Sonnet #32

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Sonnet #32

XXXII.br /br /If thou survive my well-contented day,br /When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover,br /And shalt by fortune once more re-surveybr /These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover,br /Compare them with the bettering of the time,br /And though they be outstripp'd by every pen,br /Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme,br /Exceeded by the height of happier men.br /O, then vouchsafe me but this loving thought:br /'Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age,br /A dearer birth than this his love had brought,br /To march in ranks of better equipage:br /But since he died and poets better prove,br /Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love.'

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[margarita24]

So am I as the rich, whose blessed key,
Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure,
The which he will not every hour survey,
For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure.
Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare,
Since, seldom coming in the long year set,
Like stones of worth they thinly placed are,
Or captain jewels in the carcanet.
So is the time that keeps you as my chest,
Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide,
To make some special instant special-blest,
By new unfolding his imprison'd pride.
Blessed are you whose worthiness gives scope,
Being had, to triumph; being lacked, to hope.