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And fortify yourself, in your decay,

With means more blessed than my barren rhyme? Now ftand you on the top of happy hours,

And many maiden gardens yet unfet,

With virtuous wifh would bear you living flowers,
Much liker than your painted counterfeit.

So fhould the lines of life that life repair,
Which this (time's pencil) or my pupil pen,
Neither in inward worth, nor outward fair,
Can make you live yourself in eyes of men.
To give away yourself, keeps yourself still,
And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill.

Who will believe my verfe, in time to come,
If it were fill'd with your most high deserts?
`Tho' yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb,
Which hides your life, and fhows not half your parts.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes,
And in fresh numbers number all your graces-;
The age to come would say this poet lyes,
Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.
So fhould my papers (yellow'd with their age)
Be fcorn'd, like old men of lefs truth than tongue;
And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage,
And ftretched metre of an antick fong.

But were fome child of yours alive that time,
You fhould live twice in it, and in my thyme.

Quick Prevention.

Lo! in the orient when the gracious light
Lifts up his burning head, each under eye
Doth homage to his new-appearing fight,
Serving with looks his facred majesty;
And having clintb'd the fteep-up heavenly hill,
Refembling ftrong youth in his middle age,

Yet mortal looks adore his beauty ftill,
Attending on his golden pilgrimage.

But when from high-most pitch, with weary care,
Like feeble age he reeleth from the day;
The eyes ('fore duteous) now converted are
From his low track, and look another way.
So thou, thyfelf out-going in thy noon,
Unlook'd on dieft, unless thou get a fon.

Magazine of Beauty.

Unthrifty lovelinefs, why doft thou spend
Upon thyself thy beauty's legacy?

Nature's bequeft gives nothing, but doth lend,
And being frank, the lends to thofe are free.
Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abufe
The bounteous largefs given thee to give?
Profitless ufurer, why doft thou use

So great a fum of fums, yet can'st not live?
For having traffick with thyfelf alone,

Thou of thyself thy fweet felf doft deceive;
Then how when nature calls thee to be gone,
What acceptable audit can't thou leave?

Thy unus'd beauty must be tomb'd with thee,
Which used lives th' executor to be.

Those hours, that with gentle work did frame
The lovely gaze, where every eye doth dwell,
Will play the tyrants to the very fame,
And that unfair, which fairly doth excel.
For never-refting time leads fummer on
To hideous winter, and confounds him there;
Sap check'd with froft, and lufty leaves quite gone.
Beauty o'er-fnow'd, and barrennefs every where.

Then were not fummer's distillation left
A liquid prifoner, pent in walls of glass,
Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft,
Nor it nor no remembrance what it was.

But flowers diftill'd, tho' they with winter meet,
Lofe but their fhow, their fubftance ftill lives fweet.

Then let not winter's ragged hand deface

In thee thy fummer, ere thou be distill'd,
Make sweet some vial, treasure thou fome place
With beauty's treafure, e'er it be felf kill'd:
That use is not forbidden ufury,

Which happies thofe that pay the willing loan;
That's for thyfelf to breed another thee,
Or ten times happier, be it ten for one:
Ten times thyfelf were happier than thou art,
If ten of thine ten times refigur'd thee;
Then what could death do, if thou should'ft depart,
Leaving thee living in pofterity?

Be not felf-will'd, for thou art much too fair
To be death's conqueft, and make worms thine heir.

An Invitation to Marriage.

Mufick to hear, why hear'ft thou mufick fadly?
Sweets with fweets war not, joy delights in joy:
Why lov't thou that, which thou receiv'ft not gladly?
Or elfe receiv'ft with pleasure thine annoy?

If the true concord of well tuned founds,
By unions married do offend thy ear,

They do but fweetly chide thee, who confounds
In fingleness the parts that thou should't bear.
Mark how one ftring, fweet husband to another,
Strikes each in each by mutual ordering;

Refembling fire and child, and happy mother,
Who all in one, one pleasing note do fing:
Whose speechlefs fong, being many, feeming one,
Sings this to thee, thou fingle wilt prove none.

Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye,
That thou confum'ft thyfelf in fingle life?
Ah! if thou iffue-lefs fhalt hap to die,

The world will wail thee like a makeless wife:
The world will be thy widow, and ftill weep,
That thou no form of thee haft left behind;
When every private widow well may keep,
By childrens eyes, her husband's fhape in mind:
Look what an unthrift in the world doth spend,
Shifts but his place, for ftill the world enjoys it:
But beauty's waste hath in the world an end,
And kept unus'd, the us'rer fo destroys it.

No love towards others in that bofom fits.

That on himself such murd'rous fhame commits.

For fhame! deny, that thou bear'ft love to any,
Who for thyself art fo unprovident ;

many,

Grant, if thou wilt, thou art belov'd of
But that thou none lov'ft, is most evident:
For thou art fo poffefs'd with murd'rous hate,
That 'gainst thyself thou stick'ft not to conspire,
Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate,
Which to repair, fhould be thy chief defire.
O change thy thought, that I may change my mind!
Shall hate be fairer lodg'd than gentle love?
Be, as thy prefence is, gracious and kind,
Or to thyself, at leaft, kind-hearted prove:
Make thee another felf, for love of me,
That beauty ftill may live in thine or thee.
F

H

As faft as thou shalt wane, fo faft thou grow't
In one of thine, from that which thou departeft;
And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow'ft,
Thou may't call thine, when thou from youth con-
Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase; [verteft.
Without this, folly, age, and cold decay;

If all were minded fo, the times fhould cease,
And threefcore years would make the world away.
Let those whom nature hath not made for ftore,
Harfh, featurelefs, and rude, barrenly perifh :
Look whom the best endow'd, the gave the more;
Which bounteous gift thou fhould'ft in bounty cherish:
She carv'd thee for her feal, and meant thereby
Thou should'ft print more, nor let that copy die.

When I do count the clock, that tells the time,
And fee the brave day funk in hideous night;
When I behold the violet paft prime,
And fable curls are filver'd o'er with white;
When lofty trees I fee barren of leaves,
Which erft from heat did canopy the herd,
And fummer's green all girded up in fheaves,
Borne on the bier, with white and bristly beard;
Then of thy beauty do I question make,
That thou among the waftes of time must go,
Since fweets and beauties do themselves forsake,
And die as faft as they fee others grow;

And nothing'gainst time's fcithe can make defence,
Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.

Falfe Belief.

When my love fwears that she is made of truth,
I do believe her (tho' I know the lyes)

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