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- S O N K E T S.
Why should he flue, now nature bankrout is,
Beggerd of blood to blush through lively vaines,
For she hath no exchecker now but his,
And proud of many, liues vpon his gaines?
O him she stores, to show what welth she had,
In daies long since, before these last so bad.
68
Thus is his checke the map of daies out-worne,
When beauty liu’d and dy’ed as flowers do now,
Before these bastard signes of faire were borne,
Or durst inhabit on a liuing brow:
Before the goulden tresses of the dead,
The right of sepulchers, were shorne away,
To liue a second life on second head,
Ere beauries dead fleece made another gay:
In him those holy antique howers are scene,
Without all ornament, it seise and true,
Making no summer of an others greene,
Robbing no ould to dresse his beauty new,
And him as for a map doth Nature store,
To shew saulle Art what beauty was of yore.
69
Those parts of thee that the worlds eye doth view,
Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend:
All toungs (the voice of soules) giue thee that end,
Vitring bare truth, euen so as foes Commend.
Their outward thus with outward praise is crownd,
But those same toungs that giue thee so thine owne,
In other accents doe this praise confound
By seeing farther then the eye hath showne.
They looke into the beauty of thy mind,
And that in guess they measure by thy deeds,
Then churls their thoughts (although their eies were kind)
To thy saite flower ad the rancke smell of weeds,
But why thy odor matcheth not thy show,
The solye is this, that thou doest common grow.
E 3 That
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