14

14

Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck,

And yet methinks I have astronomy;

But not to tell of good or evil luck,

Of plagues,of dearths,or seasons’quality;

Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,

Pointing to each his thunder,rain,and wind,

Or say with princes if it shall go well

By oft predict that I in heaven find.

But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,

And,constant stars,in them I read such art

As truth and beauty shall together thrive

If from thyself to store thou wouldst convert:

Or else of thee this I prognosticate,

Thy end is truth’s and beauty’s doom and date.

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