XXXIV.

Why didft thou promise such a beauteous day,
And make me travel forth without my cloak,
To let bafe clouds o'ertake me in my way,
Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke?

'Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break, To dry the rain on my ftorm-beaten face,

For no man well of such a falve can speak

That heals the wound and cures not the difgrace:
Nor can thy fhame give physic to my grief;
Though thou repent, yet I have still the lofs:
The offender's forrow lends but weak relief

To him that bears the ftrong offence's cross.
Ah, but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds,
And they are rich and ransom all ill deeds.

XXXV.

No more be grieved at that which thou hast done:
Rofes have thorns, and filver fountains mud;
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and fun,
And loathfome canker lives in sweetest bud.
All men make faults, and even I in this,
Authorizing thy trefpafs with compare,
Myself corrupting, falving thy amiss,
Excufing thy fins more than thy fins are;
For to thy fenfual fault I bring in sense-
Thy adverse party is thy advocate-

And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence :
Such civil war is in my love and hate,

That I an acceffary needs must be

To that sweet thief which fourly robs from me.

XXXVI.

Let me confefs that we two must be twain,
Although our undivided loves are one:
So fhall those blots that do with me remain,
Without thy help, by me be borne alone.
In our two loves there is but one respect,
Though in our lives a separable spite,

Which, though it alter not love's fole effect,

Yet doth it fteal fweet hours from love's delight.
I may not evermore acknowledge thee,

Left my bewailed guilt should do thee shame,
Nor thou with public kindness honour me,

Unless thou take that honour from thy name:

But do not fo; I love thee in such fort

As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report.

XXXVII.

As a decrepit father takes delight

To fee his active child do deeds of youth,
So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite,
Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth;
For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit,
Or any of these all, or all, or more,
Entitled in thy parts do crowned fit,

I make my love engrafted to this store :
So then I am not lame, poor, nor despised,

Whilft that this fhadow doth fuch fubftance give
That I in thy abundance am fufficed

And by a part of all thy glory live.

Look, what is beft, that beft I wish in thee:

This wish I have; then ten times happy me!

XXXVIII.

How can my Muse want subject to invent,
While thou doft breathe, that pour'st into my verse
Thine own sweet argument, too excellent
For every vulgar paper to rehearse?

O, give thyself the thanks, if aught in me
Worthy perusal stand against thy fight;

For who's fo dumb that cannot write to thee,
When thou thyself dost give invention light?
Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth
Than those old nine which rimers invocate;
And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth
Eternal numbers to outlive long date.

If my flight Muse do please these curious days,
The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise.