I was not fick of any feare from thence.
But when your countinance fild vp his line,
Then lackt I matter, that infeebled mine.
Arewell thou art too deare for my poffeffing,
And like enough thou knowft thy eftimate,
The Cha ter of thy worth giues thee releafing:
My bonds in thee are all determinate.
For how do I hold thee but by thy granting,
And for that ritches where is my deferuing?
The cause of this faire guift in me is wanting,
And fo my pattent back againe is fweruing.
Thy felfe thou gau'ft,thy owne worth then not knowing,
Or mee to whom thou gau'ft it,elfe mistaking,
So thy great guift vpon mifprifion growing,
Comes home againe,on better iudgement making.
Thus haue I had thee as a dreame doth flatter,
In fleepe a King,but waking no fuch matter.
VVHen thou shalt be difpode to fet me light,
And place my merrit in the eie of skorne,
Vpon thy fide,againit my felfe ile fight,
And proue thee virtuous,though thou art forfworne:
With mine owne weakeneffe being best acquainted,
Vpon thy part I can set downe a story
Offaults conceald wherein I am attainted:
That thou in loofing me.fhall win much glory:
And I by this wil be a gainer too,
For bending all my louing thoughts on thee,
The iniuries that to my felfe I doc,
Doing thee vantage,duble vantage me,
Such is my loue,to thee Ifo belong,
That for thy right,my felfe will beare all wrong.
Ay that thou didft forfake mee for fome falt,
And will comment
And I will comment vpon that offence,
Speake of my lameneffe, and I ftraight will hale:
Against thy reafons making no defence.
Thou canst not loue)difgrace me halfe fo ill,
To fet a forme vpon defired change,
As ile my felfe difgrace,knowing thy wil,
I will acquaintance ftrangle and looke ftrange:
Be abfent from thy walkes and in my tongue,
Thy fweet beloued name no more fhall dwell,
Leaft I(too much prophane) should do it wronge:
And haplie of our old acquaintance tell.
For thee,against my felfe ile vow debate,
For I must nere loue him whom thou doft hate.
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Hen hate me when thou wilt, if euer,now,
Now while the world is bent my deeds to croffe,
Joyne with the fpight of fortune,make me bow,
And doc not drop in for an after loffe:
Ah doe not, when my heart hath fcapte this forrow,
Come in the rereward of a conquerd woe,
Giue not a windy night a rainie morrow,
To linger out a purpofd ouer-throw.
If thou wilt leaue me, do not leaue me laft,
When other pettie griefes haue done their spight,
But in the onset come,fo ftall I tafte
At first the very worst of fortunes might,
And other ftraines of woe, which now feeme woe,
Compar'd with loffe of thee,will not feeme fo.
Ome glory in their birth, fome in their skill,
Some in their wealth, fome in their bodies force,
Some in their garments though new-fangled ill:
Some in their Hawkes and Hounds, fome in their Horfe.
And euery humor hath his adiunct pleasure,
Wherein it findes a ioy aboue the reft,
But these perticulers are not my measure,
All these I better in one generall beft.
Thy loue is bitter then high birth to me,
Richer then wealth,prouder then garments coft,
Of more delight then Hawkes or Horfes bee:
And hauing thee,of all mens pride I boast,
Wretched in this alone, that thou maift take,
All this away,and me moft wretched make.
Vt doe thy worft to ftealethy felfe away,
For tearme of life thou art affured mine,
And life no longer then thy loue will ftay,
For it depends vpon that loue of thine.
Then need I not to feare the world of wrongs,
When in the least of them my life hath end,
Ifee, a better state to me belongs
Then that, which on thy humor doth depend.
Thou canst not vex me with inconstant minde,
Since that my life on thy reuolt doth lie,
Oh what a happy title do I finde,
Happy to haue thy loue, happy to die!
But whats fo bleffed faire that feares no blot,
Thou maist be falce, and yet I know it not,
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O fhall I liue,fuppofing thou art true,
Like a deceiued husband fo loues face,
May still feeme loue to me,though alter'd new:
Thy lookes with me,thy heart in other place.
For their can liue no hatred in thine eye,
Therefore in that I cannot know thy change,
In manies lookes,the falce hearts history
Is writ in moods and frounes and wrinckles ftrange.
But heauen in thy creation did decree,
That in thy face fweet loue fhould euer dwell,
What ere thy thoughts, or thy hearts workings be,
Thy lookes fhould nothing thence, but sweetneffe tell.
How like Eanes apple doth thy beauty grow,
If thy sweet vertue anfwere not thy fhow.
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