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If, after rude and boisterous seas, My wearied pinnace here finds ease; If so it be I've gained the shore With safety of a faithful oar; If, having run my barque on ground, Ye see the aged vessel crown'd: What's to be done, but on the sands Ye dance and sing and now clap hands? The first act's doubtful, but we say It is the last commends the play.

When I through all my many poems look, And see yourself to beautify my book, Methinks that only lustre doth appear A light fulfilling all the region here. Gild still with flames this firmament, and be A lamp eternal to my poetry. Which, if it now or shall hereafter shine, 'Twas by your splendour, lady, not by mine. The oil was yours; and that I owe for yet: He pays the half who does confess the debt.

Charm me asleep and melt me so With thy delicious numbers, That, being ravished, hence I go Away in easy slumbers.