Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
This were to be new made when thou art old,
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.
But if thou live, remember'd not to be,
Thy unused beauty must be tombed with thee,
Die single and thine image dies with thee.
Which, used, lives th' executor to be.
But flowers distill'd, though they with winter meet,
Be not self-will'd, for thou art much too fair
Leese but their show; their substance still lives sweet.
To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir.
So thou, thyself outgoing in thy noon:
Whose speechless song being many, seeming one,
Unlook'd, on diest unless thou get a son.
Sings this to thee: 'Thou single wilt prove none.'
No love toward others in that bosom sits
Make thee another self for love of me,
That on himself such murd'rous shame commits.
That beauty still may live in thine or thee.
She carv'd thee for her seal, and meant thereby,
And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence
Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die.
Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.
O! none but unthrifts. Dear my love, you know,
Or else of thee this I prognosticate:
You had a father: let your son say so.
'Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.'
And all in war with Time for love of you,
To give away yourself, keeps yourself still,
As he takes from you, I engraft you new.
And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill.
But were some child of yours alive that time,
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
You should live twice,--in it, and in my rhyme.
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
Yet, do thy worst old Time: despite thy wrong,
But since she prick'd thee out for women's pleasure,
My love shall in my verse ever live young.
Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure.
Let them say more that like of hearsay well;
Presume not on th;heart when mine is slain,
I will not praise that purpose not to sell.
Thou gav'st me thine not to give back again.
O! learn to read what silent love hath writ:
Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art,
To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.
They draw but what they see, know not the heart.
Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee;
Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind,
Till then, not show my head where thou mayst prove me.
For thee, and for myself, no quiet find.
But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer,
For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings
And night doth nightly make grief's length seem stronger.
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
Their images I lov'd, I view in thee,
All losses are restor'd and sorrows end.
And thou--all they--hast all the all of me.
But since he died and poets better prove,
Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth;
Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love'.
Suns of the world may stain when heaven's sun staineth.
Ah! but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds,
That I an accessary needs must be,
And they are rich and ransom all ill deeds.
To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me.
But do not so, I love thee in such sort,
Look what is best, that best I wish in thee:
As thou being mine, mine is thy good report.
This wish I have; then ten times happy me!
If my slight muse do please these curious days,
And that thou teachest how to make one twain,
The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise.
By praising him here who doth hence remain.
Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,
Hers by thy beauty tempting her to thee,
Kill me with spites yet we must not be foes.
Thine by thy beauty being false to me.
But here's the joy; my friend and I are one;
All days are nights to see till I see thee,
Sweet flattery! then she loves but me alone.
And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.
Receiving nought by elements so slow
This told, I joy; but then no longer glad,
But heavy tears, badges of either's woe.
I send them back again, and straight grow sad.
As thus; mine eye's due is thy outward part,
Or, if they sleep, thy picture in my sight
And my heart's right, thy inward love of heart.
Awakes my heart, to heart's and eye's delight.
And even thence thou wilt be stol'n I fear,
To leave poor me thou hast the strength of laws,
For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear.
Since why to love I can allege no cause.
For that same groan doth put this in my mind,
'Since from thee going, he went wilful-slow,
My grief lies onward, and my joy behind.
Towards thee I'll run, and give him leave to go.'
Blessed are you whose worthiness gives scope,
In all external grace you have some part,
Being had, to triumph; being lacked, to hope.
But you like none, none you, for constant heart.
And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,
So, till the judgment that yourself arise,
When that shall vade, by verse distills your truth.
You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes.
Or call it winter, which being full of care,
So true a fool is love, that in your will,
Makes summer's welcome, thrice more wished, more rare.
Though you do anything, he thinks no ill.
I am to wait, though waiting so be hell,
O! sure I am the wits of former days,
Not blame your pleasure be it ill or well.
To subjects worse have given admiring praise.
And yet to times in hope, my verse shall stand.
For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake elsewhere,
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.
From me far off, with others all too near.
'Tis thee,--myself,--that for myself I praise,
His beauty shall in these black lines be seen,
Painting my age with beauty of thy days.
And they shall live, and he in them still green.
This thought is as a death which cannot choose
O! none, unless this miracle have might,
But weep to have, that which it fears to lose.
That in black ink my love may still shine bright.
Tir'd with all these, from these would I be gone,
O! him she stores, to show what wealth she had
Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.
In days long since, before these last so bad.
And him as for a map doth Nature store,
But why thy odour matcheth not thy show,
To show false Art what beauty was of yore.
The soil is this, that thou dost common grow.
If some suspect of ill mask'd not thy show,
Lest the wise world should look into your moan,
Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts shouldst owe.
And mock you with me after I am gone.
For I am shamed by that which I bring forth,
This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
And so should you, to love things nothing worth.
To love that well, which thou must leave ere long.
The worth of that is that which it contains,
Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day,
And that is this, and this with thee remains.
Or gluttoning on all, or all away.
For as the sun is daily new and old,
These offices, so oft as thou wilt look,
So is my love still telling what is told.
Shall profit thee and much enrich thy book.
But thou art all my art, and dost advance
Then thank him not for that which he doth say,
As high as learning, my rude ignorance.
Since what he owes thee, thou thyself dost pay.
