Elizabethan Sonnet Month

Lady Mary Wroth (1587-1651)


Disclaimer: Most of the available information of this poet is unsubstantiated. The author would be grateful for any further information.

Born c 1587.
Died c. 1651

1604: married Sir Robert Wroth, letters reveal the marriage was unhappy.

1614: gave birth to a son James, followed by the death of her husband a month later

1621: published Urania.

Jem Farmer

Pamphilia to Amphilanthus

Sonnets 1 - 10

Sonnet 1

When night's blacke Mantle could most darknesse proue,
And sleepe (deaths Image) did my senses hyre,
From Knowledge of my selfe, then thoughts did moue
Swifter then those, most [swiftnesse] neede require.
In sleepe, a Chariot drawne by wing'd Desire,
I saw; where sate bright Venus Queene of Loue ,
And at her feete her Sonne, still adding Fire
To burning hearts, which she did hold aboue,
But one heart flaming more then all the rest,
The Goddesse held, and put it to my breast,
Deare Sonne now [shoot] said she: thus must we winne;
He her obey'd, and martyr'd my poore heart.
I waking hop'd as dreames it would depart,
Yet since, O me, a Lover I haue beene.

Sonnet 2

DEare eyes how well indeed, you doe adorne
That blessed Sphere, which gazing soules hold deare?
The loved place of sought for triumphs, neere
The Court of Glory , where Loues force was borne.
How may they terme you Aprills sweetest morne?
When pleasing lookes, from those bright lights appeare
A Sunne-shine day, from clowdes, and mists still cleare:
Kinde nursing fires for wishes yet vnborne.
Two Starres of Heauen sent downe to grace the Earth,
Plac'd in that Throne which gives all ioyes their birthe,
Shining, and burning; pleasing yet their Charmes:
Which wounding, euen in hurts are deem'd delights;
So pleasant is their force, so great their mights,
As happy they can tryumph in their harmes.

Sonnet 3

YEt is there hope, then Love but play thy part,
Remember well thy selfe, and think on me;
Shine in those eyes which conquer'd haue my heart,
And see if mine, be slacke to answer thee.
Lodge in that breast, and pitty moouing see,
For flames which in mine burne in truest smart,
Exciling thoughts, that touch Inconstancy,
Or those which waste not in the constant Art,
Watch but my sleepe, if I take any rest,
For thought of you, my spirit so distrest,
As, pale and famish'd, I for mercy cry.
Will you your seruant leave: thinke but on this,
Who weares Love's Crowne, must not doe so amisse
But seeke their good, who on thy force do lye.

Sonnet 4

FOrbeare darke night, my ioyes now budd againe,
Lately growne dead, while cold aspects, did chill
The roote at heart, and my chiefe hope quite kill,
And thunders strooke me in my pleasures waine.
Then I alas with bitter sobs, and paine,
Priuately groan'd, my Fortunes present ill;
All light of comfort dimb'd, woes in prides fill,
With strange encrease of griefe, I grieu'd in vaine.
And most, when as a memory to good
Molested me, which still as witnes stood,
Of those best dayes, in former time I knew:
Late gone as wonders past, like the great [Snow],
Melted and wasted, with what, change must know:
Now backe the life comes where as once it grew.

Sonnet 5

CAn pleasing sight, misfortune euer bring?
Can firme desire a painefull torment trye?
Can winning eyes proue to the heart a sting?
Or can sweet lips in Treason hidden lye?
The Sunne most pleasing, blindes the strongest eye,
If two much look'd on, breaking the sights string;
Desires still crost must unto mischiefe hie,
And as Despaire, a lucklesse chance may fling.
Eyes hauing [won], reiecting proues a sting
Killing the budd before the tree doth spring;
Sweet lipps, not louing, doe as poyson proue:
Desire, sight, Eyes, lipps; seeke, see, proue, and finde,
You loue may winn, but curses if vnkinde,
Then show you harmes dislike, and ioy in loue.

Sonnet 6

O Striue not still to heape disdaine on me,
Nor pleasure take, your cruelty to show
On haplesse me, on whom all sorrowes flow,
And byding make: as giuen, and lost by thee.
Alas; eu'ne griefe is growne to pitty me,
Scorne cryes out 'gainst it selfe such ill to show,
And would giue place for ioyes delights to flow;
Yet wretched I, all [tortures] beare from thee.
Long haue I suffer'd, and esteem'd it deare,
Since such thy will, yet grew my paine more neere:
Wish you [my] end, say so, you shall it haue;
For all the deapth of my heart-held despaire,
Is that for you, I feele not Death for care,
But now Ile seeke it, since you will not saue.

