XVI. But wherefore do not you a mightier way With means more bleffed than my barren rime? And many maiden gardens, yet unset, With virtuous wish would bear your living flowers So should the lines of life that life repair, And you XVII. Who will believe my verse in time to come, And in fresh numbers number all your graces, But were some child of yours alive that time, XVIII. Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Nor lofe poffeffion of that fair thou oweft, Nor fhall death brag thou wander'st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou grow'ft; So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. XIX. Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws, For beauty's pattern to fucceeding men. Yet do thy worst, old Time: despite thy wrong, My love shall in my verse ever live young. XX. A woman's face with Nature's own hand painted A man in hue all hues in his controlling, Which steals men's eyes and women's fouls amazeth. Till Nature, as she wrought thee, feli a-doting, By adding one thing to my purpose nothing. |