Page 1960 - Shakespeare - Vol. 4

14 IT

Not from the stars do I my judgment 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.