And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,
When that shall vade, my verse distils your
BEING your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire?
I have no precious
time at all to spend,
Nor services to do, till you require.
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour
I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour
When you have bid
your servant once adieu;
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought
Save, where you are how happy you make those!
true a fool is love, that in your Will,
Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill.
THAT time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
boughs which shake against the cold
Bare ruind choirs where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou
seest the twilight of such day
As after Sunset fadeth in the West,
Which by and by black night doth take
Deaths second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou seest 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
This thou perceivst, which makes thy love more strong
To love that well which thou must
leave ere long.
FAREWELL! thou art too dear for my possessing,
And like enough thou knowst thy estimate:
of thy worth gives thee releasing;
My bonds in thee are all determinate.
For how do I hold thee but by
And for that riches where is my deserving?
The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,
so my patent back again is swerving.
Thyself thou gavst, thy own worth then not knowing,
Or me, to
whom thou gavst it, else mistaking;
So thy great gift, upon misprision growing,
Comes home again, on
better judgment making.
Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter
In sleep a King; but waking, no
THEN hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now;
Now, while the world is bent my deeds to cross,
the spite of fortune, make me bow,
And do not drop in for an after loss:
Ah! do not, when my heart hath
scaped this sorrow,
Come in the rearward of a conquerd woe;
Give not a windy night a rainy morrow,
linger out a purposed overthrow.
If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last,
When other petty griefs have
done their spite,
But in the onset come: so shall I taste
At first the very worst of fortunes might;
strains of woe, which now seem woe,
Compared with loss of thee will not seem so!
THEY that have power to hurt and will do none,
That do not do the thing they most do show,
others, are themselves as stone,
Unmovàed, cold, and to temptation slow
They rightly do inherit Heavens
And husband Natures riches from expense;
They are the Lords and owners of their faces,
but stewards of their excellence.
The Summers flower is to the Summer sweet,
Though to itself it only live
But if that flower with base infection meet,
The basest weed outbraves his dignity:
things turn sourest by their deeds;
Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.
HOW like a Winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
have I felt, what dark days seen,
What old Decembers bareness everywhere!
And yet this time removed
was summers time;
The teeming Autumn, big with rich increase,
Bearing the wanton burden of the prime