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 season's 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 thy self, to store thou wouldst convert: Or else of thee this I prognosticate, Thy end is Truth's and Beauty's doom and date.
