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For bending all my loving thoughts on thee, The injuries that to myself I do, Doing thee vantage, double-vantage me.
Such is my love, to thee I so belong, That for thy right, myself will bear all wrong.
Thy love is better than high birth to me, Richer than wealth, prouder than garments’ costs,
life no longer than thy love will stay, For it depends upon that love of thine.
How like Eve’s apple doth thy beauty grow, If thy sweet virtue answer not thy show!
Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells, If not from my love’s breath?
Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life, So thou prevent’st his scythe and crooked knife.
Therefore like her I sometime hold my tongue, Because I would not dull you with my song.
To me, fair friend, you never can be old, For as you were when first your eye I eyed, Such seems your beauty still.
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.
You are my all-the-world, and I must strive To know my shames and praises from your tongue;
Alas, why, fearing of time’s tyranny, Might I not then say, “Now I love you best,”
Since my appeal says I did strive to prove The constancy and virtue of your love.
All men are bad, and in their badness reign.
Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes, That they behold, and see not what they see?
In things right true my heart and eyes have err’d, And to this false plague are they now transferr’d.
Her pretty looks have been mine enemies,
Kill me outright with looks and rid my pain.
That she that makes me sin awards me pain.
How can it? O, how can Love’s eye be true That is so vexed with watching and with tears?
Who taught thee how to make me love thee more
Love is too young to know what conscience is; Yet who knows not conscience is born of love?
the bath for my help lies Where Cupid got new fire—my mistress’ eyes.
