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 ,2017



ISBN978-5-4485-0658-1

     Ridero







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1


From fairest creatures, we desire increase,

That thereby beautys rose might neverdie,

But as the riper should bytime decease,

His tender heir might bear his memory:

But thou, contracted tothine own bright eyes,

Feedst thy lights flame with self-substantial fuel,

Making afamine where abundance lies,

Thyself thy foe, tothy sweet self too cruel.

Thou that art now the worlds fresh ornament

And only herald tothe gaudy spring,

Within thine own bud buriest thy content,

And, tender churl, makst waste inniggarding:

Pity the world, or else this gluttonbe,

Toeat the worlds due, bythe grave and thee.



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2


When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,

And dig deep trenches inthy beautys field,

Thy youths proud livery so gazed onnow

Will be atottered weed ofsmall worth held:

Then being asked where all thy beauty lies,

Where all the treasure ofthy lusty days,

Tosay within thine own deep-sunkeneyes

Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.

How much more praise deserved thy beautysuse,

If thou couldst answer, This fair child ofmine

Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,

Proving his beauty bysuccession thine.

This were tobe new made when thou artold,

And see thy blood warm when thou feelst it ld.



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3


Look inthy glass and tell the face thou viewest,

Now is the time that face should form another,

Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,

Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.

For where is she so fair whose unearedwomb

Disdains the tillage ofthy husbandry?

Or who is he so fond will be thetomb

Ofhis self-love tostop posterity?

Thou art thy mothers glass, and she inthee

Calls back the lovely April ofher prime;

So thou through windows ofthine age shaltsee,

Despite ofwrinkles, this thy golden time.

But if thou live remembred not tobe,

Die single, and thine image dies with thee.



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4


Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend

Upon thyself thy beautys legacy?

Natures bequest gives nothing, but doth lend,

And being frank she lends tothose are free:

Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse

The bounteous largess given thee togive?

Profitless usurer, why dost thouuse

So great asum ofsums, yet canst not live?

For having traffic with thyself alone,

Thou ofthyself thy sweet self dost deceive:

Then how, when Nature calls thee tobe gone,

What acceptable audit canst thou leave?

Thy unused beauty must be tombed with thee,

Which used lives thexecutor tobe.



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5


Those hours that with gentle work did frame

The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell

Will play the tyrants tothe very same,

And that unfair which fairly doth excel;

For never-resting time leads summeron

Tohideous winter and confounds him there,

Sap checked with frost and lusty leaves quite gone,

Beauty oersnowed and bareness every where:

Then were not summers distillationleft

Aliquid prisoner pent inwalls ofglass,

Beautys effect with beauty were bereft,

Nor it nor no remembrance what itwas.

But flowers distilled, though they with winter meet,

Leese but their show; their substance still lives sweet.



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6


Then let not winters ragged hand deface

Inthee thy summer ere thou be distilled:

Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place

With beautys treasure ere it be self-killed:

That use is not forbidden usury

Which happies those that pay the willing loan;

Thats for thyself tobreed another thee,

Or ten times happier be it ten forone;

Ten times thyself were happier than thouart,

If ten ofthine ten times refigured thee:

Then what could death do if thou shouldst depart,

Leaving thee living inposterity?

Be not self-willed, for thou art much toofair

Tobe deaths conquest and make worms thine heir.



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7


Lo inthe orient when the gracious light

Lifts up his burning head, each undereye

Doth homage tohis new-appearing sight,

Serving with looks his sacred majesty;

And having climbed the steep-up heavenly hill,

Resembling strong youth inhis middleage,

Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,

Attending on his golden pilgrimage:

But when from highmost pitch, with wearycar,

Like feeble age he reeleth from theday,

The eyes (fore duteous) now convertedare

From his low tract and look anotherway:

So thou, thyself outgoing inthy noon,

Unlooked on diest unless thou get ason.



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8


Music tohear, why hearst thou music sadly?

Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights injoy:

Why lovst thou that which thou receivst not gladly,

Or else receivst with pleasure thine annoy?

