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- # SHAKESPEARE 5
Were it not sinfull then striving to mend,
To marre the subject that before was well;
For to no other passe my verses tend,
Then of your graces and your gifts to tell.
And more, much more then in my verse can sit,
Your owne glasse showes you, when you looke in it.
104
TO me faire friend you neuer can be old;
For as you were when first your eye I eyde,
Such seemes your beautie stills Three Winters colde;
Haue from the forrests shooke three summers pride,
Three beautious springs to yellow *Anumus* turn’d,
In procese of the seasons haue I seene,
Three April perfumes in three hot lunes burn’d,
Since first I saw you fresh which yet are greene,
Ah yet doth beauty like a Dyall hand,
Steale from his figure, and no pace perceiu’d,
So your sweete bew, which me thinkes still doth stand,
Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceased.
For seare of which, heare this thou age vnbred,
Ere you were borne was beauties summer dead.
105
L’Et not my loue be cal’d Idolatrie;
Nor my beloued as an Idoll show,
Since all alike my songs and praises be
To one, of one, still such, and euer so,
Kinde is my loue to day, to morrow kinde,
Still constant in a wondrous excellence,
Therefore my verse to constancie confin’de,
One thing expreffing, leaues out difference,
Faire, kinde, and true, is all my argument,
Faire, kinde and true, varrying to other words,
And in this change is my inuention spent,
Three theams in one, which wondrous scope affords,
Faire, kinde, and true, haue often liu’d alone.
Which three till now, neuer kept seate in one.
When
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