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CXLII



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 profan\'d their scarlet ornaments

And seal\'d false bonds of love as oft as mine,

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!



CXLIII



Lo, as a careful housewife runs to catch

One of her feather\'d creatures broke away,

Sets down her babe, and makes all swift dispatch

In pursuit of the thing she would have stay;

Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase,

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.

 	--William Shakespeare

CXV



Those lines that I before have writ do lie,

Even those that said I could not love you dearer:

Yet then my judgment knew no reason why

My most full flame should 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 intents,

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,

Crowning the present, doubting of the rest?

  Love is a babe, then might I not say so,

  To give full growth to that which still doth grow?



CXVI



Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove:

O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth\'s unknown, although his height be taken.

Love\'s not Time\'s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle\'s compass come;

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

  If this be error and upon me prov\'d,

  I never writ, nor no man ever lov\'d.

 	--William Shakespeare

The release of atom power has changed everything except our way of
thinking...the solution to this problem lies in the heart of mankind. If
only I had known, I should have become a watchmaker. --Albert Einstein