If the true concord ofwell-tuned sounds,

Byunions married, do offend thineear,

They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds

Insingleness the parts that thou shouldst bear;

Mark how one string, sweet husband toanother,

Strikes each ineach bymutual ordering;

Resembling sire, and child, and happy mother,

Who all inone, one pleasing note do sing;

Whose speechless song being many, seemingone,

Sings this tothee, Thou single wilt prove none.



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9


Is it for fear towet awidowseye

That thou consumst thyself insingle life?

Ah! if thou issueless shalt hap todie,

The world will wail thee like amakeless wife;

The world will be thy widow and still weep,

That thou no form ofthee hast left behind,

When every private widow well may keep,

Bychildrens eyes, her husbands shape inmind:

Look what an unthrift inthe world doth spend

Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoysit,

But beautys waste hath inthe world anend,

And kept unused the user so destroysit:

No love toward others inthat bosomsits

That on himself such murdrous shame commits.



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10


For shame deny that thou bear-st love toany,

Who for thyself art so improvident.

Grant, if thou wilt, thou art beloved ofmany,

But that thou none lovst is most evident;

For thou art so possessd with murdrous hate,

That gainst thyself thou stickst not toconspire,

Seeking that beauteous roof toruinate

Which torepair should be thy chief desire:

Πchange thy thought, that Imay change my mind!

Shall hate be fairer lodged than gentle love?

Be as thy presence is, gracious and kind,

Or tothyself at least kind-hearted prove:

Make thee another self, for love ofme,

That beauty still may live inthine or thee.



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11


As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou growest

Inone ofthine, from that which thou departest;

And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestowest

Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth convertest.

Herein lives wisdom, beauty and increase:

Without this, folly, age and cold decay:

If all were minded so, the times should cease

And threescore year would make the world away.

Let those whom Nature hath not made for store,

Harsh featureless and rude, barrenly perish:

Look, whom she best endowd she gave the more;

Which bounteous gift thou shouldst inbounty cherish:

She carved thee for her seal, and meant thereby

Thou shouldst print more, not let that copydie.



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12


When Ido count the clock that tells the time,

And see the brave day sunk inhideous night,

When Ibehold the violet past prime,

And sable curls all silvered oer with white,

When lofty trees Isee barren ofleaves,

Which erst from heat did canopy the herd,

And summers green all girded up insheaves

Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard:

Then ofthy beauty do Iquestionmake

That thou among the wastes oftime mustgo,

Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake,

And die as fast as they see others grow,

And nothing gainst Times scythe can make defence

Save breed tobrave him when he takes thee hence.



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13


Πthat you were your self! but, love, youare

No longer yours than you yourself here live;

Against this coming end you should prepare,

And^your sweet semblance tosome other give:

So should that beauty which you hold inlease

Find no determination; then youwere

Your self again after yourself s decease,

When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear.

Who lets so fair ahouse fall todecay,

Which husbandry inhonour might uphold

Against the stormy gusts ofwintersday

And barren rage ofdeaths eternal cold?

O, none but unthrifts: dear my love, youknow

You had afather, let your son sayso.



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14


Not from the stars do Imy judgement pluck,

And yet methinks Ihave astronomy,

But not totell ofgood or evil luck,

Ofplagues, ofdearths, or seasons quality;

Nor can Ifortune tobrief minutes tell,

Pointing toeach his thunder, rain and wind,

Or say with princes if it shall gowell

Byoft predict that Iinheaven find:

But from thine eyes my knowledge Iderive,

And, constant stars, inthem Iread suchart

As truth and beauty shall together thrive

If from thy self tostore thou wouldst convert:

Or else ofthee this Iprognosticate,

Thy end is truths and beautys doom and date.



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15


When Iconsider every thing that grows

Holds inperfection but alittle moment,

That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows

Whereon the stars insecret influence comment;

When Iperceive that men as plants increase,

Cheered and checked even bythe selfsamesky,

Vaunt intheir youthful sap, at height decrease,

And wear their brave state out ofmemory:

Then the conceit ofthis inconstantstay

Sets you most rich inyouth before my sight,

Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay

Tochange your day ofyouth tosullied night,

And all inwar with Time for love ofyou,

As he takes from you, Iingraft younew.



