LXI. Is it thy will thy image should keep open To find out fhames and idle hours in me, O, no! thy love, though much, is not so great: To play the watchman ever for thy fake: For thee watch I whilst thou doft wake elsewhere, From me far off, with others all too near. LXII. Sin of felf-love poffeffeth all mine eye And all my foul and all my every part; And for this fin there is no remedy, It is fo grounded inward in my heart. 'Tis thee, myself, that for myself I praise, LXIII. Against my love fhall be, as I am now, With Time's injurious hand crush'd and o’erworn ; Hath travell'd on to age's fteepy night; And they shall live, and he in them still green. LXIV. When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate, That Time will come and take my love away. LXV. Since brass, nor ftone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, Shall Time's best jewel from Time's cheft lie hid? O, none, unless this miracle have might, |