CXV

    Those lines that I before have writ¹ do lie, Even those that said I could not love you dearer： Yet then my judgment² knew no reason why My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer. But reckoning Time, whose million'd accidents Creep in 'twixt vows³, and change decrees of kings, Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp'st intents, Divert strong minds to the course of altering things； Alas⁴！ why fearing of Time's tyranny, Might I not then say, 'Now I love you best,' When I was certain o'er incertainty, Crowning the present, doubting of the rest？ Love is a babe, then might I not say so, To give full growth to that which still doth grow？