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And fortisy yourself, in your decay,
"With means more blessed than my barren rhyme?
Uow stand you on the top of happy hours,
And many maiden gardens yet unset,
With virtuous wish would bear you living flowers,
Much liker than your painted counterseit.
So should the lines of lise that lise repair,
Which this (time's pencil) or my pupil pen,
Neither .in inward worth, nor outward fair,
Can make you live yourself in eyes of men.
To give away yourself, keeps yourself still,
And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill.
Who will believe my verse, in time to come,
If it were sill'd with your most high deserts?
Tho' yet, -heaven knows, it is but as a tomb,
Which hides your lise, and shows not half your parts.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes,
And in fresh numbers number all your graces-;
The age to come would fay this poet lyes,
Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.
So should my papers (yellow'd with their age)
Be scorn'd, like old men of less truth than tongue;
And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage,
And stretched metre of an antick fong.
But were fome child of yours alive that time,
You should live twice-in it, and in my thyme.
JLo! in the orient when the gracious light
Lists up his burning head, each under eye
JDoth homage to his new-appearing sight,
Serving with looks his facred majesty;
And having climb's} the steep-up heavenly "hill,
.Resembling strong youth in bis middle age,
Tet mortal looks adore his beauty still,
Attendingron his golden pilgrimage.
But when from high-most pitch, with weary care,
Like seeble age he reeleth from the day.;
The eyes ('fore duteous) now converted are
From his low track, and look another way.
So thou, thyself out-going in thy noon,
Unlook'd on diest, unless thou get a fon.
Magazine of Beauty.
Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
Upon thyself thy beauty's legacy?
Nature's bequest gives nothing, but doth lend,
And being frank, she lends to those are free.
Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse
The bounteous largess given thee to give i
Prositless usurer, why dost thou use
So great a sum of sums, yet can'st not live?
For-having trassisick with thyself alone,
Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive;
Then how when nature calls thee to be gone,
What acceptable audit caii'st thou leave?
Thy unus'd beauty must be tomb'd with thee.
Which used lives th' executor to be.
Those hours, that with gentle work did frame
The lovely gaze, where every eye doth dwell,
Will play the tyrants to the very fame,
Aud that unsair, which fairly doth excel.
For never^resting time leads summer on
To hideous winter, and consounds him there.;
Sap check'd with frost, and lusty leaves quite gone$
=Beauty o'er-snow'd, and barrenness every where.
Then wee not summer's distillation left
A liquid prifoner, pent in walls of glass,
Beauty's esfect with beauty were bereft,
Nor it nor no remembrance what it was.
But slowers distilPd, tho' they with winter meet.
Lose but their show, their substance still lives sweet.
Then let not winter's ragged hand deface
In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd,
Make sweet fome vial, treasure thou fome place
With beauty^s treasure, e'er it be self kill'd:
That use is not forbidden usury,
"Which happies those that pay the willing loan;
That's for thyself to breed another thee,
Or ten times happier, be it ten for one:
Ten times thyself were happier than thou art,
If ten of thine ten times resigur'd thee;
Then what could death do, if thou should'st depart,
Leaving thee living in posterity?
Be not self-will'd, for thou art much too fair
To be death'seonquest, and make wormsthine heir.
An Invitation to Marriage.
Musick to hear, why hear'st thou musick fadly?
Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy:
Why lov'st thou that, which thou receiv'st not gladly?
Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy?
If the true concord of well tuned founds,
By unions married do osfend thy ear,
They do but sweetly chide thee, who consounds
In singleness the parts that thou should'st bear.
Mark how one string, sweet husband to another,
Strikes each in each by mutual ordering; -
"Resembling sire and child, and happy mother,
Who all in one, one pleasing note do sing:
Whose speechless fong, being many, seeming one,
Sings this to thee, thou single wilt prove none.
Is it for sear to wet a widow's eye,
That thou consum'st thyself in single lise i
Ah! if thou issue-less shalt hap to die,
The world will wail thee like a makelese wise:
The world -will be thy widow, and still weep,
That thou no form of thee hast left behind;
When every private widow well may keep,
By childrens eyes, her husband's shape in mind:
Look what an unthrift in the world doth spend,
Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it:
But beauty's waste hath in the world an end,
And kept unus'd, the us'rer fo destroys it.
No love towards others in that bofom sits.
That on himself such murd'rous shame commits.
For shame! deny, that thou bear'st love to any,
Who for thyself art fo unprovident;
Grant, is thou wilt, thou art belov'd of many,
But that thou none lov'st, is most evident:
For thou art fo possess'd with murd'rous hate,
That 'gainst thyself thou stick'st not to conspire,
Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate,
Which to repair, should be thy chief desire.
O change thy thought, that I may change my mind!
Shall hate be fairer lodg'd than gentle love?
Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind,
Or to thyself, at least, kind-hearted prove:
Make thee another sels, for love os me,
That beauty still may live in thine or thee.
As fast as thou shalt wane, fo fast thou grow'st
In oneof^hine, from that which thou departed;
And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestowrst,
Thou may'st call thine, when thou from youth con-
Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase; [vertest.
Without this, folly, age, and cold decay.;
If all were minded fo, the times should cease,
And threescore years would make the world away.
Let those whom nature hath not made for store,
Harsh, seatureless, and rude, barrenly perish:
Look whom she best endow'd, she gave the more;
Which bounteous gift thou should'st in bounty cherish:
She carv'd thee for her seal, and meant thereby
Thou should'st print more, nor let that copy die.
When I do count the clock, that tells the time,
And see the brave day funk in hideous night;
When I behold the violet past prime,
And fable 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 forfake,
And die as fast as they see others grow;
And nothing'gainst time's scithe can make desence,
Save breed,to brave him when he takesthee hence.
When my love swears that she is made of truth,
I do believe her (tho' I know she lyes) ..