LIFE CONTINUED LOOK in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest Now is the time that face should form another; For where is she so fair whose unear'd womb Or who is he so fond will be the tomb Of his self-love, to stop posterity? Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee So thou through windows of thine age shalt see But if thou live, remember'd not to be, CHILDLESSNESS UNTHRIFTY loveliness, why dost thou spend Upon thyself thy beauty's legacy? Nature's bequest gives nothing, but doth lend, And being frank she lends to those are free. Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse The bounteous largess given thee to give! Profitless usurer, why dost thou use So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live? For having traffic with thyself alone, Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive. Thy unused beauty must be tomb'd with thee, Which, used, lives th' executor to be. CHANGE AND CONTINUANCE HOSE hours, that with gentle work did frame THO The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell, Will play the tyrants to the very same For never-resting time leads summer on To hideous winter and confounds him there; Then, were not summer's distillation left, But flowers distill'd, though they with winter meet, Leese but their show; their substance still lives sweet. PERPETUATION HEN let not winter's ragged hand deface THEN In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd: Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place With beauty's treasure, ere it be self-kill'd. That use is not forbidden usury Which happies those that pay the willing loan; Or ten times happier, be it ten for one; Ten times thyself were happier than thou art, Then what could death do, if thou shouldst depart, Be not self-will'd, for thou art much too fair To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir. OF SHAKESPEARE 63 FROM SUNRISE TO SUNSET O! in the orient when the gracious light LO Lifts up his burning head, each under eye Doth homage to his new-appearing sight, Serving with looks his sacred majesty ; And having climb'd the steep-up heavenly hill, Resembling strong youth in his middle age, Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still, Attending on his golden pilgrimage; But when from highmost pitch, with weary car, So thou, thyself out-going in thy noon, |