Duty fo great, which wit fo poore as mine
May make feeme bare, in wanting words to fhew it;
But that I hope fome good conceipt of thine
In thy foules thought (all naked) will beftow it:
Till whatsoeuer ftar that guides my mouing,
Points on me gratiously with faire afpect,
And puts apparrell on my tottered louing,
To fhow me worthy of their fweet respect,
Then may I dare to boast how I doe loue thee,
Til then, not show my head where thou maist proue me.
Y with toyle, I haft me to my bed,
The deare repofe for lims with trauaill tired,
But then begins a iourny in my head
To worke my mind, when boddies work's expired.
For then my thoughts (from far where I abide)
Intend a zelous pilgrimage to thee,
And keepe my drooping eye-lids open wide,
Looking on darknes which the blind doe fee.
Saue that my foules imaginary fight
Prefents their fhaddoe to my fightles view,
Which like a iewell (hunge in gastly night)
Makes blacke night beautious, and her old face new.
Loe thus by day my lims, by night my mind,
For thee, and for my felfe, noe quiet findc.
How can I then returne in happy plight
That am debard the benifit of reft? When daies opppression is not eazd by night, But day by night and night by day oprest.
And each (though enimes to ethers raigne)
Doe in confent shake hands to torture me,
The one by toyle, the other to complaine
How far I toyle, ftill farther off from thee.
I tell the day to please him thou art bright,
And do'st him grace when clouds doe blot the heauen :
So flatter I the fwart complexiond night,
When fparkling stars twire not thou guil'ft th' eauen.
But day doth daily draw my forrowes longer,
And night doth nightly make greefes length feeme stronger.
HEN in difgrace with fortune and mens eyes,
I all alone beweepe my out-caft ftate,
And trouble deafe heauen with my bootleffe cries,
And looke vpon my felfe and curfe my fate.
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featur'd like him, like him with friends poffeft,
Defiring this mans art, and that mans skope,
With what I moft inioy contented least,
Yet in these thoughts my felfe almost despifing,
Haplye I thinke on thee, and then my state,
(Like to the larke at breake of daye arising)
From fullen earth fings himns at heauens gate,
For thy fweet loue remembred fuch welth brings,
That then I skorne to change my state with kings.
WHEN to the feffions of fweet filent thought,
I fommon vp remembrance of things past,
I figh the lacke of many a thing I fought,
And with old woes new waile my deare times waste :
Then can I drowne an eye (vn-vf'd to flow)
For precious friends hid in deaths dateles night,
And weepe a fresh loues long fince canceld woe,
And mone th' expence of many a vannisht fight.
Then can I greeue at greeuances fore-gon,
And heauily from woe to woe tell ore
The fad account of fore-bemoned mone,
Which I new pay as if not payd before.
But if the while I thinke on thee (deare friend)
All loffes are reftord, and forrowes end,
"HY bofome is indeared with all hearts
Which I by lacking haue fuppofed dead,
And there raignes loue and all loues louing parts,
And all thofe friends which I thought buried.
How many a holy and obfequious teare
Hath deare religious loue ftolne from mine eye,
As intereft of the dead, which now appeare,
But things remou'd that hidden in there lie.
Thou art the graue where buried loue doth liue,
Hung with the tropheis of my louers gon,
Who all their parts of me to thee did giue,
That due of many, now is thine alone.
Their images I lou'd, I view in thee,
And thou (all they) haft all the all of me.
F thou furuiue my well contented daie,
When that churle death my bones with duft shall couer And fhalt by fortune once more re-furuay:
These poore rude lines of thy deceased louer :
Compare them with the bett'ring of the time,
And though they be out-stript by euery pen,
Referue them for my loue, not for their rime,
Exceeded by the hight of happier men.
Oh then voutfafe me but this louing thought,
Had my friends mufe growne with this growing age,
A dearer birth then this his loue had brought
To march in ranckes of better equipage :
But fince he died and poets better proue,
Theirs for their ftile Ile read, his for his loue.
FVLL many a glorious morning haue I feene,
Flatter the mountaine tops with foueraine eie,
Kiffing with golden face the meddowes greene;
Guilding pale streames with heauenly alcumy:
Anon permit the bafeft cloudes to ride,
With ougly rack on his celeftiall face,
And from the for-lorne world his visage hide
Stealing vnfeene to weft with this disgrace :
Euen fo my funne one early morne did shine,
With all triumphant fplendor on my brow,
But out alack, he was but one houre mine,
The region cloude hath mask'd him from me now.
Yet him for this, my loue no whit difdaineth,
Suns of the world may staine, whe heauens fun ftainteh.
WHY didft thou promise such a beautious day,
And make me trauaile forth without my cloake,
To let bace cloudes ore-take me in my way,
Hiding thy brau'ry in their rotten smoke.
Tis not enough that through the cloude thou breake,
To dry the raine on my ftorme-beaten face,
For no man well of such a falue can speake,
That heales the wound, and cures not the difgrace:
Nor can thy fhame giue phificke to my griefe,
Though thou repent, yet I haue ftill the loffe,
Th' offenders forrow lends but weake reliefe
To him that beares the strong offenfes loffe.
Ah but those teares are pearle which thy loue sheeds,
And they are ritch, and ransome all ill deeds.
more bee greeu'd at that which thou haft done, Rofes haue thornes, and filuer fountaines mud, Cloudes and eclipfes ftaine both moone and funne, And loathfome canker liues in sweetest bud. All men make faults, and euen I in this, Authorizing thy trefpas with compare, My felfe corrupting faluing thy amiffe, Excufing their fins more then their fins are: For to thy fenfuall fault I bring in fence, Thy aduerfe party is thy aduocate,
And gainst my felfe a lawfull plea commence,
Such ciuill war is in my loue and hate,
That I an acceffary needs muft be,
To that sweet theefe which fourely robs from me,
LET me confeffe that we two must be twaine,
Although our vadeuided loues are one:
So fhall those blots that do with me remaine,
Without thy helpe, by me be borne alone.
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