SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS

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 flnds a joy above the rest ; But thèse particulars are not my measure, AU thèse I better in one gênerai best.

Thy love is better than high birth to me, Richer than wealth, prouder thari garment*s cost, Of more delight than hawks or horses be, And having thee, of ail men's pride I boast.

Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take Ail this away ; and me most wretcheJ make.

So am I as the rich, whose blessed key Can bring him to his sweet up-lockéd treasure, The whicb be will not every hour survey, For blunting tbe flne point of seldom pleasure.

Tberefore are feasts so solemn and so rare, Since seldom coming, in tbe long year set, Like stones of wortb they tbinly placéd are, Or captain jewels in tbe carcanet.

So is the time that keeps you, as my chest, Or as the wardiobe which the robe dolh bide, To make some spécial instant special-blest, By new unfolding'his imprison'd pride.

Blessed are you; whose worthiness gives scope, Being had, to triumph, being lack'd, to bope !

LES LAURBNTIBNNBS I97

Those Unes Ihat I before hâve writ, do lie ; Even those thaï said I could not love'you dearer; Yet than my Judgmenl knew no reason why My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer.

But, reckoning lime, whose million'd accidents

Creep in Hwixt vows, and change decrees of kings,

Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp'st intenta,

Divert strong minds to the course of alterîng

[things ;—

Alas ! why, fearing of time'styranny,

Might I not then say : " Now I love you best,"

When I was certain o'er incertainty,

Growning the présent, doubting of the rest ?

Love îs a babe ; then might I not say so,

To give fuUgrowth to that which'still doth grow?

IÇS POESIES

How ofl, when Ihou, my music, music play'st, Upon that blessed wood whose molion sounds Withthy sweet Angers, when Ihou genlly sway'st The wiry concord Uiat my ear confounds,

Do I envy those jacks, that nimble leap

To kiss the tender inward of thy hand,

Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest reap,

Ât the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand!

To be so tîckled, they would change their state And situation with those dancing chips, O'er whom thy Angers walk with gentle gait, Making dead wood more biess'd than living lips. Since saucy jacks so happy are in this, Give them thy Angers, me thy lips to kiss.

LKS LAURBNTIEMMBS

If thou survive my well-contented day, [cover, When that churi Death my bones with dust shall And shalt by fortune once more re-survey Thèse poor rude Unes of Ihy deceased lover,

Compare them wilh the bettering of the time ; And though they be oulslripp'd by every pen, Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme, Exceeded by the height of happier men.

O then vouchsafe me but ihis loving thought I [âge, *^ Had my friend's.muse grown with thisgrowing " A dearer birth than this his love had brought, " To march in ranks of better équipage :

" But since he died, and poets better prove *' Theirs for their style l'U read, his for his love.*'