126
O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his sickle hour;Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st Thy lovers withering as thy sweet self grow'st;If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack, As thou goest onwards, still will pluck theeback, She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill May time disgrace and wretched minutes kill. Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure! She may detain, but not still keep, her trea- sure: Her audit, though delay'd, answer'd must be, And her quietus is to render thee.
127
In the old age black was not counted fair, Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name;But now is black beauty's successive heir, And beauty slander'd with a bastard's shame:For since each hand hath put on Nature'spower,Fairing the foul with Art's false borrow'd face, Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy bower, But is profan'd, if not lives in disgrace. Therefore my mistress' brows are raven black, Her eyes so suited, and they mourners seem At such who, not born fair, no beauty lack, Sland'ring creation with a false esteem: Yet so they mourn, becoming of their woe, That every tongue says beauty should look so.
128
How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st, Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway'st The wiry concord that mine ear confounds, Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap To kiss the tender inward of thy hand, Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvestreap,At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand! To be so tickl'd, they would change their state And situation with those dancing chips, O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait, Making dead wood more bless'd than livinglips. Since saucy jacks so happy are in this, Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.
129
The expense of spirit in a waste of shame Is lust in action; and till action, lust Is perjur'd, murderous, bloody, full of blame, Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust;Enjoy'd no sooner but despised straight;Past reason hunted; and no sooner had, Past reason hated, as a swallow'd bait, On purpose laid to make the taker mad:Mad in pursuit, and in possession so;Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme;A bliss in proof,—and prov'd, a very woe;Before, a joy propos'd; behind, a dream. All this the world well knows; yet none knowswellTo shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.
130
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 damask'd, 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,— My mistress, when she walks, treads on theground: And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare.
131
Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art, As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel;For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel. Yet, in good faith, some say that thee behold, Thy face hath not the power to make lovegroan: To say they err I dare not be so bold, Although I swear it to myself alone. And to be sure that is not false I swear, A thousand groans, but thinking on thy face, One on another's neck, do witness bear Thy black is fairest in my judgment's place. In nothing art thou black save in thy deeds, And thence this slander, as I think, proceeds.
132
Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me, Knowing thy heart torments me with disdain, Have put on black and loving mourners be, Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain. And truly not the morning sun of heaven Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east, Nor that full star that ushers in the even, Doth half that glory to the sober west, As those two mourning eyes become thy face:O! let it then as well beseem thy heart To mourn for me, since mourning doth theegrace,And suit thy pity like in every part. Then will I swear beauty herself is black, And all they foul that thy complexion lack.
133
Beshrew that heart that makes my heart togroanFor that deep wound it gives my friend and me! Is't not enough to torture me alone, But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend mustbe?Me from myself thy cruel eye hath taken, And my next self thou harder hast engross'd: Of him, myself, and thee, I am forsaken;A torment thrice threefold thus to be cross'd. Prison my heart in thy steel bosom's ward, But then my friend's heart let my poor heart bail;Whoe'er keeps me, let my heart be his guard;Thou canst not then use rigour In my jail: And yet thou wilt; for I, being pent in thee, Perforce am thine, and all that is in me.
134
So, now I have confessed that he is thine, And I myself am mortgaged to thy will, Myself I'll forfeit, so that other mine Thou wilt restore, to be my comfort still:But thou wilt not, no? he will not be free, For thou art covetous and he is kind; He learn'd but surety-like to write for me, Under that bond that him as fast doth bind. The statule of thy beauty thou wilt take, Thou usurer, that putt'st forth all to use, And sue a friend came debtor for my sake;So him I lose through my unkind abuse. Him have I lost; thou hast both him and me:He pays the whole, and yet am I not free.
135
Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy Will, And Will to boot, and Will in over-plus; More than enough am I that vex thee still, To thy sweet will making addition thus. Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious, Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine? Shall will in. others seem right gracious, And in my will no fair acceptance shine? The sea, all water, yet receives rain still, And in abundance addeth to his store;So thou, being rich in Will, add to thy Will One will of mine, to make thy large Will more. Let no unkind 'No' fair beseechers kill;Think all but one, and me in that one Will.
136.
If thy soul check thee that I come so near, Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy Will, And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there;Thus far for love, my love-suit, sweet, fulfil. Will will fulfil the treasure of thy love, Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one. In things of great receipt with ease we prove Among a number one is reckoned none:Then in the number let me pass untold, Though in thy stores' account I one must be;For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold That nothing me, a something sweet to thee: Make but my name thy love, and love that still,And then thou lov'st me,—for my name is Will.
