LI. Thus can my love excuse the flow offence Of my dull bearer when from thee I speed: From where thou art why should I hafte me thence? Till I return, of posting is no need. O, what excufe will my poor beast then find, Then should I fpur, though mounted on the wind, Then can no horse with my defire keep pace; 'Since from thee going he went wilful-flow, Towards thee I'll run and give him leave to go.' LII. So am I as the rich, whose blessed key So is the time that keeps you as my cheft, Bleffed are you, whose worthiness gives scope, LIII. What is your substance, whereof are you made, Is poorly imitated after you; On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set, you like none, none you, for conftant heart. LIV. O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem Hang on fuch thorns, and play as wantonly But, for their virtue only is their show, They live unwoo'd and unrespected fade ; Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not fo; Of their fweet deaths are sweetest odours made: When that shall vade, by verse distils your truth. LV. Not marble, nor the gilded monuments you shall shine more bright in these contents Than unfwept stone, besmear'd with fluttish time. When wafteful war shall statues overturn, And broils root out the work of masonry, Nor Mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall burn The living record of your memory. 'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room Even in the eyes of all pofterity That wear this world out to the ending doom. You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes. |