891Crawles to maturity, wherewith being crown'd,

892Crooked eclipses gainst his glory fight,

893And time that gaue, doth now his gift confound.

894Time doth transfixe the florish set on youth,

895And delues the paralels in beauties brow,

896Feedes on the rarities of natures truth,

897And nothing stands but for his sieth to mow.

898 And yet to times in hope, my verse shall stand

899Praising thy worth, dispight his cruell hand.

901IS it thy wil, thy Image should keepe open

902My heauy eielids to the weary night?

903Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken,

904While shadowes like to thee do mocke my sight?

905Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee

906So farre from home into my deeds to prye,

907To find out shames and idle houres in me,

908The skope and tenure of thy Ielousie?

909O no, thy loue though much, is not so great,

910It is my loue that keepes mine eie awake,

911Mine owne true loue that doth my rest defeat,

912To plaie the watch-man euer for thy sake.

913 For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake elsewhere,

914From me farre of , with others all to neere.

916SInne of selfe-loue possesseth al mine eie,

917And all my soule, and al my euery part;

918And for this sinne there is no remedie,

919It is so grounded inward in my heart.

920Me thinkes no face so gratious is as mine,

921No shape so true, no truth of such account,

922And for my selfe mine owne worth do define,

923As I all other in all worths surmount.

924But when my glasse shewes me my selfe indeed

925Beated and chopt with tand antiquitie,

926Mine owne selfe loue quite contrary I read