WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE 1564-1616 LXXIV ( 66 ) TIRED with all these, for restful death I cry,— As, to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimmed in jollity, Tired with all these, from these would I be gone,— LXXV ( 70 ) THAT thou art blamed shall not be thy defect, For slander's mark was ever yet the fair; The ornament of beauty is suspect, A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air. So thou be good, slander doth but approve To tie up envy, evermore enlarged : If some suspect of ill masked not thy show, Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts shouldst owe. LXXVI ( 71 ) No longer mourn for me when I am dead Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE 1564-1616 LXXVII HAT time of year thou mayst in me behold THAT When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruined choirs where late the sweet birds sang: In me thou see'st the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away, WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE 1564-1616 LXXVIII (74) BUT be contented: when that fell arrest Without all bail shall carry me away, My life hath in this line some interest, The very part was consecrate to thee : The worth of that is that which it contains, LXXIX (76) WHY is my verse so barren of new pride? So far from variation or quick change? Why with the time do I not glance aside To new-found methods and to compounds strange? And keep invention in a noted weed, That every word doth almost tell my name, Showing their birth and where they did proceed? O, know, sweet Love, I always write of you, Ο LXXX (81) R I shall live your epitaph to make, Or you survive when I in earth am rotten; WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE Where breath most breathes,—even in the mouths of men. 1564-1616 LXXXI FAREWELL! thou art too dear for my possessing, And like enough thou know'st thy estimate: The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing ; My bonds in thee are all determinate. For how do I hold thee but by thy granting? The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting, And so my patent back again is swerving. Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not knowing, So thy great gift, upon misprision growing, Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter; In sleep a king, but, waking, no such matter. G WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE 1564-1616 LXXXII ( 90 ) HEN hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now; THE Now, while the world is bent my deeds to cross, Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow, And do not drop in for an after-loss : Ah, do not, when my heart hath 'scaped this sorrow, To linger out a purposed overthrow. If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last, LXXXIII ( 91 ) SOME glory in their birth, some in their skill, Some in their wealth, some in their body's force, Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill, Wherein it finds a joy above the rest : But these particulars are not my measure ; Thy love is better than high birth to me, |