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 XXVI. Lord of my love, to whom in vaffalage May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it, In thy foul's thought, all naked, will bestow it; To show me worthy of thy sweet respect : Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee; Till then not show my head where thou mayst prove me. XXVII. Weary with toil, I hafte me to my bed, To work my mind, when body's work's expired: And keep my drooping eyelids open wide, Presents thy fhadow to my fightless view, Which, like a jewel hung in ghaftly night, Makes black night beauteous and her old face new. Lo, thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind, For thee, and for myself no quiet find. XXVIII. How can I then return in happy plight, When day's oppreffion is not eased by night, I tell the day, to please him, thou art bright When sparkling stars twire not thou gild'ft the even. But day doth daily draw my forrows longer, And night doth nightly make grief's length seem stronger. |