TO THE ONLY BEGETTER OF THESE ENSUING SONNETS
And that eternity promised by our ever-living Poet
WELL-WISHING ADVENTURER IN SETTING FORTH,
TROM faireft creatures we defire increase,
Fhat thereby beauty's role might never' die,
But as the riper fhould by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory:
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed'ft thy light's flame with felf-fubftantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thyfelf thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament,
And only herald to the gaudy fpring,
Within thine own bud burieft thy content,
And, tender churl, mak'ft wafte in niggarding.
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.
When forty winters fhall befiege thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery, fo gaz'd on now,
Will be a tatter'd weed, of fmall worth held :
Then being afk'd where all thy beauty lies,.
Where all the treasure of thy lufty days;
To fay, within thine own deep-funken eyes,
Were an all-eating fhame, and thriftlefs praife.
How much more praise deferv'd thy beauty's ufe,
If thou could'ft anfwer-" This fair child of mine
"Shall fum my count, and make my old excufe-
Proving his beauty by fucceffion thine.
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And fee thy blood warm when thou feel'ft it cold.
i. e. Thomas Thorpe, in whofe name the fonnets were first entered in Stationer's Hall,
III.
Look in thy glafs, and tell the face thou vieweft,
Now is the time that face fhould form another;
Whofe fresh repair if now thou not reneweft,
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother、
For where is the fo fair, whofe un-eard womb
Difdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he fo fond, will be the tomb
Of his felf-love, to ftop pofterity?
Thou art thy mother's glafs, and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime :
So thou thro' windows of thine age shalt see,
Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time,
But if thou live, remember'd not.to be,
Die fingle, and thine image dies with thee,
IV.
Unthrifty loveliness, why doft thou spend
Upon thyself thy beauty's legacy?
Nature's bequeft gives nothing, but doth lend,
And being frank, the lends to those are free.
Then, beauteous niggard, why doft thou abuse
The bounteous largenefs given thee to give?
Profitlefs ufurer, why doft thou use
So great a fum of fums, yet canst not live?
For having traffic with thyfelf alone,
Thou of thyfelf thy sweet self doft deceive.
Then how, when nature calls thee to be gone,
What acceptable audit canst thou leave?
Thy unus'd beauty must be tomb'd with thee,
Which used, lives thy executor to be.
Those hours, that with gentle work did frame,
The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell,
Will play the tyrants to the very fame,
And that unfair which fairly doth excel;
For never-refting time leads fummer on
To hideous winter, and confounds him there;
Sap check'd with froft, and lufty leaves quite gone,
Beauty o'erfnow'd, and bareness every where:
Then, were not fummer's diftillation left,
A liquid prifoner pent in walls of glass,
Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft,
Nor it, nor no remembrance what it was.
But flowers diftill'd, though they with winter meet, 69
Leefe but their fhew; their fubftance ftill lives fweet.
VI.
Then let not winter's ragged hand deface
In thee thy fummer, e'er thou be diftill'd:
Make fweet fome phial, treasure thou fome place
With beauty's treafure, e'er it be felf-kill'd.
That use it not forbidden ufury,
Which happies thofe that pay the willing loan;
That's for thyfelf to breed another thee,
Or ten times happier, be it ten for one;
Ten times thyfelf were happier than thou art,
If ten of thine ten times refigur'd thee:
Then, what could death do if thou should'st depart,
Leaving thee living in pofterity?
Be not felf-will'd, for thou art much too fair
To be death's conqueft, and make worms thine heir.
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 majefty;
And having climb'd the steep-up heavenly hill,
Refembling ftrong youth in his middle age,
Yet mortal looks adore his beauty ftill,
Attending on his golden pilgrimage;
But when from high-moft 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, thyself out-going in thy noon,
Unlook'd on dieft, unless thou get a fon.
Mufic to hear, why hear'ft thou music fadly?
Sweets with fweets war not, joy delights in joy.
Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'ft not gladly? Or elle receiv'ft with pleasure thine annoy?
If the true concord of well-tuned founds,
By unions married, do offend thine ear,
They do but fweetly chide thee, who confounds
In finglenefs the parts that thou should'st bear.
Mark how one ftring, fweet husband to another,
Strikes each in each by mutual ordering;
Refembling fire and child and happy mother,
Who all in one, one pleafing note do fing:
Who fpeechlefs fong, being many, feeming one,
Sings this to thee, "thou fingle wilt prove none."
Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye,
That thou confum'st thyself in single life ?
Ah! if thou iffueless fhalt 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: 120
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 keep unus'd, the ufer fo deftroys it.
No love towards others in that bofom fits,
That on himself fuch murderous fhame commits.
For fhame! deny that thou bear'ft love to any,
Who for thyself art fo unprovident.
Grant if thou wilt, thou art belov'd of many,
But that thou none lov'ft, is moft evident:
For thou art fo poffeffed with murderous hate,
That 'gainst thyself thou tick'ft not to confpire,
Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate,
Which to repair fhould be thy chief defire.
O change thy thought, that I may change my mind!
Shall hate be fairer lodg'd than gentle love;
Be, as thy prefence is, gracious and kind,
Or to thyfelf, at leaft, kind-hearted prove :
Make thee another felf, for love of me.
That beauty ftill may live in thine or thee.
As fast as thou fhalt wane, fo fast thou grow't
In one of thine, from that which thou departeft;
And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow'ft,
Thou may'ft call thine, when thou from youth convertest.
Herein lives wifdom, beauty, and increase;
Without this, folly, age, and cold decay:
If all were minded fo, the times fhould ceafe,
And threefcore years would make the world away.
Let those whom nature hath not made for ftore,
Harfh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish:
Look whom the best endow'd, fhe gave thee more;
Which bounteous gift thou fhould'st in bounty cherish:
She carv'd thee for her feal, and meant thereby,
Thou should'ft print more, nor let that copy die.
When I do count the clock that tells the time,
And fee the brave day funk in hideous night;
When I behold the violet paft prime,
And fable curls, all filver'd o'er with white;
When lofty trees I fee barren of leaves,
Which erft from heat did canopy the herd,
And fummer's green all girded up in fheaves,
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard;
Then of thy beauty do I question make,
That thou among the waftes of time must go,
Since fweets and beauties do themselves forfake,
And die as fast as they fee others grow;
And nothing 'gainst time's fcythe can make defence, Save breed, to brave him, when he takes thee hence.
O that you were yourself! but, love, you are
No longer your's than you yourself here live :
Against this coming end you fhould prepare,
And your sweet semblance to fome other give.
So fhould that beauty which you hold in lease,
Find no determination: then you were
Yourself again, after yourfelf's decease,
When your fweet iffue your fweet form should bear, Who lets fo fair a house fall to decay,
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