SONNET XLV

Absence, the noble truce Of Cupid's war: Where though desires want use, They honour'd are. Thou art the just protection, Of prodigal affection, Have thou the praise; When bankrupt Cupid braveth,* Thy mines his credit saveth, With sweet delays. Of wounds which presence makes With beauty's shot, Absence the anguish slakes, But healeth not: Absence records the stories, Wherein Desire glories, Although she burn; She cherisheth the spirits Where Constancy inherits And passions mourn. Absence, like dainty clouds, On glorious bright, Nature weak senses shrouds, From harming light. Absence maintains the treasure Of pleasure unto pleasure, Sparing with praise; Absence doth nurse the fire, Which starves and feeds desire With sweet delays. Presence to every part Of beauty ties, Where wonder rules the heart There pleasure dies: Presence plagues mind and senses With modesty's defenses, Absence is free: Thoughts do in absence venter On Cupid's shadowed centre, They wink and see. But thoughts be not so brave, With absent joy; For you with that you have Yourself destroy: The absence which you glory, Is that which makes you sorry, And burn in vain: For thought is not the weapon, Wherewith thoughts' ease men cheapen, Absence is pain. * braveth: dresses splendidly; boasts.