LXIX. Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view By feeing farther than the eye hath shown. And that, in guess, they measure by thy deeds; Then, churls, their thoughts, although their eyes were kind, To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds: The foil is this, that thou doft common grow. LXX. That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect, A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air. So thou be good, flander doth but approve Thy 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 paff'd by the ambush of young days, Either not affail'd, or victor being charged; Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise, To tie up envy evermore enlarged: If some suspect of ill mask'd not thy show, Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts shouldst owe. LXXI. No longer mourn for me when I am dead That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, And mock you with me after I am gone. LXXII. O, left the world should task you to recite What merit lived in me, that you should love After my death, dear love, forget me quite, For you in me can nothing worthy prove; Unless you would devise some virtuous lie, To do more for me than mine own defert, And hang more praise upon deceased I Than niggard truth would willingly impart : O, left your true love may seem false 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 shamed by that which I bring forth, And so should you, to love things nothing worth. LXXIII. That time of year thou mayst in me behold As after funfet fadeth in the weft; Which by and by black night doth take away, This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more To love that well which thou must leave ere long. |