LXXXI. Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all; What hast thou then more than thou hadst before? I cannot blame thee for1 my love thou usest; To bear love's wrong than hate's known injury. LXXXII. Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits Where thou art forced to break a twofold truth; 1 For:' because. 4* LXXXIII. That thou hast her, it is not all my grief, A loss in love that touches me more nearly. Thou dost love her, because thou knew'st I love her; And for my sake even so doth she abuse me, Suffering my friend for my sake to approve her. If I lose thee, my loss is my love's gain, And, losing her, my friend hath found that loss; Both find each other, and I lose both twain, And both for my sake lay on me this cross: But here's the joy; my friend and I are one; Sweet flattery! then she loves but me alone. They that have power to hurt and will do none, And husband nature's riches from expense; The basest weed out-braves his dignity : For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds; How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame, Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose, Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name! Oh, in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose! Making lascivious comments on thy sport, Naming thy name blesses an ill report. And all things turn to fair, that eyes can see! LXXXVI. Some say, thy fault is youth, some wantonness ; The basest jewel will be well esteem'd; So are those errors that in thee are seen To truths translated, and for true things deem'd. If like a lamb he could his looks translate ! How many gazers might'st thou lead away, If thou would'st use the strength of all thy state! But do not so; I love thee in such sort, As thou being mine, mine is thy good report. 83 Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye, And all my soul, and all my every part; And for this sin there is no remedy, It is so grounded inward in my heart, No shape so true, no truth of such account, Self so self-loving were iniquity. 'Tis thee (myself) that for myself I praise, Painting my age with beauty of thy days. LXXXVIII. Against my love shall be, as I am now, With Time's injurious hand crush'd and o'erworn; When hours have drain'd his blood, and fill'd his brow With lines and wrinkles; when his youthful morn Hath travell'd on to age's steepy night; And all those beauties, whereof now he's king, Are vanishing or vanish'd out of sight, Stealing away the treasure of his spring; For such a time do I now fortify Against confounding age's cruel knife, My sweet love's beauty, though my lover's life. 1 'Gracious:' beautiful. LXXXIX. When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced The rich-proud cost of outworn buried age; Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate— That time will come and take my love away. This thought is as a death, which cannot choose But weep to have that which it fears to lose. XC. Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, Whose action is no stronger than a flower? Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays? Oh fearful meditation! where, alack! Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid ? Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back? Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid? Oh none, unless this miracle have might, That in black ink my love may still shine bright. |