THE BEAUTY OF BEAUTIES WHEN in the chronicle of wasted time I see descriptions of the fairest wights, Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best, So all their praises are but prophecies For we, which now behold these present days, Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise. Σ AMOR CONTRA MUNDUM NOT mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul Of the wide world dreaming on things to come Can yet the lease of my true love control, The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured, Now with the drops of this most balmy time And thou in this shalt find thy monument, When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent. THE EVER NEW WHAT'S in the brain that ink may character Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit? What's new to speak, what new to register, Nothing, sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine, So that eternal love in love's fresh case Finding the first conceit of love there bred Where time and outward form would show it dead. PROTESTATION O,NEVER say that I was false of heart, Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify. As easy might I from myself depart As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie: That is my home of love: if I have ranged, Just to the time, not with the time exchanged, Never believe, though in my nature reign'd For nothing this wide universe I call, AN APOLOGY ALAS, 'tis true I have gone here and there And made myself a motley to the view, Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear; Made old offences of affections new ; Most true it is that I have look'd on truth Now all is done, have what shall have no end : A god in love, to whom I am confined : : Then give me welcome, next my heaven the best, Even to thy pure and most most loving breast. |