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,
Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke?

'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
That heals the wound, and cures not the disgrace:

Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief;
Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss :
The offender's sorrow lends but weak relief
To him that bears the strong offence's cross.

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
done :

Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud;
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.

All men make faults, and even I in this,
Authorizing thy trespass with compare,
Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss,
Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are;

For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense-
Thy adverse party is thy advocate-

And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence :
Such civil war is in my love and hate

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
Without thy help by me be borne alone.

In our two loves there is but one respect,
Though in our lives a separable spite,
Which though it alter not love's sole effect,

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
As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report.

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,
Or any of these all, or all, or more,
Entitled in thy parts do crownéd sit,

I make my love engrafted to this store :

So then I am not lame, poor, nor despised,
Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give
That I in thy abundance am sufficed,

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
For every vulgar paper to rehearse?

O, give thyself the thanks, if aught in me
Worthy perusal stand against thy sight;
For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee,
When thou thyself dost give invention light?

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.