Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy 'Will,’ And 'Will' to boot, and Will' in overplus; More than enough am I that vex thee still, To thy sweet will making addition thus. Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious, Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine? Shall will in others seem right gracious, And in my will no fair acceptance shine? The sea, all water, yet receives rain still And in abundance addeth to his store;
So thou, being rich in Will,' add to thy 'Will'
One will of mine, to make thy large 'Will'
Let no unkind, no fair beseechers kill ; Think all but one, and me in that one 'Will.'
If thy soul check thee that I come so near, Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy Will,' And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there; Thus far for love my love-suit, sweet, fulfil. 'Will' will fulfil the treasure of thy love, Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one. In things of great receipt with ease we prove Among a number one is reckon'd none: Then in the number let me pass untold, Though in thy stores' account I one must be ; For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold That nothing me, a something sweet to thee: Make but my name thy love, and love that still,
And then thou lovest me, for my name is 'Will.'
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although she knows my days are past the best, Simply I credit her false speaking tongue : On both sides thus is simple truth suppress'd. But wherefore says she not she is unjust? And wherefore say not I that I am old ? O, love's best habit is in seeming trust, And age in love loves not to have years told. Therefore I lie with her and she with me, And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be CXXXIX.
O, call not me to justify the wrong That thy unkindness lays upon my heart; Wound me not with thine eye but with thy tongue;
Use power with power and slay me not by art. Tell me thou lovest elsewhere, but in my sight,
Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside : What need'st thou wound with cunning when thy might
Is more than my o'er-press'd defence can bide? Let me excuse thee: ah! my love well knows Her pretty looks have been mine enemies, And therefore from my face she turns my foes,
That they elsewhere might dart their injuries: Yet do not so; but since I am near slain, Kill me outright with looks and rid my pain.
In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes, For they in thee a thousand errors note; But 'tis my heart that loves what they de- spise,
Who in despite of view is pleased to dote; Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune delighted,
Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited To any sensual feast with thee alone : But my five wits nor my five senses can Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee, Who leaves unsway'd the likeness of a man, Thy proud hearts slave and vassal wretch to be.
Only my plague thus far I count my gain, That she that makes me sin awards me pain.
Love is my sin and thy dear virtue hate, Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving: O, but with mine compare thou thine own state,
And thou shalt find it merits not reproving; Or, if it do, not from those lips of thine, That have profaned their scarlet ornaments And seal'd false bonds of love as oft as mine, Robb'd others' beds' revenues of their rents. Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lovest those Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee:
Root pity in thy heart, that when it grows Thy pity may deserve to pitied be.
If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide,
By self-example mayst thou be denied!
Lo as a careful housewife runs to catch One of her feather'd creatures broke away, Sets down her babe and makes all swift dis- patch
In pursuit of the thing she would have stay, Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase, Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent To follow that which flies before her face, Not prizing her poor infant's discontent; So runn'st thou after that which flies from thee,
Whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind; But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me, And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind : So will I pray that thou mayst have thy 'Will,'
If thou turn back, and my loud crying still.
Two loves I have of comfort and despair, Which like two spirits do suggest me still: The better angel is a man right fair, The worser spirit a woman color'd ill. To win me soon to hell, my female evil Tempteth my better angel from my side, And would corrupt my saint to be a devil, Wooing his purity with her foul pride. And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend Suspect I may, yet not directly tell; But being both from me, both to each friend, I guess one angel in another's hell:
Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt, Till my bad angel fire my good one out. CXLV.
Those lips that Love's own hand did make Breathed forth the sound that said 'I hate' To me that languish'd for her sake; But when she saw my woeful state, Straight in her heart did mercy come, Chiding that tongue that ever sweet Was used in giving gentle doom, And taught it thus anew to greet
'I hate' she alter'd with an end, That follow'd it as gentle day Doth follow night, who like a fiend From heaven to hell is flown away;
'I hate' from hate away she threw, And saved my life, saying 'not you.'
Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth, t.........these rebel powers that thee array, Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth, Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? Why so large cost, having so short a lease, Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? Shall worms, inheritors of this excess, Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end? Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, And let that pine to aggravate thy store; Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross; Within be fed, without be rich no more:
So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men,
And Death once dead, there's no more dying then.
O me, what eyes hath Love put in my head, Which have no correspondence with true sight!
Or, if they have, where is my judgment fled, That censures falsely what they see aright? If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote, What means the world to say it is not so? If it be not, then love doth well denote Love's eye is not so true as all men's 'No.' How can it? O, how can Love's eye be true, That is so vex'd with watching and with tears? No marvel then, though I mistake my view; The sun itself sees not till heaven clears.
O cunning Love! with tears thou keep'st me blind,
Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find.
Canst thou, O cruel! say I love thee not, When I against myself with thee partake? Do I not think on thee, when I forgot Am of myself, all tyrant, for thy sake?
Love is too young to know what conscience is; Yet who knows not conscience is born of love? Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss, Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove: For, thou betraying me, I do betray My nobler part to my gross body's treasons, My soul doth tell my body that he may Triumph in love; flesh stays no farther reason; But, rising at thy name, doth point out thee As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride, He is contented thy poor drudge to be, To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side.
No want of conscience hold it that I call Her 'love' for whose dear love I rise and fall.
But why of two oaths' breach do I accuse thee, When I break twenty? I am perjured most; For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee And all my honest faith in thee is lost,
For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness,
Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy, And, to enlighten thee, gave eyes to blindness, Or made them swear against the thing they see;
For I have sworn thee fair; more perjured L To swear against the truth so foul a lie !
