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CXXXVIII.

When my love fwears 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 falfe fubtleties.

Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although she knows my days are past the best,
Simply I credit her falfe-fpeaking tongue :
On both fides thus is fimple truth fuppreft.
But wherefore fays fhe not she is unjust?
And wherefore fay 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.

CXXXIX.

O, call not me to justify the wrong

That thy unkindness lays upon my heart;
Wound me not with thine eye, but with thy tongue;
Use power with power, and flay me not by art.
Tell me thou loveft elsewhere; but in my fight,

Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside :
What need'ft thou wound with cunning, when thy
might

Is more than my o'erpreff'd defence can bide?
Let me excuse thee: ah, my love well knows
Her pretty looks have been mine enemies;
And therefore from my face she turns my foes,
That they elsewhere might dart their injuries:
Yet do not fo; but fince I am near slain,
Kill me outright with looks, and rid my pain.

CXL.

Be wife as thou art cruel; do not prefs
My tongue-tied patience with too much difdain;
Left forrow 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, love, to tell me fo;
As tefty fick men, when their deaths be near,
No news but health from their physicians know;
For, if I should despair, I should grow mad,
And in my madness might speak ill of thee:
Now this ill-wrefting world is grown so bad,
Mad flanderers by mad ears believed be.

That I may not be fo, nor thou belied,

Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud hear; go wide.

CXLI.

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 pleased to dote;
Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune delighted;
Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone,

Nor taste, nor fmell, defire to be invited

Το

any

fenfual feast with thee alone:

But my five wits nor my five senses can
Diffuade one foolish heart from serving thee,
Who leaves unfway'd the likeness of a man,
Thy proud heart's slave and vassal wretch to be:
Only my plague thus far I count my gain,
That she that makes me fin awards me pain.

CXLII.

Love is my fin, and thy dear virtue hate,
Hate of my fin, grounded on finful loving:
O, but with mine compare thou thine own state,
And thou fhalt find it merits not reproving;
Or, if it do, not from those lips of thine,
That have profaned their scarlet ornaments
And feal'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 lovest those
Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee:
Root pity in thy heart, that, when it grows,
Thy pity may deferve to pitied be.

If thou doft seek to have what thou dost hide,
By felf-example mayst thou be denied!

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