| 1 | FROM fairest creatures we desire increase, |
| 2 | That thereby beauty's rose might never die, |
| 3 | But as the riper should by time decease, |
| 4 | His tender heir might bear his memory: |
| 5 | But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes, |
| 6 | Feed'st thy light'st flame with self-substantial fuel, |
| 7 | Making a famine where abundance lies, |
| 8 | Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel. |
| 9 | Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament |
| 10 | And only herald to the gaudy spring, |
| 11 | Within thine own bud buriest thy content |
| 12 | And, tender churl, makest waste in niggarding. |
| 13 | Pity the world, or else this glutton be, |
| 14 | To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee. |
| 15 | When forty winters shall beseige thy brow, |
| 16 | And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field, |
| 17 | Thy youth's proud livery, so gazed on now, |
| 18 | Will be a tatter'd weed, of small worth held: |
| 19 | Then being ask'd where all thy beauty lies, |
| 20 | Where all the treasure of thy lusty days, |
| 21 | To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes, |
| 22 | Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise. |
| 23 | How much more praise deserved thy beauty's use, |
| 24 | If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine |
| 25 | Shall sum my count and make my old excuse,' |
| 26 | Proving his beauty by succession thine! |
| 27 | This were to be new made when thou art old, |
| 28 | And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold. |
| 29 | Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest |
| 30 | Now is the time that face should form another; |
| 31 | Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest, |
| 32 | Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother. |
| 33 | For where is she so fair whose unear'd womb |
| 34 | Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry? |
| 35 | Or who is he so fond will be the tomb |
| 36 | Of his self-love, to stop posterity? |
| 37 | Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee |
| 38 | Calls back the lovely April of her prime: |
| 39 | So thou through windows of thine age shall see |
| 40 | Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time. |
| 41 | But if thou live, remember'd not to be, |
| 42 | Die single, and thine image dies with thee. |
| 43 | Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend |
| 44 | Upon thyself thy beauty's legacy? |
| 45 | Nature's bequest gives nothing but doth lend, |
| 46 | And being frank she lends to those are free. |
| 47 | Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse |
| 48 | The bounteous largess given thee to give? |
| 49 | Profitless usurer, why dost thou use |
| 50 | So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live? |
| 51 | For having traffic with thyself alone, |
| 52 | Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive. |
| 53 | Then how, when nature calls thee to be gone, |
| 54 | What acceptable audit canst thou leave? |
| 55 | Thy unused beauty must be tomb'd with thee, |
| 56 | Which, used, lives th' executor to be. |
| 57 | Those hours, that with gentle work did frame |
| 58 | The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell, |
| 59 | Will play the tyrants to the very same |
| 60 | And that unfair which fairly doth excel: |
| 61 | For never-resting time leads summer on |
| 62 | To hideous winter and confounds him there; |
| 63 | Sap cheque'd with frost and lusty leaves quite gone, |
| 64 | Beauty o'ersnow'd and bareness every where: |
| 65 | Then, were not summer's distillation left, |
| 66 | A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass, |
| 67 | Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft, |
| 68 | Nor it nor no remembrance what it was: |
| 69 | But flowers distill'd though they with winter meet, |
| 70 | Leese but their show; their substance still lives sweet. |
| 71 | Then let not winter's ragged hand deface |
| 72 | In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd: |
| 73 | Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place |
| 74 | With beauty's treasure, ere it be self-kill'd. |
| 75 | That use is not forbidden usury, |
| 76 | Which happies those that pay the willing loan; |
| 77 | That's for thyself to breed another thee, |
| 78 | Or ten times happier, be it ten for one; |
| 79 | Ten times thyself were happier than thou art, |
| 80 | If ten of thine ten times refigured thee: |
| 81 | Then what could death do, if thou shouldst depart, |
| 82 | Leaving thee living in posterity? |
| 83 | Be not self-will'd, for thou art much too fair |
| 84 | To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir. |
| 85 | Lo! in the orient when the gracious light |
| 86 | Lifts up his burning head, each under eye |
| 87 | Doth homage to his new-appearing sight, |
| 88 | Serving with looks his sacred majesty; |
| 89 | And having climb'd the steep-up heavenly hill, |
