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On Helen's cheek all art of beauty fet,
And you in Grecian tires are painted new.
Speak of the spring and foyzen of the year,
The one doth shadow of your beauty show,
The other as your bounty doth appear,

And you in every bleffed fhape we know:

In all external grace you have some part,
But you like none, none you, for conftant heart.

O! how much more doth beauty beauteous feem,
By that fweet ornament which truth doth give!
The rofe looks fair, but fairer we it deem
For that fweet odour, which doth in it live..
The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye,
As the perfumed tincture of the roles,
Hang on fuch thorns, and play as wantonly,
When summer's breath their masked buds discloses :
But for their virtue's only in their show,
They live unmov'd, and unrefpected fade,
Die to themselves: fweet rofes do not fo,
Of their sweet deaths are fweetest odours made.
And fo of you, beauteous and lovely youth,
When that shall fade, by verfe diftils your truth.

The Force of Love.

Being your flave, what should I do, but tend
Upon the hours and times of your defire,
I have no precious time at all to spend,
Nor fervices to do, till you require :

Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour,
Whilft I (my fovereign) watch the clock for you ;
Nor think the bitternefs of abfence four,
When you. have bid your fervant once adieu..

Nor dare I question with my jealous thought,
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose;
But like a fad flave stay, and think of nought,
Save where you are how happy you make those !***
So true a fool is love, that in your will,

(Tho' you do any thing) he thinks no ill.

That god forbid, that made me. first your flave,.
I fhould in thought controul your times of pleasure,
Or at your hand th' account of hours to crave,
Being your vaffal, bound to ftay your leifure.
O let me fuffer (being at your beck)

Th' imprifon'd abfence of your liberty;

And patience, tame to sufferance, bide each check

Without accufing you of injury!

Be where you lift, your charter is fo ftrong,..
That you yourself may privilege your time
To what you will; to you it doth belong.
Yourself to pardon of self-doing crime.
I am to wait, tho' waiting fo be hell;
Not blame your pleasure, be it ill or well.

The Beauty of Nature.

If there be nothing new, but that which ist
Hath been before, how are our brains beguil❜d ?
Which labouring for invention, bear amifs-
The fecond. burden of a former child?
O! that record could with a backward look,
Ev'n of five hundred courses of the fun;
Show me your image in some antique book,
Since mine at firft in character was done!
That I might fee what the old world could fay
To this.compofed wonder of your frame ; -

Whether we're mended, or where better they,
Or whether revolution be the fame.

O! fure I am, the wits of former days,
To fubjects worse, have given admiring praife..

Love's Cruelty.

From faireft creatures we defire increase,
That thereby beauty's rofe may never die;
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory.
But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed'ft thy light's flame with felf-substantial fuel;
Making a famine where abundance lies:

Thyself thy foe, to thy fweet felf too cruel.
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament,
And only herald to the gaudy fpring,

Within thine own bud burieft thy content,
And tender churl mak'st waste in niggarding:
Pity the world, or else this glutton be
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee..

When forty winters fhall befiege thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's porud livery, fo gaz'd on now,
Will be a tatter'd weed of small worth held:
Then being afk'd where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lufty days;
To fay within thine own deep funken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deferv'd thy beauty's ufe,
If thou couldft anfwer, This fair child of mine-
Shall fum my count, and make my old excuse,
Proving his beauty by fucceffion thine?

This were to be new made when thou art old,
And fee thy blood warm, when thou feel'st it cold.

Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest,
Now is the time that face fhould form another,
Whofe fresh repair, if now thou not reneweft,
Thou doft beguile the world, unblefs fome mother.
For where is fhe fo fair, whofe un-ear'd womb
Difdains the tillage of thy hufbandry?

Or who is he fo fond, will be the tomb
Of his felf-love, to stop pofterity?

Thou art thy mother's glafs, and the in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime :
So thou thro' windows of thine age fhalt fee,
Defpite of wrinkles, this thy golden time.
But if thou live, remember not to be;
Die fingle, and thine image dies with thee..

Youthful Glory.

O that you were yourself! but, love, you are
No longer yours, than you yourself here live:
Against this coming end you fhould prepare,
And your fweet femblance to fome other give.
So fhould that beauty, which you hold in leafe,
Find no determination; then you were
Yourfelf again, after yourfelf's decease,

When your sweet iffue your fweet form fhould bear..
Who lets fo fair a house fall to decay,

Which husbandry in honour might uphold,
Against the stormy gufts of winter's day,
And barren rage of death's eternal cold?

O! none but unthrifts: dear my love, you know
You had a father, let your fon fay fo..

Not from the ftars do I my judgment pluck,
And yet methinks I have aftronomy;

But not to tell of good or evil luck,
Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons quality;
Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,
Pointing to each his thunder, rain, and wind;
Or fay, with princes if it fhall go well,
By ought predict that I in heaven find:
But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,
And conftant ftars; in them I read fuch art,
As truth and beauty fhall together thrive,
If from thyself, to store thou would'st convert:
Or elfe of thee this I prognofticate,

Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.

When I confider, every thing that grows
Holds in perfection but a little moment;
That this buge ftage prefenteth nought but fhows,
Whereon the ftars in fecret influence comment:
When I perceive, that men as plants increase,
Chear'd and check'd ev'n by the self-fame sky:
Vaunt in their youthful fap, at height decreafe,
And wear their brave state out of memory:
Then the conceit of this inconftant stay,
Sets you most rich in youth before my fight,
Where wafteful time debateth with decay,
To change your day of youth to fullied night;
And all in war with time, for love of you,
As he takes from you, I ingraft you new.

Good Admonition.

But wherefore do not you a mightier way,
Make war upon this Bloody tyrant, time?

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