XXI. So is it not with me as with that Mufe XXII. My glass shall not perfuade me I am old, As I, not for myself, but for thee will; Prefume not on thy heart when mine is slain; XXIII. As an unperfect actor on the stage, Who with his fear is put befides his part, The perfect ceremony of love's rite, And in mine own love's ftrength seem to decay, O'ercharged with burthen of mine own love's might. O, let my books be then the eloquence And dumb prefagers of my speaking breast, Who plead for love, and look for recompense, More than that tongue that more hath more expreff❜d. O, learn to read what filent love hath writ : To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit. XXIV. Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath ftell'd Thy beauty's form in table of my heart; Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art, They draw but what they see, know not the heart. XXV. Let those who are in favour with their stars |