LI.

Thus can my love excuse the flow offence

Of

my

dull bearer when from thee I speed:

From where thou art why should I hafte me thence?

Till I return, of posting is no need.

O, what excufe will my poor beast then find,
When swift extremity can seem but flow?

Then should I fpur, though mounted on the wind,
In winged speed no motion shall I know:

Then can no horse with my defire keep pace;
Therefore defire, of perfect'ft love being made,
Shall neigh, no dull flesh in his fiery race;
But love, for love, thus fhall excuse my jade,—

'Since from thee going he went wilful-flow,

Towards thee I'll run and give him leave to go.'

LII.

So am I as the rich, whose blessed key
Can bring him to his fweet up-locked treasure,
The which he will not every hour survey,
For blunting the fine point of feldom pleasure.
Therefore are feasts so folemn and fo rare,
Since, feldom coming, in the long year set,
Like ftones of worth they thinly placed are,
Or captain jewels in the carcanet.

So is the time that keeps you as my cheft,
Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide,
To make some special instant special bleft,
By new unfolding his imprison'd pride.

Bleffed are you, whose worthiness gives scope,
Being had, to triumph; being lack'd, to hope.

LIII.

What is your substance, whereof are you made,
That millions of strange shadows on you tend?
Since every one hath, every one, one shade,
And you, but one, can every shadow lend.
Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit

Is poorly imitated after you;

On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set,
And you
in Grecian tires are painted new :
Speak of the spring and foison of the year,
The one doth shadow of your beauty show,
The other as your bounty doth appear;
And you in every bleffed shape we know.
In all external grace you have some part,
But

you like none, none you, for conftant heart.

LIV.

O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem
By that fweet ornament which truth doth give!
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem
For that fweet odour which doth in it live.
The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye
As the perfumed tincture of the roses,

Hang on fuch thorns, and play as wantonly
When fummer's breath their masked buds discloses :

But, for their virtue only is their show,

They live unwoo'd and unrespected fade ;

Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not fo;

Of their fweet deaths are sweetest odours made:
And fo of you, beauteous and lovely youth,

When that shall vade, by verse distils your truth.

LV.

Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rime;
But

you shall shine more bright in these contents Than unfwept stone, besmear'd with fluttish time. When wafteful war shall statues overturn,

And broils root out the work of masonry,

Nor Mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall burn The living record of your memory.

'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity

Shall you pace

forth; your praise shall still find room

Even in the eyes of all pofterity

That wear this world out to the ending doom.
So, till the judgement that yourself arise,

You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes.