Have put on black, and loving mourners be,
Looking with pretty rath upon my pain.
And truly not the morning-sun of heaven
Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east;
Nor that full star that ushers in the even,
Doth half that glory to the sober west,
As those two mourning eyes become thy fate :
Oh! let it then as well beseem'tlry heart
To mourn for me, since mourning doth thee grace,
And suit thy pity like in every part.

Then will I swear beauty herself is black,
And all they foul that thy complection lack.


BESHREW that heart that makes my heart to groan,
For that deep wnund it gives my friend and me;
Is't not enough to torture me alone,
But slave to slavery my sweetest friend must be?
Me from myself thy cruel eye hath taken,
And my next self thou barder hast engross'd;
Of him, myself, and thee I am forsaken,
A torment thrice three-fold thus to be cross'd.
Prison my heart in thy steel bosom's ward,
But theu my friend's heart let my poor heart bail;
Whoe'er keeps me, let my heart be his guard,
Thou canst not then use rigour in my jail.


And yet thou wilt, for å being pent in thee,
Perforce am thine, and all that is in me.

So now I have confest that he is thine,
And I myself am mortgag'd to thy will ;
Myself I'll forfeit, so that other mine
Thou wilt restore to me, my comfort still.
But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free,
For thou art covetous, and he is kind;
He learn’d but surety-like to write for me,
Under that bond that him as fast doth bind.
The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take,

that put'st forth all to use ; And sue a friend, canie debtor for thy sake, So him I lose through my unkind abuse.

Him have I lost, thou hast both him and me,

pays the whole, and yet I am not free.

Thou usurer,


WHOEVER hath her wish, thou hast thy Will,
And Will to boot, and Will in overplus;
More than enough am I that vex thee still,
To thy sweet will making addition thus.
Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious,
Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine?
Shall will in others seem right gracious,
And in my will no fair acceptance shine ?


The sea all water, yet receives rain still,
And in abundance addeth to his store;
So thou being rich in Will, add to thy WILL
One will of mine, to make thy large Will more.

Let no unkind, no fair beseechers kill,
Think all but one, and me in that one Will.

If thy soul check thee that I come so near,
Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy WILL;
And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there;
Thus far for love, my love-suit sweet fulfil.
Will will fulfil the treasure of thy love,
I fill it full with wills, and my will one :
In things of great receipt with ease we prove,
Among a number one is reckon'd none.
Then in a number let me pass untold, ·
Though in thy store's account I one must be:
For nothing hold nie, so it please thee hold
That nothing me, a something sweet to thee.

Make but my name thy love, and love that still,
And then thou lov'st me, for my name is Will.


THOU blind fool, Lovë, what dost thou to mine eyes,
That they behold, and see not what they see?
They know wbat beauty is, see where it lies;
Yet what the best is, take the worst to be.


If eyes corrupt by over-partial looks,
Be anchord in the bay where all men ride;
Why of eyes falshovd hast thou forged hooks,
Whereto the judgment of my heart is ty'd ?
Why should my heart think that a several plot,
Which my heart knows the wide world's common place?
Or mine eyes seeing this, say this is not
To put fair truth upon so foul a face;

In things right true my heart and eyes have err'd,
And to this false plague are they now transfer’d.

0! call me not to justify the wrong,
That thy unkindness lays upon my heart;
Wound me not with thine eye, but with thy tongue;
Use power with power, and slay me not by art: .
Tell me thou lov’st elsewhere ; but in my sight,
Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye

What veed'st thou wound with cunning, when thy might
Is more than my o'er-prest defence can bide!
Let me excuse thee; ah! my love well knows,
Her pretty looks have been my enemies,
And therefore from my face she turns my foes,
That they elsewhere might dart their injuries.

Yet do not so, but since I am near slain,
Kill me out-right with looks, and rid my pain.

Be wise as thou art cruel, do not press
My tongue-ty'd patience with too much disdain :


Lest sorrow lend me words, and words express
The manner of my pity-wanting pain.
If I might teach thee wit, better it were,
Tho' not to love, yet love to tell me so :
As testy sick men, when their deaths be near,
No news but health from their physicians know,
For if I should despair, I should grow mad,
And in my madness might speak ill of thee;
Now this ill-wrestling world is grown so bad,
Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be.

That I may not be so, nor thou bely'd,
Bear thine eyes strait tho' thy proud heart go wide.


IN faith I do not love thee with mine eyes,
For they in thee a thousand errors note;
But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise,
Who in despite of view is pleas’d to doat.
Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune delighted,
Nor tender feeling to base touches prone,
Nor taste, nor smell desire to be invited

any sensual feast with thee alone :
But my five wits, nor my five senses can
Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee;
Who leaves unsway'd the likeness of a man,
Thy proud heart's slave and vassal wretch to be:


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