The standard edition of the pictorial Shakspere . s summers time;The teeming autumn, big with rich increase,Bearing the wanton burden of the prime,Like widowd wombs after their lords decease: Yet this abundant issue seemd to meBut hope of orphans, and unfatherd fruit;For summer and his pleasures wait on , thou away, the very birds are mute ;Or, if they sing, t is with so dull a cheer,That leaves look pale, dreading the wintersnear. XCVIII. From you have I been absent in the proud-pied April, dressd in all his put a spirit of youth in heavy Saturn l
The standard edition of the pictorial Shakspere . s summers time;The teeming autumn, big with rich increase,Bearing the wanton burden of the prime,Like widowd wombs after their lords decease: Yet this abundant issue seemd to meBut hope of orphans, and unfatherd fruit;For summer and his pleasures wait on , thou away, the very birds are mute ;Or, if they sing, t is with so dull a cheer,That leaves look pale, dreading the wintersnear. XCVIII. From you have I been absent in the proud-pied April, dressd in all his put a spirit of youth in heavy Saturn laughd and leapd with nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smellOf different flowers in odour and in hue,Could make me any summers story from their proud lap pluck them where they grew :Nor did I wonder at the lilies white,Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;They were but sweet, but figures of after you, you pattern of all seemd it winter still, and, you away,As with your shadow I with these did play:. [Proud-pied April.] XCIX. The forward violet thus did I chide ;—Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that not from my loves breath ? The purple prideWhich on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells, ^ Malone explains this as, This time in which I was re-mote or absent from thee. In my loves veins thou hast too grossly lily I condemned for thy buds of marjoram had stolen thy hair:The roses fearfully on thorns did stand,One blushing shame, another white despair;A third, nor red nor white, had stolen of to his robbery had annexd thy breath;81 SONNETS. But for his theft, in pride of all his growthA vengeful canker eat him up to flowers I noted, yet I none could see,But sweet or colour it had stolen from thee. c. Where art thou. Muse, that thou forgettst so longTo speak of that which gives thee all thy might?Spendst thou thy fury on some worthless song,Darkening thy power, to lend base
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