XII.

When I do count the clock that tells the time,
And see the brave day funk in hideous night;
When I behold the violet past prime,

And fable curls all 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 sheaves,
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 sweets and beauties do themselves forfake

And die as faft as they fee others grow; [fence
And nothing 'gainst Time's fcythe can make de-
Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.

O, that

XIII.

you were yourself! but, love, you are No longer yours than you yourself here live: Againft this coming end you should prepare, And your sweet semblance to fome other give: So fhould that beauty which you hold in lease Find no determination; then you were

Yourself again, after yourself's decease,

When your fweet iffue your fweet form should bear.
Who lets fo fair a house fall to decay,

Which husbandry in honour might uphold
Against the stormy gufts of winter's day
And barren rage of death's eternal cold?
O, none but unthrifts! Dear my love, you
You had a father: let your fon say so.

know

XIV.

Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck;
And yet methinks I have aftronomy,

But not to tell of good or evil luck,

Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality;
Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,
Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind,
Or fay with princes if it shall go well,
By oft predict that I in heaven find:

But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,
And, constant stars, in them I read fuch art
As 'Truth and beauty shall together thrive,
If from thyself to store thou wouldft convert;'
Or elfe of thee this I prognofticate:

'Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.'

XV.

When I confider every thing that grows

Holds in perfection but a little moment,

That this huge ftage prefenteth nought but shows
Whereon the stars in fecret influence comment;
When I perceive that men as plants increase,
Cheered and check'd even by the self-same sky,
Vaunt in their youthful fap, at height decrease,
And wear their brave state out of memory;
Then the conceit of this inconftant ftay
Sets you most rich in youth before my fight,
Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay,

To change your day of youth to fullied night;
And all in war with Time for love of

As he takes from

you,

you, I engraft you new.

B

XVI.

But wherefore do not you a mightier way
Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time?
And fortify yourself in your decay

With means more blessed than my barren rime?
Now ftand you on the top of happy hours,
And many maiden gardens, yet unset,

With virtuous wish would bear your 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 live yourself in you

eyes

of men.

To give away yourself keeps yourself still;

And

you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill.