S O N N E T S.

To doe more for me then mine owne desert,
And hang more praise vpon deceased I,
Then nigard truth would willingly impart:
O least your true loue may seeme falce in this,
That you for loue speake well of me vntrue,
My name be buried where my body is,
And liue no more to shame nor me,nor you.
   For I am shamd by that which I bring forth,
   And so should you,to loue things nothing worth.
T Hat time of yeeare thou maist in me behold,
When yellow leaues,or none,or few doe hange
Vpon those boughes which shake against the could,
Bare rn'wd quiers,where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou seest the twi-light of such day,
As after Sun-set fadeth in the West,
Which by and by blacke night doth take away,
Deaths second selfe that seals vp all in rest.
In me thou seest the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lye,
As the death bed,whereon it must expire,
Consum'd with that which it was nurrisht by.
   This thou perceu'st,which makes thy loue more strong,
   To loue that well,which thou must leaue ere long.
B Vt be contented when that fell arest,
With out all bayle shall carry me away,
My life hath in this line some interest,
Which for memoriall still with thee shall stay.
When thou reuewest this,thou doest reuew,
The very part was consecrate to thee,
The earth can haue but earth,which is his due,
My spirit is thine the better part of me,
So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life,
The pray of wormes,my body being dead,
The coward conquest of a wretches knife,

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