Ono, it is an euer fixed marke

That lookes on tempefts and is neuer fhaken;

It is the ftar to euery wandring barke,

Whofe worths vnknowne, although his higth be taken.
Lou's not times foole, though rosie lips and cheeks
Within his bending fickles compaffe-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,

ACCUSE me thus, that I hane feanted all,

Wherein I should your great deferts repay,

Forgot vpon your deareft 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 haue hoyfted faile to al the windes

Which should transport me fartheft from your fight.
Booke both my wilfulneffe and errors downe,
And on iuft proofe furmife, accumilate,
Bring me within the leuel of your frowne,
But shoote not at me in your wakened hate:
Since my appeale faies I did ftriue to prooue
The conftancy and virtue of your loue..

CXVIII.

LIKE as to make our appetites more keene
With eager compounds we our pallat vrge,

As to preuent our malladies vnfeene,

We ficken to fhun sicknesse when we purge.

Fuen

Euen fo being full of your nere cloying sweetnesse,
To bitter fawces did I frame my feeding;

And ficke of wel-fare found a kind of meetneffe,
To be difeas'd ere that there was true needing.
Thus pollicie in loue t'anticipate

The ills that were, not grew to faults affured,
And brought to medicine a healthfull state
Which rancke of goodneffe would by ill be cured.
But thence I learne and find the leffon true,
Drugs poyfon him that fo fell ficke of you.

WH

CXIX.

HAT potions haue I drunke of Syren teares
Diftil'd from lymbecks foule as hell within,
Applying feares to hopes, and hopes to feares,
Still loofing when I faw my felfe to win?
What wretched errors hath my heart committed,
Whilst it hath thought it felfe so blessed neuer ?
How haue mine eies out of their fpheares bene fitted
In the distraction of this madding feuer?

O benefit of ill, now I find true

That better is, by euil ftill made better.

And ruin'd loue when it is built anew

Growes fairer then at firft, more strong, far greater.

So I returne rebukt to my content,

And gaine by ills thrife more then I haue spent.

CXX.

HAT you were once vnkind be-friends mee now,
And for that forrow, which I then didde feele,

Needes must I vnder my tranfgreffion bow,
Vnleffe my nerues were braffe or hammered steele.

For

For if you were by my vnkindeffe fhaken
As I by yours, y'haue paft a hell of time,
And I a tyrant haue no leasure taken

To waigh how once I fuffered in your crime.
O that our night of wo might haue remembred
My deepest fence, how hard true forrow hits,
And foone to you, as you to me then tendred
The humble falue, which wounded bofomes fits!
But that your trefpaffe now becomes a fee,
Mine ranfoms yours, and yours must ransome mee,

CXXI.

IS better to be vile then vile esteemed,

TIS

When not to be receiues reproach of being,
And the iuft pleasure loft, which is fo deemed,
Not by our feeling, but by others feeing.
For why fhould others falfe adulterat eyes
Giue falutation to my fportiue blood?
Or on my frailties why are frailer fpies;
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 themfelues be beuel
By their ranke thoughtes, my deedes muft not be shown
Vnleffe this generall euill they maintaine,

All men are bad and in their badneffe raigne.

TH

CXXII.

HY guift, thy tables, are within my braine
Full characterd with lafting memory,

Which fhall 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 fubfift,

Til each to raz'd obliuion yeeld his part
Of thec, thy record neuer can be mist:
That poore retention could not fo much hold,
Nor need I tallies thy deare loue to skore,
Therefore to giue them from me was I bold,
To truft those tables that receaue thee more,
To keepe an adiunckt to remember thee,
Were to import forgetfulneffe in mee.

No!

O! Time, thou shalt not boft that I doe change,
Thy pyramyds buylt vp with newer might
To me are nothing nouell, nothing strange,
They are but dreffings of a former fight:
Our dates are breefe, and therefor we admire,
What thou doft foyft vpon vs that is ould,
And rather make them borne to our defire,
Then thinke that we before haue heard them tould:

Thy registers and thee I both defie,

Not wondring at the prefent, nor the past,

For thy records, and what we fee doth lye,

Made more or les by thy continuall hast :
This I doe vow and this fhall euer be,
I will be true difpight thy fyeth and thee.

CXXIV.

YF my deare loue were but the childe of state,

It might for fortunes bafterd be vnfathered,

As fubiect to times loue, or to times hate,

Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gatherd.

No

No it was buylded far from accident,"
It fuffers not in fmilinge pomp, nor falls
Vnder the blow of thralled difcontent,
Whereto th'inuiting time our fashion calls:
It feares not policy that heriticke,

Which workes on leafes of fhort numbred howers,

But all alone stands hugely pollitick,

That it nor growes with heat, nor drownes with fhowres To this I witnes call the foles of time,

Which die for goodnes, who haue liu'd for crime.

CXXV.

"ER't ought to me I bore the canopy,

WER't

With my extern the outward honoring,

Or layd great bafes for eternity,

Which proues more fhort then waft or ruining?
Haue I not feene'dwellers on forme and fauor
Lofe all, and more by paying too much ent
For compound fweet; forgoing fimple fauor,
Pittifull thriuors in their gazing fpeat.
Noe, let me be obfequious in thy heart,
And take thou my oblacion, poore but free,
Which is not mixt with feconds, knows no art,
But mutuall render onely me for thee.

Hence, thou fubbornd informer, a trew foule
When most impeacht, ftands leaft in thy controule.

CXXVI.

Thou my louely boy who in thy power,

Doeft hould times fickle glaffe, his fickle, hower; Who haft by wayning growne, and therein shou'ft, Thy louers withering, as thy fweet felfe grow'ft.