I have frequent been with unknown minds,
And given to time your own dear purchas'd right;
That I have hoifted fails to all the winds,
Which should tranfport me fartheft from your fight.
Book both my wilfulness and error down,
And on juft proof furmife, accumulate;
Bring me within the level of your frown,
But fhoot not at me in your wakened hate:
Since my appeal fays, I did ftrive to prove
The conftancy and virtue of your love.
Like as you make your appetites more keen,
With eager compounds we our palate urge;
As to prevent our maladies unfeen,
We ficken, to fhun sickness, when we purge: