APPENDIX 
241 
For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds ; 
Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds. 
S. xciv. 
How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame 
Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose, 
Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name! 
O, in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose ! 
S. xcv. 
From you have I been absent in the spring, 
When proud-pied April dress’d in all his trim 
Hath put a spirit of youth in everything, 
That heavy Saturn laugh’d and leap’d with him. 
Yet nor the lays of birds nor the sweet smell 
Of different flowers in odour and in hue 
Could make me any summer’s story tell, 
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew; 
Nor did I wonder at the lily’s white, 
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose ; 
They were but sweet, but figures of delight, 
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those. 
Yet seem’d it winter still, and, you away, 
As with your shadow I with these did play. 
S. xcviii. 
The forward violet thus did I chide : 
Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that 
smells, 
If not from my love’s breath ? The purple pride 
Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells 
In my love’s veins thou hast too grossly dyed. 
The lily I condemned for thy hand, 
And buds of marjoram had stol’n thy hair : 
The roses fearfully on thorns did stand, 
One blushing shame, another white despair : 
A third, nor red nor white, had stol’n of both, 
And to his robbery had annex’d thy breath ; 
But, for his theft, in pride of all his growth 
A vengeful canker eat him up to death. 
More flowers I noted, yet I none could see 
But sweet or colour it had stol’n from thee. 
S. xcix. 
The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured 
And the sad augurs mock their own presage; 
Incertainties now crown themselves assured, 
And peace proclaims olives of endless age. 
16 
S. cvii. 
