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1564. Zec. 19

Riverside, Cambridge:

Stereotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton.

84-14

38

INDEX OF FIRST LINES.

A woman's face, with nature's own hand painted....
Accuse me thus; that I have scanted all.....
Against my love shall be, as I am now..........
Against that time, if ever that time come...
Ah! wherefore with infection should he live...
Alack! what poverty my muse brings forth...
Alas, 'tis true, I have gone here and there..

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As a decrepit father takes delight.................................................................................................................
As an unperfect actor on the stage.

As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st.

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How can I then return in happy plight..
How can my muse want subject to invent...
How careful was I when I took my way..
How heavy do I journey on the way..
How like a winter hath my absence been....
How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st.
How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame.

I grant thou wert not married to my muse...
I never saw that you did painting need..
If my dear love were but the child of state....
If the dull substance of my flesh were thought.
If there be nothing new, but that, which is.
If thou survive my well contented day..
If thy soul check thee that I come so near...
In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes...
In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn.
In the old age black was not counted fair..
Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye.
Is it thy will, thy image should keep open...

Let me confess that we two must be twain..
Let me not to the marriage of true minds..
Let not my love be call'd idolatry.

Let those who are in favour with their stars.

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Love is too young to know what conscience is....

Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war..

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore.
Like as, to make our appetites more keen..
Lo, as a careful housewife runs to catch...
Lo, in the orient when the gracious light...

Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest..
Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage...
Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate...

Mine eye hath play'd the painter, and hath stell'd..
Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly.
My glass shall not persuade me I am old...

My love is as a fever longing still......

My love is strengthened, though more weak in seeming.
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun..

My tongue-tied muse in manners holds her still..

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Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits....
Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art....

Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes...

Thus can my love excuse the slow offence....
Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn.
Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts..
Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain..
Tir'd with all these, for restful death I cry.
"Tis better to be vile, than vile esteemed.
To me, fair friend, you never can be old..
Two loves I have of comfort and despair..
Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend..
Was it the proud full sail of his great verse..
Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed....
Were it aught to me I bore the canopy.
What's in the brain that ink may character...

What is your substance, whereof are you made..
What potions have I drunk of Syren tears...
When forty winters shall besiege thy brow..
When I consider everything that grows..

When I do count the clock that tells the time...
When I have seen by Time's fell hand defac'd.
When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes..
When in the chronicle of wasted time.....
When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see..
When my love swears that she is made of truth..
When thou shalt be disposed to set me light.
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought..
Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long..
Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid..
Who is it that says most? which can say more.
Who will believe my verse in time to come..
Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy will.
Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day.
Why is my verse so barren of new pride...

Your love and pity doth the impression fill..

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131

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