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They rightly do inherit heaven's graces,

And husband nature's riches from expence;
They are the lords and owners of their faces,
Others but ftewards of their excellence.
The fummer's flower is to the fummer fweet,
Though to itself it only live and die;
But if that flower with base infection meet,
The bafeft weed out-braves his dignity :
For fweeteft things turn foureft by their deeds;
Lilies that fefter, finell far worse than weeds.
Sonnets, No. 94.

MORNING.

Lo! here the gentle lark, weary of rest,
From his moift cabinet mounts up on high,
And wakes the Morning, from whofe filver breaft
The fun arifeth in his majefty;

Who doth the world fo gloriously behold,
That cedar-tops and hills feem burnish'd gold.
Venus falutes him with this fair good-morrow:
O thou clear God, and patron of all light,
From whom each lamp and shining star doth borrow
The beauteous influence that makes him bright,
There lives a fon, that fuck'd an earthly mother,
May lend thee light, as thou dost lend to other.
Venus and Adonis.

By this lamenting, Philamel had ended
The well-tun'd warble of her nightly forrow,
The folema night with flow fad gait defcended
To ugly hell; when lo, the bluft'ring morrow
Lends light to all fair eyes that light will borrow.
Rape of Lucrece..

MORTALITY.

When I have seen by Time's fell hand defac'd
The rich-proud cost of out-worn bury'd age;
When fometime lofty towers I fee down-ras'd,
And brafs eternal flave to niortal rage;
When I have feen the hungry ocean gain
Advantage on the kingdom of the fhore,
And the firm foil win of the watry main,
Increasing ftore with lofs, and lofs with ftore;

When

When I have feen fuch interchange of state,
Or state itself confounded to decay ;
Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate-
That Time will come and take my love away.
This thought is as a death, which cannot choose
But weep to have that which it fears to lofe.

Sonnets, No. 64.

Since brass, nor ftone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
But fad Mortality o'erfways their power,
How with this rage fhall beauty hold a plea,
Whofe action is no ftronger than a flower?
O how fhall fummer's honey-breath hold out
Against the wreckful fiege of battering days,
When rocks impregnable are not fo ftout,
Nor gates of steel fo ftrong, but time decays?
O fearful meditation! where, alack!

Shall Time's beft jewel from Time's cheft lie hid ?
Or what ftrong hand can hold his fwift foot back?
Or who his fpoil of beauty can forbid ?

O none, unless this miracle have might,

That in black ink my love may still shine bright.

MUSIC AND P O

If mufic and fweet poetry agree,

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Sonnets, No. 65.

ETRY.

As they must needs, the fifter and the brother,
Then must the love be great 'twixt thee and me,
Because thou lov'ft the one, and I the other.
Dowland to thee is dear, whofe heavenly touch
Upon the lute doth ravifh human fehfe;
Spenfer to me, whofe deep conceit is such,
As paffing all conceit, needs no defence.
Thou lov't to hear the fweet melodious found,
That Phabus' lute, the queen of mufic, makes
And I in deep delight am chiefly drown'd,
When as himself to finging he betakes.

One god is god of both, as poets feign;
One knight loves both, and both in thee remain.

NIGHT.

Paffionate Pilgrim.

Now ftole upon the time the dead of night,
When heavy fleep had clos'd up mortal eyes;

No

No comfortable star did lend his light,

No noife but owls' and wolves' death-boding cries
Now ferves the feafon that they may surprise

The filly lambs; pure thoughts are dead and still,
While Luft and Murder wake to stain and kill.
Rape of Lucrece.

O comfort-killing night, image of hell!
Dim register and notary of fhame!

Black ffage for tragedies and murders fell!
Vaft fin-concealing chaos! nurfe of blame!
Blind muffled bawd! dark harbour for defame!
Grim cave of death, whispering confpirator
With close-tongued treafon, and the ravisher!
O hateful, vaporous, and foggy night,
Since thou art guilty of my cureless crime,
Mufter thy mifts to meet the eastern light,
Make war against proportion'd courfe of time!
Or if thou wilt permit the fun to climb

His wonted height, yet, ere he go to bed,
Knit poisonous clouds about his golden head.
With rotten damps ravifh the morning air ;
Let their exhal'd unwholesome breaths make fick
The life of purity, the fupreme fair,
Ere he arrive his weary noon-tide prick;
And let thy mifty vapours march to thick,

That in their fmoky ranks his smother'd light
May fet at noon, and make perpetual night.

