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Ono, it is an ever fixed marke
That lookes on tempests and is neuer shaken ;
It is the star to euery wandring barke,
Whose worths vaknowne, although his higth be taken:
Lou's not times foole, though rosie lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickles compasse-come,
Loue alters not with his breefe houres and weekes,
But beares it out euen to the edge of doome:

If this be error and vpon me proued,
I neuer writ, nor no man euer loued.

CXVII.

CCUSE me thus, that I haue fcanted all,

,
Wherein I should your great deserts repay,
Forgot vpon your dearest loue to call,
Whereto al bonds do tie me day by day,
That I haue frequent binne with vnknown mindes,
And giuen to time your owne deare purchas'd right,
That I have hoysted faile to al the windes
Which should transport me farthest from your sight.
Booke both my wilfulnesse and errors downe,
And on iust proofe surmise, accumilate,
Bring me within the leuel of your frowne,
But shoote not at me in your wakened hate :

Since my appeale faies I did striue to prooue
The constancy and virtue of your loue.

CXVIII.

LIKE as to make our, appetites more keene

With eager compounds we our pallat vrge,
As to preuent qur malladies vnfeene,
We ficken to fhun ficknesse when we purge.

Fuen

Euen so being full of your nere cloying sweetnesse,
To bitter fawces did I frame my feeding ;
And ficke of wel-fare found a kind of meetnesse, .
To be diseas'd ere that there was true needing.
Thus pollicie in loue t'anticipate
The ills that were, not grew to faults assured,
And brought to medicine a healthfull state
Which rancke of goodnesse would by ill be cured.

But thence I learne and find the lesson true,
Drugs poyson him that so fell ficke of

you.

CXIX.
WHAT potions haue I drunke of Syren teares

Distil'd from lymbecks foule as hell within,
Applying feares to hopes, and hopes to feares,
Still loosing when I saw my selfe to win?
What wretched errors hath my heart committed,
Whilft it hath thought it felfe so blessed neuer ?
How haue mine eies out of their spheares bene fitted
In the distraction of this madding feuer ?
O benefit of ill, now I find true
That better is, by euil still made better.
And ruin'd loue when it is built anew
Growes fairer then at first, more strong, far greater.

So I returne rebukt to my content,
And gaine by ills thrise more then I haue spent.

CXX.

THA

"HAT you were once vnkind be-friends mee now,

And for that forrow, which I then didde feele,
Needes must I vnder my transgression bow,
Vnlesle my nerues were brasse or hammered steele.

For

For if you were by my vnkindelse fhaken
As I by yours, y'haue past a hell of time,
And I a tyrant haue no leasure taken
To waigh how once I suffered in your crime.
O that our night of wo might haue remembred
My deepest sence, how hard true sorrow hits,
And soone to you, as you to me then tendred
The humble falue, which wounded bosomes fits!

But that your trespasse now becomes a fee,
Mine ransoms youts, and yours must ransome mee,

CXXI.

T!

IS better to be vile then vile esteemed,

When not to be receiues reproach of being,
And the iust pleasure lost, which is fo deemed,
Not by our feeling, but by others seeing.
For why should others false adulterat eges
Giue falutation to my sportiue blood ?
Or on my frailties why are frailer spies;
Which in their wils count bad what I think good ?
Noe, I am that I am, and they that leuell
At my abuses, reckon vp their owne,
I may be straight though they themselues be beuel
By their ranke thoughtes, my deedes must not be shown

Vnlesse this generall euill they maintaine,
All men are bad and in their badnesse raigne.

CXXII.

TH

HY guift, thy tables, are within my braine

Full characterd with lasting memory, Which shall aboue that idle rancke remaine Beyond all date euen to eternity,

Or

Or at the least, so long as braine and heart
Haue facultie by nature to sublist,
Til each to raz’d obliuion yeeld his part
Of thec, thy record neuer can be mist:
That poore retention could not so much bold,
Nor need I tallies thy deare loue to skore,
Therefore to giue them from me was I bold,
To trust those tables that receaue thee more,

To keepe an adiunckt to remember thee,
Were to import forgetfulnelle in mee.

, CXXIII.

No:
TO! Time, thou shalt not bost that I doe. change,

Thy pyramyds buylt vp with newer might
Tome are nothing aquell, nothing strange,
They are but dressings of a former light:
Our dates are breefe, and therefor we admire,
What thou dost foyít vpon vs that is ould,
And rather make them borne to our desire,
Then thinke that we before haue heard them tould :
Thy registers and thee I both defie,
Nor wondring at the present, nor the past,
For thy records, and what we fee doth lye,
Made more or les by thy continuall haft:

This I doe vow and this shall euer be,
I will be true dispight thy fyeth and thee.

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Yf my deare loue were but the childe of state,

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F

It might for fortunes bafterd be vnfathered,
As fubiect to times loue, or to times hate,
Weeds among weeds, or Aowers with flowers gatherd.

No

No it was buylded far from accident,
It suffers not in smilinge pomp, nor falls
Vnder the blow. lof thralled discontent,
Whereto th'inuiting time our fashion calls :
It feares not policy that heriticke,
Which workes on leases of short numbred howers,
But all alone stands hugely pollitićk,
That it nor growes with heat, nor drownes with howres.

To this I witnes call the foles of time,
Which die for goodnes, who haue liu'd for crime.

CXXV.

WER't ought to me I bore the canopy,

With my extern the outward honoring,
Or layd great bases for eternity,
Which proues more short then wast or ruining?
Haue I not seene dwellers on forme and fauor
Lose all, and more by paying too much rent
For compound sweet ; forgoing simple sauor,
Pittifull thriuors in their gazing (peat.
Noe, let me be obsequious in thy heart,
And take thou my oblacion, poore but free,
Which is not mixt with seconds, knows no art,
But mutuall render onely me for thee.

Hence, thou subbornd informer, a trew foule
When most impeacht, stands least in thy controule.

CXXVI.

O Thou my louely boy who in thy power,

Doest hould times fickle glasse, his fickle, hower ; Who hast by wayning growne, and therein Nou'st, Thy louers withering, as thy sweet felfe grow'st.

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