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 fhe threw,
And fav'd my life, faying-not you 2.
CXLVI.

-Poor foul, the center of my finful earth 3,
Fool'd by thofe rebel powers that thee array

1

That follow'd it as gentle day

Doth follow night,] So, in Hamlet:

And it must follow, as the night the day,

Why

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

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-night,

"Who like a foul and ugly witch &c." STEEVENS..

2 I hate from hate away he threw,

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

I hate-away from hate fhe flew, &c.

Having pronounced the words I hate, fhe left me with a declaration in my favour. STEEVENS.

I hate from hate away he threw,

And fav'd my life, faying-not you.] The meaning is -fhe removed the words I hate to a distance from hatred; the changed their natural import, and rendered them inefficacious, and undescriptive of dislike, by fubjoining not you. The old copy is, I think, right. The poet relates what the lady faid; fhe is not herself the speaker. MALONE.

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

"Than thou, fair fun, which on my earth doft shine." We meet a fimilar allufion in The Merchant of Venice: "Such harmony is in immortal fouls.

But while this muddy vesture of decay

"Doth close it in, we cannot hear it." MALONE.

Fool'd by thofe rebel powers that thee array,] The old copy

reads;

Poor

Why doft thou pine within, and fuffer dearth,
Painting thy outward walls fo coftly gay?
Why fo large coft, having fo fhort a leafe,
Doft thou upon thy fading manfion spend?
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,
Eat up thy charge? Is this thy body's end?
Then, foul, live thou upon thy fervant's lofs,
And let that pine to aggravate thy ftore';
Buy terms divine in felling hours of drofs;
Within be fed, without be rich no more:

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

My love is as a fever, longing ftill

For that which longer nurfeth the disease;
Feeding on that which doth preferve the ill,
The uncertain fickly appetite to please.
My reason, the phyfician to my love",
Angry that his prefcriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I defperate now approve,
Defire is death, which phyfick did except.

Poor foul, the center of my finful earth,

My finful earth these rebel pow'rs that thee array. It is manifeft that the compofitor inadvertently repeated the three last words of the first verfe in the beginning of the fecond, omitting two fyllables, which are fufficient to complete the metre. What the omitted word or words were, it is impoffible 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 fucceeding line, appears to authorize the conjecture. The poet feems to allude to the short com. mons and gaudy habit of foldiers. STEEVENS.

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

My reafon, the phyfician to my love,] So, in The Merry Wives of Windfor: Afk me no reafon why I love you; for though Leve ufe reafon for his precifian [r. phyfician] he admits him not for his

counsellor." MALONE.

Paft

Paft cure I am, now reafon is paft care 7,
And frantick-mad with ever-more unreft;
My thoughts and my difcourfe as mad men's are,
At random from the truth vainly exprefs'd;

For I have fworn thee fair, and thought thee
bright,

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

CXLVIII.

O me! what eyes hath love put in my head,
Which have no correfpondence with true fight?
Or, if they have, where is my judgment fled,
That cenfures falfely what they see aright?
If that be fair whereon my falfe eyes dote,
What means the world to fay it is not fo?
If it be not, then love doth well denote
Love's eye is not fo true as all men's: no,
How can it? O how can Love's eye be true,
That is fo vex'd with watching and with tears?
No marvel then though I miftake my view;
The fun itself fees not, till heaven clears.

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

7 Paft cure I am, now reafon is past care,] So, in Love's Labour's Loft (first folio): "Great reafon; for past care is still past cure.” It feems to have been a proverbial faying. The paffage now before us fhows that Mr. Theobald's tranfpofition (for paft cure is ftill past care) which has been adopted in the modern editions, is unneceffary. MALONE.

8 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 fcowl of night.”

STEEVENS.

9 That cenfures falfely] That eftimates falfely. So, in Sir Walter Raleigh's Commendatory Verfes prefixed to Gascoigne's Steel Glaffe, 1575;

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Wherefore, to give my cenfure of this book—”

MALONE.

CXLIX.

Canft thou, O cruel! fay I love thee not,
When I, against myself, with thee partake 1?
Do I not think on thee, when I forgot
Am of myself, all tyrant, for thy fake?
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 prefent moan?
What merit do I in myfelf refpect,
That is so proud thy fervice to defpife,
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 fee thou lov'ft, and I am blind.

CL.

O from what power haft thou this powerful might, With infufficiency my heart to fway?

When I, against myself, with thee partake?] i. e. take part with thee against myfelf. STEEVENS.

2

all tyrant, for thy fake?] That is, for the fake of thee,
Perhaps however the author wrote:
-when I forgot

thou tyrant.

Am of myself, all truant for thy fake?

So, in the 101ft Sonnet:

"O truant Mufe, what fhall be thy amends
"For thy neglect of truth" MALONE.

Who hateth thee that I do call my friend?] This is from one of the Pfalms: "Do I not hate those that hate thee? &c."

STEEVENS.

• Commanded by the motion of thine eyes?] So, in Coriolanus : "He wag'd me with his countenance." STEEVENS.

Again, more appofitely, in Antony and Cleopatra:

"Her gentlewomen like the Nereides,

"So many mermaids, tended her i' the eyes,
"And made their bends adornings ?" MALONE.

Το

To make me give the lie to my true fight,
And fwear that brightnefs doth not grace the days?
Whence haft thou this becoming of things ill",

That in the very refufe of thy deeds

There is fuch ftrength and warrantife of fkill,
That in my mind, thy worft all beft exceeds?
Who taught thee how to make me love thee more,
The more I hear and fee juft caufe of hate?
O, though I love what others do abhor,
With others thou fhould'ft not abhor my ftate;
If thy unworthinefs rais'd love in me,
More worthy I to be belov'd of thee.

CLI.

prove.

Love is too young to know what confcience is;
Yet who knows not, confcience is born of love?
Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amifs,
Left guilty of my faults thy fweet self
For thou betraying me, I do betray
My nobler part to my grofs body's treafon;
My foul doth tell my body that he may
Triumph in love; flesh ftays no farther reafon ;
But rifing 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 confcience hold it that I call
Her love, for whose dear love I rise and fall.

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

"I am content, if thou wilt have it fo:

"I'll fay, yon grey is not the morning's eye &c.”

STEEVENS.

• Whence haft thou this becoming of things ill,] So, in Antony

and Cleopatra:

Fie, wrangling queen!

"Whom every thing becomes; to chide, to laugh,
"To weep." MALONE.