| 90 | Resembling strong youth in his middle age, |
| 91 | yet mortal looks adore his beauty still, |
| 92 | Attending on his golden pilgrimage; |
| 93 | But when from highmost pitch, with weary car, |
| 94 | Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day, |
| 95 | The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted are |
| 96 | From his low tract and look another way: |
| 97 | So thou, thyself out-going in thy noon, |
| 98 | Unlook'd on diest, unless thou get a son. |
| 99 | Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly? |
| 100 | Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy. |
| 101 | Why lovest thou that which thou receivest not gladly, |
| 102 | Or else receivest with pleasure thine annoy? |
| 103 | If the true concord of well-tuned sounds, |
| 104 | By unions married, do offend thine ear, |
| 105 | They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds |
| 106 | In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear. |
| 107 | Mark how one string, sweet husband to another, |
| 108 | Strikes each in each by mutual ordering, |
| 109 | Resembling sire and child and happy mother |
| 110 | Who all in one, one pleasing note do sing: |
| 111 | Whose speechless song, being many, seeming one, |
| 112 | Sings this to thee: 'thou single wilt prove none.' |
| 113 | Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye |
| 114 | That thou consumest thyself in single life? |
| 115 | Ah! if thou issueless shalt hap to die. |
| 116 | The world will wail thee, like a makeless wife; |
| 117 | The world will be thy widow and still weep |
| 118 | That thou no form of thee hast left behind, |
| 119 | When every private widow well may keep |
| 120 | By children's eyes her husband's shape in mind. |
| 121 | Look, what an unthrift in the world doth spend |
| 122 | Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it; |
| 123 | But beauty's waste hath in the world an end, |
| 124 | And kept unused, the user so destroys it. |
| 125 | No love toward others in that bosom sits |
| 126 | That on himself such murderous shame commits. |
| 127 | For shame! deny that thou bear'st love to any, |
| 128 | Who for thyself art so unprovident. |
| 129 | Grant, if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many, |
| 130 | But that thou none lovest is most evident; |
| 131 | For thou art so possess'd with murderous hate |
| 132 | That 'gainst thyself thou stick'st not to conspire. |
| 133 | Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate |
| 134 | Which to repair should be thy chief desire. |
| 135 | O, change thy thought, that I may change my mind! |
| 136 | Shall hate be fairer lodged than gentle love? |
| 137 | Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind, |
| 138 | Or to thyself at least kind-hearted prove: |
| 139 | Make thee another self, for love of me, |
| 140 | That beauty still may live in thine or thee. |
| 141 | As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou growest |
| 142 | In one of thine, from that which thou departest; |
| 143 | And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestowest |
| 144 | Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth convertest. |
| 145 | Herein lives wisdom, beauty and increase: |
| 146 | Without this, folly, age and cold decay: |
| 147 | If all were minded so, the times should cease |
| 148 | And threescore year would make the world away. |
| 149 | Let those whom Nature hath not made for store, |
| 150 | Harsh featureless and rude, barrenly perish: |
| 151 | Look, whom she best endow'd she gave the more; |
| 152 | Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty cherish: |
| 153 | She carved thee for her seal, and meant thereby |
| 154 | Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die. |
| 155 | When I do count the clock that tells the time, |
| 156 | And see the brave day sunk in hideous night; |
| 157 | When I behold the violet past prime, |
| 158 | And sable curls all silver'd o'er with white; |
| 159 | When lofty trees I see barren of leaves |
| 160 | Which erst from heat did canopy the herd, |
| 161 | And summer's green all girded up in sheaves |
| 162 | Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard, |
| 163 | Then of thy beauty do I question make, |
| 164 | That thou among the wastes of time must go, |
| 165 | Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake |
| 166 | And die as fast as they see others grow; |
| 167 | And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence |
| 168 | Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence. |
| 169 | O, that you were yourself! but, love, you are |
| 170 | No longer yours than you yourself here live: |
| 171 | Against this coming end you should prepare, |
| 172 | And your sweet semblance to some other give. |
| 173 | So should that beauty which you hold in lease |
| 174 | Find no determination: then you were |
| 175 | Yourself again after yourself's decease, |