137.
Thou blind fool. Love, what dost thou to mineeyes,That they behold, and see not what they see? They know what beauty is, see where it lies, Yet what the best is take the worst to be. If eyes, corrupt by over-partial looks, Be anchored in the bay where all men ride, Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged hooks, Whereto the judgment of my heart is tied? Why should my heart think that a several plot Which my heart knows the wide world's commonplace?Or mine eyes, seeing this, say this is not, To put fair truth upon so foul a face? In things right true my heart and eyes haveerr'd, And to this false plague are they now trans-ferr'd.
138
When my love swears that she is made of truth, I do believe her, though I know she lies, That she might think me some untutor'd youth, Unlearned in the world's false subtleties. Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young, Although she knows my days are past the best, Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue: On both sides thus is simple truth supprest. But wherefore says she not she is unjust? And wherefore say not I that I am old?O! love's best habit is in seeming trust, And age in love loves not to have years told: Therefore I lie with her, and she with me, And in our faults by lies we flatter'd, be.
139
O! call not me to justify the wrong That thy unkindness lays upon my heart;Wound me not with thine eye, but with thytongue:Use power with power, and slay me not by art. Tell me thou lovest elsewhere; but in my sight, Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside: What need'st thou wound with cunning, whenthy mightIs more than my o'erpress'd defence can bide? Let me excuse thee: ah! my love well knows Her pretty looks have been my enemies; And therefore from my face she turns my foes, That they elsewhere might dart their injuries:Yet do not so; but since I am near slain, Kill me outright with looks, and rid my pain.
140
Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain;Lest sorrow lend me words, and words express The manner of my pity-wanting pain. If I might teach thee wit, better it were, Though not to love, yet, Iove, to tell me so;— As testy sick men, when their deaths be near, No news but health from their physiciansknow;—For, if I should despair, I should grow mad, And in my madness might speak ill of thee:Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad, Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be. That I may not be so, nor thou belied, Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide.
141
In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes, For they in thee a thousand errors note;But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise, Who, in despite of view, is pleas'd to dote. Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune de- lighted;Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone. Nor taste nor smell desire to be invited To any sensual feast with thee alone:But my five wits nor my five senses can Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee, Who leaves unsway'd the likeness of a man, Thy proud heart's slave and vassal wretch tobe: Only my plague thus far I count my gain, That she that makes me sin awards me pain.
142
Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate, Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving:O! but with mine compare thou thine ownstate, And thou shalt find it merits not reproving;Or, if it do, not from those lips of thine, That have profan'd their scarlet ornaments And seal'd false bonds of love as oft as mine, Robb'd others' beds' revenues of their rents. Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lov'st those Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee:Root pity in thy heart, that when it grows, Thy pity may deserve to pitied be. If thou dost seek to have what thou dosthide, By self-example mayst thou be denied!
143
Lo, as a careful housewife runs to catchOne of her feather'd creatures broke away,Sets down her babe, and makes all quickdispatch In pursuit of the thing she would have stay;Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase, Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent To follow that which flies before her face, Not prizing her poor infant's discontent:So runn'st thou after that which flies from thee, Whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind;But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me, And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind; So will I pray that thou mayst have thyWill,If thou turn back and my loud crying still.
144
Two loves I have of comfort and despair, Which like two spirits do suggest me still:The better angel is a man right fair, The worser spirit a woman, colour'd ill. To win me soon to hell, my female evil Tempteth my better angel from my side, And would corrupt my saint to be a devil, Wooing his purity with her foul pride. And whether that my angel be tum'd fiend Suspect I may, but not directly tell;But being both from me, both to each friend, I guess one angel in another's hell: Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt, Till my bad angel fire my good one out.
145
Those lips that Love's own hand did make,Breath'd forth the sound that said 'I hate,'To me that languish'd for her sake:But when she saw my woeful state,Straight in her heart did mercy come,Chiding that tongue that ever sweet Was us'd in giving gentle doom;And taught it thus anew to greet;'I hate,' she alter'd with an end,That follow'd it as gentle dayDoth follow night, who like a fiendFrom heaven to hell is flown away. 'I hate' from hate away she threw, And sav'd my life, saying—'Not you.'