Sonnet 14

Not from the stars do I my iudgement plucke,And yet me thinkes I haue Astronomy,But not to tell of good, or euil lucke,Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons quallity,Nor can I fortune to breefe mynuits tell;Pointing to each his thunder, raine and winde,Or say with Princes if it shal go welBy oft predict that I in heauen finde.But from thine eies my knowledge I deriue,And constant stars in them I read such artAs truth and beautie shal together thriueIf from thy selfe, to store thou wouldst conuert:Or else of thee this I prognosticate,Thy end is Truthes and Beauties doome and date.