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Or, at the least, so long as brain and heart Like as, to make our appetites more keen,

Have faculty by nature to subsist; With eager compounds we our palate urge;

Till each to raz’d'oblivion yield his part As, to prevent our maladies unseen,

Of thee, thy record never can be miss'd. We sicken to shun sickness, when we purge ;

That poor retention could not so much hold, Even so, being full of your ne’er-cloying

sweetness, Therefore to give them from me was I bold,

Nor need I tallies, thy dear love to score;
To bitter sauces did I frame my feeding ;
And, sick of welfare, found a kind of meetness

To trust those tables that receive thee more To be diseas'd, ere that there was true needing.

To keep an adjunct to remember thee, Thus policy in love, to anticipate

Were to import forgetfulness in me. The ills that were not, grew to faults assurd,

CXXIII. And brought to medicine a healthful state,

Which, rank of goodness, would by ill be cur'd; No! Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change But thence I learn, and find the lesson true,

Thy pyramids, built up with ne xer might, Drugs poison him that so fell sick of you.

To me are nothing novel, nothing strange ;

They are but dressings of a former sight.

Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire
What potions have I drunk of syren tears,

What thou dost foist upon us that is old; Distili'd from limbecks foul as hell within, And rather make them born to our desire, Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears,

Than think that we before have heard the m told Still losing when I saw myself to win!

Thy registers and theė I both defy, What wretched errors hath my heart committed, Not wondering at the present nor the past ;

Whilst it hath thought itself so blessed never ! For thy records and what we see do lie,
Huw have mine eyes out of their spheres been Made more or less by thy continual haste :

This I do vow, and this shall ever be,
In the distraction of this madding fever ! I will be true, despite thy scythe and thee;
O benefit of ill! now I find true,
„That better is by evil still made better;

And ruin'd love, when it is built anew,
Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater.

If my dear love were but the child of state,
So I return rebuk'd to my content,

might for fortune's bastard be unfather'

As subject to time's love, or to time's hate, And gain by ill thrice more than I have spent.

Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers ga.

ther'd. CXX,

No, it was builded far from accident; That you were once unkind, befriends me now, It suffers not in smiling ponip, nor falls

And for that sorrow, which I then did feel, Under the blow of thralled discontent, Needs must I under my transgression bow,

Whereto the inviting time our fashion calls : Unless my nerves were brass or hammer'd steel.

It fears not policy, that heretic, For if you were by my unkindness shaken,

Which works on leases of short-number'd hours, As I by yours, you have pass'd a hell of time ; But all alone stands hugely politic, And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken

That it nor grows with heat, nor drowns with To weigh how once I suffer'd in your crime.

showers. O that our night of woe might have remember'd To this I witness call the fools of time,

My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits ; Which die for goodness, who have liv'd for crime.
And soon to you, as you to me, then tenderd
The humble salve which wounded bosoms fits !

But that your trespass now becomes a fee:
Mine ransons yours, and yours must ransom me;

Were it aught to me I bore the canopy,

With my extern the outward honouring,

Or lay'd great bases for eternity, 'Tis better to be vile, than vile esteemid,

Which prove more short than waste or ruining ? When not to be receives reproach of being;

Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour And the just pleasure lost, which is so deem'd

Lose all, and more, by paying too much rent; Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing.

For compound sweet forgoing simple savour, For why should others' false adulterate eyes

Pitiful thrivers, in their gazing spent? Give salutation to my sportive blood ?

No;-let me be obsequious in thy heart, Or on my frailties why are frailer spies,

And take thou my oblation, poor but free, Which

in their wills count bad what I think good ? Which is not mix’d with seconds, knows no art, No,-) am that I am; and they that level

But mutual render, only me for thee. At my abuses, reckon up their own :

Hence, thou suborn'd informer k a true soul, I may be straight, though they themselves be bevel; When most impeach’d, stands least in thy control By their rank thoughts my deeds must not be shewn;

CXXVI. Unless this general evil they maintain

O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power All men are bad, and in their badness reign. Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his sickle, hour;

Who hast by waning grown, and therein shew'st CXXII.

Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow'st; Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain

If nature, sovereign mistress over wrack, Full character'd with lasting memory,

As thou goest onwards, still will pluck thee back, Which shall above that idle rank remain,

She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill Beyond all date, even to eternity :

May time disgrace, and wretched minutes kiil.


