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So long lives this, and this gives life to Which I new pay as if not paid before.

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I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my boot-
less cries,

And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in

поре,

But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,

All losses are restor'd and sorrows end.

XXXIII

Full many a glorious morning have I

seen

Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign. eye,

Kissing with golden face the meadows green,

Featured like him, like him with friends Gilding pale streams

possessed,

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Gilding pale streams with heavenly

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Each changing place with that which goes

before,

In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Nativity, once in the main of light,
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being
crowned,

Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight,
And Time that gave doth now his gift
confound.

Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth

LXXIII

That time of year thou mayst in me behold

When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang

Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,

Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.

In me thou see'st the twilight of such day

And delves the parallels in beauty's As after sunset fadeth in the west,

brow,

Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to

mow:

And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand,

Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.

LXXI

No longer mourn for me when I am dead
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Give warning to the world that I am
fled

From this vile world, with vilest worms
to dwell:

Nay, if you read this line, remember not
The hand that writ it; for I love you

SO

That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,

If thinking on me then should make you

woe.

O, if, I say, you look upon this verse When I perhaps compounded am with clay,

Do not so much as my poor name rehearse,

But let your love even with my life decay,

Lest the wise world should look into your moan,

And mock you with me after I am gone.

Which by and by black night doth take

away,

Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.

In me thou see'st the glowing of such
fire

That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nour-
ished by.

This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy
love more strong,

To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

CIV

To me, fair friend, you never can be old, For as you were when first your eye I eyed,

Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold

Have from the forests shook three summers' price,

Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turned

In process of the seasons have I seen, Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burned

Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are

green.

Ah! yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand, Steal from his figure and no pace perceived;

So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,

Hath motion and mine eye may be deceived:

For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred:

Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead.

CVI

When in the chronicle of wasted time
I see descriptions of the fairest wights,
And beauty making beautiful old rime
In praise of ladies dead and lovely
knights,

Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best,

Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, I see their antique pen would have expressed

Even such a beauty as you master now.
So all their praises are but prophecies
Of this our time, all you prefiguring;
And, for they looked but with divining
eyes,

They had not skill enough your worth to sing:

For we, which now behold these present days,

Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.

CIX

O, never say that I was false of heart, Though absence seemed my flame to qualify.

As easy might I from myself depart
As from my soul, which in thy breast doth
lie:

That is my home of love: if I have ranged,
Like him that travels I return again,
Just to the time, not with the time ex-
changed,

So that myself bring water for my stain.
Never believe, though in my nature.

reigned

All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, That it could so preposterously be stained, To leave for nothing all thy sum of good; For nothing this wide universe I call, Save thou, my rose; in it thou art my all.

CXVI

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips. and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and

weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

CXXX

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the

sun;

Coral is far more red than her lips' red; If snow be white, why then her breasts

are dun;

If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.

I have seen roses damasked, red and white,

But no such roses see I in her cheeks; And in some perfumes is there more delight

Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.

I love to hear her speak, yet well I know That music hath a far more pleasing

sound;

I grant I never saw a goddess go;

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For those whom thou think'st thou dost

overthrow

Die not, poor Death; nor yet canst thou kill me.

From rest and sleep, which but thy picture be,

Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow;

And soonest our best men with thee do

go

Rest of their bones and souls' delivery! Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,

And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;

And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well

And better than thy stroke. Why swell'st thou then?

One short sleep past, we wake eternally, And Death shall be no more: Death, thou

shalt die!

BEN JONSON (1573-1637) ECHO'S DIRGE FOR NARCISSUS

Slow, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt tears;

Yet slower, yet, O faintly, gentle springs;

List to the heavy part the music bears, Woe weeps out her division when she sings.

Droop herbs and flowers,
Fall grief in showers,

Our beauties are not ours;
O, I could still,

Like melting snow upon some craggy hill,
Drop, drop, drop, drop,

Since nature's pride is now a withered daffodil.

V TO CELIA

Drink to me only with thine eyes

And I will pledge with mine;

Or leave a kiss but in the cup,

And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine;

But might I of Jove's nectar sup,

I would not change for thine.

I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much honoring thee
As giving it a hope that there

It could not withered be;
But thou thereon didst only breathe
And sent'st it back to me;
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,
Not of itself, but thee.

SIMPLEX MUNDITIIS

Still to be neat, still to be drest,
As you were going to a feast;
Still to be powdered, still perfumed:
Lady, it is to be presumed,

Though art's hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet, all is not sound.
Give me a look, give me a face,
That makes simplicity a grace;
Robes loosely flowing, hair as free:
Such sweet neglect more taketh me
Than all th' adulteries of art;
They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.

SONG

THAT WOMEN ARE BUT MEN'S SHADOWS.
Follow a shadow, it still flies you,
Seem to fly it, it will pursue;
So court a mistress, she denies you,
Let her alone, she will court you.
Say, are not women truly then
Styled but the shadows of us men?

At morn and even, shades are longest;
At noon, they are short or none;
Some men at weakest, they are strongest,
But grant us perfect, they're not known.
Say, are not women truly then

Styled but the shadows of us men?

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