Sonnet 7

LOue leaue to vrge, thou knowest thou hast the hand
'Tis Cowardize to striue where none resist,
Pray thee leaue off, I yeeld vnto thy band,
Doe not thus, still in thine owne power persist.
Behold, I yeeld; let forces be dismist,
I am thy Subiect conquer'd bound to stand
Neuer thy foe, but did thy claime assist,
Seeking thy due of those who did withstand.
But now it seemes thou would'st I should thee loue,
I doe confesse, t'was thy will made mee choose,
And thy faire shewes made me a Louer proue,
When I my freedome did for paine refuse.
Yet this Sir god, your Boy-ship I despise,
Your charmes I obey, but loue not want of eyes.

Sonnet 8

LEdd by the power of griefe to wailings brought,
By false conceit of change fallen on my part;
I seeke for some smale ease by lines which bought,
Increase the paine; griefe is not cur'd by Art.
Ah! how vnkindnesse moues within the heart,
Which still is true and free from changing thought:
What vnknowne woe it breeds, what endlesse smart,
With ceaslesse teares which causelessly are wrought.
It makes me now to shun all shining light,
And seeke for blackest clouds me light to giue:
Which to all others only darkness driue;
They on me shine, for Sunne disdaines my sight.
Yet though I darke do liue, I triumph may,
Vnkindnes, nor this wrong shall loue allay.

Sonnet 9

BEe you all pleas'd, your pleasures grieue not me;
Doe you delight? I enuy not your ioy:
Haue you content? contentment with you be;
Hope you for blisse? Hope still, and still enioy.
Let sad misfortune, haplesse me destroy,
Leaue crosses to rule me, and still rule free:
While all delights their contraries imploy,
To keepe good backe, and I but torments see.
Ioyes are bereau'd me, harmes doe only tarry,
Despaire takes place, disdaine hath gott the hand:
Yet firme loue holds my senses in such band,
As (since dispis'ed) I with sorrow marry.
Then if with griefe I now must coupled bee,
Sorrow Ile wed; Despaire thus gouernes mee.

Sonnet 10

THe weary Traueller, who tyred, sought
In places distant farre, yet found no end
Of paine or labour, nor his state to mend:
At last with ioy is to his home backe brought.
Findes not more ease though he with ioy be fraught,
When past is feare content like soules ascend:
Then I, on whom new pleasures doe descend,
Which now as high as first-borne blisse is wrought.
He tyred with his paines, I with my minde;
He all content receiues by ease of lymbs:
I, greatest happinessse that I doe finde,
Beliefe for faith, while hope in pleasure swimmes.
Truth saith 'twas wrong conceit bred my despigt,
Which once acknowledg'd, brings my hearts delight.

Sonnets 11 - 20

Sonnet 11

YOu endlesse torments that my rest opresse,
How long will you delight in my sad paine?
Will neuer Loue your fauour more expresse?
Shall I still liue, and euer feele disdaine?
Alasse now stay, and let my griefe [obtaine]
Some end; feede not my heart with sharpe distresse:
Let me once see my cruell fortunes gaine,
At least release, and long-felt woes redresse.
Let not the blame of cruelty disgrace
The honor'd title of your god-head Loue;
Giue not iust cause for me [to] say, a place
Is found for rage alone on me to moue.
O quickly end, and doe not long debate
My needful ayd, lest helpe doe come too late.

Sonnet 12

CLoy'd with the torments of a tedious night,
I wish for day; which come, I hope for ioy:
When crosse I finde, new tortures to destroy,
My woe-kil'd heart, first hurt by mischiefs might.
Then crye for night, and once more day takes flight.
And brightnesse gone; what rest should heere inioy
Vsurped is: Hate will her force imploy;
Night cannot Griefe intombe though blacke as spite.
My thoughts are sad, her face as sad doth seeme;
My paines are long, Her howers tedious are;
My griefe is great, and endlesse is my care;
Her face, her force, and all of woes esteeme.
Then welcome Night, and farwell flattering Day,
Which all hopes breed, and yet our ioyes delay.