Then if he thrive and I be cast away,
You still shall live,--such virtue hath my pen,--
The worst was this,--my love was my decay.
Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men.
And their gross painting might be better us'd
There lives more life in one of your fair eyes
Where cheeks need blood; in thee it is abus'd.
Than both your poets can in praise devise.
You to your beauteous blessings add a curse,
Then others, for the breath of words respect,
Being fond on praise, which makes your praises worse.
Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect.
But when your countenance fill'd up his line,
Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter,
Then lacked I matter; that enfeebled mine.
In sleep a king, but waking no such matter.
Such is my love, to thee I so belong,
For thee, against my self I'll vow debate,
That for thy right, myself will bear all wrong.
For I must ne'er love him whom thou dost hate.
And other strains of woe, which now seem woe,
Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take
Compar'd with loss of thee, will not seem so.
All this away, and me most wretchcd make.
But what's so blessed-fair that fears no blot?
How like Eve's apple doth thy beauty grow,
Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not.
If thy sweet virtue answer not thy show!
For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds;
Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege;
Lilies that fester, smell far worse than weeds.
The hardest knife ill-us'd doth lose his edge.
But do not so; I love thee in such sort,
Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer,
As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report.
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.
Yet seem'd it winter still, and you away,
More flowers I noted, yet I none could see,
As with your shadow I with these did play.
But sweet, or colour it had stol'n from thee.
Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life,
Then do thy office, Muse; I teach thee how
So thou prevent'st his scythe and crooked knife.
To make him seem long hence as he shows now.
Therefore like her, I sometime hold my tongue:
And more, much more, than in my verse can sit,
Because I would not dull you with my song.
Your own glass shows you when you look in it.
For fear of which, hear this thou age unbred:
Fair, kind, and true, have often liv'd alone,
Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead.
Which three till now, never kept seat in one.
For we, which now behold these present days,
And thou in this shalt find thy monument,
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.
When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent.
Finding the first conceit of love there bred,
For nothing this wide universe I call,
Where time and outward form would show it dead.
Save thou, my rose, in it thou art my all.
Then give me welcome, next my heaven the best,
Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye,
Even to thy pure and most most loving breast.
Even that your pity is enough to cure me.
You are so strongly in my purpose bred,
Incapable of more, replete with you,
That all the world besides methinks are dead.
My most true mind thus maketh mine untrue.
If it be poison'd, 'tis the lesser sin
Love is a babe, then might I not say so,
That mine eye loves it and doth first begin.
To give full growth to that which still doth grow?
If this be error and upon me prov'd,
Since my appeal says I did strive to prove
I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd.
The constancy and virtue of your love.
But thence I learn and find the lesson true,
So I return rebuk'd to my content,
Drugs poison him that so fell sick of you.
And gain by ill thrice more than I have spent.
But that your trespass now becomes a fee;
Unless this general evil they maintain,
Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me.
All men are bad and in their badness reign.
To keep an adjunct to remember thee
This I do vow and this shall ever be;
Were to import forgetfulness in me.
I will be true despite thy scythe and thee.
To this I witness call the fools of time,
Hence, thou suborned informer! a true soul
Which die for goodness, who have lived for crime.
When most impeach'd, stands least in thy control.
Her audit (though delayed) answered must be,
Yet so they mourn becoming of their woe,
And her quietus is to render thee.
That every tongue says beauty should look so.
Since saucy jacks so happy are in this,
All this the world well knows; yet none knows well
Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.
And yet by heaven, I think my love as rare,
In nothing art thou black save in thy deeds,
As any she belied with false compare.
And thence this slander, as I think, proceeds.
Then will I swear beauty herself is black,
And yet thou wilt; for I, being pent in thee,
And all they foul that thy complexion lack.
Perforce am thine, and all that is in me.
Him have I lost; thou hast both him and me:
Let no unkind 'No' fair beseechers kill;
He pays the whole, and yet am I not free.
Think all but one, and me in that one 'Will.'
Make but my name thy love, and love that still,
In things right true my heart and eyes have err'd,
And then thou lov'st me for my name is 'Will.'
And to this false plague are they now transferr'd.
Therefore I lie with her, and she with me,
Yet do not so; but since I am near slain, 
And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be.
Kill me outright with looks, and rid my pain.
That I may not be so, nor thou belied,
Only my plague thus far I count my gain,
Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide.
That she that makes me sin awards me pain.
If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide,
So will I pray that thou mayst have thy 'Will,'
By self-example mayst thou be denied!
If thou turn back and my loud crying still.
Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt, 
'I hate', from hate away she threw,
Till my bad angel fire my good one out.
And sav'd my life, saying 'not you'.
So shall thou feed on Death, that feeds on men,
For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
And Death once dead, there's no more dying then.
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.
O cunning Love! with tears thou keep'st me blind,
But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind,;
Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find.
Those that can see thou lov'st, and I am blind.
If thy unworthiness rais'd love in me,
No want of conscience hold it that I call
More worthy I to be belov'd of thee.
Her 'love,' for whose dear love I rise and fall.
For I have sworn thee fair; more perjur'd I,
But found no cure, the bath for my help lies
To swear against the truth so foul a lie.!
Where Cupid got new fire; my mistress' eyes.
Came there for cure and this by that I prove, 
Came there for cure and this by that I prove, 
Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.
Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.