| 176 | When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear. |
| 177 | Who lets so fair a house fall to decay, |
| 178 | Which husbandry in honour might uphold |
| 179 | Against the stormy gusts of winter's day |
| 180 | And barren rage of death's eternal cold? |
| 181 | O, none but unthrifts! Dear my love, you know |
| 182 | You had a father: let your son say so. |
| 183 | Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck; |
| 184 | And yet methinks I have astronomy, |
| 185 | But not to tell of good or evil luck, |
| 186 | Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality; |
| 187 | Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell, |
| 188 | Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind, |
| 189 | Or say with princes if it shall go well, |
| 190 | By oft predict that I in heaven find: |
| 191 | But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive, |
| 192 | And, constant stars, in them I read such art |
| 193 | As truth and beauty shall together thrive, |
| 194 | If from thyself to store thou wouldst convert; |
| 195 | Or else of thee this I prognosticate: |
| 196 | Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date. |
| 197 | When I consider every thing that grows |
| 198 | Holds in perfection but a little moment, |
| 199 | That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows |
| 200 | Whereon the stars in secret influence comment; |
| 201 | When I perceive that men as plants increase, |
| 202 | Cheered and cheque'd even by the self-same sky, |
| 203 | Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease, |
| 204 | And wear their brave state out of memory; |
| 205 | Then the conceit of this inconstant stay |
| 206 | Sets you most rich in youth before my sight, |
| 207 | Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay, |
| 208 | To change your day of youth to sullied night; |
| 209 | And all in war with Time for love of you, |
| 210 | As he takes from you, I engraft you new. |
| 211 | But wherefore do not you a mightier way |
| 212 | Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time? |
| 213 | And fortify yourself in your decay |
| 214 | With means more blessed than my barren rhyme? |
| 215 | Now stand you on the top of happy hours, |
| 216 | And many maiden gardens yet unset |
| 217 | With virtuous wish would bear your living flowers, |
| 218 | Much liker than your painted counterfeit: |
| 219 | So should the lines of life that life repair, |
| 220 | Which this, Time's pencil, or my pupil pen, |
| 221 | Neither in inward worth nor outward fair, |
| 222 | Can make you live yourself in eyes of men. |
| 223 | To give away yourself keeps yourself still, |
| 224 | And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill. |
| 225 | Who will believe my verse in time to come, |
| 226 | If it were fill'd with your most high deserts? |
| 227 | Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb |
| 228 | Which hides your life and shows not half your parts. |
| 229 | If I could write the beauty of your eyes |
| 230 | And in fresh numbers number all your graces, |
| 231 | The age to come would say 'This poet lies: |
| 232 | Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.' |
| 233 | So should my papers yellow'd with their age |
| 234 | Be scorn'd like old men of less truth than tongue, |
| 235 | And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage |
| 236 | And stretched metre of an antique song: |
| 237 | But were some child of yours alive that time, |
| 238 | You should live twice; in it and in my rhyme. |
| 239 | Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? |
| 240 | Thou art more lovely and more temperate: |
| 241 | Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, |
| 242 | And summer's lease hath all too short a date: |
| 243 | Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, |
| 244 | And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; |
| 245 | And every fair from fair sometime declines, |
| 246 | By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd; |
| 247 | But thy eternal summer shall not fade |
| 248 | Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; |
| 249 | Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, |
| 250 | When in eternal lines to time thou growest: |
| 251 | So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, |
| 252 | So long lives this and this gives life to thee. |
| 253 | Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws, |
| 254 | And make the earth devour her own sweet brood; |
| 255 | Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws, |
| 256 | And burn the long-lived phoenix in her blood; |
| 257 | Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleets, |
| 258 | And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time, |
| 259 | To the wide world and all her fading sweets; |
| 260 | But I forbid thee one most heinous crime: |
| 261 | O, carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow, |