Sonnet 13

DEare famish not what you your selfe gaue food,
Destroy not what your glory is to saue:
Kill not that soule to which you spirit gaue,
In pitty, not disdaine, your triumph stood.
An easie thing it is to shed the bloud
Of one who at your will yeelds to the graue:
But more you may true worth by mercy craue,
When you preserue, not spoyle, but nourish good.
Your sight is all the food I doe desire,
Then sacrifice me not in hidden fire,
Or stop the breath which did your praises moue.
Think but how easie 'tis a sight to giue,
Nay euen desert, since by it I doe liue,
I but Camelion-like , would liue, and loue.

Sonnet 14

AM I thus conquer'd? haue I lost the powers,
That to withstand, which ioyes to ruine me?
Must I bee still, while it my strength deuoures,
And captiue leads me prisoner bound, vnfree?
Loue first shall [leaue] mens phant'sies to them free,
Desire shall quench loues flames, Spring, hate sweet showres;
Loue shall loose all his Darts, haue sight, and see
His shame and wishings, hinder happy houres.
Why should we not loues purblinde charmes resist?
Must we be seruile, doing what he list?
No, seeke some hoste too harbour thee: I flye
Thy babish tricks, and freedome doe professe;
But O my hurt makes my lost heart confesse:
I loue, and must; so farewell liberty.

Sonnet 15

TRuly (poore night) thou welcome art to me,
I loue thee better in this sad attire
Then that which rayseth some mens fant'sies higher,
Like painted outsides, which foule inward be.
I loue thy graue and saddest lookes to see,
Which seems my soule and dying heart entire,
Like to the ashes of some happy fire,
That flam'd in ioy, but quench'd in misery.
I loue thy count'nance, and thy sober pace,
Which euenly goes, and as of louing grace
To vs, and mee among the rest opprest,
Giues quiet peace to my poore selfe alone,
And freely grants day leaue; when thou art gone,
To giue cleare light, to see all ill redrest.

Sonnet 16

SLeepe fye possesse me not, nor doe not fright
Me with thy heauy, and thy deathlike might:
For counterfetting's vilder then death's sight;
And such deluding more my thoughts doe spight.
Thou suffer'st falsest shapes my soule t'affright,
Sometimes in likenesse of a hopefull spright;
And oft times like my Loue, as in despight;
Ioying, thou canst with malice kill delight.
When I (a poore foole made by thee) thinke ioy
Doth flow, when thy fond shadowes doe destroy
My that while sencelesse selfe, left free to thee.
But now doe well, let me for euer sleepe,
And so for euer that deere Image keepe
Or still wake that my senses may be free.

Sonnet 17

SWeet shades, why doe you seeke to giue delight
To me, who deeme delight in this vilde place:
But torment, sorrow, and mine owne disgrace,
To taste of ioy, or your vaine pleasing sight?
Show them your pleasures who saw neuer night
Of griefe, where ioyings fawning smiling face
Appears as day, where griefe found neuer space:
Yet for a sigh, a groane, or enuies spite.
But O: on me a world of woes doe lye,
Or els on me all harmes striue to relye,
And to attend like seruants bound to me.
Heate {16} in desire, while frosts of care I proue,
Wanting my loue, yet surfet doe with loue,
Burne, and yet freeze, better in Hell to be.

Sonnet 18

WHich should I better like of, day or night?
Since all the day, I liue in bitter woe:
Inioying light more cleere my wrongs to know,
And yet most sad, feeling in it all spite;
In night when darknesse doth forbid all light;
Yet see I griefe apparant to the show,
Follow'd by iealousie, whose fond tricks flow,
And on vnconstant waues of doubt alight.
I can behold rage cowardly to feede
Vpon foule error, which these humors breede,
Shame doubt and feare, yet boldly will thinke ill.
All those in both I feele, then which is best
Darke to ioy by day, light in night opprest?
Leaue both and end, these but each other spill.

Sonnet 19

COme darkest Night, becomming sorrow best,
Light leaue thy light, fit for a lightsome soule:
Darknesse doth truely sute with me opprest,
Whom absence power doth from mirthe controule.
The very trees with hanging heads condole
Sweet Summers parting, and of leaues distrest,
In dying colours make a grief-full role;
So much (alas) to sorrow are they prest.
Thus of dead leaues, her farewell carpets made,
Their fall, their branches, all their mournings proue,
With leaulesse naked bodies, whose hues vade {18}
From hopefull greene to wither in their loue.
If trees, and leaues for absence mourners be,
No maruell that I grieue, who like want see.

