LIII.

What is your substance, whereof are you made,
That millions of strange shadows on you tend?
Since every one hath, every one, one shade,

And

you, but one, can every shadow lend. Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit

Is poorly imitated after you;

On Helen's cheek all art of beauty fet,
And you

in Grecian tires are painted new :
Speak of the spring and foifon of the year,
The one doth shadow of your beauty show,
The other as your bounty doth appear;

And

you in every blessed shape we know.

In all external grace you have fome part,

But you like none, none you, for constant heart.

LIV.

O, how much more doth beauty beauteous feem
By that fweet ornament which truth doth give!
The rofe looks fair, but fairer we it deem
For that sweet odour which doth in it live.
The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye
As the perfumed tincture of the roses,

Hang on fuch thorns, and play as wantonly

When fummer's breath their masked buds discloses:

But, for their virtue only is their show,

They live unwoo'd and unrespected fade;

Die to themselves. Sweet rofes do not fo;

Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made:

And fo of you, beauteous and lovely youth,

When that shall vade, by verse distils

your

truth.

LV.

Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rime;
But you shall shine more bright in these contents
Than unswept stone, besmear'd with fluttish time.
When wafteful war fhall ftatues overturn,

And broils root out the work of masonry,

Nor Mars his fword nor war's quick fire fhall burn The living record of your memory.

'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity

Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room

Even in the eyes of all posterity

That wear this world out to the ending doom.
So, till the judgement that yourself arise,

You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes.

LVI.

Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not faid
Thy edge fhould blunter be than appetite,
Which but to-day by feeding is allay'd,
To-morrow sharp'ned in his former might:
So, love, be thou; although to-day thou fill
Thy hungry eyes even till they wink with fullness,
To-morrow fee again, and do not kill

The spirit of love with a perpetual dullness.
Let this fad interim like the ocean be

Which parts the shore, where two contracted new
Come daily to the banks, that, when they fee
Return of love, more blest may be the view;

Or call it winter, which, being full of care,
Makes fummer's welcome thrice more wish'd,

more rare.

LVII.

Being your flave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your defire?

I have no precious time at all to spend,
Nor fervices to do, till you require.

Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour

Whilft I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you, Nor think the bitterness of abfence four

When

you have bid your fervant once adieu; Nor dare I queftion with my jealous thought Where you may be, or your affairs suppose, But, like a fad flave, stay and think of nought Save, where you are how happy you make those. So true a fool is love that in your will,

Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill.