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On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set,
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 blessed shape we know:
In all external grace you have fome part,
But you like none, none you, for constant heart,
0! how much more doth beauty beauteous seem,. By that sweet ornament vvhieh truth doth give f The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem
For that sweet odour, which doth in it live.
The canker-blooms have sull as deep a dye,
As the persumed tincture of the roses*
Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly,
When summer's breath their masked buds discloses r
But for their virtue's only in their show, .
They live unmov'd, and unrespected fade,
Die to themselves: sweet roses do not fo,
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours madev.
And fo of you, beauteous and lovely youth,
When that shall fade, by verse distils your truth.
The Force of Love.
Being your flave, what should I do, but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire,
1 have no precious time at all to spend,
Nor services to do, till you require:
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour,
Whilst I (my fovereign) watch the clock for you
Nor think the bitterness of absence four,
When you. have bid your servant 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 sirst your flave,.
I should in thought controul your times of pleasure;
Or at your hand th' account of hours to crave,
Being your vassal, bound to stay your leisure.
G let me suffer (being at your beck)
Th' imprifon'd absence of your liberty;
And patience, tame to sufferance, bide each check>
Without accusing you of injury!
Be where you list,' your charter is fo strong,.
That you yourself may privilege your time
To what you will; to you it doth belong.
Yourself to pardon of self-doing crime-.
1 am to wait* tho' waiting fo be heir ;:
Not blame your pleasure, be it ill or well.
7be Beauty of Nature.
K there be nothing. new,. but that which is
Hath been before, how are our brains beguil'd?
Which labouring for invention, bear amiss-
The second.burden os a former child?
O! that record could with a backward look,
Ev'n of sive hundred courses of the sun;
Show me your image in fome antique book,
Since mine at sirst in character was done!
That I might see what the old world could fay
To this.composed wonder of your frame ;:
"Whether we're mended, or where better they,
Or. whether revolution be the fame.
O! sure I am, the wits of former days,
To subjects worse, have given admiring praise.
From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereBy beauty's rose 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,
Eeed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial suel ;.
Making a famine where abundance lies:
Thysels thy. foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament*
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
"Within thine own bud buriest thy content,
And tender churl mak'st waste in nigganling:
Pity the world, or else this glutton be
To eat the world's due, by the grave and'thee^.
When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's sield,
Thy youth's porud livery, fo gaz'd on now,
Will be a tatter'd weed of small worth held:
Then being alk'd where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure os thy lusty days;
To fay within thine own deep-sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise.
How much more praise descrv'd thy beauty's use,.
If thou couldst answer, This fair child os mine
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuses
Proving his beauty by succeffion thine?
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm,when thou seel'st it coldi
Look in thy glass> and tell the face thou viewed,
Now is the time that face should form another,
Whose fresh repair, if now thou not renewed,
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is she fo fair, whose un-ear'd womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he fo fond, will be the tomb
Of his self-love, to stop posterity?
Thou art thy mother's glass, and the in thee
Galls back the lovely April of her prime:
So thou thro' windows of thine age shalt see,-
Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time.
But if thou live, remember not to be;
Die single, and thine image dies with thee.
O that you \rere yourself! but, love, you arS
No longer yours, than you yourself here live:
Against this coming end you should prepare,
And your sweet semblance to fome other give.
So should that beauty, which you hold in lease,
Find no determination; then you were
Yourself again, aster yourself's decease,
When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear.
Who lets fo fair a house fall to decay,
Which husbandry in honour might uphold,
Against the stormy. gusts 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 stars do I my judgment pluck,
And yet methinks I have astronomy;
But not to tell of good or evil luck,
Of plague?, of dearths, or seafons quality;
Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,
^Pointing to each his thunder, rain, and wind;
Or fay, with princes if it shall go well,
By ought predict that I in heaven sind:
But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,
And constant stars; in them I read such art,
As truth and beauty shall together thrive,
If from thyself, to store thou would'st convert:
Or else of thee this I prognosticate,
Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.
When I consider, every thing that grows
Holds in persection but a little moment;
That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows,
Whereon the stars in secret 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 sap, at height decrease,
And wear their brave state out of memory:
Then the conceit of this inconstant stay,
Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,
Where wastesul time debateth with decay,
To change your day of youth to sullied night;
And all in war with time, for love of you,
As he takes from you, I ingrast you new.
But wherefore do not you a mightier way,
Make war upon this Bloody tyrant, time?