Sonnet 20

THe Sunne which glads, the earth at his bright sight,
When in the morne he showes his golden face,
And takes the place from tedious drowsie Night.
Making the world still happy in his grace.
Shewes happinesse remaines not in one place,
Nor may the Heauens alone to vs giue light,
But hide that cheerfull face, though noe long space,
Yet long enough for tryall of their might.
But neuer Sun-set could be so obscure,
No Desart euer had a shade so sad:
Nor could black darknesse euer proue so bad,
As paines which absence makes me now indure.
The missing of the Sunne [awhile] makes Night,
But absence of my ioy sees neuer light.

Sonnets 21 - 30

Sonnet 21

WHen last I saw thee, I did not thee see, It was thine Image which in my thoughts lay So liuely figur'd, as no times delay Could suffer me in heart to parted be. And sleepe so fauourable is to me, As not to let thy lou'd remembrance stray: Lest that I waking might haue cause to say, there was one minute found to forgett thee. Then, since my faith is such, so kinde my sleepe, That gladly thee presents into my thought, And still true Louer-like thy face doth keepe, So as some pleasure shadow-like is wrought. Pitty my louing, nay of consience giue Reward to me in whom thy self doth liue.

Sonnet 22

LIke to the Indians scorched with the Sunne,
The Sunne which they doe as their God adore:
So am I vs'd by Loue, for euermore
I worship him, lesse fauors haue I wonne.
Better are they who thus to blacknesse run,
And so can onely whitenesse want deplore:
[Then] I who pale and white am with griefes store,
Nor can haue hope, but to see hopes vndone.
Beesides their sacrifice receiu'd in sight,
Of their chose Saint, mine hid as worthlesse rite,
Grant me to see where I my offerings giue.
Then let me weare the marke of Cupids might,
In heart, as they in skin of Phoebus light,
Not ceasing offerings to Loue while I Liue.

Sonnet 23

WHen euery one to pleasing pastime hies
Some hunt, some hauke, some play, while some delight
In sweet discourse, and musicke shewes ioys might:
Yet I my thoughts doe farr aboue these prize.
The ioy which I take is, that free from eyes
I sit and wonder at this day-like night, So to dispose themselues as voyd of right, And leaue true pleasure for poore vanities. When others hunt, my thoughts I haue in chase; If hauke, my minde at wished end doth flye: Discourse, I with my spirit talke and cry; While others musicke choose as greatest grace. O God say I, can thes fond pleasures moue, Or musicke bee but in sweet thoughts of Loue?

Sonnet 24

ONce did I heare an aged father say
Vnto his sonne, who with attention heares
What Age and wise experience euer cleares
From doubts of feare, or reason to betray.
My Sonn (said hee) behold thy father gray,
I once had as thou hast, fresh tender yeares,
And like thee sported destitute of feares;
But my young faults made me too soone decay.
Loue once I did, and like thee, fear'd my Loue,
Led by the hatefull [thread] of Ielousie,
Striuing to keepe, I lost my liberty,
And gain'd my griefe, which still my sorrowes moue.
In time shun this, to loue is no offence,
But doubt in Youth, in Age, breeds penitence.

Sonnet 25

POore eyes bee blinde, the light behold noe more,
Since that is gon which is your deare delight:
Rauish'd from you by greater powre, and might,
Making your losse a gaine to others store.
Oerflow and drowne, till sight to you restore
That blessed Starre, and as in hatefull spight,
Send forth your teares in flouds to kill all sight,
And looks, that lost wherin you ioy'd before.
Bury these beames which in some kindled fires,
And conquer'd haue their loue-burnt hearts desires,
Losing, and yet no gaine by you esteem'd;
Till that bright Starre doe once againe appeare,
Brighter then Mars when hee doth shine most cleare;
See not then by his might be you redeem'd.

