- cid
- bafkreia4h74y7vhcw4crllrkiembazmhr4suvhaye2arutsqgndeh732qq
- content_type
- image/jpeg
- filename
- 06_poems_pericles_facsimiles_1905_oxford_page_0518.jpg
- height
- 2400
- key
- pdf-page-1769752605290-shabzgpr4z
- ocr_model
- mistral-ocr-latest
- page_number
- 518
- size
- 321870
- text
- # SOWMERS.
To doe more for me then mine owne deferr,
And hang more praise vpon deceased I,
Then nigard truth would willingly impart,
O least your true loue may feeme falce in this,
That you for loue fpeake well of me vntrue,
My name be buried where my body is,
And liue no more to fhame nor me, nor you.
For I am fhamd by that which I bring forth,
And fo fhould you, to loue things nothing worth.
73
That time of yeare thou maist in me behold,
When yellow leaues, or none, or few doe hange
Vpon thofe boughes which fhake against the could,
Bare rn’wd quiers, where late the fweet birds fang,
In me thou feeft the twi-light of fuch day,
As after Sun-fet fadeth in the West,
Which by and by blacke night doth take away,
Deaths fecond felfe that feals vp all in reft.
In me thou feeft the glowing of fuch fire,
That on the afhes of his youth doth lye,
As the death bed, whereon it must expire,
Confum’d with that which it was nurrifht by.
This thou percep’ft, which makes thy loue more ftrong,
To loue that well, which thou must leauc ere long.
74
D’Vt be contented when that fell areft,
With out all bayle fhall carry me away,
My life hath in this line feone interest,
Which for memoriall ftill with thee fhall ftay,
When thou reuewft this, thou doeft reuew,
The very part was confecrate to thee,
The earth can haue but earth, which is his due,
My Spirit is thine the better part of me,
So then thou haft buc loft the dregs of life,
The pray of warmes, my body being dead,
The coward conquest of a wretches knife,
To
- text_extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T06:19:47.213Z
- text_extracted_by
- ocr-service
- text_has_content
- true
- text_images_count
- 0
- text_source
- ocr
- uploaded
- true
- width
- 1750