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Among a number one is reckon'd none:a
Then in the number let me pass untold,
Though in thy stores' account I one must be;
For nothing hold me, 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, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes,
That they behold, and see not what they see?
They know what 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' falsehood hast thou forged hooks,
Whereto the judgment of my heart is tied ?
Why should my heart think that a several plot,
heart knows the wide world's common place ?b
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 errd,
And to this false plague are they now transferr'd.
love swears that she is made of truth
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutor'd youth,
Unlearned in the world's false subtleties.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although she knows my days are past the best,
Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue:
On both sides thus is simple truth supprest.
But wherefore says she not she is unjust?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
0, love's best habit is in seeming trust,
in love loves not to have years told:
Therefore I lie with her and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be.
In things of great receipt with ease we prove
Among a number one is reckon'd none :] Compare, “Romeo and Juliet," Act I. Sc. 2,
“Such, amongst view of many, mine, being one,
May stand in number, though in reckoning none."
Why should my heart think that a several plot,
Which my heart knows the wide world's common place ?] “ Severals, or several lands," Mr. Hunter tells us, " are portions of common assigned for a term to a particular proprietor, the other commoners waiving for the time their right of common over them."
c When my love swears that she is made of truth-] This Sonnet with some variations appears to have been first printed in “ The Passionate Pilgrim," 1599
0, call not me 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 need’st thou wound with cunning, when thy might
Is more than my o’erpress’d defence can 'bide ?
Let me excuse thee: ah, my love well knows
Her pretty looks have been mine 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 outright with looks, and rid my pain.
Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press
My tongue-tied 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,
Though 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-wresting world is grown so bad,
Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be.
That I may not be so, nor thou belied,
Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide.
In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes,
For they in thee a thousand errors note;
But 't is my heart that loves what they despise,
Who, in despite of view, is pleas'd to dote;
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
To any sensual feast with thee alone:
But my five witsa 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:
Only my plague thus far I count my gain,
That she that makes me sin awards me pain.
• But my five wits-] The five wits were common wit, imagination, fantasy, estimation, and memory
Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate,
Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving:
O, but with mine compare thou thine own state,
And thou shalt find it merits not reproving;
Or, if it do, not from those lips of thine,
That have profand their scarlet ornaments, a
And seald false bonds of love as oft as mine; b
Robb’d others' beds' revenues of their rents.
Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lov'st those
Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee:
Root pity in thy heart, that, when it grows,
Thy pity may deserve to pitied be.
If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide,
By self-example mayst thou be denied !
Lo, as a careful housewife runs to catch
One of her feather'd creatures broke away,
Sets down her babe, and makes all swift despatch
In pursuit of the thing she would have stay;
Whilst her neglected child holds her in chace,
Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent
To follow that which flies before her face,
Not prizing her poor infant's discontent;
So runn'st thou after that which flies from thee,
Whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind;
But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me,
And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind :
So will I pray that thou mayst have thy Will,
If thou turn back, and my loud crying still.
Two loves I have of comfort and despair,
Which like two spirits do suggestd me still ;
The better angel is a man right fair,
The worser spirit a woman colourd ill.
To win me soon to hell, my female evil
Tempteth my better angel from my side,
– their scarlet ornaments,-) So in “King Edward III.” 1596,-
" - when she grew pale,
His cheeks put on their scarlet ornaments." b And seal'd false bonds of love as oft as mine ;] Compare, “The Merchant of Venice,” Act II. Sc. 6,
“0, ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly
To seal lore's bonds new made, than they are wont
To keep obliged faith unforfeited!” & Two loves I have of comfort and despair,- ] This Sonnet was printed “with a difference” in “ The Passionate Pilgrim," 1599.
suggest me-] Tempt me. . - from my side,–] The quarto has, “ from my sight;" the genuine word, homerer, is found in “ The Passionate Pilgrim.”
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil,
Wooing his purity with her foul pride.
And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend,
Suspect I may, yet not directly tell ;
But being both from me, both to each friend,
guess one angel in another's hell :
Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt,
Till my bad angel fire my good one out.
Those lips that Love's own hand did make
Breath'd forth the sound that said, “ I hate,”
To me that languish'd for her sake:
But when she saw my woeful state,
Straight in her heart did mercy come,
Chiding that tongue, that ever sweet
Was us'd in giving gentle doom ;
And taught it thus anew to greet;
“I hate,” she alter'd with an end,
That follow'd it as gentle day
Doth follow night, who, like a fiend,
From heaven to hell is flown away ;
“I hate," from hate away she threw,
And sav'd my life, saying—“not you.”
Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,
Foold by these rebel powers that thee array,
Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth,
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay?
Why so large cost, having so short à lease,
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend?
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,
Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end ?
Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss,
And let that pine to aggravate thy store ;
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross ;
Within be fed, without be rich no more:
So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men,
And Death once dead, there's no more dying then.
My love is as a fever, longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease;
Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,
Fool'd by these rebel powers that thee array,–] In the old copy the transcriber or compositor has mistakenly repeated the last three words of the preceding line, and given us,-
“My sinful earth these rebell powres that thee array." The emendation, “ Fooľd by," is Malone's.
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
Th' uncertain-sickly appetite to please.
My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I, desperate now, approve
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now reason is past care,
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;
My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's are,
At random from the truth vainly express'd ;
For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.
O me, what eyes hath Love put in my head,
Which have no correspondence with true sight!
Or, if they have, where is my judgment-fled,
That censures a falsely what they see aright?
If that be fair whereon my false
What means the world to say it is not so?
If it be not, then love doth well denote
Love's eye is not so true as all men's: no ;b
How can it? O, how can Love's eye be true,
That is so ver’d with watching and with tears ?
No marvel, then, though I mistake my view;
The sun itself sees not, till heaven clears.
0, cunning love! with tears thou keep'st me blind, Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find.
Canst thou, O cruel! say I love thee not,
When I, against myself, with thee partake ?
Do I not think on thee, when I forgot
Am of myself, ali tyrant, for thy sake?
Who hateth thee that I do call my friend?
On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon ?
Nay if thou low'rst on me, do I not spend
Revenge upon myself with present moan?
What merit do I in myself respect,
That is so proud thy service to despise,
When all my best doth worship thy defect,
Commanded by the motion of thine eyes?
But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind;
Those that can see thou lov'st, and I am blind.