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WILLIAM
SHAKE-

SPEARE.

1564-1616.

LOVE'S RICHES.

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;

Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse;

And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure,

Wherein it finds a joy above the rest:

But these particulars are not my measure;

All these I better in one general best.

Thy love is better than high birth to me,

Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' cost,

Of more delight than hawks or horses be;

And having thee, of all men's pride I boast :
Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take
All this away, and me most wretched make.

WILLIAM
SHAKE-

LOVE'S HAPPINESS IMPERFECT.

BUT do thy worst to steal thyself away,

SPEARE. For term of life thou art assurèd mine;

1564-1616.

And life no longer than thy love will stay,
For it depends upon that love of thine.
Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs,

When in the least of them my life hath end.
I see a better state to me belongs

Than that which on thy humour doth depend.
Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind,
Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie.

O, what a happy title do I find,

Happy to have thy love, happy to die!

But what's so blessèd-fair that fears no blot ?
Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not :

WILLIAM
SHAKE-

SPEARE.

1564-1616.

THE ABSENT LOVE.

FROM you have I been absent in the spring,

When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim

Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing,

That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him.
Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell

Of different flowers in odour and in hue,

Could make me any summer's story tell,

Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew:

Nor did I wonder at the lily's white,

Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;

They were but sweet, but figures of delight,

Drawn after you; you pattern of all those.
Yet seemed it winter still, and, you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play.

WILLIAM
SHAKE-
SPEARE.

1564-1616.

LOVE CONQUERS TIME.

To me, fair Friend, you never can be old,

For as you were when first your eye I eyed,

Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold
Have from the forests shook three summers' pride,
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turned,
In process of the seasons have I seen,

Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burned,
Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.
Ah! yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand,

Steal from his figure, and no pace perceived;

So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,
Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived:
For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred,—
Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead.

WILLIAM
SHAKE-
SPEARE.

1564-1616.

THE FAIREST FAIR.

WHEN in the chronicle of wasted time

I see descriptions of the fairest wights,

And beauty making beautiful old rhyme
In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights,
Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best,
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,

I see their antique pen would have expressed
Even such a beauty as you master now.

So all their praises are but prophecies

Of this our time, all you prefiguring;

And, for they looked but with divining eyes,
They had not skill enough your worth to sing :
For we, which now behold these present days,
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.

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