Sonnet 26

DEare cherish this, and with it my soules will,
Nor for it ran away doe it abuse:
Alas it left (poore me) your brest to choose,
As the [blest] shrine, where it would harbour still.
Then fauour shew, and not vnkindly kill
The heart which fled to you, but doe excuse
That which for better did the wurse refuse;
And pleas'd Ile be, though heartlesse my lyfe spill.
But if you will bee kinde, and iust indeed,
Send me your heart, which in mine's place shall feede
On faithfull loue to your deuotion bound,
There shall it see the sacrifices made
Of pure and spottlesse Loue, which shall not vade,
While soule, and body are together found.

Sonnet 27

FIe tedious Hope, why doe you still rebell?
Is it not yet enough you flatter'd me,
But cuningly you seeke to vse a Spell
How to betray; must these your Trophies bee?
I look'd from you farre sweeter fruite to see,
But blasted were your blossomes when they fell:
And those delights expected from hands free,
Wither'd and dead, and what seemd blisse proues hell.
No Towne was won by a more plotted slight
Then I by you, who may my fortune write,
In embers of that fire which ruin'd me:
Thus Hope your falshood calls you to be tryde,
You'r loth, I see, the tryall to abide;
Proue true at last, and gaine your liberty.

Sonnet 28

GRiefe, killing griefe, haue not my torments beene
Already great and strong enough? but still
Thou dost increase, nay glory in mine il,
And woes new past, afresh new woes begin?
Am I the onely purchase thou canst win?
Was I ordain'd to giue despaire her fill,
Or fittest I should mount misfortunes hill,
Who in the plaine of ioy cannot liue in?
If it be so, Griefe come as welcome guest,
Since I must suffer for anothers rest;
Yet this (good Griefe) let me intreat of thee,
Vse still thy force, but not from those I loue
Let me all paines and lasting torments proue;
So I misse these, lay all thy waights on me.

Sonnet 29

FLy hence O! Ioy, noe longer heere abide,
Too great thy pleasures are for my despaire
To looke on, losses now must proue my fare;
Who not long since on better foode relide.
But foole, how oft had I Heau'ns changing spi'de
Before of mine owne fate I could haue care:
Yet now past time, I can too late beware,
When nothings left but sorrowes faster ty'de.
While I inioyd that Sunne, whose sight did lend
Me ioy, I thought that day could haue no end:
But soon a night came cloath'd in absence darke;
Absence more sad, more bitter then is gall,
Or death, when on true Louers it doth fall;
Whose fires of loue, disdaine reasts poorer sparke.

Sonnet 30

YOu blessed shades, which giue me silent rest,
Witnes but this when death hath clos'd mine eyes,
And separated me from earthly tyes;
Being from hence to higher places adrest.
How oft in you I haue laine heere opprest?
And haue my miseries in wofull cryes
Deliuer'd forth, mounting vp to the Skyes?
Yet helplesse, backe return'd to wound my brest,
Which wounds did but striue how to breed more harm
To me, who can be cur'd by no one charme
But that of Loue, which yet may me releeue;
If not, let Death my former paines redeeme,
My trusty friends, my faith vntouch'd, esteeme,
And witnesse I could loue, who so could grieue.

Sonnets 31 - 40

Sonnet 31

AFter long trouble in a tedious way,
Of Loues vnrest, laid downe to ease my paine,
Hoping for rest, new torments I did gaine
Possessing me, as if I ought t'obey.
When Fortune came, though blinded, yet did stay,
And in her blessed armes did me inchaine:
I, cold with griefe, thought noe warmth to obtaine,
Or to dissolue that yce of ioyes decay.
Till rise (said she) Reward to thee doth send
By me the seruant of true Louers, ioy:
Bannish all clouds of doubt, all feares destroy;
And now on Fortune, and on Loue depend.
I her obey'd, and rising felt that Loue
Indeed was best, when I did least it moue.

Sonnet 32

HOw fast thou fliest, O time, on loues swift wings,
To hopes of ioy, that flatters our desire:
Which to a Louer still contentment brings;
Yet when we should inioy, thou dost retire.
Thou stay'st thy pace (faulse Time) from our desire
When to our ill thou hast'st with Eagles wings:
Slow only to make vs see thy retire
Was for Despaire, and harme, which sorrowe brings.
O! slake thy pace, and milder passe to Loue,
Be like the Bee, whose wings she doth but vse
To bring home profit; masters good to proue,
Laden, and weary, yet againe pursues.
So lade thy selfe with hony of sweet ioy,
And do not me the Hiue of Loue destroy.

