fudge/poetry_data/couplet_ends.txt

 To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.
 And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.
 Die single, and thine image dies with thee.
 Which, used, lives th' executor to be.
 Leese but their show; their substance still lives sweet.
 To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir.
 Unlook'd on diest, unless thou get a son.
 Sings this to thee: 'thou single wilt prove none.'
 That on himself such murderous shame commits.
 That beauty still may live in thine or thee.
 Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die.
 Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.
 You had a father: let your son say so.
 Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.
 As he takes from you, I engraft you new.
 And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill.
 You should live twice; in it and in my rhyme.
 So long lives this and this gives life to thee.
 My love shall in my verse ever live young.
 Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure.
 I will not praise that purpose not to sell.
 Thou gavest me thine, not to give back again.
 To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.
 They draw but what they see, know not the heart.
 Where I may not remove nor be removed.
 Till then not show my head where thou mayst prove me.
 For thee and for myself no quiet find.
 And night doth nightly make grief's strength seem stronger.
 That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
 All losses are restored and sorrows end.
 And thou, all they, hast all the all of me.
 Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love.'
 Suns of the world may stain when heaven's sun staineth.
 And they are rich and ransom all ill deeds.
 To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me.
 As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report.
 This wish I have; then ten times happy me!
 The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise.
 By praising him here who doth hence remain!
 Kill me with spites; yet we must not be foes.
 Thine, by thy beauty being false to me.
 Sweet flattery! then she loves but me alone.
 And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.
 But heavy tears, badges of either's woe.
 I send them back again and straight grow sad.
 And my heart's right thy inward love of heart.
 Awakes my heart to heart's and eye's delight.
 For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear.
 Since why to love I can allege no cause.
 My grief lies onward and my joy behind.
 Towards thee I'll run, and give him leave to go.
 Being had, to triumph, being lack'd, to hope.
 But you like none, none you, for constant heart.
 When that shall fade, my verse distills your truth.
 You live in this, and dwell in lover's eyes.
 Makes summer's welcome thrice more wish'd, more rare.
 Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill.
 Not blame your pleasure, be it ill or well.
 To subjects worse have given admiring praise.
 Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.
 From me far off, with others all too near.
 Painting my age with beauty of thy days.
 And they shall live, and he in them still green.
 But weep to have that which it fears to lose.
 That in black ink my love may still shine bright.
 Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.
 In days long since, before these last so bad.
 To show false Art what beauty was of yore.
 The solve is this, that thou dost common grow.
 Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts shouldst owe.
 And mock you with me after I am gone.
 And so should you, to love things nothing worth.
 To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
 And that is this, and this with thee remains.
 Or gluttoning on all, or all away.
 So is my love still telling what is told.
 Shall profit thee and much enrich thy book.
 As high as learning my rude ignorance.
 Since what he owes thee thou thyself dost pay.
 The worst was this; my love was my decay.
 Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men.
 Where cheeks need blood; in thee it is abused.
 Than both your poets can in praise devise.
 Being fond on praise, which makes your praises worse.
 Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect.
 Then lack'd I matter; that enfeebled mine.
 In sleep a king, but waking no such matter.
 That for thy right myself will bear all wrong.
 For I must ne'er love him whom thou dost hate.
 Compared with loss of thee will not seem so.
 All this away and me most wretched make.
 Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not.
 if thy sweet virtue answer not thy show!
 Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.
 The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge.
 As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report.
 That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.
 As with your shadow I with these did play:
 But sweet or colour it had stol'n from thee.
 So thou prevent'st his scythe and crooked knife.
 To make him seem long hence as he shows now.
 Because I would not dull you with my song.
 Your own glass shows you when you look in it.
 Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead.
 Which three till now never kept seat in one.
 Had eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.
 When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent.
 Where time and outward form would show it dead.
 Save thou, my rose; in it thou art my all.
 Even to thy pure and most most loving breast.
 Even that your pity is enough to cure me.
 That all the world besides methinks are dead.
 My most true mind thus makes mine eye untrue.
 That mine eye loves it and doth first begin.
 To give full growth to that which still doth grow?
 I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
 The constancy and virtue of your love.
 Drugs poison him that so fell sick of you.
 And gain by ill thrice more than I have spent.
 Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me.
 All men are bad, and in their badness reign.
 Were to import forgetfulness in me.
 I will be true, despite thy scythe and thee.
 Which die for goodness, who have lived for crime.
 When most impeach'd stands least in thy control.
 And her quietus is to render thee.
 That every tongue says beauty should look so.
 Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.
 To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.
 As any she belied with false compare.
 And thence this slander, as I think, proceeds.
 And all they foul that thy complexion lack.
 Perforce am thine, and all that is in me.
 He pays the whole, and yet am I not free.
 Think all but one, and me in that one 'Will.'
 And then thou lovest me, for my name is 'Will.'
 And to this false plague are they now transferr'd.
 And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be.
 Kill me outright with looks and rid my pain.
 Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide.
 That she that makes me sin awards me pain.
 By self-example mayst thou be denied!
 If thou turn back, and my loud crying still.
 Till my bad angel fire my good one out.
 And saved my life, saying 'not you.'
 And Death once dead, there's no more dying then.
 Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.
 Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find.
 Those that can see thou lovest, and I am blind.
 More worthy I to be beloved of thee.
 Her 'love' for whose dear love I rise and fall.
 To swear against the truth so foul a lie!
 Where Cupid got new fire--my mistress' eyes.
 Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.