Rape of Lucrece.

O night, thou furnace of foul-reeking smoke,
Let not the jealous day behold that face
Which underneath thy black all-hiding cloak
Immodeftly lies martyr'd with difgrace!
Keep ftill poffeffion of thy gloomy place,

That all the faults which in thy reign are made,
May likewife be fepulchred in thy fhade.

-OLD AGE.

When I do count the clock that tells the time,
And fee the brave day funk in hideous night;
When I behold the violet paft prime,
And fable curls, all filver'd o'er with white;

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When

When lofty trees I fee barren of leaves,
Which erft from heat did canopy the herd,
And fummer's green all girded up in fheaves,
Borne on the bier with white and brifly beard;
Then of thy beauty do I queftion make,
That thou among the waftes of time muft go,
Since fweets and beauties do themselves forfake,
And die as fast as they fee others grow;

And nothing 'gainft Time's fcythe can make defence,
Save breed, to brave him, when he takes thee hence.
Sonnets, No. 12.

OPPORTUN IT Y.

O Opportunity! thy guilt is great:

'Tis thou that execut'ft the traitor's treafon ;
Thou fet'ft the wolf where he the lamb may get;
Whoever plots the fin, thou point'ft the feafon;
'Tis thou that fpurn'ft at right, at law, at reason:
And in thy fhady cell, where none may spy him,
Sits Sin, to feize the fouls that wander by him.

Thou makeft the veftal violate her oath ;
Thou blow'ft the fire when temperance is thaw'd;
Thou fmother'ft honefty, thou murder'ft troth;
Thou foul abettor! thou notorious bawd!
Thou planteft fcandal, and difplaceft laud:

'Thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou falfe thief,
Thy honey turns to gall, thy joy to grief!

Thy fecret pleasure turns to open shame,
Thy private feafting to a public faft;
Thy Imoothing title to a ragged name;
Thy fugar'd tongue to bitter wormwood taste :
Thy violent vanities can never laft.

How comes it then, vile Opportunity,
Being fo bad, fuch numbers feek for thee?

When wilt thou be the humble fuppliant's friend,
And bring him where his fuit may be obtain'd?
When wilt thou fort an hour great ftrifes to end?
Or free that foul which wretchednefs hath chain'd?
Give phyfic to the fick, eafe to the pain'd?

The poor, lame, blind, halt, creep, cry out for
thee;

But they ne'er meet with Opportunity.

The

The patient dies while the phyfician fleeps;
The orphan pines while the oppreffor feeds;
Juftice is feafting while the widow weeps;
Advice is sporting while infection breeds;
Thou grant'ft no time for charitable deeds:
Wrath, envy, treason, rape, and murder's rages,
Thy heinous hours wait on them as their pages.
When Truth and Virtue have to do with thee,
A thousand croffes keep them from thy aid;
They buy thy help: but Sin ne'er gives a fee,
He gratis comes; and thou art well appay'd
As well to hear as grant what he bath faid.

Σ

My Collatine would elfe have come to me
When Tarquin did, but he was stay d by thee.
Guilty thou art of murder and of theft;
Guilty of perjury and fubornation;
Guilty of treafon, forgery, and shift
Guilty of inceft, that abomination :
An acceffary by thine inclination

To all fins paft, and all that are to come,
From the creation to the general doom.

PRINCES.

Rape of Lucrece.

This deed will make thee only lov'd for fear,
But happy monarchs still are fear'd for love :
With foul offenders thou perforce muft bear,
When they in thee the like offences prove:
If but for fear of this, thy will remove;

For princes are the glass, the school, the book,
Where subjects' eyes do learn, do read, do look.

SHAM E.

They think not but that every eye can fee
The fame difgrace which they themselves behold;
And therefore would they ftill in darkness be,
To have their unfeen fin remain untold;..
For they their guilt with weeping will unfold,
And grave like water that doth eat in steel,
Upon my cheeks what helpless fhame I feel.

SINGLE LIF E.

Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye,

That thou confun'ft thyfelf in fingle life?

Ibid.

Ah!

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