Vet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure;

She may detain, but not still keep her treasure :
Her audit, though delay'd, answer'd must be, Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art,
And her quietus is to render thee.

As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel;

For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart CXXVII.

Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel.

Yet, in good faith, some say that thee behold, In the old age black was not counted fair,

Thy face hath not the power to make love groan. Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name;

To say they err, I dare not be so bold, But now is black beauty's successive heir,

Although I swear it to myself alone. And beauty slanderd with a bastard shame : And, to be sure that is not false I swear, For since each hand hath put on nature's power, A thousand groans, but thinking on thy face,

Fairing the foul with art's false-borrow'd face, One on another's neck, do witness bear, Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy hour,

Thy black is fairest in my judgment's place. But is profan'd, if not lives in disgrace.

In nothing art thou black, save in thy deeds, Therefore my mistress' eyes are raven black, And thence this slander, as I think, proceeds.

Her eyes so suited; and they mourners seem
At such, who, not born fair, no beauty lack,

Slandering creation with a false esteem:
Yet so whey mourn, becoming of their woe,

Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me,
That every tongue says, beauty should look so. Knowing thy heart, torment me with disdain ;

Have put on black, and loving mourners be,

Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain.

And truly not the morning sun of heaven
How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st, Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east,

Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds Nor that full star that ushers in the even,
With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway'st Doth half that glory to the sober west,

The wiry concord that mine ear confounds, As those two mourning eyes become thy face : Do I envy those jacks, that nimble leap

O, let it then as well beseem thy heart To kiss the tender inward of thy hand,

To mourn for me, since mourning doth thee grace, Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest reap, And suit thy pity like in every part.

At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand ! Then will I swear, beauty herself is black, To be so tickled, they would change their state And all they foul that thy complexion lack.

And situation with those dancing chips, O’er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait,

CXXXIII. Making dead wood more bless'd than living lips. Beshrew that beart that makes my heart to groan Since saucy jacks so happy are in this, Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.

For that deep wound it gives my friend and me!

Is't not enough to torture me alone,

But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be ?

Me from myself thy cruel eye hath taken, The expense of spirit in a waste of shame

And my next self thou harder hast engross'd; Is lust in action; and till action, lust

Of him, myself, and thee, I am forsaken; Is perjur'd, murderous, bloody, full of blame,

A torment thrice threefold thus to be cross'd. Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust;

Prison my heart in thy steel bosom's ward, Enjoy'd no sooner, but despised straight;

But then my friend's heart let my poor heart bail; Past reason hunted; and, no sooner had, Who e'er keeps me, let my heart be his guard; Past reason hated, as a swallow'd bait,

Thou canst not then use rigour in my gaol : On purpose laid to make the taker med:

And yet thou wilt; for I, being pent in thee,
Mad in pursuit, and in possession so;

Perforce am thine, and all that is in me.
Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme;
A bliss in proof,—and prov'd, a very woe;

Before, a joy propos'd; behind, a dream:
All this the world well knows; yet none knows well So now I have confess'd that he is thine,

And I myself am mortgag'd to thy will;
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.

Myself I'll forfeit, so that other mine

Thou wilt restore, to be my comfort still

But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free,
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun ;

For thou art covetous, and he is kind; Coral is far more red than her lips' red :

He learn'd but, surety-like, to write for me.

Under that bond that him as fast doth bind. If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;

The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take,
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,

Thou usurer, that put'st forth all to use,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;

And sue a friend, caine debtor for my sake; And in some perfumes is there more delight

So him I lose through my unkind abuse. Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.

Him have I lost; thou hast both him and me; I love to hear her speak,—yet well I know

He pays the whole, and yet am I not free. That music hath a far more pleasing sound;

cxxxy. I grant I never saw a goddess go, — My mistress, when she walks, treads on the Whoever hath her wish, thon hast thy will, ground:

And will to boot, and will in over-plus; Ard yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare More than enough am I that vex the still, as any she, bely'd with false comnare.

To thy sweet will making addition thus

Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious, Let me excuse thee: ah! my love well knows

Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine ? Her pretty looks have been mine enemies • Shall will in others seem right gracious,

And therefore from my face she turns my foes, And in my will no fair acceptance shine ?

That they elsewhere might dart their injuries : The sea, all water, yet receives rain still,

Yet do not so; but since I am near slain, And in abundance addeth to bis store;

Kill me out-right with looks, and rid my pain. So thou, being rich in will, add to thy will One will of mine, to make thy large will more!

