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- # S O N N E T S.
Selfe, so felle louing were iniquity,
Tis thee (my felle) that for my felle I praise,
Painting my age with beauty of thy daies.
62
A Gainst my loue shall be as I am now
With times injurious hand chrust and ore-worne,
When hours haue dreind his blood and fild his brow
With lines and wrinkles, when his youthfull morne
Hath traualld on to Ages stepe night,
And all thofe beauties whereof now he's King
Are vanishing, or vanisht out of sight,
Stealing away the treasure of his Spring.
For such a time do I now fortifie
Against confounding Ages cruell knife,
That he shall neuer cut from memory
My sweet loues beauty, though my louers life.
His beautie shall in thefe blacke lines be scene, I
And they shall line, and he in them still greene.
64
WHen I haue scene by times fell hand defaced
The rich proud cost of outworne buried age,
When sometime loftie towers I see downe rascd,
And braße eternall flaue to mortall rage.
When I haue scene the hungry Ocean gaine
Aduantage on the Kingdome of the shoare,
And the firme foile win of the watry maine,
Increasing store with losse, and losse with store,
When I haue scene such interchange of state,
Or state it felle confounded, to decay,
Ruine hath taught me thus to ruminare
That Time will come and take my loue away,
This thought is as a death which cannot choose
But weepe to haue, that which it fears to loose.
65
Since braße, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundlesse ses,
But sad mortalling ore-swaies their power,
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