Only thine image in my heart doth sit,
But that is wax, and fires environ it.

My fires have driven, thine have drawn it hence;
And I am robb'd of picture, heart, and sense.
Dwells with me still mine irksome memory,
Which, both to keep and lose, grieves equally.
That tells me how fair thou art; thou art so fair
As gods, when gods to thee I do compare,
Are graced thereby; and to make blind 'men see,
What things gods are, I say they're like to thee.
For if we justly call each silly man

A little world, what shall we call thee then?

Thou art not soft, and clear, and straight, and fair,

As down, as stars, cedars, and lilies are ;

But thy right hand, and cheek, and eye, only
Are like thy other hand, and cheek, and eye.
Such was my Phao awhile, but shall be never,
As thou wast, art, and O, mayst thou be ever.
Here lovers swear in their idolatry,

That I am such; but grief discolours me.
And yet I grieve the less, lest grief remove

My beauty, and make me unworthy of thy love.
Plays some soft boy with thee, O, there wants yet
A mutual feeling which should sweeten it.
His chin, a thorny, hairy unevenness

Doth threaten, and some daily change possess.
Thy body is a natural paradise,

In whose self, unmanured, all pleasure lies,
Nor needs perfection; why shouldst thou then
Admit the tillage of a harsh rough man?

30

Men leave behind them that which their sin shows, And are as thieves traced, which rob when it

snows.

But of our dalliance no more signs there are,
Than fishes leave in streams, or birds in air;
And between us all sweetness may be had,
All, all that nature yields, or art can add.
My two lips, eyes, thighs, differ from thy two
But so, as thine from one another do,

And, O, no more; the likeness being such,
Why should they not alike in all parts touch?
Hand to strange hand, lip to lip none denies ;

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Why should they breast to breast, or thighs to thighs?

Likeness begets such strange self-flattery,

That touching myself all seems done to thee.
Myself I embrace, and mine own hands I kiss,
And amorously thank myself for this.

Me, in my glass, I call thee; but alas,

When I would kiss, tears dim mine eyes and glass.
O cure this loving madness, and restore
Me to thee, thee my half, my all, my more.
So may thy cheeks' red outwear scarlet dye,
And their white, whiteness of the Galaxy;
So may thy mighty, amazing beauty move
Envy in all women, and in all men love;
And so be change and sickness far from thee,
As thou by coming near keep'st them from me.

50

60

TO BEN JONSON, 9 NOVEMBRIS, 1603.

IF great men wrong me, I will spare myself;
If mean I will spare them. I know the pelf
Which is ill-got the owner doth upbraid;
It may corrupt a judge, make me afraid,
And a jury; but 'twill revenge in this,
That, though himself be judge, he guilty is.
What care I though of weakness men tax me?
I had rather sufferer than doer be.

That I did trust it was my nature's praise,
For breach of word I knew but as a phrase.

That judgment is, that surely can comprise

ΙΟ

The world in precepts, most happy and most wise. What though? Though less, yet some of both have

we,

Who have learn'd it by use and misery.

Poor I, whom every petty cross doth trouble,

Who apprehend each hurt that's done me, double,
Am of this, though it should sink me, careless;
It would but force me to a stricter goodness.
They have great gain of me, who gain do win,
If such gain be not loss, from every sin.
The standing of great men's lives would afford
A pretty sum, if God would sell His word.
He cannot; they can theirs, and break them too;
How unlike they are that they're liken'd to.
Yet I conclude, they are amidst my evils;
If good, like Gods; the naught are so like devils.

20

TO SIR THO. ROWE, 1603.

DEAR TOM

Tell her, if she to hired servants show
Dislike, before they take their leave, they go,
When nobler spirits start at no disgrace;
For who hath but one mind, hath but one face.
If then why I take not my leave she ask,
Ask her again why she did not unmask.
Was she or proud or cruel, or knew she
'Twould make my loss more felt, and pitied me?
Or did she fear one kiss might stay for moe?
Or else was she unwilling I should go?
I think the best, and love so faithfully,

I cannot choose but think that she loves me.
If this prove not my faith, then let her try
How in her service I would fructify.

Ladies have boldly loved; bid her renew

ΙΟ

That decay'd worth, and prove the times past true.
Then he whose wit and verse grows now so lame,
With songs to her will the wild Irish tame.
Howe'er, I'll wear the black and white ribband;
White for her fortunes, black for mine shall stand. 20
I do esteem her favour, not the stuff;

If what I have was given, I have enough.

And all's well, for had she loved, I'd not had
All my friend's hate; for now departing sad
I feel not that; yet as the rack the gout

Cures, so hath this worse grief that quite put out.

My first disease naught but that worse cureth,
Which, I dare foresay, nothing cures but death.
Tell her all this, before I am forgot,

That not too late she grieve she loved me not.
Burden'd with this, I was to depart less
Willing than those which die, and not confess.

30

DE LIBRO, CUM MUTUARETUR IMPRESSO, DOMI A PUERIS FRUSTRATIM LACERATO, ET POST REDDITO MANUSCRIPTO.

DOCTISSIMO AMICISSIMOQUE V. D. D. ANDREWS.

Parturiunt madido quæ nixu præla recepta ;
Sed quæ scripta manu sunt, veneranda magis.
Transiit in Sequanam Mænus; victoris in ædes,
Et Francofurtum, te revehente meat.

Qui liber in pluteos, blattis, cinerique relictos,
Si modo sit præli sanguine tinctus, abit,
Accedat calamo scriptus, reverenter habetur,
Involat et veterum scrinia summa patrum.
Dicat Apollo modum; pueros infundere libro
Nempe vetustatem canitiemque novo.
Nil mirum, medico pueros de semine natos,

Hæc nova fata libro posse dedisse novo.
Si veterem faciunt pueri, qui nuperus, annon
Ipse pater, juvenem, me dabit arte, senem?
Hei miseris senibus; nos vertit dura senectus
Omnes in pueros, neminem at in juvenem.

ΙΟ