459Thou art the graue where buried loue doth liue,

460Hung with the tropheis of my louers gon,

461Who all their parts of me to thee did giue,

462That due of many, now is thine alone.

463 Their images I lou'd, I view in thee,

464And thou(all they)hast all the all of me.

466IF thou suruiue my well contented daie,

467When that churle death my bones with dust shall couer

468And shalt by fortune once more re-suruay:

469These poore rude lines of thy deceased Louer:

470Compare them with the bett'ring of the time,

471And though they be out-stript by euery pen,

472Reserue them for my loue, not for their rime,

473Exceeded by the hight of happier men.

474Oh then voutsafe me but this louing thought,

475Had my friends Muse growne with this growing age,

476A dearer birth then this his loue had brought

477To march in ranckes of better equipage:

478 But since he died and Poets better proue,

479Theirs for their stile ile read, his for his loue.

481FVll many a glorious morning haue I seene,

482Flatter the mountaine tops with soueraine eie,

483Kissing with golden face the meddowes greene;

484Guilding pale streames with heauenly alcumy:

485Anon permit the basest cloudes to ride,

486With ougly rack on his celestiall face,

487And from the for-lorne world his visage hide

488Stealing vnseene to west with this disgrace:

489Euen so my Sunne one early morne did shine,

490With all triumphant splendor on my brow,

491But out alack, he was but one houre mine,

492The region cloude hath mask'd him from me now.

493 Yet him for this, my loue no whit disdaineth,

494 Suns of the world may staine, whē heauens sun stainteh.