Thou art the grane where buried loue doth live,
Hung with the tropheis of my louers gon,
Who all their parts of me to thee did giuc,
That due of many,now is thine alone.
Their images I loud, I view in thee,
And thou(all they)haft all the all of me.

32

F thou furuiue my well contented daie,

duft fhall couer

And fhalt by fortune once more re-furuay:
Thefe poore rude lines of thy deceafea Louer:
Compare them with the bett'ring of the time,
And though they be out-ftript by euery pen,
Referue them for my loue, not for their rime,
Exceeded by the hight of happier men.

Oh then voutfafe me but this louing thought,
Had my friends Mufe growne with this growing age,
A dearer birth then this his loue had brought
To march in ranckes of better equipage:

F

But fince he died and Poets better proue,
Theirs for their ftile ile read,his for his loue.

33

Vil many a glorious morning haue I feene,
Flatter the mountaine tops with foueraine eie,
Kiffing with golden face the meddowes greene;
Guilding pale ftreames with heauenly alcumy:
Anon permit the bafeft cloud-s to ride,
With ougly rack on his celeftiall face,
And from the for-orne world his vifage hide
Stealing vn'eene to weft with this difgrace:
Euen fo my Sunne one early morne did fhine,
With all triumphant splendor on my brow,
But out alack,he was but one houre mine,
The region cloude hath mask'd him from me now.
Yet him for this,my loue no whit difda1neth,

Suns of the world may ftaine, whe heauens fun ftainteh.

VV

34

Hy didft thou promafe fuch a beautious day,
And make me trauaile forth without my cloake,
To let bace cloudes ore-take me in my way,

Hiding thy brau'ry in their rotten smoke.

Tis not enou h that through the cloude thou breake,
To dry the raine on my forme-beaten face,

For no man well of fuch afa'ue can speake,

That heales the wound, and cures not the difgrace:
Nor can thy fhame giue phificke to my griefe,
Though thou repent, yet I haue ftill the loffe,
Th'offenders forrow lends but weake reliefe
To him that beares the ftrong offenfes Joffe.

Ah but thofe teares are pearle which thy loue fheeds,
And they are ritch, and ranfome all ill deeds.

35

Omore bee greeu'd at that which thou haft done,
Rofes haue thornes,and filuer fountaines mud,
Cloudes and eclipfes faine both Moone and Sunne,
And loathfome canker liues in fweeteft bud,
All men make faults,and euen I in this,
Authorizing thy trefpas with compare,
My felfe corrupting faluing thy amiffe,
Excufing their fins more then their fins are:
For to thy fenfuall fault I bring in fence,
Thy aduerfe party is thy Aduocate,
And gainft my felfe a lawfull plea commence,
Such civil war is in my loue and hate,

That I an acceffary needs must be,

To that sweet theefe which fourely robs from me,

3.6

Et me confeffe that we two must be twaine,
Although our vndeuided loues are one:
So fhall those blots that do with me remaine,
Without thy helpe, by me be borne alone.
In our two loues there is but one refpe&t,

Though in our liues a feperable fpight,
Which though it alter not loues fole effect,
Yet doth it fteale fweet houres from loues delight,
I may not cuer-more acknowledge thee,
Leaft my bewailed guilt fhould do thee fhame,
Nor thou with publike kindneffe honour me,
Vnleffe thou take that honour from thy name:
But doe not fo,I loue thee in fuch fort,

As thou being mine,mine is thy good report.
37

S a decrepit father takes delight,

To fee his actiue childe do deeds of youth,
So I, made lame by Fortunes deareft spight
Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth.
For whether beauty,birth,or wealth,or wit,
Or any of these all,or all,or more
Intitled in their parts,do crowned fit,
I make my loue ingrafted to this ftore:

So then I am not lame,poore, nor difpif'd,

Whilft that this fhadow doth fuch fubftance gine,
That I in thy abundance am fuffic'd,

And by a part of all thy glory liue:

Looke what is best,that best I wish in thee,
This wish I haue,then ten times happy me.

How

38

Ow can my Mufe want fubicct to inuent
While thou doft breath that poor'ft into my verfe,

Thine owne sweet argument,to excellent,

For euery vulgar paper to rehearse:

Oh giue thy felfe the thankes if ought in me,
Worthy perufal ftand against thy fight,
For who's fe dumbe that cannot write to thee,
When thou thy felfe doft giue inuention light?
Be thou the tenth Mufe,ten times more in worth
Then those old nine which rimers inuocate,
And he that calls on thee,let him bring forth

Eternall