Since there's no help, come, let us kiss and part!

me;

And I am glad, yea, glad, with all my heart,

That thus so cleanly I myself can free. Shake hands for ever, cancel all our

And often is his gold complexion dimmed; And every fair1 from fair sometime de

clines,

By chance or nature's changing course untrimmed;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;2

IO

Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st? 1 beauty.

2 ownest.

Kissing with golden face the meadows. green,

chemy,

5

Anon permit the basest clouds to ride
With ugly rack2 on his celestial face,
And from the forlorn world his visage hide,
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace:
Even so my sun one early morn did shine
With all-triumphant splendor on my
brow;

ΙΟ

But out, alack! he was but one hour mine; The region3 cloud hath masked him from

me now.

Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth;

Suns of the world may stain, when heaven's sun staineth.

LXIV

When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced

That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

XXX

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought

I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:

Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, 5 For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,

And weep afresh love's long-since cancelled woe,

And moan the expense1 of many a vanished sight:

Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er 10 The sad account of fore-bemoanèd moan, Which I new pay as if not paid before.

But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,

All losses are restored and sorrows end.

1 loss.

Tired with all these, for restful death I cry:

As, to behold desert a beggar born,
And needy nothing trimmed in jollity,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
And gilded honor shamefully misplaced, 5
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,
And strength by limping sway disabled,
And art made tongue-tied by authority,
And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill, 10
And simple truth miscalled simplicity,1
And captive good attending captain ill.
Tired with all these, from these would I