"Be as thy presence is, gracious and kind,
Or to thyselfe at least kind hearted prove.
Make thee another self, for love of me
That beauty may still live in thine or thee."
"Let those whom nature hath not made for store,
Harsh, featureless and rude, barrenly perish;
Look, whom she best indow'd she gave the more;
Which bountious guift thou shouldst in bounty cherrish;
She carv'd thee for her seale, and ment therby
Thou shouldst print more, not let that coppy die."
"O that you were yourselfe, but love you are
No longer yours, then you yourselfe here live,
Against this cunning end you should prepare,
And your sweet semblance to some other give
· · · · · ·
Who lets so faire a house fall to decay
· · · · · ·
O none but unthrifts, deare my love you know
You had a Father, let your Son say so."
"But wherefore do not you a mightier waie
Make warre uppon this bloodie tirant Time?
And fortifie your selfe in your decay
With meanes more blessed, then my barren rime?
Now stand you on the top of happie houres
And many maiden gardens, yet onset,
With virtuous wish would beare you living flowers
Much liker than your painted counterfeit:
Who will beleeve my verses in time to come
If it were fil'd with your most high deserts?
Though yet heaven knows, it is but as a tombe
Which hides your life, and shewes not halfe your parts:
If I could write the beauty of your eyes
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say this Poet lies,
Such heavenly touches nere toucht earthly faces.
So should my papers (yellowed with their age)
Be scorn'd, like old men of lesse truth than tongue,
And your true rights be termd a Poets rage
And stretched miter of an Antique song.
But were some childe of yours alive that time,
You should live twise, in it and in my rime."