SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS

Some glory in theirbirth, some in their skill, Some in their weallh, some in their body's force; Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill ; Some in their hawks and hoimds, sora^in theirhorse.

And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure, Wherein it finds a joy above the rest ; But thèse particulars are not my measure, Ali thèse I better in one gênerai best.

Thy love is better than high b>th to me, Richer than wealth, prouder than garment's cost, Of more delight than hawks or horses be, And having thee, ofall men's pride I boast. Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take AU this away ; and me most wretched make.

196 POESIKS

So am I as the rich, whose blessed kcy Gan bring him to his sweet up-lockéd treasure, The which he will not every hour survey, For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure.

Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare, Since seldom coming, in the long year set, Like stones of worth they thinly placéd are. Or captain jewels in the carcanet.

So is the time that keeps yoii, as my chest. Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide, 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 hopej

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

But, reckoning time, whose million'd accidents

Creep in'twixt vows, and change decrees of kings^

Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp'st intenls,

Divert strong minds to the course of altering

[things ; —

Alas ! why, fearing of time's tyranny,

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 is a babe ; then might I not say so,

To give fuUgrowth to that which still doth grow?

How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st, Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds Withthy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway'st The wiry concord that my ear confounds,

Do I envy those jacks, that nimble leap

To kiss the tender inward of thy hand,

Whilst my poor hps, which should that harvest reap,

At the wood's boldness by thee bkishing stand!

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

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

Compare them with the bettering of the time ; And though they be outstripp'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 1 [âge,

•" Had my friend's muse grown with this growing

" 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.'*