. . 116 Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments; love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove. no, it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wand'ring bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his heighth be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved. [] {*}; , , , , . , , , ; , , . - , ; , __ . , , _, _, . {* : " , " " ".} : , , . - , - , , , "". ? , , . : ! ! . . , , , . ! - . - , , . - , . , , . - . , . . . - , , , . - , , ; - , , . , , - , ! - , - . . , , . , , . - , , , , - . , . , . - , . . , , . , - . - , , ; , , , . - . , , - , . - , ! . , : , , . - , , , , , , . - , , - , . , , . . 117 Accuse me thus: that I have scanted all Wherein I should your great deserts repay, Forgot upon your dearest love to call, Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day; That I have frequent been with unknown minds And given to time your own dear-purchased right; That I have hoisted sail to all the winds Which should transport me farthest from your sight. Book both my wilfulness and errors down, And on just proof surmise accumulate; Bring me within the level of your frown, But shoot riot at me in your wakened hate; Since my appeal says I did strive to prove The constancy and virtue of your love. : , __ , , ; {*} {**} _ _; , ; _ _ , __ , ; , , , _ _ . {* - "...with unknown minds", "... , ( , )". ** .. .} , , , , , , . , , , , . , . . : ; , , , - - . , . , , , . , , , , , , . , ? , , ! . 118 Like as to make our appetites more keen With eager compounds we our palate urge, As to prevent our maladies unseen We sicken to shun sickness when we purge: Even so, being full of your ne'er-cloying sweetness, To bitter sauces did I frame my feeding, And, sick of welfare, found a kind of meetness To be diseased ere that there was true needing. Thus policy in love, t'anticipate The ills that were not, grew to faults assured, And brought to medicine a healthful state Which, rank of goodness, would by ill be cured. But thence I learn, and find the lesson true, Drugs poison him that so fell sick of you. , , , , , , , - , , , , , , , {*}. - , , - _ _ , . : __ , . {* , , , .} , . , , , . , . . , , - . , . : , . . , , , - . : , - . : , , . : - . . 119 What potions have I drank of Siren tears, Distilled from limbecks foul as hell within, Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears, Still losing when I saw myself to win! What wretched errors hath my heart committed, Whilst it hath thought itself so blessed never! How have mine eyes out of their spheres been fitted In the distraction of this madding fever! benefit of ill! now I find true That better is by evil still made better, And ruined love when it is built anew Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater. So I return rebuked to my content, And gain by ill thrice more than I have spent. , , , , {*} , , ! , , , ! ! ! , , , , , - __ . , , , . {* "apply" () ; , ( .) .} , , ! , , - . , , , ! ! , , , , . : . . , , ! , , . , ! , ! ! , . ! , . . 120 That you were once unkind befriends me now, And for that sorrow which I then did feel Needs must I under my transgression bow, Unless my nerves were brass or hammered steel. For if you were by my unkindness shaken As I by yours, y'have passed a hell of time, And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken To weigh how once I suffered in your crime. that our night of woe might have rememb'red My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits, And soon to you, as you to me then, tend'red The humble salve, which wounded bosoms fits! But that your trespass now becomes a fee; Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me. , - _ _, , - , , __ {*}, , , __ , , , , , - - . , , _ _, , - - , ! : , . {* "" , , " ", , - .} , , - . , - . , , . , , - , . , . . . - . . , , : , , . - : , , , , , . , : - -. : , - . . 121 'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed, When not to be receives reproach of being, And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemed Not by our feeling but by others' seeing. For why should others' false adulterate eyes Give salutation to my sportive blood? Or on my frailties why are frailer spies, Which in their wills count bad what I think good? No, I am that I am, and they that level At my abuses reckon up their own; I may be straight though they themselves be bevel; By their rank thoughts my deeds must not be shown, Unless this general evil they maintain: All men are bad and in their badness reign. [], , , , , , , , {*}. ? - , __ , , , , ? , - , , , , ; , __ , , , __ : . {* : , , . ; , - , " " 3.} , , . , . , , ? , , , . , , . - , - , , , . - , - . . , . , : . ? - , : , , , , - , , - , , : , - . . 122 Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain Full charactered with lasting memory, Which shall above that idle rank remain Beyond all date, even to eternity; Or, at the least, so long as brain and heart Have faculty by nature to subsist, Till each to razed oblivion yield his part Of thee, thy record never can be missed. That poor retention could not so much hold, Nor need I tallies thy dear love to score; Therefore to give them from me was I bold, To trust those tables that receive thee more: To keep an adjunct to remember thee Were to import forgetfulness in me. - {*} - , , __ , ; , , - , __ [] , __ . , , ; , , . __ , , __, . {* , , (, -) , - . - .} , , , . - , ; , , . , , , . , . . , , - : , , . , , , , , . : , . , . . 123 No! Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change: Thy pyramids built up with newer might To me are nothing novel, nothing strange; They are but dressings of a former sight. Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire What thou dost foist upon us that is old, And rather make them born to our desire Than think that we before have heard them told. Thy registers and thee I both defy, Not wondering at the present, nor the past, For thy records, and what we see, doth lie, Made more or less by thy continual haste. This I do vow and this shall ever be: I will be true, despite thy scythe and thee. ! , , ; , , , , - . __ , ; , , __ {*}, , . __ , , , , , - __, - . , : , . {* : "... , ".} , , . , , , - . , , : , . , , ! , , - . , , . . , , , . , , , , . - , , : , , , -, , , , . , , . . 124 If my dear love were but the child of state, It might for Fortune's bastard be unfathered, As subject to Time's love, or to Time's hate, Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gathered. No, it was builded far from accident; It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls Under the blow of thralled discontent, Whereto th'inviting time our fashion calls; It fears not Policy, that heretic, Which works on leases of short-numb'red hours, But all alone stands hugely politic, That it nor grows with heat, nor drowns with show'rs. To this I witness call the fools of time, Which die for goodness, who have lived for crime. _ _, , , , , - __ {1}. , ; , , . , , , , , . , , . {* 124 - "", . , , , , , , . : , .} , , , , . , . - , . , . , . , , - , - . . - , , . , , , , , . , , , . : , . . 125 Were't aught to me I bore the canopy, With my extern the outward honouring, Or laid great bases for eternity, Which proves more short than waste or ruining? Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour Lose all, and more, by paying too much rent, For compound sweet forgoing simple savour, Pitiful thrivers, in their gazing spent? No, let me be obsequious in thy heart, And take thou my oblation, poor but free, Which is not mixed with seconds, knows no art, But mutual render, only me for thee. Hence, thou suborned informer! a true soul When most impeached stands least in thy control. - , {*}, , {**}, , _, _ ? , , {***}, , , , , - , . , ; - , , , , __ - _ _ . , ! , , . {* , . ** : "( ) ". (, "" - . 13) , . *** - "dwellers of form and favour" - -.} ? , ? , , , , ? , , , ," , . , , . . - ? - , , - . , , , , ? - , . - ! , , : . , ! , ! . 126 thou my lovely boy, who in thy power Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his sickle, hour; Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st Thy lovers withering as thy sw