Properties
- end_line
- 12651
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T06:24:48.293Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 12543
- text
- What thou doft foyft vpon vs that is ould,
And rather make them borne to our defire,
Then thinke that we before haue heard them-touldt:
Thy regifters and thee I both defie,
Not wondring at the prefeint, nor the paft,
For thy records, and what we fee doth lye,
Made more or les by thy continuall haft:
- This I doe vow and this shall euer be,
I will be true difpight thy fyeth and thee.
124
V F my deare loue were but the childe of ftate.
It might for fortunes bafterd be vnfathered,
As fubiect to times loue, or to times hate,
Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gatherd,
No it was buylded far from accident,
It fuffers not in fmilinge pomp, nor falls
Under the blow of thralled difcontent,
Whereeto th'muiting time our fathion calls:
It feares not policy that Heritick,
Which workes ou leafes of fhort numbred howers,
But all alone ftands hugely pollitick,
That it nor growes with heat, nor drownes with fhowres,
To this I witnes call the foles of time,
Which die for goodnes, who haue liu'd for crime.
125
V V Er't ought to me I bore the canopy,
With my extern the outward honoring,
Or
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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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Therefore my Misterfse eyes are Rauen blacke,
Her eyes so futed, and they mourners feeme,
At fuch who not borne faire no beauty lack,
Slandring Creation with a false efteme,
Yet so they mournc becomming of their woe,
That euery toung faies beauty should looke fo.
128
How oft when thou my musike musike playft,
Vpon that bleffed wood whofe motion founds
With thy fweet fingers when thou gently fwayft,
The wiry concord that mine eare confounds,
Do I enuie those lackes that nimble leape,
To kiffe the tender inward of thy hand,
Whilft my poore lips which should that harueft reape,
At the woods bouldnes by thee bluffing ftand.
To be fo tikkled they would change their ftare,
And fituation with thofe dancing chips,
Ore whome their fingers walke with gentle gate,
Making dead wood more bleft then liuing lips,
Since faufie lackes fo happy are in this,
Giue them their fingers, me thy lips to kiffe.
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