LXXVII.

Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear,
Thy dial how thy precious minutes wafte;
The vacant leaves thy mind's imprint will bear,
And of this book this learning mayft thou taste.
The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show
Of mouthed graves will give thee memory;
Thou by thy dial's fhady stealth mayst know
Time's thievish progress to eternity.

Look, what thy memory cannot contain

Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find
Those children nursed, deliver'd from thy brain,
To take a new acquaintance of thy mind.
Thefe offices, fo oft as thou wilt look,

Shall profit thee and much enrich thy book.

LXXVIII.

So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse
And found fuch fair affiftance in my verse
As every alien pen hath got my use
And under thee their poefy difperfe.

Thine eyes, that taught the dumb on high to fing

And heavy ignorance aloft to fly,

Have added feathers to the learned's wing
And given grace a double majefty.

Yet be most proud of that which I compile,
Whose influence is thine and born of thee:
In others' works thou doft but mend the style,
And arts with thy fweet graces graced be;
But thou art all my art, and doft advance
As high as learning my rude ignorance.

And my

LXXIX.

Whilft I alone did call upon thy aid,
My verfe alone had all thy gentle grace;
But now my gracious numbers are decay'd,
fick Muse doth give another place.
I grant, sweet love, thy lovely argument
Deferves the travail of a worthier pen;
Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent
He robs thee of, and pays it thee again.
He lends thee virtue, and he ftole that word
From thy behaviour; beauty doth he give,
And found it in thy cheek; he can afford
No praise to thee but what in thee doth live.

Then thank him not for that which he doth say,
Since what he owes thee thou thyself dost pay.

F

LXXX.

O, how I faint when I of you do write,
Knowing a better spirit doth use your name,
And in the praise thereof spends all his might,
To make me tongue-tied, speaking of your fame!
But fince your worth, wide as the ocean is,
The humble as the proudeft fail doth bear,
My faucy bark, inferior far to his,

On your broad main doth wilfully appear.
Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat,
Whilft he upon your foundless deep doth ride;
Or, being wreck'd, I am a worthless boat,
He of tall building and of goodly pride:

Then if he thrive and I be caft away,

The worst was this; my love was my decay.

Or

LXXXI.

Or I shall live your epitaph to make, you furvive when I in earth am rotten; From hence your memory death cannot take, Although in me each part will be forgotten. Your name from hence immortal life shall have, Though I, once gone, to all the world must die : The earth can yield me but a common grave, When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie. Your monument shall be my gentle verse, Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read ; And tongues to be your being shall rehearse, When all the breathers of this world are dead; You ftill fhall live-fuch virtue hath my penWhere breath most breathes, even in the mouths

of men.