IX. Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye The world will wail thee, like a makeless wife; No love toward others in that bofom fits That on himself fuch murderous fhame commits. X. For fhame! deny that thou bear'st love to any, Grant, if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many, But that thou none lovest is most evident; For thou art so poffeff'd with murderous hate That 'gainst thyself thou stick'st not to conspire, Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate Which to repair should be thy chief desire. O, change thy thought, that I may change my mind! Be, as thy prefence is, gracious and kind, XI. As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st If all were minded so, the times should cease XII. When I do count the clock that tells the time, And fable curls all filver'd o'er with white; That thou among the wastes of time must go, XIII. O, that you were yourself! but, love, you are Yourself again, after yourself's decease, When your sweet iffue your sweet form should bear. Which husbandry in honour might uphold And barren rage of death's eternal cold? O, none but unthrifts! Dear my love, you know You had a father: let your fon say so. |