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LXXVIII



So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse,

And found such fair assistance in my verse

As every alien pen hath got my use

And under thee their poesy disperse.

Thine eyes, that taught the dumb on high to sing

And heavy ignorance aloft to fly,

Have added feathers to the learned\'s wing

And given grace a double majesty.

Yet be most proud of that which I compile,

Whose influence is thine, and born of thee:

In others\' works thou dost but mend the style,

And arts with thy sweet graces graced be;

  But thou art all my art, and dost advance

  As high as learning, my rude ignorance.

 	--William Shakespeare

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

CXLVI



Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth, 

My sinful earth these rebel powers array,

Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth,

Painting thy outward walls so costly gay?

Why so large cost, having so short a lease,

Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend?

Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,

Eat up thy charge? Is this thy body\'s end?

Then soul, live thou upon thy servant\'s loss,

And let that pine to aggravate thy store;

Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross;

Within be fed, without be rich no more:

  So shall thou feed on Death, that feeds on men,

  And Death once dead, there\'s no more dying then.

 	--William Shakespeare

We but half express ourselves, and are ashamed of that divine idea which each of us represents. --Emerson