CXL. wet no unkind, po fair beseechers kill;

Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press Think all but one, and me in that one Will.

My tongue-ty'd patience with too much disdain;

Lest sorrow lend me words, and words express CXXXVI.

The manner of my pity-wanting pain. If thy soul check thee, that I come so near,

If I might teach thee wit, better it were, Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy Will,

Though not to love, yet, love, to tell me so; And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there; (As testy sick men, when their deaths be near, Thus far for love, my love-suit, sweet, fulfil.

No news but health from their physicians know;; Will will fulfil the treasure of thy love,

For, if I should despair, I should grow mad, Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one.

And in my madness might speak ill of thee: In things of great receipt with ease we prove;

Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad, Among a number one is reckon'd none:

Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be. Then in the number let me pass untold,

That I may not be so, nor thou bely'd, Though in thy stores' account I one must be; Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold

That nothing me, a something sweet to thee :
Make but my name thy love, and love that still,

And then thou lov'st me,-for my name is Will. In faith I do not love thee with minc eyes,

For they in thee a thousand errors note •

But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise, Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes, Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune delighted;

Who in despite of view is pleas'd to dote.
That they behold, and see not what they see

Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone,
They know what beauty is, see where it lies,
Yet what the best is, take the worst to be.

Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited
Il eyes, corrupt by over-partial looks,

To any sensual feast with thee alone : Be anchord in the bay where all men ride,

But my five wits, nor my five senses can

Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee, Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged hooks, Whereto the judgment of my heart is ty'd ?

Who lives unsway'd the likeness of a man, Why should my heart think that a several plot,

Thy proud heart's slave and vassal wretch to be : Which my heart knows the wide world's common That she that makes me sin, awards me pain.

Only my plague thus far I count my gain,
Or mine eyes seeing this, say, this is not,

To put fair truth upon so foul a face?
In things right true my heart and eyes have err'd,

Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate,
And to this false plague are they now transferr'd.

Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving :

O, but with mine compare thou thine own state, CXXXVIII.

And thou shalt find it merits not reproving ;

Or, if it do, not from those lips of thine, When my love swears that she is made of truth, That have profan'd their scarlet ornaments, I do believe her, though I know she lies;

And seal'd false bonds of love as oft as mine That she might think me some untutor’d youth, Robb'd others' beds revenues of their rents. Unlearned in the world's false subtleties.

Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lov'st those
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young, Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee

Although she knows my days are past the best, Root pity in thy heart, that when it grows,
Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue ;

Thy pity may deserve to pitied be.
On both sides thus is simple truth supprest. If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide,
But wherefore says she not, she is unjust ?

By self-example may'st thou be deny'd !
And wherefore say not I, that I am old ?
O, love's best habit is in seeming trust,

And age in love loves not to have years told:
Therefore I lie with her, and she with me,

Lo, as a careful house-wife runs to catch

One of her feather'd creatures broke away, And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be.

Sets down her babe, and makes all swift despatch CXXXIX.

In pursuit of the thing she would have stay;

Whilst her neglected child holds her in chace, 0, call not me to justify the wrong

Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent That thy unkindness lays upon my heart; To follow that which flies before her face, Wound me not with thine eye, but with thy tongue; Not prizing her poor infant's discontent;

Use power with power, and slay me not by art. So run'st thou after that which flies from thee, Tell me thou lov'st elsewhere ; but in my sight, Whilst I thy babe chace thee afar bebrind;

Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside. But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me, What need'st thou wound witb cunning, when thy And play the mother's part, kiss be kind, might

So will I pray that thou may'st have thy Will, Is more than my o'er-press'd defence can 'bide ? If thon turn back, and my loud crying still.



If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote, Two loves I have of comfort and despair,

What means the world to say it is not so ! Which like two spirits do suggest me still;

If it be not, then love doth well denote

Love's eye is not so true as all men's: no, The better angel is a man right fair,

How can it ? O, how can Love's eye be true, The worser spirit a woman, colour'd ill.

That is so vex'd with watching and with tears? To win me soon to hell, my female evil

No marvel then though I mistake my view; Tempteth my better angel from my side,

The sun itself sees not, till heaven clears. And would corrupt my saint to be a devil,

O cunning Love ! with tears thou keep'st me blind, Wooing his purity with her foul pride. And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend,

Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find. Suspect I may, yet not directly tell ;

But being both from me, both to each friend,
I guess one angel in another's hell:

Canst thou, O cruel! say I love thee not,
Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt, When I, against myself

, with thee partake ? Till my bad angel fire my good one out.

