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The strongest castle, tower, and town,
The golden bullet beats it down.
Serve always with assured trust,
And in thy suit be humble true;
Unless thy lady prove unjust,
Please never thou to chuse a-new.
When time shall serve, be thou not slack
To proffer, tho' she put it back.
The wiles and guiles that women work,
Dissembled with an outward shew
The tricks and toys that in them lurk,
The cock that treads them shall not know.
Have you not heard it said full oft,
A woman's nay doth stand for nought?
Think women still to strive with men
To fin, and never for to saint:
There is no heaven (by holy then)
When time with age shall them attaint.
Were kiffes all the joys in bed,
One woman would another wed.
But soft enough, too much I fear,
Lest that my mistress hear my song ;
She will not stick to round me on th' ear,
To teach my tongue to be so long.
Yet will she blush, here be it said,
To hear her secrets so bewraid,
Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye,
And all my soul, and all my every part;
And for this fin there is no remedy,
It is so grounded inward in my heart.
Methinks no face so gracious is, as mine;
No shape so true, no truth of such account;
And for myself mine own worth do define,
As I all other in all worths surmount.
But when my glass fhews me myself indeed,
Beated and chopp'd with tann'd antiquity;
Mine own felf-love quite contrary I read,
Seif, so self-loving, were iniquity :
'Tis thee (my self) that for myself I praise,
Painting my age with beauty of thy days.
Not marble, nor the gilded monument
Of princes, shall out-live this powerful rhyme;
But you shall thine more bright in these contents,
Than unswept stone besmear'd with fluttifh time.
When wasteful war fhall statues overturn,
And broils root out the work of masonry;
Nor Mars's sword, nor war's quick fire shall burn
The living record of your memory.
'Gainst death, and all oblivious enmity,
Shall you pace forth; your praise fhall still find room,
Even in the eyes of all posterity,
That wear this world out to the ending doom.
So till the judgment, that yourself arise,
You live in this, and dwell in lovers eyes,
Familiarity breeds Centempt.
So am I as the rich, whose blessed key
Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure,
The which he will not every hour survey,
For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure,
Therefore are feasts so folemn and so rare;
Since seldom coming, in the long year set,
Like stones of worth they thinly placed are,
Or captain jewels in the carconet.
So is the time that keeps you, as my chest,
Or as the wardrobe, which the robe doth hide,
To make some special instant special blest,
By new unfolding his imprison d pride.
Blessed are you, whose worthiness gives scope,
Being had to triumph, being lack'd to hope.
Is it thy will, thy image should keep open
My heavy eye-lids to the weary night?
Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken,
While shadows, like to thee, do mock my fight?
Is it thy spirit that thou send it from thee,
So far from home, into my deeds to pry:
To find out Thames, and idle hours in me,
The scope and tenure of thy jealousy?
O! no, thy love, tho' much is not so great ;
It is my love, that keeps mine eye awake;
Mine own true love, that doth my rest defeat,
To play the watchman ever for thy sake.
For thee watch I, whilst thou doft wake elsewhere,
From me far off, with others all too near,
No longer mourn for me when I am dead;
When you shall hear the surly fullen bell
Give warning to the world, that I am fled
From this vile world, with vileft worms to dwell.
Nay, if you read this line remember not
The hand that writ it; for I love you so,
That I in your sweet thoughts wou'd be forgot,
If thinking on me then, should make you woe.
O! if (I fay) you look upon this verse,
When I (perhaps) compounded am with clay ;
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse,
But let your love even with my life decay:
Left the wise world should look into your moan,
after I am gone. O ! left the world fhould task you, to recite What merit liv'd in
should love ; After
death (dear love !) forget me quite, For you in me can nothing worthy prove: Unless you would devise some virtuous lye, To do more for me now, than mine own desert, And hang more praise upon deceased I, Than niggard truth would willingly impart. O! left your true love may seem falfe in this, That
you for love speak well of me untrue; My name be buried where my body is, And live no more to shame nor me, nor you:
For I am sham’d by that which I bring forth ; And so should you, to love things nothing worth,
But be contented, when that fell arrest,
Without all bail, shall carry me away;
My life hath in this line foine intereit,
Which for memorial still with thee shall stay.
When thou reviewest this, thou doft review
very part was consecrate to thee :
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 knife,
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.
That thou art blam’d, shall not be thy defect,
For slander's mark was ever yet the fair :
The ornament of beauty is suspect ;
A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air.
So thou be good, flander doth but approve
Their worth the greater, being woo'd of time;
For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love,
And thou present'st a pure unstained prime.
Thou haft paft by the ambush of young days,
Either not affail'd, or victor, being charg'd;
Yet this thy praise cannot be fo thy praise,
To tie up envy, evermore enlarg'd;
If some suspect of ill, malk 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 fpirit doth use your name;
And in the praise thereof spends all his might,
To make me tongue-ty’d, speaking of your fame.
worth (wide as the ocean is) The humble as the proudest fail doth bear;