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VI.

Then let not winter's ragged hand deface
In thee thy fummer, ere thou be distill'd ;

Make sweet some vial; treasure thou fome place
With beauty's treasure, ere it be self-kill'd.

That use is not forbidden ufury,

Which happies those that

pay the willing loan

That's for thyfelf to breed another thee,

Or ten times happier, be it ten for one;
Ten times thyself were happier than thou art,
If ten of thine ten times refigured thee;

Then what could death do, if thou shouldft depart,
Leaving thee living in pofterity?

Be not self-will'd, for thou art much too fair

To be death's conqueft and make worms thine heir.

VII.

Lo, in the orient when the gracious light
Lifts up his burning head, each under eye
Doth homage to his new-appearing fight,
Serving with looks his facred majesty;

And having climb'd the fteep-up heavenly hill,.
Refembling ftrong youth in his middle age,
Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,

Attending on his golden pilgrimage;

But when from highmost pitch, with weary car, Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day,

The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted are

From his low tract, and look another

way: So thou, thyfelf outgoing in thy noon,

Unlook'd on dieft, unless thou get a fon.

VII.

Mufic to hear, why hear'ft thou music fadly?
Sweets with fweets war not, joy delights in joy:
Why loveft thou that which thou receivest not gladly,
Or else receiveft with pleasure thine annoy?
If the true concord of well-tuned sounds,

By unions married, do offend thine ear,
They do but fweetly chide thee, who confounds
In fingleness the parts that thou shouldst bear.
Mark how one ftring, sweet husband to another,
Strikes each in each by mutual ordering;

Resembling fire and child and happy mother,
Who, all in one, one pleasing note do fing:

Whose speechless fong, being many, seeming one,
Sings this to thee: "Thou single wilt prove none.'

IX.

Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye
That thou confumeft thyself in single life?
Ah! if thou iffueless shalt hap to die,

The world will wail thee, like a makeless wife;
The world will be thy widow, and still weep
That thou no form of thee haft left behind,
When every private widow well may keep
By children's eyes her husband's shape in mind.
Look, what an unthrift in the world doth spend
Shifts but his place, for ftill the world enjoys it;
But beauty's wafte hath in the world an end,
And, kept unused, the user so destroys it.

No love toward others in that bofom fits

That on himself fuch murderous fhame commits.

X.

For fhame! deny that thou bear'ft love to any,
Who for thyself art so unprovident.

Grant, if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many,
But that thou none lovest is most evident;
For thou art so poffeff'd with murderous hate
That 'gainst thyself thou ftick'st not to confpire,
Seeking that beauteous foof to ruinate

Which to repair should be thy chief desire.

O, change thy thought, that I may change my mind!
Shall hate be fairer lodged than gentle love?
Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind,
Or to thyfelf at least kind-hearted prove:
Make thee another felf, for love of me,
That beauty ftill may live in thine or thee.

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