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- # SONNETS.
Or layd great bases for eternity,
Which proues more (hort then wast or ruining)
Haue I not feene dwellers on forme and fauor
Lofe all, and more by paying too much rent
For compound sweet; Forgoing simple sauer,
Pittifull thrivers in their gazing spent.
Noe, let me be obsequious in thy heart,
And take thou my oblication, poore but free,
Which is not mixt with seconds, knows no art,
But mutual render, onely me for thee.
Hence, thou subbornd Informer, a trew foule
When most impeach, stands least in thy controule.
126
O Thou my louely Boy who in thy power,
Doest hould times fickle glasse, his fickle, howert
Who hast by wayning growne, and therein thou’st,
Thy louers withering, as thy sweet felse grow’st.
If Nature (foueraine misteres ouer wrack)
As thou goest onwards still will plucke thee backe,
She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill.
May time disgrace, and wretched mynuit kill.
Yet feare her O thou minnion of her pleasure,
She may detaine, but not still keeps her tresure?
Her Audite (though delayd) answer’d must be,
And her Quietus is to render thee.
( )
127
IN the ould age blaske was not counted faire,
Or if it were it bore not beauties name:
But now is blaske beauties succeffiae heire,
And Beautie flanderd with a bastard shame,
For since each hand hath put on Natures power,
Fairing the foule with Arts faulfe borrow’d face,
Sweet beauty hath no name no holy boure,
But is prophan’d, if not lives in disgrace.
H 3 Therefore
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