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16


But wherefore do not you amightierway

Make war upon this bloody tyrant Time,

And fortify yourself inyour decay

With means more blessed than my barren rhyme?

Now stand you on the top ofhappy hours,

And many maiden gardens, yet unset,

With virtuous wish would bear your living flowers,

Much liker than your painted counterfeit:

So should the lines oflife that life repair

Which this times pencil or my pupilpen

Neither ininward worth nor outwardfair

Can make you live yourself ineyes ofmen:

Togive away yourself keeps yourself still,

And you must live drawn byyour own sweet skill.



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17


Who will believe my verse intime tocome

If it were filled with your most high deserts?

Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as atomb

Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts.

If Icould write the beauty ofyour eyes,

And infresh numbers number all your graces,

The age tocome would say, This poet lies;

Such heavenly touches neer touched earthly faces.

So should my papers (yellowed with theirage)

Be scorned, like old men ofless truth than tongue,

And your true rights be termed apoetsrage

And stretched metre ofan antique song:

But were some child ofyours alive that time,

You should live twice, init and inmy rhyme.



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18


Shall Icompare thee toasummersday?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds ofMay,

And summers lease hath all too short adate;

Sometime too hot the eye ofheaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimmed;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

Bychance or natures changing course untrimmed:

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession ofthat fair thou owst,

Nor shall Death brag thou wandrest inhis shade,

When ineternal lines totime thou growst.

So long as men can breathe or eyes cansee,

So long lives this, and this gives life tothee.



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19


Devouring Time, blunt thou the lions paws,

And make the earth devour her own sweet brood;

Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tigers jaws,

And burn the long-lived phoenix inher blood;

Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleetst,

And do whateer thou wilt, swift-footed Time,

Tothe wide world and all her fading sweets;

But Iforbid thee one most heinous crime:

O, carve not with thy hours my loves fair brow,

Nor draw no lines there with thine antiquepen;

Him inthy course untainted do allow

For beautys pattern tosucceedingmen.

Yet, do thy worst, old Time: despite thy wrong,

My love shall inmy verse ever live young.



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20


Awomans face with Natures own hand painted

Hast thou, the master-mistress ofmy passion;

Awomans gentle heart, but not acquainted

With shifting change, as is false womens fashion;

An eye more bright than theirs, less false inrolling,

Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth;

Aman inhue, all hues inhis controlling,

Which steals mens eyes and womens souls amazeth.

And for awoman wert thou first created,

Till Nature as she wrought thee fell a-doting,

And byaddition me ofthee defeated,

Byadding one thing tomy purpose nothing.

But since she pricked thee out for womens pleasure,

Mine be thy love and thy loves use their treasure.



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21


So is it not with me as with that Muse,

Stirred byapainted beauty tohis verse,

Who heaven itself for ornament dothuse,

And every fair with his fair doth rehearse,

Making acouplement ofproud compare

With sun and moon, with earth and seas rich gems,

With Aprils first-born flowers, and all thingsrare

That heavens air inthis huge rondure hems.

Πlet me, true inlove, but truly write,

And then believe me, my love is asfair

As any mothers child, though not so bright

As those gold candles fixed inheavensair:

Let them say more that like ofhearsay well,

Iwill not praise that purpose not tosell.



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22


My glass shall not persuade me Iamold,

So long as youth and thou are ofone date,

But when inthee times furrows Ibehold,

Then look Ideath my days should expiate:

For all that beauty that doth coverthee

Is but the seemly raiment ofmy heart,

Which inthy breast doth live, as thine inme.

How can Ithen be elder than thouart?

Πtherefore, love, be ofthyself sowary

As Inot for myself but for thee will,

Bearing thy heart, which Iwill keep so chary

As tender nurse her babe from faringill:

Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain;

Thou gavst me thine, not togive back again.



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23


As an imperfect actor on the stage,

Who with his fear is put besides his part,

Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,

Whose strengths abundance weakens his own heart;

So I, for fear oftrust, forget tosay

The perfect ceremony ofloves rite,

And inmine own loves strength seem todecay,

Oercharged with burden ofmine own loves might:

Πlet my books be then the eloquence

And dumb presagers ofmy speaking breast,

Who plead for love, and look for recompense,

More than that tongue that more hath more expressed.

