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XXIX.

When, in difgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,

And trouble deaf heaven with my bootlefs cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends poffeff'd,
Defiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented leaft;

Yet in these thoughts myself almost defpifing,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising

From fullen earth, fings hymns at heaven's gate:
For thy fweet love rememb'red such wealth brings
That then I fcorn to change my state with kings.

XXX.

When to the feffions of sweet filent thought
I fummon up remembrance of things past,
I figh the lack of many a thing I fought,

And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste :
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,

For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
And weep afresh love's long fince cancell'd woe,
And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight:
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,

And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The fad account of fore-bemoaned moan,

Which I new pay as if not paid before.

But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,

All loffes are restored and sorrows end.

XXXI.

Thy bofom is endeared with all hearts,
Which I by lacking have supposed dead;

And there reigns Love, and all Love's loving parts,
And all those friends which I thought buried.
How many a holy and obfequious tear

Hath dear religious love ftol'n from mine eye,
As intereft of the dead, which now appear
But things removed that hidden in thee lie!
Thou art the grave where buried love doth live,
Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone,
Who all their parts of me to thee did give;
That due of many now is thine alone:
Their images I loved I view in thee,

And thou, all they, haft all the all of me.

XXXII.

If thou furvive my well-contented day,

When that churl Death my bones with duft fhall
And shalt by fortune once more re-survey

These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover,
Compare them with the bettering of the time,
And though they be outftripp'd by every pen,
Reserve them for my love, not for their rime,
Exceeded by the height of happier men.

[cover,

O, then vouchfafe me but this loving thought:
'Had my friend's Mufe grown with this growing
A dearer birth than this his love had brought, [age,
To march in ranks of better equipage:

But fince he died, and poets better prove,

Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love.'

XXXIII.

Full many a glorious morning have I seen
Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye,
Kiffing with golden face the meadows green,
Gilding pale ftreams with heavenly alchemy;
Anon permit the baseft clouds to ride

With ugly rack on his celeftial face, And from the forlorn world his visage hide, Stealing unfeen to weft with this disgrace: Even fo my fun one early morn did shine With all-triumphant splendour on my brow; But, out, alack! he was but one hour mine, The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now. Yet him for this my love no whit difdaineth;

Suns of the world may stain when heaven's fun ftaineth.

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