Do I not think on thee, when I forgot

Am of myself, all tyrant, for thy sake ?

Who hateth thee, that I do call my friend ?

On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon ? Those lips that Love's own hand did make,

Nay, if thou low’rst on me, do I not spend Breath'd forth the sound that said, I hate,

Revenge upon myself with present moan?
To me that languish'd for her sake:

What merit do I in myself respect,
But when she saw my woeful state,
Straight in her heart did mercy come,

That is so proud thy service to despise,

When all my best doth worship thy defect,
Chiding that tongue, that ever sweet
Was us'd
in giving gentle doom ;

Commanded by the motion of thine eyes ?
And taught it thus a-new to greet;

But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind; I hate she alter'd with an end,

Those that can see thou lov’st, and I am blind. That follow'd it as gentle day

Doth follow night, who, like a fiend,
From heaven to hell is flown away;

0, from what power hast thou this powerful might, I hate from hate away she threw,

With insufficiency my heart to sway? And sav'd my life, saying-not you.

To make me give the lie to my true sight,

And swear that brightness doth not grace the CXLVI.


Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill, Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,

That in the very refuse of thy deeds
Fool'd by those rebel powers that thee array
Why dost thou pine within, and suffer dearth,

There is such strength and warrantise of skill,

That in my mind thy worst all best exceeds ? Painting thy outward walls so costly gay ? Why so large cost, having so short a lease,

Who taught thee how to make me lore thee more, Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend ?

The more I hear and see just cause of hate ? Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,

O, though I love what others do abhor,

With others thou should'st not abhor my state; Eat up thy charge ? Is this thy body's end ? Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss,

If thy unworthiness rais'd love in me, And let that pine to aggravate thy store ;

More worthy I to be belov'd of thee. Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross;

Within be fed, without be rich no more:
So shalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men, Love is too young to know what conscience is;
Aud, death once dead, there's no more dying then. Yet who knows not, conscience is born of love ?

Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss,

Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove.

For, thou betraying me, I do betray My love is a fever, longing still

My nobler part to my great body's treason; For that which longer nurseth the disease ; My soul doth tell my body that he may Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,

Triumph in love; flesh stays no farther reason : The uncertain sickly appetite to please.

But rising at thy name, doth point out thee My reason, the physician to my love,

As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride, Angry that his prescriptions are not kept, He is contented thy poor drudge to be, Hath left me, and I desperate now approve,

To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side. Desire is death, which physic did except. No want of conscience hold it that I call Past cure I am, now reason is past care,

Her-love, for whose dear love I rise and fall.
And frantic-mad with ever-more unrest;
My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's are,

At random from the truth vainly express'd;
For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

But thou art twice forsworn, to me love swear


In act thy bed-vow broke, and new faith torn, CXLVIII.

In vowing new hate after new love bearing. O me! what eyes hath love put in my head, But why of two oaths' breach do I accuse thee,

Which have no correspondence with true sight ? When I break twenty ? I am perjur'd most; Or, if they have, where is my judgment filed, For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee

That censures falsely what they see aright? And all my honest faith in thee is lost


For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness, But found no cure: the bath for my help lies

Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy; Where Cupid got new fire; my mistress' eyes. And, to enlighten thee, gave eyes to blindness, Or made them swear against the thing they see ;

CLIV. For I have sworn thee fair: more perjur'd I,

The little love-god lying once asicep, To swear, against the truth, so foul a lie!

Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand, CLIII.

Whilst many nymphs that vow'd chaste life to

keep, Cupiú laid by his brand, and fell asleep;

Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand Å maid of Dian's this advantage found,

The fairest votary took up that fire And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep

Which many legions of true hearts had warm'd; In a cold valley-fountain of that ground; And so the general of hot desire Which borrow'd from this holy fire of lovs

Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarm’d. A dateless lively heat, still to endure,

This brand she quenched in a cool well by, And grew a seething bath, which ye, men prove, Which from love's fire took heat perpetual,

Against strange maladies a sovereign cure. Growing a bath and healthful remedy But at my mistress' eye love's brand new fir', For men diseas'd; but I, my mistress' thrall, The boy for trial needs would touch my brcast; Came there for cure, and this by that I

prove, I sick withai, the help of bath desird,

Love's fire beats water, water couls pot lova, And thither hied, a sad distemper'd guest,

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