Πlearn toread what silent love hath writ:

Tohear with eyes belongs toloves finewit.



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24


Mine eye hath played the painter and hath stelled

Thy beautys form intable ofmy heart;

My body is the frame wherein tis held,

And perspective it is best paintersart.

For through the painter must you see his skill

Tofind where your true image pictured lies,

Which inmy bosoms shop is hanging still,

That hath his windows glazed with, thine eyes.

Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done:

Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine forme

Are windows tomy breast, wherethrough thesun

Delights topeep, togaze therein on thee.

Yet eyes this cunning want tograce theirart,

They draw but what they see, know not the heart.



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25


Let those who are infavour with their stars

Ofpublic honour and proud titles boast,

Whilst I, whom fortune ofsuch triumph bars,

Unlooked for joy inthat Ihonour most.

Great princes favourites their fair leaves spread

But as the marigold at the sunseye,

And inthemselves their pride lies buried,

For at afrown they intheir glorydie.

The painful warrior famoused for fight,

After athousand victories once foiled,

Is from the book ofhonour rased quite,

And all the rest forgot for which he toiled:

Then happy Ithat love and am beloved

Where Imay not remove, nor be removed.



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26


Lord ofmy love, towhom invassalage

Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit,

Tothee Isend this written embassage

Towitness duty, not toshow mywit;

Duty so great, which wit so poor asmine

May make seem bare, inwanting words toshowit,

But that Ihope some good conceit ofthine

Inthy souls thought (all naked) will bestowit,

Till whatsoever star that guides my moving

Points on me graciously with fair aspect,

And puts apparel on my tottered loving,

Toshow me worthy ofthy sweet respect:

Then may Idare toboast how Ido love thee,

Till then, not show my head where thou mayst proveme.



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27


Weary with toil, Ibaste me tomybed,

The dear repose for limbs with travel tired,

But then begins ajourney m my head,

Towork my mind, when bodys works expired;

For then my thoughts (from far where Iabide)

Intend azealous pilgrimage tothee,

And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,

Looking on darkness which the blind dosee;

Save that my souls imaginary sight

Presents thy shadow tomy sightless view,

Which, like ajewel (hung inghastly night),

Makes black night beauteous, and her old facenew.

Lo thus byday my limbs, bynight my mind,

For thee, and for myself, no quiet find.



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28


How can Ithen return inhappy plight

That am debarred the benefit ofrest?

When days oppression is not eased bynight,

But day bynight and night byday oppressed;

And each (though enemies toeithers reign)

Do inconsent shake hands totortureme,

The one bytoil, the other tocomplain

How far Itoil, still farther off from thee.

Itell the day toplease him thou art bright,

And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven;

So flatter Ithe swart-complexioned night,

When sparkling stars twire not thou gildst the even:

But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer,

And night doth nightly make griefs strength seem stronger.



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29


When indisgrace with Fortune and mens eyes,

Iall alone beweep my outcast state,

And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,

And look upon myself and curse my fate,

Wishing me like toone more rich inhope,

Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,

Desiring this mans art and that mans scope,

With what Imost enjoy contented least;

Yet inthese thoughts myself almost despising,

Haply Ithink on thee, and then my state

(Like tothe lark at break ofday arising

From sullen earth) sings hymns at heavens gate;

For thy sweet love remembred such wealth brings

That then Iscorn tochange my state with kings.



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30


When tothe sessions ofsweet silent thought

Isummon up remembrance ofthings past,

Isigh the lack ofmany athing Isought,

And with old woes new wail my dear times waste:

Then can Idrown an eye (unused toflow)

For precious friends hid indeaths dateless night,

And weep afresh loves long since cancelledwoe,

And moan thexpense ofmany avanished sight;

Then can Igrieve at grievances foregone,

And heavily from woe towoe telloer

The sad account offore-bemoaned moan,

Which Inew pay as if not paid before:

But if the while Ithink on thee (dear friend)

All losses are restored, and sorrowsend.



