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- # SHARI-SPEAKS
Thou art the graue where buried loue doth liue,
Hung with the tropheis of my louers gon,
Who all their parts of me to thee did giue,
That due of many, now is thine alone.
Their images I lou'd, I view in thee,
And thou (all they) hast all the all of me.
32
If thou furiue, ny well contented daie,
When that churle death my bones with dust shall cover
And shalt by fortune once more re-furuy:
These poore rude lines of thy deceased Louer:
Compare them with the betting of the aime,
And though they be out-stript by euery pen,
Reserue them for my loue, not for their time,
Exceeded by the hight of happier men.
Oh then vout safe me but this louing thought,
Had my friends Muse growne with this growing age,
A dearer birth then this his loue had brought
To march in ranches of better equipage:
But fiuce he died and Poets better proue,
Theirs for their thle ile read, his for his loue.
33
I Vil many a glorious morning haue I feene,
Flatter the mountaine tops with foueraine cie,
Kissing with golden face the meddowes greene;
Guilding pale streams with beauely alcumy:
Anon permit the basest cloud's to ride,
With ougly rack on his celestiali face,
And from the for-orne world his visage hide
Stealing va'ecne to west with this d'sgrace:
Euen so my Sunne one early morne did shine,
With all triumphant splendor on my brow,
But out alack, he was but one houre mine,
The region cloude hath mask'd him from me now.
Yet him for this, my loue no whit disdaineth,
Suns of the world may stane, whe heaucus fun stainteh.
34
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