IV. Unthrifty loveliness, why doft thou spend Nature's bequeft gives nothing, but doth lend, So great a fum of fums, yet canst not live? Thou of thyself thy sweet self doft deceive: Thy unused beauty must be tomb'd with thee, Which, used, lives th' executor to be. V. Those hours, that with gentle work did frame For never-refting time leads fummer on To hideous winter, and confounds him there; A liquid prifoner pent in walls of glass, Nor it, nor no remembrance what it was: But flowers diftill'd, though they with winter meet, fweet. VI. Then let not winter's ragged hand deface In thee thy fummer, ere thou be distill'd: 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 conqueft and make worms thine heir. VII. Lo, in the orient when the gracious light Lifts up his burning head, each under eye Doth homage to his new-appearing fight, And having climb'd the fteep-up heavenly hill, But when from highmost pitch, with weary car, VIII. Mufic to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly? Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy: Why loveft thou that which thou receivest not gladly, Or else receiveft with pleasure thine annoy? If the true concord of well-tuned sounds, By unions married, do offend thine ear, Refembling fire and child and happy mother, Whose speechless fong, being many, seeming one, |