| 262 | Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen; |
| 263 | Him in thy course untainted do allow |
| 264 | For beauty's pattern to succeeding men. |
| 265 | Yet, do thy worst, old Time: despite thy wrong, |
| 266 | My love shall in my verse ever live young. |
| 267 | A woman's face with Nature's own hand painted |
| 268 | Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion; |
| 269 | A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted |
| 270 | With shifting change, as is false women's fashion; |
| 271 | An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling, |
| 272 | Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth; |
| 273 | A man in hue, all 'hues' in his controlling, |
| 274 | Much steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth. |
| 275 | And for a woman wert thou first created; |
| 276 | Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting, |
| 277 | And by addition me of thee defeated, |
| 278 | By adding one thing to my purpose nothing. |
| 279 | But since she prick'd thee out for women's pleasure, |
| 280 | Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure. |
| 281 | So is it not with me as with that Muse |
| 282 | Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse, |
| 283 | Who heaven itself for ornament doth use |
| 284 | And every fair with his fair doth rehearse |
| 285 | Making a couplement of proud compare, |
| 286 | With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems, |
| 287 | With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare |
| 288 | That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems. |
| 289 | O' let me, true in love, but truly write, |
| 290 | And then believe me, my love is as fair |
| 291 | As any mother's child, though not so bright |
| 292 | As those gold candles fix'd in heaven's air: |
| 293 | Let them say more than like of hearsay well; |
| 294 | I will not praise that purpose not to sell. |
| 295 | My glass shall not persuade me I am old, |
| 296 | So long as youth and thou are of one date; |
| 297 | But when in thee time's furrows I behold, |
| 298 | Then look I death my days should expiate. |
| 299 | For all that beauty that doth cover thee |
| 300 | Is but the seemly raiment of my heart, |
| 301 | Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me: |
| 302 | How can I then be elder than thou art? |
| 303 | O, therefore, love, be of thyself so wary |
| 304 | As I, not for myself, but for thee will; |
| 305 | Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary |
| 306 | As tender nurse her babe from faring ill. |
| 307 | Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain; |
| 308 | Thou gavest me thine, not to give back again. |
| 309 | As an unperfect actor on the stage |
| 310 | Who with his fear is put besides his part, |
| 311 | Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage, |
| 312 | Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart. |
| 313 | So I, for fear of trust, forget to say |
| 314 | The perfect ceremony of love's rite, |
| 315 | And in mine own love's strength seem to decay, |
| 316 | O'ercharged with burden of mine own love's might. |
| 317 | O, let my books be then the eloquence |
| 318 | And dumb presagers of my speaking breast, |
| 319 | Who plead for love and look for recompense |
| 320 | More than that tongue that more hath more express'd. |
| 321 | O, learn to read what silent love hath writ: |
| 322 | To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit. |
| 323 | Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath stell'd |
| 324 | Thy beauty's form in table of my heart; |
| 325 | My body is the frame wherein 'tis held, |
| 326 | And perspective it is the painter's art. |
| 327 | For through the painter must you see his skill, |
| 328 | To find where your true image pictured lies; |
| 329 | Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still, |
| 330 | That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes. |
| 331 | Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done: |
| 332 | Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me |
| 333 | Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun |
| 334 | Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee; |
| 335 | Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art; |
| 336 | They draw but what they see, know not the heart. |
| 337 | Let those who are in favour with their stars |
| 338 | Of public honour and proud titles boast, |
| 339 | Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars, |
| 340 | Unlook'd for joy in that I honour most. |
| 341 | Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread |
| 342 | But as the marigold at the sun's eye, |
| 343 | And in themselves their pride lies buried, |
| 344 | For at a frown they in their glory die. |
| 345 | The painful warrior famoused for fight, |
| 346 | After a thousand victories once foil'd, |
| 347 | Is from the book of honour razed quite, |
