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My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun, |
Coral is far more red, than her lips red, |
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun: |
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head: |
I have seen roses damasked, red and white, |
But no such roses see I in her cheeks, |
And in some perfumes is there more delight, |
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. |
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know, |
That music hath a far more pleasing sound: |
I grant I never saw a goddess go, |
My mistress when she walks treads on the ground. |
And yet by heaven I think my love as rare, |
As any she belied with false compare. |
131 |
Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art, |
As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel; |
For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart |
Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel. |
Yet in good faith some say that thee behold, |
Thy face hath not the power to make love groan; |
To say they err, I dare not be so bold, |
Although I swear it to my self alone. |
And to be sure that is not false I swear, |
A thousand groans but thinking on thy face, |
One on another's neck do witness bear |
Thy black is fairest in my judgment's place. |
In nothing art thou black save in thy deeds, |
And thence this slander as I think proceeds. |
132 |
Thine eyes I love, and they as pitying me, |
Knowing thy heart torment me with disdain, |
Have put on black, and loving mourners be, |
Looking with pretty ruth 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 face: |
O let it then as well beseem thy 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 complexion lack. |
133 |
Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan |
For that deep wound it gives my friend and me; |
Is't not enough to torture me alone, |
But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be? |
Me from my self thy cruel eye hath taken, |
And my next self thou harder hast engrossed, |
Of him, my self, and thee I am forsaken, |
A torment thrice three-fold thus to be crossed: |
Prison my heart in thy steel bosom's ward, |
But then 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 gaol. |
And yet thou wilt, for I being pent in thee, |
Perforce am thine and all that is in me. |
134 |
So now I have confessed that he is thine, |
And I my self am mortgaged to thy will, |
My self I'll forfeit, so that other mine, |
Thou wilt restore to be my comfort still: |
But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free, |
For thou art covetous, and he is kind, |
He learned but surety-like to write for me, |
Under that bond that him as fist doth bind. |
The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take, |
Thou usurer that put'st forth all to use, |
And sue a friend, came debtor for my sake, |
So him I lose through my unkind abuse. |
Him have I lost, thou hast both him and me, |
He pays the whole, and yet am I not free. |
135 |
Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy will, |
And 'Will' to boot, and 'Will' in over-plus, |
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.' |