« AnteriorContinuar »
The earth can have but earth, which is his due;
My sprite is thine, the better part of me.
So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life,
The prey of worms, my body being dead;
The coward conquest of a wretch's knise,
Too base of thee to be rememb'red.
The worth of that, is that which it contains ;. -
And that is this, and this with thee remains.
Nil Magnis Invidia.
That thou art bjam'd, shall not be thy desects.
For flander's mark was ever yet the fair:
The ornament os beauty is suspect;
A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air.
So thou be good, flander doth not approve
Their worth the greater, being woo'd of time;..
For canker vice the sweetell buds doth love,
And thou present'st a pure unstained prime.
Thou hast past by the ambush of young days, .
Either not assail'd, or victor, being charg'd 5 .
Xet this thy praise cannot be fo thy praise,
To tie up envy, evermore enlarg'd;
Is fome suspect of ill, mask not thy show,
Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts should'st owe*.
O how I faint, when I of you do write!
Knowing a better spirit doth use your name;
And in thcpraise thereof spends all his might,
To make me tongue-ty'd, sper.king os your fame.
But since your worth (wide as the ocean is)
The humble . as the proudest fail doth bear > -
My faucy bark (inserior far to his)
On ycur broad main doth wilsully appear.
Your shallowest help will hold me up a-floar,
Whilst he upon your foundless deep doth ride;
Or (being wreck'd) I am a worthless boat,
lie of tall building, and of goodly pride.
Then is he thrive* and 1 be cast away,
The worst-was this, roy love was my decay/'
Or shall I live your epitaph to make?
Or you survive, when I in earth am rotten?:
Frcm hence your memory-death cannot take, .
Akho'in me-each part wiil be forgotten.
Your name fiom hence immortal lise shall have,-.
Tho' I (once gone) to all the world must die;
The earth''can yield me but a common grave, .
When^you .•entombed in mens eyes shall lie: .
Your monument shall be my gentle verse,
Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read;
And tongues to be, your being shall rehearse,
When all the breathers of this world are dead;
You. still shall live (such virtue hath my pen)
Where breath moll breathes, ev'n in the .mouths»ofi
The PiSure of True Lsve<
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments-, love is not love,
Whiclvalfers when it alteration sinds,-
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no! it is an ever-sixed'mark,
That looks on tempests, and is-nevershaken ::
It is the star to every wand'ring bark,
Whose worth's unknown, altho' his height be takenv
Love's not time's fool, tho' rosy lips and cheeks
With'his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it down even to the edge of doom.
If this be error, and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
In Praise of his Love.
I grant thou wert not marry'd to my muse,
And therefore may'st without attaint o'er-look-
The dedicated words which writers use
Of their fair subject, blessing every book-; -
Thou art as fair in knowledge as in hue; .
Finding thy worth a limit pad my praise;
And therefore art enforc'd to seek a-new
Some fresher stamp of the time-bettering days:
And do fo love, yet when they have devi&'d.
What strained touches rhetorick can lend, .
Thou truly fair, wert truly sympathize.
In true plain words, by thy truertelli/ig friend;
And their gross painting might be better us'd,
Where cheeks need blood, in thee it is abus'd.
I never faw that you did painting need,
And therefore to you.fair no painting set:
I found (or thought I found) you did exceed .
The barren tender of a poet's debt:
And therefore have I flept in your report, .
That you yourself being extant, well might show,
How far a modern quill doth come too short,
Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow
This silence of my sin you did impute,
Which shall be most my glory, being dumb;
For I impair not beauty, being mute,
When others wou'd give lise, and bring a tomb.
There lives more lise in one of your fair eyes,.
Than both your poets can in praise devise.
Who is it, that fays most, which can fay more
Than this rich praise, that you alone are you?
Iti whose conssine immured is the store,
Which should example where your equal grew.
Lean penury within that pen.doth dwell,
That to his subject lends nut some small glory:
But he that writes of you, if he can tell
That you are you, fo dignisies his story.
Let him but copy what in you is writ,
Not making worse what nature made fo clear
And such a counterpart shall fame his writ,
Making him still admir'd every where.
You to your beauteous blessing add a curse,
Being fond of praise, which makes your praises
My tongue-ty'd muse in manners holds her still,.
While comments of your praise* richly compil'd,.
Reserve their character with golden quilr,
And precious phrase by. all the muses sill'd.
I think good thoughts, whilst others write good words,.
And, like unletter'd clerk, still cry Amen
To every hymn that able spirit affords.
In polish'd form of well-resined pen.
Hearing you praised, I fay 'tis fo, 'tis true,
And to the most os praise add fomething more;
But that is in my thought, whose love to you
(Tho' words come hindmost) holds his ranks before::
Then others, for the breath of words, respect;
Me for my dumb thoughts,. speaking in effect.
Was it the proud sull fail of his great verse,
Bound for the prize of (all-too-precious) you,
That did my ripe thoughts in my brain rehearse,.
Making their tomb the womb wherein they grews^
Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write
Above a mortal pitch, that struck.me dead ?.
No, neither he nor his compeers by night .
Giving him aid, my verse astonished.
He nor that affable familiar gholl,
Which nightly gulls him with intelligence,
As victors, of my silence cannot boast;
I was not sick of any sear from thence.
But when your countenance sili'd up his line,.
Then lack'd I matter, that inseebled mine.
Farewel, thou art too dear for my possessing,
And, like enough, thou k-now'st thy estimate:
The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;.
My bonds in thee are all determinate.
For how do I hold thee, but by thy granting,
And for that riches, where is my deserving?
The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,
And fo my patent back again is swerving.
Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not knowings
Gr me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking:
So thy great gift upon misprision growing,
Comes home again, on better judgment making.
Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth slatter,.
In fleep a king, but waking, no such matter.
As it sell upon a day,
In the merry month of May.,.