| 348 | And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd: |
| 349 | Then happy I, that love and am beloved |
| 350 | Where I may not remove nor be removed. |
| 351 | Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage |
| 352 | Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit, |
| 353 | To thee I send this written embassage, |
| 354 | To witness duty, not to show my wit: |
| 355 | Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine |
| 356 | May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it, |
| 357 | But that I hope some good conceit of thine |
| 358 | In thy soul's thought, all naked, will bestow it; |
| 359 | Till whatsoever star that guides my moving |
| 360 | Points on me graciously with fair aspect |
| 361 | And puts apparel on my tatter'd loving, |
| 362 | To show me worthy of thy sweet respect: |
| 363 | Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee; |
| 364 | Till then not show my head where thou mayst prove me. |
| 365 | Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed, |
| 366 | The dear repose for limbs with travel tired; |
| 367 | But then begins a journey in my head, |
| 368 | To work my mind, when body's work's expired: |
| 369 | For then my thoughts, from far where I abide, |
| 370 | Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee, |
| 371 | And keep my drooping eyelids open wide, |
| 372 | Looking on darkness which the blind do see |
| 373 | Save that my soul's imaginary sight |
| 374 | Presents thy shadow to my sightless view, |
| 375 | Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night, |
| 376 | Makes black night beauteous and her old face new. |
| 377 | Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind, |
| 378 | For thee and for myself no quiet find. |
| 379 | How can I then return in happy plight, |
| 380 | That am debarr'd the benefit of rest? |
| 381 | When day's oppression is not eased by night, |
| 382 | But day by night, and night by day, oppress'd? |
| 383 | And each, though enemies to either's reign, |
| 384 | Do in consent shake hands to torture me; |
| 385 | The one by toil, the other to complain |
| 386 | How far I toil, still farther off from thee. |
| 387 | I tell the day, to please them thou art bright |
| 388 | And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven: |
| 389 | So flatter I the swart-complexion'd night, |
| 390 | When sparkling stars twire not thou gild'st the even. |
| 391 | But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer |
| 392 | And night doth nightly make grief's strength seem stronger. |
| 393 | When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, |
| 394 | I all alone beweep my outcast state |
| 395 | And trouble deal heaven with my bootless cries |
| 396 | And look upon myself and curse my fate, |
| 397 | Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, |
| 398 | Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd, |
| 399 | Desiring this man's art and that man's scope, |
| 400 | With what I most enjoy contented least; |
| 401 | Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, |
| 402 | Haply I think on thee, and then my state, |
| 403 | Like to the lark at break of day arising |
| 404 | From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate; |
| 405 | For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings |
| 406 | That then I scorn to change my state with kings. |
| 407 | When to the sessions of sweet silent thought |
| 408 | I summon up remembrance of things past, |
| 409 | I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, |
| 410 | And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste: |
| 411 | Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, |
| 412 | For precious friends hid in death's dateless night, |
| 413 | And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe, |
| 414 | And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight: |
| 415 | Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, |
| 416 | And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er |
| 417 | The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, |
| 418 | Which I new pay as if not paid before. |
| 419 | But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, |
| 420 | All losses are restored and sorrows end. |
| 421 | Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts, |
| 422 | Which I by lacking have supposed dead, |
| 423 | And there reigns love and all love's loving parts, |
| 424 | And all those friends which I thought buried. |
| 425 | How many a holy and obsequious tear |
| 426 | Hath dear religious love stol'n from mine eye |
| 427 | As interest of the dead, which now appear |
| 428 | But things removed that hidden in thee lie! |
| 429 | Thou art the grave where buried love doth live, |
| 430 | Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone, |
| 431 | Who all their parts of me to thee did give; |
| 432 | That due of many now is thine alone: |
| 433 | Their images I loved I view in thee, |
