XIV

　　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 derive¹， 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 doom² and date.'