Sonnet 33

HOw many eyes (poore Loue) hast thou to guard
Thee from thy most desired wish, and end?
Is it because some say thou'rt blinde, that barr'd
From sight, thou should'st noe happinesse attend?
Who blame thee soe, smale iustice can pretend,
Since twixt thee and the Sunne no question hard
Can be, his sight but outward, thou canst bend
The heart, and guide it freely thus vnbar'd.
Art thou, while we both blinde and bold, oft dare
Accuse the of the harmes, our selues should finde:
Who led with folly, and by rashnesse blinde
Thy sacred power doe with a child's compare.
Yet Loue, this boldnesse pardon; for admire
Thee sure we must, or be borne without fire.

Sonnet 34

TAke heed mine eyes, how you your looks doe cast,
Lest they betray my hearts most secret thought:
Be true vnto your selues; for nothing's bought
More deare then Doubt, which brings a Louers fast.
Catch you al watching eyes ere they be past,
Or take yours fix't, where your best Loue hath sought
The pride of your desires; let them be taught
Their faults for shame they could no truer last.
Then looke, and looke with ioy, for conquest won,
Of those that search'd your hurt in double kinde:
So you kept safe, let them themselues looke blinde,
Watch, gaze, and marke till they to madnesse run.
While you mine eyes enioye full sight of Loue,
Contented that such happinesses moue.

Sonnet 35

FAlse hope which feeds but to destroy, and spill
What it first breeds, vnnaturall to the [birth]
Of thine owne wombe, conceiuing but to kill
And plenty giues to make the greater dearth.
So Tyrants doe, who falsly ruling Earth,
Outwardly grace them, and with profits fill,
Aduance those who appointed are to death;
To make their greater fall to please their will.
Thus shadow they their wicked vile intent,
Colouring euill with a show of good:
While in faire showes their malice so is spent;
Hope kill's the heart, and Tyrants shed the blood.
For [Hope] {22} deluding brings vs to the pride
Of our desires the farther downe to slide.

Sonnet 36

HOw well (poore heart) thou witnesse canst, I loue,
How oft my grief hath made thee shed forth teares,
Drops of thy dearest blood; and how oft feares
Borne testimony of the paines I proue?
What torments hast thou suffer'd, while aboue
Ioy thou tortur'd wert with racks, which longing beares:
Pinch'd with desires, which yet but wishing reares
Firme in my faith, in constancie, to moue.
Yet is it said, that sure loue cannot be,
Where so small shew of passion is descri'd:
When thy chiefe paine is, that I must it hide
From all, saue onely one, who should it see.
For know, more passion in my heart doth moue,
Then in a million that make shew of loue.

Sonnet 37

NIght, welcome art thou to my minde distrest,
Darke, heauy, sad, yet not more sad then I:
Neuer could'st thou find fitter company
For thine owne humour, then I thus opprest.
If thou beest darke, my wrongs still vnredrest
Saw neuer light, nor smallest blisse can spye:
If heauy ioy from me too fast doth hie,
And care out-goes my hope of quiet rest.
Then now in friendship ioyne with haplesse me,
Who am as sad and darke as thou canst be,
Hating all pleasure or delight of lyfe,
Silence, and griefe, with thee I best doe loue.
And from you three I know I can not moue,
Then let vs liue companions without strife.

Sonnet 38

WHat pleasure can a banish'd creature haue
In all the pastimes that inuented are
By wit or learning? Absence making warre
Against all peace that may a biding craue.
Can wee delight but in a welcome graue,
Where we may bury paines? and so be fare{23}
From loathed company, who alwaies iarre{24}
Vpon the string of mirth that pastime gaue.
The knowing part of ioye is deem'd the heart{25},
If that be gone what ioy can ioy impart
When senceless is the feeler of our mirth?
Noe, I am banish'd, and no good shall finde,
But all my fortunes must with mischiefe binde;
Who but for miserie did gaine a birth.

Sonnet 39

IF I were giuen to mirth, 'twould be more crosse,
Thus to be robbed of my chiefest ioy:
But silently I beare my greatest losse
Who's vs'd to sorrow, griefe will not destroy.
Nor can I as those pleasant wits inioy
Mine owne fram'd wordes, which I account the drosse{26}
Of purer thoughts, or reckon them as mosse,
While they (wit-sick) themselues to breath imploy.
Alas, thinke I, your plenty shewes your want;
For where most feeling is, wordes are more scant,
Yet pardon mee, liue, and your pleasure take.
Grudge not if I (neglected) enuy show,
'Tis not to you that I dislike doe owe;
But (crost my self) wish some like me to make.

