LXXIV. But be contented: when that fell arreft My life hath in this line some interest, The earth can have but earth, which is his due; The worth of that is that which it contains, LXXV. So are you to my thoughts as food to life, Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure; Then better'd that the world may fee my pleasure : Sometime, all full with feafting on your fight, And by and by clean starved for a look; Poffeffing or pursuing no delight, Save what is had or must from you be took. LXXVI. Why is my verse so barren of new pride, Why with the time do I not glance aside And keep invention in a noted weed, That every word doth almost tell my name, Showing their birth and where they did proceed? O, know, fweet love, I always write of you, And you and love are still my argument ; So all my best is dreffing old words new, Spending again what is already spent : For as the fun is daily new and old, So is my love still telling what is told. LXXVII. Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear, Thou by thy dial's fhady stealth mayst know Look, what thy memory cannot contain Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find Those children nurfed, deliver'd from thy brain, To take a new acquaintance of thy mind. Thefe offices, so oft as thou wilt look, Shall profit thee and much enrich thy book. LXXVIII. So oft have I invoked thee for my Mufe And under thee their poefy disperse. 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 majesty. Yet be moft proud of that which I compile, |