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Duty so great, which wit so poore as mine
May make seeme bare, in wanting words to thew it ;
But that I hope some good conceipt of thine
In thy soules thought (all naked) will bestow it :
Till whatsoeuer star that guides my mouing,
Points on me gratiously with faire aspect,
And puts apparrell on my tottered louing,
To how me worthy of their sweet respect,

Then may I dare to boast how I doe loue thee,
Til then, not show my head where thou maist proue me.

XXVII.

WEAR Y with toyle

, I hast me to my bed,
The deare repose for lims with trauaill tired,
But then begins a iourny in my head
To worke my mind, when boddies work's expired.
For then my thoughts (from far where I abide)
Intend a zelous pilgrimage to thee,
And keepe my drooping eye-lids open wide,
Looking on darknes which the blind doe fee.
Saue that my soules imaginary fight
Presents their shaddoe to my sightles view,
Which like a iewell (hunge in gastly night)
Makes blacke night beautious, and her old face new.

Loc thus by day my lims, by night my mind,
For thee, and for my selfe, noe quiet findc.

XXVIII.

How can I then returne in happy plight

That am debard the benifit of rest ? When dajes opppression is not eazd by night, But day by night and night by day oprest.

And

And each (though enimes to ethers raigne)
Doe in consent shake hands to torture me,
The one by toyle, the other to complaine
How far I toyle, still farther off from thee.
I tell the day to please him thou art bright,
And do'st him grace when clouds doe blot the heauen :
So Aatter I the swart complexiond night,
When sparkling stars twire not thou guil'st th’eauen.

But day doth daily draw my sorrowes longer,
And night doth nightly make greefes length seeme stronger.

XXIX.

WHEN
7HEN in disgrace with fortune and mens eyes,

I all alone beweepe my out-cast state,
And trouble deafe beauen with my bootlesse cries,
And looke vpon my felfe and curse my fate.
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featur'd like him, like him with friends portent,
Desiring this mans art, and that mans skope,
With what I most inioy contented leaft,
Yet in these thoughts my selfe almost despising,
Haplye I thinke on thee, and then my state,
(Like to the larke at breake of daye arising)
From sullen earth sings himns at heauens gate,

For thy sweet loue remembred such welth brings,
That then I skorne to change my state with kings.

XXX.

W
HEN to the sessions of sweet silent thought,

I sommon vp remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lacke of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new waile my deare times waste:

Then

Then can I drowne an eye (vn-vs’d to flow)
For precious friends hid in deaths dateles night,
And weepe a fresh loues long since canceld woe,
And mone th’expence of many a vannisht sight.
Then can I greeue at greeuances fore-gon,
And heauily from woe to woe tell ore
The fad account of fore-bemoned mone,
Which I new pay as if not payd before.

But if the while I thinke on thee (deare friend)
All loses are restord, and sorrowes end,

XXXI.

HY bosome is indeared with all hearts
THY

Which I by lacking haue supposed dead,
And there raignes loue and all loues louing parts,
And all those friends which I thought buried.
How many a holy and obsequious teare
Hath deare religious loue ftolne from mine eye,
As interest of the dead, which now appeare,
But things remou'd that hidden in there lie.
Thou art the graue where buried loue doth liue,
Hung with the tropheis of my louers gon,
Who all their parts of me to thee did giue,
That due of many, now is thine alone.

Their images I lou'd, I view in thee,
And thoa (all they) hast all the all of me.

XXXII.

IF
Flhou suruiue my well contented daie,

When that churle death my bones with duft shall couer
And shalt by fortune once more re-furuay :
These poore rude lines of thy deceased louer :

Compare

Compare them with the bett'ring of the time,
And though they be out-stript by euery pen,
Referue them for my loue, not for their rime,
Exceeded by the hight of happier men.
Oh then voutsafe me but this louing thought,
Had my friends muse growne with this growing age,
A dearer birth then this his loue had brought
To march in ranckes of better equipage :

But since he died and poets better proue,
Theirs for their stile Ile read, his for his loue.

XXXIII.

FYLL many a glorious morning haue I seene,

Flatter the mountaine tops with foueraine eie,
Kissing with golden face the meddowes greene ;
Guilding pale streames with heauenly alcumy :
Anon permit the baseft cloudes to ride,
With ougly rack on his celestiall face,
And from the for-lorne world his visage hide
Stealing vnseene to west with this disgrace :
Euen so my sunne one early morne did shine,
With all triumphant splendor on my brow,
But out alack, he was but one houre mine,
The region cloude hath mask'd him from me now.

Yet him for this, my loue no whit disdaineth,
Suns of the world may staine, whē heauens sun stainteh.

XXXIV.

HY

And make me trauaile forth without my cloake,
To let bace cloudes ore-take me in my way,
Hiding thy brau'ry in thcir rotten smoke.

Tis not enough that through the cloude thou breake,
To dry the raine on my storme-beaten face,
For no man well of such a salue can speake,
That heales the wound, and cures not the disgrace :
Nor can thy shame giue phisicke to my griefe,
Though thou repent, yet I haue still the losse,
Th' offenders forrow lends but weake reliefe
To him that beares the strong offenses losse.

Ah but those teares are pearle which thy loue sheeds,
And they are ritch, and rapsome all ill deeds.

XXXV.

N

O more bee greeu'd at that which thou hast done,

Roses haue thornes, and siluer fountaines mud,
Cloudes and eclipses staine both moone and sunne,
And loathsome canker liues in sweetest bud.
All men make faults, and euen I in this,
Authorizing thy trespas with compare,
My felfe corrupting faluing thy amiffe,
Excusing their sins more then their fins are :
For to thy sensuall fault I bring in fence,
Thy aduerfe party is thy aduocate,
And gainst my felfe a lawfull plea commence,
Such ciuill war is in my loue and hate,

That I an accessary needs must be,
To that sweet theefe which fourely robs from me,

XXXVI.

LET me confesse that we two must be twaine,

Although our vndeuided loues are one: So Thall those blors that do with me remaine, Without thy helpe, by me be borne alone.

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