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 rofes do not so;

Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made: And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth, When that shall vade, by verse distils your truth.

LV.

Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
Of princes, fhall outlive this powerful rime;
shall shine more bright in these contents
Than unfwept ftone, befmear'd with fluttish time.
When wafteful war fhall ftatues overturn,

But you

And broils root out the work of masonry,

Nor Mars his fword 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.

LVI.

Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not faid
Thy edge should blunter be than appetite,
Which but to-day by feeding is allay'd,
To-morrow sharp'ned in his former might:
So, love, be thou; although to-day thou fill
Thy hungry eyes even till they wink with fullness,
To-morrow fee again, and do not kill

The spirit of love with a perpetual dullness.
Let this fad interim like the ocean be

Which parts the shore, where two contracted new
Come daily to the banks, that, when they see
Return of love, more bleft may be the view;

Or call it winter, which, being full of care, Makes fummer's welcome thrice more wish'd,

more rare.

LVII.

Being your flave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire?

I have no precious time at all to spend,
Nor fervices to do, till you require.

Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour
Whilft I, my fovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence four

When you have bid your fervant once adieu;
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But, like a fad flave, stay and think of nought
Save, where you are how happy you make those.
So true a fool is love that in your will,

Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill.

LVIII.

That god forbid that made me first your slave,
I should in thought control your times of pleasure,
Or at your hand the account of hours to crave,

Being your vaffal, bound to stay your

O, let me fuffer, being at your beck,

leifure !

The imprison'd absence of your liberty;

And patience, tame to fufferance, bide each check,
Without accufing you of injury.

Be where you lift, your charter is so strong
That you yourself may privilege your time
To what you will; to you it doth belong
Yourself to pardon of self-doing crime.

I am to wait, though waiting so be hell,
Not blame your pleasure, be it ill or well.