CXI. O, for my fake do you with Fortune chide, The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, That did not better for my life provide Than public means which public manners breeds. To what it works in, like the dyer's hand: CXII. Your love and pity doth the impreffion fill To know my fhames and praises from your tongue; That my fteel'd sense or changes right or wrong. In fo profound abyfm I throw all care Of others' voices, that my adder's sense You are fo ftrongly in my purpose bred That all the world befides methinks they're dead. CXIII. Since I left you mine eye is in my mind, For it no form delivers to the heart Of bird, of flower, or shape, which it doth latch: Nor his own vifion holds what it doth catch; The most sweet favour or deformed'ft creature, The crow or dove, it shapes them to your feature : My most true mind thus maketh mine untrue. CXIV. Or whether doth my mind, being crown'd with you, As faft as objects to his beams affemble? And my great mind most kingly drinks it up : If it be poifon'd, 'tis the leffer fin That mine eye loves it and doth first begin. CXV. dearer : Those lines that I before have writ do lie, Creep in 'twixt vows, and change decrees of kings, Might I not then say 'Now I love you beft,' Crowning the prefent, doubting of the reft? Love is a babe; then might I not say so, To give full growth to that which still doth grow? |