Sonnet 40

IT is not Loue which you poore fooles do deeme,
That doth appeare by fond and outward showes
Of kissing, toying, or by swearings gloze{27}:
O no, these are farre off from loues esteeme.
Alas, they are not such that can redeeme
Loue lost, or wining keepe those chosen blowes:
Though oft with face, and lookes loue ouerthrowes;
Yet so slight conquest doth not him beseeme.
'Tis not a shew of sighes or teares can proue
Who loues indeed, which blasts of fained loue,
Increase or dye, as fauors from them slide.
But in the soule true loue in safety lies
Guarded by faith, which to desert still hies:
And yet kinde lookes doe many blessings hide.

Sonnets 41 - 50

Sonnet 41

YOu blessed Starres, which doe Heauen's glory show,
And at your brightnesse make our eyes admire:
Yet enuy not, though I on earth below,
Inioy a sight which moues in me more fire.
I doe confesse such beauty breeds desire
You shine, and clearest light on vs bestow:
Yet doth a sight on Earth more warmth inspire
Into my louing soule, his grace to know.
Cleare, bright, and shining, as you are, is this
Light of my ioy: fix't stedfast, nor will moue
His light from me, nor I chang from his loue;
But still increase as [th'eith] of all my blisse.
His sight giues life vnto my loue-rould [eyes],
My loue content, because in his loue lies.

Sonnet 42

IF euer loue had force in humane brest,
If euer he could moue in pensiue heart:
Or if that he such powre could but impart
To breed those flames, whose heat brings ioys vnrest.
Then looke on me; I am to these adrest,
I am the soule that feeles the greatest smart:
I am that heartlesse Trunck of hearts depart;
And I that One, by loue, and griefe opprest
Non euer felt the truth of loues great misse
Of eyes till I depriued was of blisse;
For had he seene, he must haue pitty show'd.
I should not haue beene made this Stage of woe
Where sad Disasters haue their open show:
O no, more pitty he had sure bestow'd.

Sonnet 43

O dearest eyes, the lights, and guides of Loue,
The ioyes of Cupid, who himselfe borne blinde,
To your bright shining, doth his tryumphs binde;
For, in your seeing doth his glory moue.
How happy are those places where you prooue
Your heauenly beames, which make the Sun to finde
Enuy and grudging, he so long hath shin'd
For your cleare lights, to match his beames aboue.
But now alas, your sight is heere forbid,
And darkenes must these poore lost roomes possesse,
So be all blessed lights from henceforth hid,
That this blacke deede of darknesse haue excesse.
For why showld Heauen affoord least light to those,
Who for my misery such darkenesse chose.

Sonnet 44

HOw fast thou hast'st O Spring with sweetest speede
To catch thy [waters] which before are runne,
And of the greater Riuers welcome woone,
Ere these thy new-borne streames these places feed.
Yet you doe well, lest staying here might breede
Dangerous flouds, your sweetest bankes t'orerunn,
And yet much better my distresse to shunn,
Which maks my tears your swiftest course succeed.
But best you doe when with so hasty flight
You fly my ills, which now my selfe outgoe,
Whose broken heart can testifie such woe,
That so orecharg'd, my life-bloud, wasteth quite.
Sweet Spring then keepe your way be neuer spent,
And my ill dayes, or griefes, assunder rent.

Sonnet 45

GOod now be still, and doe not me torment,
With [multituds] of questions, be at rest,
And onely let me quarrell with my breast,
Which stil lets in new stormes my soule to rent.
Fye, will you still my mischiefes more augment?
You saye, I answere crosse, I that confest
Long since, yet must I euer be opprest,
With your tongue torture which will ne're be spent?
Well then I see no way but this will fright,
That Deuill speech; alas, I am possest,
And madd folks senseles are of wisdomes right,
The hellish spirit, Absence, doth arrest.
All my poore senses to his cruell might,
Spare me then till I am my selfe, and blest.