Cupid laid by his brand, and fell asleep : A maid of Dian's this advantage found, And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep in a cold valley-fountain of that ground; Which borrow'd from this holy fire of Love A dateless lively heat, still to endure, And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove
Against strange maladies a sovereign cure. But at my mistress' eye Love's brand new. fired,
The boy for trial needs would touch my breast;
I, sick withal, the help of bath desired, And thither hied, a sad distemper'd guest,
But found no cure: the bath for my help lies
Where Cupid got new fire-my mistress'
The little Love-god lying once asleep Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand, Whilst many nymphs that vow'd chaste life to keep
Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand The fairest votary took that fire up Which many legions of true hearts had warm'd;
And so the general of hot desire
Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarm'd. This brand she quenched in a cool well by, Which from Love's fire took heat perpetual, Growing a bath and healthful remedy For men diseased; but I, my mistress' thrall, Came there for cure, and this by that I
Love's fire heats water, water coole not love
As already mentioned in the Introduction to the Sonnets this poem first appeared in the quarto containing the Sonnets published in 1609. In a letter to the Editor of the "Leopold Shakespeare," Professor Delius says: A Lover's Complaint may belong to the end of Shakespeare's second period, or to the third and fatest period; so you may place it with Othello," in the chronological order.
Oft did she heave her napkin to her eyne, Which on it had conceited characters, Laundering the silken figures in the brine That season'd woe had pelleted in tears, And often reading what contents it bears; As often shrieking undistinguish'd woe, In clamors of all size, both high and low. Sometimes her levell'd eyes their carriage ride, As they did battery to the spheres intend ; Sometime diverted their poor balls are tied To the orbed earth; sometimes they do extend Their view right on; anon their gazes lend To every place at once, and, nowhere fix'd, The mind and sight distractedly commix'd. Her hair, nor loose nor tied in formal plat, Proclaim'd in her a careless hand of pride 30 For some, untuck'd, descended her sheaved hat,
Hanging her pale and pined cheek beside; Some in her threaden fillet still did bide, And true to bondage would not break from thence,
Though slackly braided in loose negligence.
Crack'd many a ring of posied gold and bone Bidding them find their sepulchres in mud; Found yet moe letters sadly penn'd in blood, With sleided silk feat and affectedly Enswathed, and seal'd to curious secrecy.
These often bathed she in her fluxive eyes, 50 And often kiss'd, and often 'gan to tear : Cried O false blood, thou register of lies, What unapproved witness dost thou bear! Ink would have seem'd more black and damned here!"
This said, in top of rage the lines she rents, Big discontent so breaking their contents.
A reverend man that grazed his cattle nigh— Sometime a blusterer, that the ruffle knew Of court, of city, and had let go by The swiftest hours, observed as they flew- 60 Towards this afflicted fancy fastly drew, And, privileged by age, desires to know In brief the grounds and motives of her woe.
So slides he down upon his grained bat, And comely-distant sits he by her side; When he again desires her, being sat, Her grievance with his hearing to divide : If that from him there may be aught applied Which may her suffering ecstasy assuage, 'Tis promised in the charity of age.
'Father,' she says, though in me you behold The injury of many a blasting hour, Let it not tell your judgment I am old;
Not age, but sorrow, over me hath power: I might as yet have been a spreading flower, Fresh to myself, if I had self-applied Love to myself and to no love beside.
'But, woe is me! too early I attended
A youthful suit-it was to gain my grace- Of one by nature's outwards so commended, That maidens' eyes stuck over all his face : 81 Love lack'd a dwelling, and made him her place;
And when in his fair parts she did abide, She was new lodged and newly deified.
Yet show'd his visage by that cost more dear; And nice affections wavering stood in doubt If best were as it was, or best without.
'His qualities were beauteous as his form, 99 For maiden-tongued he was, and thereof free; Yet, if men moved him, was he such a storm As oft 'twixt May and April is to see, When winds breathe sweet, unruly though they be.
His rudeness so with his authorized youth Did livery falseness in a pride of truth. 'Well could he ride, and often men would say "That horse his mettle from his rider takes: Proud of subjection, noble by the sway, What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop he makes!"
And controversy hence a question takes, Whether the horse by him became his deed, Or he his manage by the well-doing steed.
But quickly on this side the verdict went : His real habitude gave life and grace To appertainings and to ornament, Accomplish'd in himself, not in his case: All aids, themselves made fairer by their place, Came for additions; yet their purposed trim Pieced not his grace, but were all graced by him.
'Yet did I not, as some my equals did, Demand of him, nor being desired yielded ; Finding myself in honor so forbid, With safest distance I mine honor shielded : Experience for me many bulwarks builded Of proofs new-bleeding, which remain'd the foil
Of this false jewel, and his amorous spoil 'But, ah, who ever shunn'd by precedent The destined ill she must herself assay? Or forced examples, 'gainst her own content, To put the by-past perils in her way? Counsel may stop awhile what will not stay; For when we rage, advice is often seen 160 By blunting us to make our wits more keen.
'Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood, That we must curb it upon others' proof, To be forbod the sweets that seem so good, For fear of harms that preach in our behoof. O appetite, from judgment stand aloof! The one a palate hath that needs will taste, Though Reason weep, and cry, "It is thy last."
'For further I could say "This man's untrue," And knew the patterns of his foul beguiling: Heard where his plants in others' orchards
Saw how deceits were gilded in his smiling, Knew vows were ever brokers to defiling; Thought characters and words merely but art, And bastards of his foul adulterate heart.
And long upon these terms I held my city, Till thus he gan besiege me: "Gentle maid, Have of my suffering youth some feeling pity, And be not of my holy vows afraid : That's to ye sworn to none was ever said; 180 For feasts of love I have been call'd unto, Till now did ne'er invite, nor never woo.
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