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Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come;
10 Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out ev'n to the edge of doom :
If this be error, and upon me proved,
My true-love hath my heart, and I have his,
By just exchange one for another given :
My true-love hath my heart, and I have his. 5
His heart in me keeps him and me in one,
My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides : He loves my heart, for once it was his own, I cherish his because in me it bides : My true-love hath my heart, and I have his. 10
SIR P. SIDNEY.
Were I as base as is the lowly plain,
And you, my Love, as high as heaven above, Yet should the thoughts of me your humble swain
Ascend to heaven, in honour of my Love.
Were I as high as heaven above the plain,
And you, my Love, as humble and as low As are the deepest bottoms of the main,
Whereso'er you were, with you my love should go.
Were you the earth, dear Love, and I the skies,
My love should shine on you like to the sun, 10 And look upon you with ten thousand eyes Till heaven wax'd blind, and till the world were
Whereso'er I am, below, or else above you, Whereso'er you are, my heart shall truly love you.
That can sing both high and low;
Every wise man's son doth know.
What is love ? 'tis not hereafter ;
What's to come is still unsure :
10 Then come kiss me, Sweet-and-twenty, Youth's a stuff will not endure.
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
And milk comes frozen home in pail ;
When all aloud the wind doth blow,
10 And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow,
And Marian's nose looks red and raw;
28 That time of year thou may'st in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds
sang. In me thou see'st the twilight of such day 5
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie 10 As the death-bed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by : — This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more
strong, To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
I summon up remembrance of things past,
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night, And weep afresh love's long-since-cancell'd woe,
And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight. Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er 10 The sad account of fore-bemoanéd moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before :
REVOLUTIONS Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end ; Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Nativity, once in the main of light,
5 Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd, Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight,
And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth,
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow ; 10 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.
31 Farewell ! thou art too dear for my possessing,
And like enough thou know'st thy estimate : The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing ;
My bonds in thee are all determinate.
For how do I hold thee but by thy granting ?
And for that riches where is my deserving ? The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,
And so my patent back again is swerving. Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not
knowing, Or me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking ; So thy great gift, upon misprision growing,
Comes home again, on better judgement making.
Thus have I had thee as a dream doth flatter;
THE LIFE WITHOUT PASSION
They that have power to hurt, and will do none,
That do not do the thing they most do show, Who, moving others, are themselves as stone, Unmoved,
cold, and to temptation slow,
They rightly do inherit Heaven's graces,
And husband nature's riches from expense ; They are the lords and owners of their faces,
Others, but stewards of their excellence.
The summer's flower is to the summer sweet,
Though to itself it only live and die ;
The basest weed outbraves his dignity :
For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds ; Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.