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If thou survive my well-contented day,
When that churl Death my bones with dust shall
And shalt by fortune once more re-survey [cover,
These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover,
Compare them with the bettering of the time,
And though they be outstripp'd by every pen,
Reserve them for my love, not for their rime,
Exceeded by the height of happier men.
O, then vouchsafe me but this loving thought :
Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing
A dearer birth than this his love had brought, [age,
To march in ranks of better equipage :

But since he died, and poets better prove,
Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love.'


Full many a glorious morning have I seen
Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye,
Kisling with golden face the meadows green,
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy;
Anon permit the baseft clouds to ride
With ugly rack on his celestial face,
And from the forlorn world his visage hide,
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace:
Even so my sun one early morn did shine
With all-triumphant splendour on my brow;
But, out, alack! he was but one hour mine,
The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now.

Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth;
Suns of the world may stain when heaven's sun




Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day,
And make me travel forth without


cloak, To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way, Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke? 'Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break, To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face, For no man well of such a salve can speak That heals the wound and cures not the disgrace : Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief; Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss : The offender's sorrow lends but weak relief To him that bears the strong offence's cross.

Ah, but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds, And they are rich and ransom all ill deeds.


No more be grieved at that which thou hast done :
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud;
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.
All men make faults, and even I in this,
Authorizing thy trespass with compare,
Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss,
Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are ;
For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense-
Thy adverse party is thy advocate-
And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence :
Such civil war is in my love and hate,

That I an accessary needs must be
To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me.


Let me confess that we two must be twain,
Although our undivided loves are one:
So shall those blots that do with me remain,
Without thy help, by me be borne alone.
In our two loves there is but one respe&,
Though in our lives a separable spite,
Which, though it alter not love's sole effe&,
Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight.
I may not evermore acknowledge thee,

my bewailed guilt should do thee shame, Nor thou with public kindness honour me, Unless thou take that honour from thy name :

But do not so; I love thee in such sort
As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report.

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