S O N N E T S.

Why should he liue,now nature banckrout is,
Beggerd of blood to blush through liuely vaines,
For she hath no exchecker now but his,
And proud of many,liues vpon his gaines?
   O him she stores,to show what welth she had,
   In daies long since,before these last so bad.
T Hus is his cheeke the map of daies out-worne,
When beauty liu'd and dy'ed as flowers do now,
Before these bastard signes of faire were borne,
Or durst inhabit on a liuing brow:
Before the goulden tresses of the dead,
The right of sepulchers,were shorne away,
To liue a scond life on second head,
Ere beauties dead fleece made another gay:
In him those holy antique howers are seene,
Without all ornament,it selfe and true,
Making no summer of an others greene,
Robbing no ould to dresse his beauty new,
   And him as for a map doth Nature store,
   To shew faulse Art what beauty was of yore.
T Hose parts of thee that the worlds eye doth view,
Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend:
All toungs(the voice of soules)giue thee that end,
Vttring bare truth,euen so as foes Commend.
Their outward thus with outward praise is crownd,
But those same toungs that giue thee so thine owne,
In other accents doe this praise confound
By seeing farther then the eye hath showne.
They looke into the beauty of thy mind,
And that in guesse they measure by thy deeds,
Then churls their thoughts(although their eies were kind)
To thy faire flower ad the rancke smell of weeds,
   But why thy odor matcheth not thy show,
   The solye is this,that thou doest common grow.
E 3 That

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