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Then in the blazon of sweet beauties best,
Of hand, of foote, of lip, of eye, of brow,
I see their antique pen would haue exprest,
Euen such a beauty as you maister now.
So all their praises are but prophesies
Of this our time, all you prefiguring,
And for they look'd but with deuining eyes,
They had not till enough your worth to sing :

For we which now behold these present dayes,
Haue eyes to wonder, but lack toungs to praise.

CVII.

NOT

OT mine owne feares, nor the prophetick soule,

Of the wide world, dreaming on things to come,
Can yet the lease of my true loue controule,
Supposde-as forfeit to a'confin'd doome.
The mortall moone hath her eclipse indur'de,
And the fad angurs mock their owne presage,
Incertenties now crowne them-felues assur'de,
And peace proclaimes oliues of endlesse age,
Now with the drops of this most balmie time,
My loue lookes fresh, and death to me subscribes,
Since spight of him Ile live in this poore rime,
While he insults ore dull and speachlesse tribes.

And thou in this shalt finde thy monument,
When tyrants crests and tombs of brasse are spent.

CVIII.

WI

HAT's in the braine chat inck may character,

Which hath not figur’d to thee my true spirit,
What's new to speake, what now to register,
That may exprelle my loue, or thy seare merit?

Nothing

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Nothing sweet boy, but yet like prayers diuine,
I must each day fay ore the very same,
Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine,
Euen as when first I hallowed thy faire name.
So that eternall loue in loues fresh case,
Waighes not the dust and iniury of age,
Nor giues to necessary wrinckles place,
But makes antiquitie for aye his page,

Finding the first conceit of loue there bred,
Where time and outward forme would shew it dead.

CIX.

O Neuer fay that I was falfe of heart,

Though absence seem'd my flame to quallifie,
As easie might I from my selfe depart,
As from my soule which in thy brest doth lye :
That is my home of loue, if I haue rang'd,
Like him that trauels I returne againe,
Iust to the time, not with the time exchang’d,
So that my selfe bring water for my staine,
Neuer beleeue though in my nature raign'd,
All frailties that besiege all kindes of blood,
That it could fo preposteroullie be stain’d,
To leaue for nothing all thy summe of good :

For nothing this wide vniuerse I call,
Saue thou my rose, in it thou art my all.

CX.

A
LAS 'tis true, I haue gone here and there,

And made my felfe a motley to the view,
Gor'd mine owne thoughts, fold cheap what is most deare,
Made old offences of affections new.

Most

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Most true it is, that I haue lookt on truth
Asconce and strangely: but by all aboue,
These blenches gaue my heart an other youth,
And worse essaies prou'd thee my best of loue,
Now all is done, haue what shall haue no end,
Mine appetitę I neuer more will grin'de
Oo newer proofe, to trie an older friend,
A God in loue, to whom I am confin'd.

Then giue me welcome, next my heauen the best,
Euen to thy pure and most most louing brest,

CXI.

For my fake doe you wish fortune chide,

The guiltie goddesse of my harmfull deeds,
That did not better for my life prouide,
Then publick meanes which publick manners breeds.
Thence comes it that my name receives a brand,
And almost thence my nature is subdu'd
To what it workes in, like the dyers hand,
Pitty me then, and wish I were renu’de,
Whilst like a willing pacient I will drinke,
Potions of eysell gainst my strong infection,
No bitternesle that I will bitter thinke,
Nor double pennance to correct correction.

Pittie me then deare friend, and I assure yee,
Euen that your pittie is enough to cure mee.

CXII.

You

OUR loue and pittie dath th'impression fill,

Which vulgar scandall stampt vpon my brow,
For what care I who calles me well or ill,
So you ore-greene my bad, my good alow?

You

You are my all the world, and I must striue,
To know my fnames and praises from your tounge,
None else to me, nor I to none aliue,
That my steel'd fence or changes right or wrong,
In so profound abisme I throw all care
Of others voyces, that my adders fence,
To crytrick and to flatterer stopped are :
Marke how with my neglect I doe dispence,

You are so strongly in my purpose bred,
That all the world besides me thinkes y'are dead.

CXIII.

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SINO

INCE I left you, mine eye is in my minde,

And that which gouernes me to goe about,
Doth part his function, and is partly blind,
Seemes seeing, but effectually is out :
For it no forme deliuers to the heart
Of bird, of flowre, or shape which it doth lack,
Of his quick obiects hath the minde no part,
Nor his owne vision houlds what it doth catch :
For if it see the rud'st or gentlest sight,
The most sweet-fauor or deformedít creature,
The mountaine, or the sea, the day, or night :
The croe, or doue, it shapes them to your feature.

Incapable of more repleat, with you,
My most true minde thus maketh mine votruc.

CXIV.

OR whether doth

my minde being crown'd with you
Drinke vp the monarks plague this flattery?
Or whether shall I say mine eie faith true,
And that your loue taught it this alcumie?

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То

To make of monsters, and things indigest

,
Such cherubinès as your sweet selfe resemble,
Creating euery bad a perfect. best
As fast as obiects to his beames assemble:
Oh ris the first, tis flatry in my seeing,
And my great minde most kingly drinkes it yp,
Mine eie well knows what with his gust is greeing,
And to his pallat doth prepare

the
If it be poison’d, țis the lefser sine,
That minc éje loués it and doth first beginne.

CXV.

cup:

THOSE

HOS E linies that I before haue writ doe lie,

Euen those that said I could not loue you deerer,
Yet then my iudgement knew no reason why,
My most fuil fame should afterwards burne cleerer.
But reckening tiine, whose milliond accidents
Creepe in twixt vowes, and change decrees of kings,
Tan sacred beautie, blunt the sharp'll intents,
Diacrt strong mindes to th'course of altring things:
A las why fearing of times tiranie,
Mght I not then läy now I loue you best,
Woen I was certaine ore in-certainty,
Crowning the present, doubting of the rest.

Loue is a babe, then might I not say so
To giue full growth to that which still doth grow.

CXVI.

LET me not to the marriage of true mindes

.
Admit impediments, loue is not loue
Which a'ters when it alteration findes,,
Co bends with the remouer to remoue.

O no,

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