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Straight in her heart did mercy come,
Chiding that tongue, that ever sweet
Was us’d in giving gentle doom ;
And taught it thus a-new to greet :
I hate the alter'd with an end,
That follow'd it as gentle day
Doth follow night', who like a fiend *
From heaven to hell is flown away.

I hate from hate away the threw,
And sav'd my life, saying-not you ”.

Poor foul, the center of my finful earth ?,
Foold by those rebel powers that thee array,

That follow'd it as gentle day
Dorb follow night,-) So, in Hamlet :
“ And it mait follow, as the night the day,

" Thou canst not then be false to any man.' MALONE. * -night, who like a fiend] So, in K. Henry V :

" Who like a foul and ugly witch &c.” Steevens.
I hate from hate away the threw,

And fav'd my life, saying not you.] Such sense as these Sonnets abound with, may perhaps be discovered as the words at present stand; but I had rather read :

1 bate-away from hate the fiew, &c. Having pronounced the words I hate, she left me with a declara, tion in my favour. Steevens.

I hate from hate away the threw,

And fav'd my life, saying---not you.] The meaning is the removed the words I bate to a distance froin hatred; the changed their natural import, and rendered them inefficacious, and unde, scriptive of dislike, by subjoining not you. The old copy is, I think, right. The poet relates what the lady faid; the is not herself the speaker. Malone,

3 Poor foul, the center of my finful carth,] So, in Love's Labour's Loi:

" Than thou, fair sun, which on my earth dost shine.” We meet a fimilar allusion in The Merchant of Venice :

“ Such harmony is in immortal souls.
© But while this muddy vesture of decay

“ Doth close it in, we cannot hear it.” MALONE. 4 Fool'd by those rebel powers that thee array,] The old.copy reads ;



Why doft thou pine within, and suffer dearth,
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay?
Why so large cost, having so short a leafe,
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend ?
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,
Eat up thy charge? Is this thy body's end?
Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss,
And let that pine to aggravate thy stores;
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross;
Within be fed, without be rich no more :

So shalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men,
And, death once dead, there's no more dying then.

My love is as a fever, longing ftill
For that which longer nurseth the disease ;
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
The uncertain fickly appetite to please.
My reason, the physician to my love",
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve,
Desire is death, which phyfick did except.

Poor soul, the center of my finful earth,

My finful earth these rebel pow'rs that thee array. It is manifest that the compositor inadvertently repeated the three lait words of the first verse in the beginning of the second, omieting two fyllables, which are sufficient io complete the metre. What the omitted word or words were, it is impoflible now to determine. Rather than leave an hiatus, I have hazarded a conjecture, and filled up the line. MALONE. I would read :

Starv'd by the rebel powers &c. The dearth complained of in the succeeding line, appears to authorize the conjecture. The poet seems to allude to the short com. mons and gaudy habit of soldiers. STEEVENS,

to aggravate thy flore;] The error that has been so often already noticed, has happened here; the original copy, and all the subsequent impressions, reading my instead of thy. Malone.

My reason, the physician to my love,] So, in The Merry Wives of Windfor: “ Ask me no reason why I love you ; for though Love use reason for his precisian (r. phyfician] he admits bim not for his counsellor." MALONE,


Past cure I am, now reason is paft care?,
And frantick-mad with ever-more unrest ;
My thoughts and my discourse as mad men's are,
At random from the truth vainly express'd ;,
For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee

Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

O me! what eyes hath love put in my head,
Which have no correspondence with true fight?
Or, if they have, where is my judgment filed,
That censures falsely what they see aright?
If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote,
What means the world to say it is not so ?
If it be not, then love doth well denote


is not so true as all men's : no,
How can it? O how can Love's eye be true,
That is so vex'd with watching and with tears?
No marvel then though I mistake my view;
The sun itself sees not, till heaven clears.

O cunning Love! with tears thou keep'ft me blind,
Left eyes well-seeing thy foul faults ihould find.


? Past cure I am, now reason is past care,] So, in Love's Labour's Loft (first folio): “Great reason; for pasi care is ftill papi cure."

It seems to have been a proverbial laying. The passage now before us shows that Mr. Theobald's transposition (for past cure is still past care, which has been adopted in the modern editions, is unnecessary. MALONE.

as black as hell, as dark as night.] So, in Love's Labour's Loft:

Black is the badge of hell,
The hue of dungeons, and the scowl of night."

Steevens, 9 That censures falsely-) That climates falsely. So, ia Sir Walter Raleigh's Commendatory Verses prefixed to Gascoigne's Steel Glale, 1575: " Wherefore, to give my cenfure of this book”



Canst thou, O cruel! fay I love thee not,
When I, against myself, with thee partake'?
Do I not think on thee, when I forgot
Am of myself, all tyrant, for thy sake"?
Who hateth thee that I do call my friend 3 ?
On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon ?
Nay, if thou low'rft on me, do I not spend
Revenge upon myself with present moan?
What merit do I in myself respect,
That is so proud thy service to despise,
When all my best doth worship thy defect,
Commanded by the motion of thine eyes + ?

But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind;
Those that can see thou lov'it, and I am blind.

CL. O from what power haft thou this powerful migh, With insufficiency my heart to sway?

.:: When I, against myself, with the partake ?] i. e. take part with thee againit myself. Steevens.

2 - all tyrant, for thy fake?] That is, for the sake of tbees thou tyrant. Perhaps however the author wrote:

-when I forgot Am of myself, all truant for thy fake ? So, in the 101st Sonnet:

O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends

For thy negle&t of truth" MALONE. * Who bateth thee ibat I do call my friend?] This is from one of she Psalms : “ Do I not hate those that hate thee? &c."

STEEVERS. 4 Commanded by the motion of thine eyes?] So, in Coriolanus :

He wag'd me with his countenance." STEEVERS. Again, more appositely, in Antony and Cleopatra :

" Her gentlewomen like the Nereides,
" So many mermaids, tended her i' the eyes,
" And made their bends adornings?" MALONI.


N N E T $.
To make me give the lie to my true fight,
And swear that brightness doth not grace the days?
Whence hast thou this becoming of things illo,
That in the very refuse of thy deeds
There is such strength and warrantise of skill,
That in my mind, thy worst all beft exceeds?
Who taught thee how to make me love thee more,
The more I hear and see just cause of hate ?
O, though I love what others do abhor,
With others thou should'st not abhor my state;

If thy unworthiness rais'd love in me,
More worthy I to be belov'd of thee.

Love is too young to know what conscience is ;
Yet who knows not, conscience is born of love?
Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss,
Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove.
For thou betraying me, I do betray
My nobler part to my gross body's treason;
My soul doth tell my body that he may
Triumph in love ; fleth stays no farther reason;
But rising at thy name, doth point out thee
As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride,
He is contented thy poor drudge to be,
To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy fide.

No want of conscience hold it that I call
Her love, for whose dear love I rise and fall.

s And fwear that brightnefs doth not grace the day?] So, in Remeo and Juliet:

I am content, if thou wilt have it fo :
I'll say, yon grey is not the morning's eye &c."

STEEVENS. o Whence halt thou this becoming of things ill,] So, in Antony and Cleopatra :

6 Fie, wrangling queen!
66 Whom every thing becomes; to chide, to laugh,
To weep.” MALONE.

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