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31


Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts,

Which Ibylacking have supposed dead,

And there reigns love and all loves loving parts,

And all those friends which Ithought buried.

How many aholy and obsequioustear

Hath dear religious love stoln from mineeye

As interest ofthe dead, which now appear

But things removed that hidden intheelie!

Thou art the grave where buried love doth live,

Hung with the trophies ofmy lovers gone,

Who all their parts ofme tothee did give;

That due ofmany now is thine alone:

Their images Iloved Iview inthee,

And thou, all they, hast all the all ofme.



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32


If thou survive my well-contentedday,

When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover,

And shalt byfortune once more re-survey

These poor rude lines ofthy deceased lover,

Compare them with the bettring ofthe time,

And though they be outstripped byeverypen,

Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme,

Exceeded bythe height ofhappiermen.

Πthen vouchsafe me but this loving thought:

Had my friends Muse grown with this growingage,

Adearer birth than this his love had brought

Tomarch inranks ofbetter equipage:

But since he died, and poets better prove,

Theirs for their style Ill read, his for his love.



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33


Full many aglorious morning have Iseen

Flatter the mountain tops with sovereigneye,

Kissing with golden face the meadows green,

Gilding pale streams with heavenly alcumy,

Anon permit the basest clouds toride

With ugly rack on his celestial face,

And from the forlorn world his visage hide,

Stealing unseen towest with this disgrace:

Even so my sun one early morn did shine

With all triumphant splendor on my brow;

But out alack, he was but one hour mine,

The region cloud hath masked him from menow.

Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth:

Suns ofthe world may stain, when heavens sun staineth.



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34


Why didst thou promise such abeauteousday,

And make me travel forth without my cloak,

Tolet base clouds oertake me inmyway,

Hiding thy bravry intheir rotten smoke?

Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break,

Todry the rain on my storm-beaten face,

For no man well ofsuch asalve can speak,

That heals the wound, and cures not the disgrace:

Nor can thy shame give physic tomy grief;

Though thou repent, yet Ihave still the loss:

Thoffenders sorrow lends but weak relief

Tohim that bears the strong offences cross.

Ah, but those tears are pearl which thy love sheeds,

And they are rich and ransom all ill deeds.



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35


No more be grieved at that which thou hast done:

Roses have thorns, and silver fountainsmud,

Clouds and eclipses stain both moon andsun,

And loathsome canker lives insweetestbud.

All men make faults, and even Iinthis,

Authorizing thy trespass with compare,

Myself corrupting salving thy amiss,

Excusing thy sins more than their sinsare;

For tothy sensual fault Ibring insense

Thy adverse party is thy advocate

And gainst myself alawful plea commence:

Such civil war is inmy love andhate

That Ian accessary needs mustbe

Tothat sweet thief which sourly robs fromme.



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36


Let me confess that we two must be twain,

Although our undivided loves areone:

So shall those blots that do with me remain,

Without thy help, byme be borne alone.

Inour two loves there is but one respect,

Though inour lives aseparable spite,

Which though it alter not loves sole effect,

Yet doth it steal sweet hours from loves delight.

Imay not evermore acknowledge thee,

Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame,

Nor thou with public kindness honourme,

Unless thou take that honour from thy name

But do not so; Ilove thee insuch sort,

As thou being mine, mine is thy good report.



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37


As adecrepit father takes delight

Tosee his active child do deeds ofyouth,

So I, made lame byFortunes dearest spite,

Take all my comfort ofthy worth and truth;

For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, orwit,

Or any ofthese all, or all, or more,

Intitled inthy parts, do crownedsit,

Imake my love ingrafted tothis store:

So then Iam not lame, poor, nor despised,

Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give,

That Iinthy abundance am sufficed,

And byapart ofall thy glory live:

Look what is best, that best Iwish inthee;

This wish Ihave, then ten times happyme.



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38


How can my Muse want subject toinvent

While thou dost breathe, that pourst into my verse

Thine own sweet argument, too excellent

For every vulgar paper torehearse?

Πgive thyself the thanks if aught inme

Worthy perusal stand against thy sight,

For whos so dumb that cannot write tothee,

When thou thyself dost give invention light?

Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more inworth




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