XIX.

Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws,
And make the earth devour her own fweet brood;
Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws,
And burn the long-lived phoenix in her blood;
Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleets,
And do whate'er thou wilt, fwift-footed Time,
To the wide world and all her fading sweets;
But I forbid thee one moft heinous crime:
O, carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow,
Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen;
Him in thy course untainted do allow

For beauty's pattern to fucceeding men.

Yet do thy worst, old Time: despite thy wrong,
My love shall in my verfe ever live young.

II.

A woman's face with Nature's own hand painted Haft thou, the mafter-mistress of my paffion;

A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted

With shifting change, as is false women's fashion ; An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling, Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth;

A man in hue all hues in his controlling,

Which steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth.
And for a woman wert thou first created ;
Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting,
And by addition me of thee defeated,

By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.
But fince she prick'd thee out for women's pleasure,
Mine be thy love, and thy love's use their treasure.