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If nature (foueraine misteres ouer wrack)
As thou goest on wards still will plucke thee backe,
She keepes thee to this purpose, that her skill.
May time disgrace, and wretched mynuit kill.
Yet feare her thou minnion of her pleasure,
She may detaine, but not still keepe her tresure !
Her audite (though delayd) answer'd must be,
And her quietus is to render thee.

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CXXVII.

IN
IN the ould age blacke was not counted faire,

Or if it weare it bore not beauties name:
But now is blacke beauties successiue heire,
And beautie Nanderd with a bastard shame,
For since each hand hath put on natures power,
Fairing the foule with arts faulse borrow'd face,
Sweet beauty hath no name no holy boure,
But is prophan'd, if not liues in disgrace.
Therefore my misterse eyes are rauen blacke, ,
Her eyes so suted, and they mourners feeme,
At such who not borne faire no beauty lack,
Slandring creation with a false esteeme,

Yet so they mourne becomming of their woe,
That euery toung faies beauty should looke so.

CXXVIII.

HOW

OW oft when thou my musike musike playst,

V pon that blessed wood whose motion sounds With thy sweet fingers when thou gently swayst The wiry concord that mine eare confounds,

Do

Do I enuie those iackes that nimble leape,
To kisle the tender inward of thy hand,
Whilft my poore lips which should that haruest

reape,
At the woods bouldoes by thee blushing stand,
To be so tikled they would change their state,
And situation with those dancing chips,
Ore whome their fingers walke with geatle gate,
Making dead wood more bleft then living lips,

Since sausie iacke's so happy are in this,
Giue them their fingers, me thy lips to kisse.

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CXXIX.
TH expence of spirit in a waste of shame

Is luft in action, and till action, lust,
Is periurd, murdrous, blouddy full of blame,
Sauage, extreame, rude, cruell, not to trust,
Inioyd no sooner but dispised straight,
Paft reason hunted, and no sooner had
Palt reason hated as a swollowed bayt.
On purpose layd to make the taker mad.
Made in pursut and in possession so,
Had, hauing, and in quest, to haue extreame,
A blisse in proofe and proud and very wo,
Before a ioy propofd behind a dreame,

All this the world well knowes yet none knowes, well,
To thun the heauen that leads men to this hell.

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CXXX.

My mistres eyes are nothing like the sunne,

Currall is farre more red, then her lips red,
If faow be white, why then her brests are dun :
If haires be wiers, black wiers grow on her head :

I haue feene roses damalkt, red and white,
But no such roses see ì in her cheekes,
And in some perfumes is there more delight;
Then in the breath that from my mistres reekes.
I loue to heare her (peake, yet well I know,
That musicke hath a farre more pleasing found;
I graunt I neuer faw a goddesse goe,
My mistres when thee walkes treads on the ground,

And yet by heauen I thinke my loue as rare,
As any she beli'd with false compare.

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ÇXXXI.
THOU art as tirannous, so as thou art,

As those whose beauties proudly make them cruell ,
For well thou know'lt to my deare doting hart
Thou art the faireft and most precious iewell.
Yet in good faith some say that thee behold, to
Thy face hath not the power to make loue gtones
To say they erre, I dare not be so bold, sor!..
Although I sweare it to my felfe alone. c 01 Left
And to be sure that is not false I sweare ri bna
A thousand grones but thinking on thy fadel....,
One on anothers necke do witnesse beare.c.:
Thy blacke is fairest in my iudgements place.

In nothing art thou blacke faue in thy deeds,
And thence this llaunder as I thinke proceeds.

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CXXXII.

HINE eies I loue, and they'as pittying.me,

Knowing thy-heart torment me with disdaine, Haue put on black, and louing mourners bee, Looking with pretty ruth vpon my paine.

And

And truly not the morning fun of heauen
Better becomes the gray cheeks of th'east,
Nor that full starre that vshers in the eauen
Doth halfe that glory to the sober west
As those two morning eyes become thy face :
O let it then as well beleeme thy heart
To mourne for me since mourning doth thee grace,
And sute thy pitty like in euery part.

Then will I sweare beauty her felfe is blacke,
And all they foule that thy complexion lacke.

CXXXIII.

BESHRE W that heart that makes my heart to groane

For that deepe wound it gives my friend and me;
I'st not ynough to torture me alone,
But saue to fauery my sweet'st friend must be.
Me from my selfe thy cruell eye hath taken,
And my next selfe thou harder hast ingrossed,
Of him, my felfe, and thee I am forsaken,
A torment thrice three-fold thus to be crossed :
Poison my heart in thy steele bosomes warde,
But then my friends heart let my poore heart bale,
Who ere keepes me, let my heart be his garde,
Thou canst not then vse rigor in my iaile.
And yet thou wilt, for I being pent in thee,
Perforce am thine and all that is in me.

CXXXIV.

So now I haue confest that he is thine,

And I my felfe am morgag’d to thy will, My felfe Ile forfeit, so that other mine, Thou wilt restore to be my comfort still : VOL. IV.

I i

But

But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free,
For thou art couetous, and he is kinde,
He learnd but suretie-like to write for me,
Vnder that bond that him as fast doth binde.
The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take,
Thou vsurer that put'st forth all to vse,
And fue a friend, came debter for my fake,
So him I loose through my vnkinde abuse.

Him haue I loft, thou hast both him and me,
He paies the whole, and yet am I not free,

CXxxv.

WHO euer hath her wish, thou hast thy Will,

And Will too boote, and Will in ouer-plus,
More then enough am I that vexe thee still,
To thy sweet will making addition thus.
Wilt thou whose will is large and spatious,
Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine,
Shall will in others feeme right gracious,
And in my will no faire acceptance shine :
The sea all water, yet receiues raine still,
And in aboundance addeth to his store,
So thou beeing rich in Will adde to thy Will,
One will of mine to make thy large Will more.

Let no vnkinde, no faire beseechers kill,
Thinke all but one, and me in that one Will.

:

CXXXVI.

I thy foule check thee that I come fo neere,

Sweare to thy blind soule that I was thy Will, And will thy foule knowes is admitted there. Thus farre for loue, my loue-sute sweet fullfill.

WI,

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