OF SHAKESPEARE 89 DILEXIT MULTUM WHY didst thou promise such a beauteous day And make me travel forth without my cloak, To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way, 'Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face, For no man well of such a salve can speak Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief; Ah! but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds, And they are rich, and ransom all ill deeds. 90 SONGS AND SONNETS Νο A CONFESSION more be grieved at that which thou hast Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud; All men make faults, and even I in this, For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense- And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence : That I an accessary needs must be To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me. ANOTHER CONFESSION LET me confess that we two must be twain, Although our undivided loves are one : So shall those blots that do with me remain In our two loves there is but one respect, Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight. I may not evermore acknowledge thee Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame, Nor thou with public kindness honour me, Unless thou take that honour from thy name : But do not so; I love thee in such sort 92 SONGS AND SONNETS THE RECOMPENSE AS a decrepit father takes delight To see his active child do deeds of youth, So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite, Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth. For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit, I make my love engrafted to this store : So then I am not lame, poor, nor despised, And by a part of all thy glory live. Look, what is best, that best I wish in thee : This wish I have; then ten times happy me! THE NEW MUSE OW can my Muse want subject to invent How While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse Thine own sweet argument, too excellent O, give thyself the thanks, if aught in me Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth Than those old nine which rhymers invocate; And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth Eternal numbers to outlive long date. If my slight Muse do please these curious days, The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise. |