| 434 | And thou, all they, hast all the all of me. |
| 435 | If thou survive my well-contented day, |
| 436 | When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover, |
| 437 | And shalt by fortune once more re-survey |
| 438 | These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover, |
| 439 | Compare them with the bettering of the time, |
| 440 | And though they be outstripp'd by every pen, |
| 441 | Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme, |
| 442 | Exceeded by the height of happier men. |
| 443 | O, then vouchsafe me but this loving thought: |
| 444 | 'Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age, |
| 445 | A dearer birth than this his love had brought, |
| 446 | To march in ranks of better equipage: |
| 447 | But since he died and poets better prove, |
| 448 | Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love.' |
| 449 | Full many a glorious morning have I seen |
| 450 | Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye, |
| 451 | Kissing with golden face the meadows green, |
| 452 | Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy; |
| 453 | Anon permit the basest clouds to ride |
| 454 | With ugly rack on his celestial face, |
| 455 | And from the forlorn world his visage hide, |
| 456 | Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace: |
| 457 | Even so my sun one early morn did shine |
| 458 | With all triumphant splendor on my brow; |
| 459 | But out, alack! he was but one hour mine; |
| 460 | The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now. |
| 461 | Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth; |
| 462 | Suns of the world may stain when heaven's sun staineth. |
| 463 | Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day, |
| 464 | And make me travel forth without my cloak, |
| 465 | To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way, |
| 466 | Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke? |
| 467 | 'Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break, |
| 468 | To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face, |
| 469 | For no man well of such a salve can speak |
| 470 | That heals the wound and cures not the disgrace: |
| 471 | Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief; |
| 472 | Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss: |
| 473 | The offender's sorrow lends but weak relief |
| 474 | To him that bears the strong offence's cross. |
| 475 | Ah! but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds, |
| 476 | And they are rich and ransom all ill deeds. |
| 477 | No more be grieved at that which thou hast done: |
| 478 | Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud; |
| 479 | Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun, |
| 480 | And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud. |
| 481 | All men make faults, and even I in this, |
| 482 | Authorizing thy trespass with compare, |
| 483 | Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss, |
| 484 | Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are; |
| 485 | For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense-- |
| 486 | Thy adverse party is thy advocate-- |
| 487 | And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence: |
| 488 | Such civil war is in my love and hate |
| 489 | That I an accessary needs must be |
| 490 | To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me. |
| 491 | Let me confess that we two must be twain, |
| 492 | Although our undivided loves are one: |
| 493 | So shall those blots that do with me remain |
| 494 | Without thy help by me be borne alone. |
| 495 | In our two loves there is but one respect, |
| 496 | Though in our lives a separable spite, |
| 497 | Which though it alter not love's sole effect, |
| 498 | Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight. |
| 499 | I may not evermore acknowledge thee, |
| 500 | Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame, |
| 501 | Nor thou with public kindness honour me, |
| 502 | Unless thou take that honour from thy name: |
| 503 | But do not so; I love thee in such sort |
| 504 | As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report. |
| 505 | As a decrepit father takes delight |
| 506 | To see his active child do deeds of youth, |
| 507 | So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite, |
| 508 | Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth. |
| 509 | For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit, |
| 510 | Or any of these all, or all, or more, |
| 511 | Entitled in thy parts do crowned sit, |
| 512 | I make my love engrafted to this store: |
| 513 | So then I am not lame, poor, nor despised, |
| 514 | Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give |
| 515 | That I in thy abundance am sufficed |
| 516 | And by a part of all thy glory live. |
| 517 | Look, what is best, that best I wish in thee: |
| 518 | This wish I have; then ten times happy me! |