FOR every hour that thou wilt spare me now, I will allow, Usurious god of love, twenty to thee, When with my brown my grey hairs equal be. Till then, Love, let my body range, and let Me travel, sojourn, snatch, plot, have, forget, Resume my last yearís relict; think that yet Weíd never met. Let me think any rivalís letter mine, And at next nine Keep midnightís promise; mistake by the way The maid, and tell the lady of that delay; Only let me love none; no, not the sport From country grass to confitures of court, Or cityís quelque-choses; let not report My mind transport. This bargainís good; if when Iím old, I be Inflamed by thee, If thine own honour, or my shame and pain, Thou covet most, at that age thou shalt gain. Do thy will then; then subject and degree And fruit of love, Love, I submit to thee. Spare me till then; Iíll bear it, though she be One that love me.
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