How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame
Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose,
Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name!
O, in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose!
That tongue that tells the story of thy days,
Making lascivious comments on thy sport,
Cannot dispraise but in a kind of praise;
Naming thy name blesses an ill report.
O, what a mansion have those vices got
Which for their habitation chose out thee,
Where beauty's veil doth cover every blot,
And all things turns to fair that eyes can see!
Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege;
The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge.


Some say, thy fault is youth, some wantonness;
Some say, thy grace is youth and gentle sport;
Both grace and faults are loved of more and less:
Thou mak'st faults graces that to thee resort.
As on the finger of a throned queen

The basest jewel will be well esteem'd,
So are those errors that in thee are seen
To truths translated and for true things deem'd.
How many lambs might the stern wolf betray,
If like a lamb he could his looks translate!
How many gazers mightst thou lead away,
If thou wouldst use the strength of all thy state!
But do not so; I love thee in such sort

As thou being mine, mine is thy good report.

Est tibi quod nomen maculat floremque iuventae,
Qualis odoriferam pestis operta rosam;

Est tamen, o, in te quam dulce et amabile visu,
Deliciis celans omnibus omne malum!
Istaque lingua tuae quae volgat facta diei,
Libera de lusu nequitur ausa loqui,
Cuncta tamen laudat carpendo, ac fama piatur
Pessima si nomen nuncupat illa tuum.
Et quibus es vitiis tu iam lectissima sedes,
O quam felicem sunt ea nacta domum!
Qua macula obtentis veletur quaeque venustis,
Quodque vident oculi vestiat omne decor.
Care, cave in noxam ne tanta licentia vertat;
Culter abutendo dente retusus erit.


Ille iuventam in te culpat magis, alter amorem,
Hic tibi non parvum credit utrumque decus.
Sitque decus seu non, adamavit summus et imus;
Mendaque noscuntur si tua, menda placent.
Vt bene laudatur semper vilissima gemma
Reginae in digitis, cum sedet alta throno,
Sic vitiosa in te virtutes esse videntur
Scilicet, inque bonis obtinuisse locum.
Quot lupus ille agnos potuisset fallere, voltus.
Callidus agninos imposuisse sibi;

Tuque oculos hominum quos, o, corrumpere possis
Omnibus istarum viribus usus opum.

Quod mihi tu nolis; illo sociamur amore

Vt pariter curae sit tua fama meae.

How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!
What old December's bareness everywhere!
And yet this time remov'd was summer's time;
The teeming autumn big with rich increase,
Bearing the wanton burthen of the prime,
Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease:
Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me

But hope of orphans and unfather'd fruit;
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,
And, thou
away, the very birds are mute;
Or, if they sing, 't is with so dull a cheer
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.


From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April, dress'd in all his trim,
Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing,
That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd 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 seem'd it winter still, and, you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play :

Qualis hiems illud tempus dum separor a te,
Quo sine nil varius quod iuvet annus habet!
Frigus erat quantum, quam raris ulla diebus
Lumina, quae species nuda Decembris agro!
Inter at aestivum fuit illa absentia tempus,

Tempus et autumnum, faenore dives opum,
Spe tumida tandem lascivi veris onustum,
Vt gravida erepti viscera prole viri.

Spe tamen hac fetus tantummodo postuma proles
Ostensa, ac dubiae poma futura notae;
Te quoniam penes est aestas eiusque voluptas
Omnis, avesque ipsae te sine voce silent.

Sive canunt, adeo vox illaetabilis illis

Vt metuens hiemis palleat omne nemus.


Te sini ver solus degi, dum pulcher Aprilis
Vestitus specie multicolore nitet,
Idque iuventae afflat terris Saturnus ut ipse
Riserit insultans, tam gravis ille deus.
Me nec avis cantu movit, nec gratia multi
Floris, odorve suus cuique, suusve color;
Vernum ego nil versu memini, florumque superbit
Copia nativo non mihi carpta toro.
Lilia qui pallor cepisset non ego miror,
Non ego puniceas purpura quanta rosas;
Dulcis odor speciesve illis, dulcedinis umbra
Capta tuae, o praestans omnibus omne decus;
Sed mihi bruma fuit, cum flore et quoque cavillor
Absentis speciem quod ferat ille tuam.

The forward violet thus did I chide :

Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells,
If not from my love's breath? The purple pride
Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells
In my
love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed.
The lily I condemned for thy hand,

And buds of marjoram hath stol'n thy hair;
The roses fearfully on thorns did stand,
One blushing shame, another white despair;
A third, nor red nor white, had stol'n of both
And to his robbery had annex'd thy breath;
But, for his theft, in pride of all his growth
A vengeful canker eat him up to death.

More flowers I noted, yet I none could see
But sweet or colour it had stol'n from thee.


Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long
To speak of that which gives thee all thy might?
Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song,
Darkening thy power, to lend base subjects light?
Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem
In gentle numbers time so idly spent;
Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem
And gives thy pen both skill and argument.
Rise, resty Muse, my love's sweet face survey,
If Time have any wrinkle
graven there;

If any, be a satire to decay,

And make Time's spoils despised everywhere.
my love fame faster than Time wastes life;
So thou prevent'st his scythe and crooked knife.

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