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And sable curls are silver'd o'er with white;
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves,
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd,
And summer's green all girded up in sheaves,
Borne on the bier, with white and bristly beard;
Then of thy beauty do I question make,
That thou among the wastes of time must go,
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake,
And die as fast as they see others grow;

And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence,
Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.

FALSE BELIEF.

When my love swears that she is made of truth,
I do believe her, (tho' I know she lies)
That she might think me some untutor'd youth,
Unskilful in the world's false forgeries.
Thus vainly thinking, that she thinks me young,
Altho' I know my years be past the best;
I, smiling, credit her false speaking tongue,
Out-facing faults in love, with love's ill rest.
But wherefore says my love, that she is young?
And wherefore say not I, that I am old?
O love's best habit is a smoothing tongue,
And age (in love) loves not to have years told.
Therefore I'll lie with love, and love with me,
Since that our faults in love thus smother'd be.

A TEMPTATION.

Two loves I have, of comfort and despair,
That, like two spirits, do suggest me still:
My better angel is a man, (right fair)
My worser spirit a woman (colour'd ill.)
To win me soon to hell, my female evil
Tempteth my better angel from my side,
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil,
Wooing his purity with her fair pride.
And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend,
Suspect I may, yet not directly tell;
For being both to me, both to each friend,
I guess one angel in another's hell.

The truth I shall not know, but live in doubt,
'Till my bad angel fire my good one out.

FAST AND LOOSE.

Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye,
Gainst whom the world could not hold argument,
Persuade my heart to this false perjury,
Vows for thee broke, deserve not punishment.
A woman I foreswore; but I will prove,
Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee:
My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love,
Thy grace being gain'd, cures all disgrace in me.
My vow was breath, and breath a vapour is;
Then thou, fair sun, that on this earth doth shine,
Exhale this vapour vow, in thee it is:
If broken then, it is no fault of mine.

If by me broke, what fool is not so wise
To break an oath, to win a paradise?

TRUE CONTENT.

So is it not with me, as with that muse,
Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse,
Who heaven itself for ornament doth use,
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse;
Making a compliment of proud compare,
With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems;
With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare,
That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems.
O! let me, true in love, but truly write,
And then believe me, my love is as fair
As any mother's child, tho' not so bright,
As those gold candles fix'd in heaven's air.
Let them say more that like of hearsay well:
I will not praise, that purpose not to sell.

A BASHFUL LOVER.

As an unperfect actor on the stage,

Who with his fear is put beside his part;

Or some fierce thing, replete with too much rage, Whose strength abundant weakens his own heart: So I, for fear of trust, forgot to say

The perfect ceremony of love's right,

And in mine own love's strength seem to decay, O'ercharg'd with burden of mine own love's might. O! let my looks be then the eloquence,

And dumb presagers of my speaking breast-;

K VOL. IX.

Who plead for love, and look for recompence,
More than that tongue that more hath more exprest.
O learn to read what silent love hath writ!
To hear what eyes belong to love's fine wit.

STRONG CONCEIT.

My glass shall not persuade me I am old,
So long as youth and thou art of one date;
But when in thee time's sorrows I behold,
Then look I death my days should expiate.
For all that beauty that doth cover thee,
Is but the seemly raiment of my heart,
Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me;
How can I then be elder than thou art?
O, therefore, love! be of thyself so weary,
As I, not for myself, but for thee, will,
Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary,
As tender nurse her babe from faring ill.

Presume not on thy heart, when mine is slain;
Thou gav'st me thine, not to give back again.

SWEET PROVOCATION.

Sweet Cytherea sitting by a brook,

With young Adonis, lovely, fresh, and green,
Did court the lad with many a lovely look,
Such looks as none could look but beauty's queen.
She told him stories to delight his ear;
She show'd him favours to allure his eye;
To win his heart, she touch'd him here and there;
Touches so soft, still conquer chastity.
But whether unripe years did want conceit,
Or he refus'd to take her figur'd proffer,
The tender nibbler would not touch the bait,
But smile and jest at every gentle offer :

Then fell she on her back, fair queen, and toward;
He rose and ran away. Ah, fool, too froward!

A CONSTANT VOw.

If love make me foresworn, how shall I swear to love? Oh! never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow'd; Tho' to myself forsworn, to thee I'll constant prove. Those thoughts to me like oaks, to thee like osiers bow'd. Study his bias leaves, and make his book thine eyes, Where all those pleasures live, that art can comprehend. If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice: Well learned is that tongue, that well can thee commend; All ignorant that soul, that sees thee without wonder, Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire: Thine eye Jove's lightning seems, thy voice his dreadful

thunder,

Which (not to anger bent) is music and sweet fire.
Celestial as thou art, oh, do not love that wrong!
To sing heaven's praise with such an earthly tongue.

THE EXCHANGE.

A woman's face, with nature's own hand painted,
Hast thou, the master, mistress of my passion;
A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted
With shifting change, as is false women's fashion;
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling,
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth;
A man in hue all hue in his controling,
Which steals men's eyes, and women's souls amazeth :
And for a woman wert thou first created,
Till nature, as she wrought thee, fell a doating,
And by addition me of thee defeated;

By adding one thing, to my purpose nothing.

But since she prick'd thee out for women's pleasure, Mine be thy love, and thy love's use their treasure.,

A DISCONSOLATION.

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear repose for limbs with travel tired;
But then begins a journey in my head,
To work my mind, when body's work's expired.
For then my thoughts (far from where I abide)
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keep my drooping eye-lids open wide,
Looking on darkness, which the blind do see.
Save that my soul's imaginary sight
Presents their shadow to my sightless view;
Which, like a jewel, (hung in ghastly night)
Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new.
Lo! thus by day my limbs, by night my mind,
For thee, and for myself no quiet find.

How can I then return in happy plight,
That am debarr'd the benefit of rest;
When day's oppression is not eas'd by night,
But day by night, and night by day opprest?
And each (tho' enemies to other's reign)
Do in consent shake hands to torture me;
The one by toil, the other to complain,
How far I toil, still farther off from thee.
I tell the day, to please him, thou art bright,
And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven:
So flatter I the swart-complexion'd night,
When sparkling stars tweer out, thou gild'st the even.
But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer,
And night doth nightly make grief's length seem

stronger.

When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my out-cast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate:
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featur'd like him, like him with friends possest;
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least,
Yet in these thoughts, myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark, at break of day arising
From sullen earth, to sing at heaven's gate.

For thy sweet love rememb'red, such wealth brings,
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

CRUEL DECEIT.

Scarce had the sun dry'd up the dewy morn,
And scarce the herd gone to the hedge for shade;
When Cytherea (all in love forlorne)
A longing tarriance for Adonis made
Under an osier growing by a brook;
A brook, where Adon us'd to cool his spleen.
Hot was the day, she hotter, that did look
For his approach, that often here had been.
Anon he comes, and throws his mantle by,
And stood stark naked on the brook's green brim:
The sun look'd on the world with glorious eye,
Yet not so wistly, as this queen on him:

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