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CIX



O! never say that I was false of heart,

Though absence seem\'d my flame to qualify,

As easy might I from my self depart

As from my soul which in thy breast doth lie:

That is my home of love: if I have rang\'d,

Like him that travels, I return again;

Just to the time, not with the time exchang\'d,

So that myself bring water for my stain.

Never believe though in my nature reign\'d,

All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood,

That it could so preposterously be stain\'d, 

To leave for nothing all thy sum of good;

  For nothing this wide universe I call,

  Save thou, my rose, in it thou art my all.

 	--William Shakespeare

XXI



So is it not with me as with that Muse,

Stirr\'d by a painted beauty to his verse,

Who heaven itself for ornament doth use

And every fair with his fair doth rehearse,

Making a couplement of proud compare\'

With sun and moon, with earth and sea\'s rich gems,

With April\'s first-born flowers, and all things rare,

That heaven\'s air in this huge rondure hems.

O! let me, true in love, but truly write,

And then believe me, my love is as fair

As any mother\'s child, though not so bright

As those gold candles fix\'d in heaven\'s air:

  Let them say more that like of hearsay well;

  I will not praise that purpose not to sell.

 	--William Shakespeare

And this I pray, that your love may abound still more and more in real knowledge and all discernment.
Philippians 1:9