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CXVII



Accuse me thus: that I have scanted all,

Wherein I should your great deserts repay,

Forgot upon your dearest love to call, 

Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day;

That I have frequent been with unknown minds,

And given to time your own dear-purchas\'d right;

That I have hoisted sail to all the winds

Which should transport me farthest from your sight.

Book both my wilfulness and errors down,

And on just proof surmise, accumulate;

Bring me within the level of your frown,

But shoot not at me in your waken\'d hate;

  Since my appeal says I did strive to prove

  The constancy and virtue of your love.

 	--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

VII



Lo! in the orient when the gracious light

Lifts up his burning head, each under eye

Doth homage to his new-appearing sight,

Serving with looks his sacred majesty; 

And having climb\'d the steep-up heavenly hill,

Resembling strong youth in his middle age,

Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,

Attending on his golden pilgrimage:

But when from highmost pitch, with weary car,

Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day,

The eyes, \'fore duteous, now converted are

From his low tract, and look another way:

  So thou, thyself outgoing in thy noon:

  Unlook\'d, on diest unless thou get a son.

 	--William Shakespeare