Stay, speedy time! Behold, before thou pass From age to age, what thou hast sought to see, One in whom all the excellencies be, In whom heaven looks itself as in a glass. Time, look thou too in this translucent glass, And thy youth past in this pure mirror see! As the world's beauty in his infancy, What it was then, and thou before it was. Pass on and to posterity tell this-- Yet see thou tell but truly what hath been. Say to our nephews that thou once hast seen In perfect human shape all heavenly bliss; And bid them mourn, nay more, despair with thee, That she is gone, her like again to see. TO THE CELESTIAL NUMBERS XVIII To this our world, to learning, and to heaven, Three nines there are, to every one a nine; One number of the earth, the other both divine; One woman now makes three odd numbers even. Nine orders first of angels be in heaven; Nine muses do with learning still frequent: These with the gods are ever resident. Nine worthy women to the world were given. My worthy one to these nine worthies addeth; And my fair Muse, one Muse unto the nine. And my good angel, in my soul divine!-- With one more order these nine orders gladdeth. My Muse, my worthy, and my angel then Makes every one of these three nines a ten. TO HUMOUR XIX You cannot love, my pretty heart, and why? There was a time you told me that you would, But how again you will the same deny. If it might please you, would to God you could! What, will you hate? Nay, that you will not neither; Nor love, nor hate! How then? What will you do? What, will you keep a mean then betwixt either? Or will you love me, and yet hate me too? Yet serves not this! What next, what other shift? You will, and will not; what a coil is here! I see your craft, now I perceive your drift, And all this while I was mistaken there. Your love and hate is this, I now do prove you: You love in hate, by hate to make me love you. XX An evil spirit, your beauty, haunts me still, Wherewith, alas, I have been long possessed! Which ceaseth not to tempt me to each ill, Nor give me once but one poor minute's rest. In me it speaks whether I sleep or wake; And when by means to drive it out I try, With greater torments then it me doth take, And tortures me in most extremity. Before my face it lays down my despairs, And hastes me on unto a sudden death; Now tempting me to drown myself in tears, And then in sighing to give up my breath. Thus am I still provoked to every evil, By this good wicked spirit, sweet angel-devil. XXI