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XXXVI



Let me confess that we two must be twain,

Although our undivided loves are one:

So shall those blots that do with me remain,

Without thy help, by me be borne alone.

In our two loves there is but one respect,

Though in our lives a separable spite,

Which though it alter not love\'s sole effect,

Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love\'s delight.

I may not evermore acknowledge thee,

Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame,

Nor thou with public kindness honour me,

Unless thou take that honour from thy name:

  But do not so, I love thee in such sort,

  As thou being mine, mine is thy good report.

 	--William Shakespeare

XLVI



Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war,

How to divide the conquest of thy sight;

Mine eye my heart thy picture\'s sight would bar,

My heart mine eye the freedom of that right.

My heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie,--

A closet never pierc\'d with crystal eyes--

But the defendant doth that plea deny,

And says in him thy fair appearance lies.

To side this title is impannelled

A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart;

And by their verdict is determined

The clear eye\'s moiety, and the dear heart\'s part:

  As thus; mine eye\'s due is thy outward part,

  And my heart\'s right, thy inward love of heart.

 	--William Shakespeare

XLV



The other two, slight air, and purging fire

Are both with thee, wherever I abide;

The first my thought, the other my desire,

These present-absent with swift motion slide.

For when these quicker elements are gone

In tender embassy of love to thee,

My life, being made of four, with two alone

Sinks down to death, oppress\'d with melancholy;

Until life\'s composition be recur\'d

By those swift messengers return\'d from thee,

Who even but now come back again, assur\'d,

Of thy fair health, recounting it to me:

  This told, I joy; but then no longer glad,

  I send them back again, and straight grow sad.

 	--William Shakespeare

X



For shame! deny that thou bear\'st love to any,

Who for thy self art so unprovident.

Grant, if thou wilt, thou art belov\'d of many,

But that thou none lov\'st is most evident:

For thou art so possess\'d with murderous hate,

That \'gainst thy self thou stick\'st not to conspire,

Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate

Which to repair should be thy chief desire.

O! change thy thought, that I may change my mind:

Shall hate be fairer lodg\'d than gentle love?

Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind,

Or to thyself at least kind-hearted prove:

  Make thee another self for love of me,

  That beauty still may live in thine or thee.

 	--William Shakespeare