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So loue be thou, although too daie thou fill
Thy hungrie eies, euen till they winck with fulnesse,
Too morrow see againe,' and doe not kill
The spirit of loue, with a perpetual dulnesse :
Let this said intrim like the ocean be
Which parts the fhore, where two contracted new,
Come daily to the banckes, that when they see :
Returne of loue, more bleft may be the view.

As cal it winter, which being ful of care,
Makes somers welcome, thrice more with'd, more rare.


BEING your flaue what should I doe but tend,

V pon the houres, and times of your desire ?
I haue no precious time at al to spend,
Nor feruices to doe til you require.
Nor dare I chide the world without end houre,
Whilft I (my soueraine) watch the clock for you,
Nor thinke the bitterneffe of absence fowre,
When you haue bid your feruant once adieue.
Nor dare I question with my ieallous thought,
Where you may be, or your affaires suppose,
But like a fad Naue stay and thinke of nought
Saue where you are, how happy you make those.

So true a foole is loue, that in your will,
(Though you doe any thing) he thinkes no ill.



"HAT God forbid, that made me firft your flaue,

I should in thought controule your times of pleasure,
Or at your hand th’account of houres to crade,
Being your vastail bound to ftaie your leisure,


Oh let me fuffer (being at your beck)
Th'imprison'd absence of your libertie,
And patience tame, to fufferance bide each check,
Without accusing you of iniury.
Be where you lift, your charter is so strong,
That you your selfe may priuiledge your time
To what you will, to you it doth belong,
Your felfe to pardon of felfe-doing crime.

I am to waite, though waiting fo be hell,
Not blame your pleasure be it ill or well.



F their bee nothing new, but that which is,

Hath beene before, how are our braines beguild,
Which laboring for inuention beare amifle
The second burthen of a former child ?
Oh that record could with a back-ward looke,
Euen of fiue hundreth courses of the sunne,
Show me your image in some antique booke,
Since minde at first in carrećter was done.
That I might see what the old world could say,
To this composed wonder of your frame,
Whether we are mended, or where better they,
Or whether reuolution be the same.

Oh sure I am the wits of former daies,
To subiects worse haue giuen admiring praise.



IK E as the waues make towards the pibled shore,

So do our minuites hasten to their end,
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In fequent toile all forwards do contend.


Natiuity once in the maine of light,
Crawles to maturity, wherewith being crown'd,
Crooked eclipses gainst his glory fight,
And time that gaue, doth now his gift confound.
Time doth transfixe the florish set on youth,
And delues the paralels in beauties brow,
Feedes on the rarities of natures truth,
And nothing stands but for his sieth to mow.

And yet to times in hope, my verse shall stand
Praising thy worth, dispight his cruell hand.


S it thy wil, thy image should keepe open

My heauy eielids to the weary night?
Dost thou desire my numbers should be broken,
While shadowes like to thee do mocke my fight?
Is it thy spirit that thou send'nt from thee
So farre from home into my deeds to prye,
To find out shames and idle houres in me,
The fkope and tenure of thy ielousie?
O no, thy loue though much, is not so great,
It is my loue that keepes mine eie awake,
Mine owne true loue that doth my rest defeat,
To plaie the watch-man euer for thy fake.

For thee watch I, whilst thou doft wake elsewhere,
From me farre of, with others all to neere.



INNE of selfe-loue poffefseth al mine eie,

And all my foule, and al my euery part;
And for this Ginne there is no remedie,
It is so grounded inward in my heart.


Me thinkes no face so gratious is as mine,
No shape so true, no truth of such account,
And for my selfe mine owne worth do define,
As I all other in all worths surmount.
But when my glasse shewes me my felfe indeed
Beated and chopt with tand antiquitic,
Mine owne felfe loue quite contrary I read
Selfe, fo felfe louing were iniquity,

Tis thee (my selfe) that for my felfe I praise,
Painting my age with beauty of thy daies.


GAINST iny loue shall be as I am now

With times iniurious hand chrusht and ore-worne,
When houres haue dreind his blood and fild his brow
With lines and wrincles, when his youthfull morne
Hath trauaild on to ages steepie night,
And all those beauties whereof now he's king
Are vanishing, or vanisht out of sight,
Stealing away the treasure of his spring.
For such a time do I now fortifie
Against confounding ages cruell knife,
That he shall neuer cut from memory
My sweet loues beauty, though my louers life.

His beautie shall in these blacke lines be seene,
And they ihall live, and he in them still greene.


WH HEN I have seene by times fell hand defaced

The rich proud cost of outworne buried age, When fometime loftie towers I fee downe rased, And brasle eternall Naue to mortall rage.


When I haue feene the hungry ocean gaine
Aduantage on the kingdome of the shoare,
And the firme soilé win of the watry maine,
Increasing store with lofle, and loffe with store.
When I haue feene such interchange of state,
Or state it selfe confounded, to decay,
Ruine hath taught me thus to ruminate
That time will come and take my loue away.

This thought is as a death which cannot choose
But weepe to haue, that which it feares to loose.


SINCE brasse, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundlesse fez ,

But sad mortallity ore-swaies their power,
How with this rage shall beautie hold a plea,
Whose action is no stronger then a flower ?
O how shall summers hunny breath hold out,
Against the wrackfull fiedge of battring dayes,
When rocks impregnable are not so stoute,
Nor gates of steele so strong but time decayes?
O fearefull meditation, where alack,
Shall times beft iewell from times cheit lie hid ?
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foote back,
Or who his spoile or beautie can forbid ?

O none, vnlesfe this miracle haue might,
That in black inck my loue may still shine bright.


TYRD with all these for reftfull death I cry,

As to behold desert a begger borne,
And needie nothing trimd in iollitie,
And purest faith ynhappily forfworne,


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