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For thou not farther than my thoughts canst move, |
And I am still with them, and they with thee. |
Or if they sleep, thy picture in my sight |
Awakes my heart, to heart's and eye's delight. |
48 |
How careful was I when I took my way, |
Each trifle under truest bars to thrust, |
That to my use it might unused stay |
From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust! |
But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are, |
Most worthy comfort, now my greatest grief, |
Thou best of dearest, and mine only care, |
Art left the prey of every vulgar thief. |
Thee have I not locked up in any chest, |
Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art, |
Within the gentle closure of my breast, |
From whence at pleasure thou mayst come and part, |
And even thence thou wilt be stol'n I fear, |
For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear. |
49 |
Against that time (if ever that time come) |
When I shall see thee frown on my defects, |
When as thy love hath cast his utmost sum, |
Called to that audit by advised respects, |
Against that time when thou shalt strangely pass, |
And scarcely greet me with that sun thine eye, |
When love converted from the thing it was |
Shall reasons find of settled gravity; |
Against that time do I ensconce me here |
Within the knowledge of mine own desert, |
And this my hand, against my self uprear, |
To guard the lawful reasons on thy part, |
To leave poor me, thou hast the strength of laws, |
Since why to love, I can allege no cause. |
50 |
How heavy do I journey on the way, |
When what I seek (my weary travel's end) |
Doth teach that case and that repose to say |
'Thus far the miles are measured from thy friend.' |
The beast that bears me, tired with my woe, |
Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me, |
As if by some instinct the wretch did know |
His rider loved not speed being made from thee: |
The bloody spur cannot provoke him on, |
That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide, |
Which heavily he answers with a groan, |
More sharp to me than spurring to his side, |
For that same groan doth put this in my mind, |
My grief lies onward and my joy behind. |
51 |
Thus can my love excuse the slow offence, |
Of my dull bearer, when from thee I speed, |
From where thou art, why should I haste me thence? |
Till I return of posting is no need. |
O what excuse will my poor beast then find, |
When swift extremity can seem but slow? |
Then should I spur though mounted on the wind, |
In winged speed no motion shall I know, |
Then can no horse with my desire keep pace, |
Therefore desire (of perfect'st love being made) |
Shall neigh (no dull flesh) in his fiery race, |
But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade, |
Since from thee going, he went wilful-slow, |
Towards thee I'll run, and give him leave to go. |
52 |
So am I as the rich whose blessed key, |
Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure, |
The which he will not every hour survey, |
For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure. |
Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare, |
Since seldom coming in that long year set, |
Like stones of worth they thinly placed are, |
Or captain jewels in the carcanet. |
So is the time that keeps you as my chest |
Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide, |
To make some special instant special-blest, |
By new unfolding his imprisoned pride. |
Blessed are you whose worthiness gives scope, |
Being had to triumph, being lacked to hope. |
53 |
What is your substance, whereof are you made, |
That millions of strange shadows on you tend? |
Since every one, hath every one, one shade, |
And you but one, can every shadow lend: |
Describe Adonis and the counterfeit, |
Is poorly imitated after you, |
On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set, |
And you in Grecian tires are painted new: |