Sonnet 46

LOue thou hast all, for now thou hast me made
So thine, as if for thee I were ordain'd,
Then take thy conquest, nor let me be pain'd
More in thy Sunne, when I doe seeke thy shade.
No place for helpe haue I left to inuade,
That shew'd a face where least ease might be gain'd;
Yet found I paine increase, and but obtain'd,
That this no way was to haue loue allay'd
When hott, and thirsty, to a Well I came,
Trusting by that to quench part of my [flame],
But there I was by Loue afresh imbrac'd
Drinke I could not, but in it I did see
My selfe a liuing glasse as well as shee;
For loue to see himselfe in, truely plac'd.

Sonnet 47

O stay mine eyes shed not these fruitlesse teares,
Since hope is past to win you back againe,
That treasure which being lost breeds all your paine;
Cease from this poore betraying of your feares.
Thinke this too childish is, for where griefe reares
So high a powre for such a wretched gaine:
Sighes nor laments should thus be spent in vaine,
True sorrow neuer outward wailing beares.
Be rul'd by me, keepe all the rest in store,
Till no roome is that may containe one more;
Then in that Sea of teares, drowne haplesse me,
And Ile prouide such store of sighes, as part
Shall be enough to breake the strongest heart,
This done, we shall from torments freed be.

Sonnet 49

HOw like a fire doth loue increase in me[!]
The longer that it lasts the stronger still;
The greater, purer, brighter; and doth fill
No eye with wonder more then hopes still bee.
Bred in my breast, when fires of Loue are free
To vse that part to their best pleasing will,
And now vnpossible it is to kill
The heate so great where Loue his strength doth see.
Mine eyes can scarce sustaine the flames, my heart
Doth trust in them my passions to impart,
And languishingly striue to shew my loue.
My breath not able is to [breathe] least part
Of that increasing fuell of my smart;
Yet loue I will, till I but ashes proue.

Sonnet 50

LEt griefe as farre be from your dearest breast
As I doe wish, or in my hands to ease;
Then should it banish'd be, and sweetest rest
Be plac'd to giue content by Loue to please.
Let those disdaines which on your heart do [seaze],
Doubly returne to bring her soules vnrest:
Since true loue will not that belou'd displease;
Or let least smart to their minds be addrest.
But oftentimes mistakings be in loue.
Be they as farre from false accusing right,
And still truth gouerne with a constant might
So shall you only wished pleasures proue.
And as for mee she that shewes you least scorne,
With all despite and hate, be her heart torne.

Sonnets 51 - 60

Sonnet 51

IN night yet may we see some kinde of light,
When as the Moone doth please to shew her face,
And in the Sunns roome yeelds her light, and grace,
Which otherwise must suffer dullest night:
So are my fortunes barrd from true delight,
Cold, and vncertaine, like to this strange place,
Decreasing, changing in an instant space,
And euen at full of ioy turnd to despight.
Iustly on Fortune was bestowd the Wheele{32},
Whose fauours fickle, and vnconstant reele,
Drunke with delight of change and sudden paine;
Where pleasure hath no setled place of stay,
But turning still, for our best hopes decay,
And this (alas) we louers often gaine.

Sonnet 52

LOue like a Iugler, comes to play his prize,
And all mindes draw his wonders to admire,
To see how cunningly he (wanting eyes)
Can yet deseiue the best sight of desire.
The wanton Childe, how he can faine his fire
So prettily, as none sees his disguise,
How finely doe his trickes; while we fooles hire
The badge, and office of his tyrannies.
For in the ende such Iugling he doth make,
As he our hearts instead of eyes doth take;
For men can onely by their slights abuse,
The sight with nimble, and delightfull skill,
But if he play, his gaine is our lost will,
Yet Child-like we cannot his sports refuse.

Sonnet 53

MOst blessed night, the happy time for Loue,
The shade for Louers, and their Loues delight,
The raigne of Loue for seruants free from spight,
The hopefull seasons, for ioyes sports to mooue.
Now hast thou made thy glory higher prooue,
Then did the God, whose pleasant Reede did smite
All Argus eyes into a death-like night,
Till they were safe, that none could Loue reprooue.
Now thou hast cloas'd those eyes from prying sight
That nourish Iealousie, more than ioyes right,
While vaine Suspition fosters their mistrust,
Making sweet sleepe to master all suspect,
Which els their priuat feares would not neglect,
But would embrace both blinded, and vniust.

Sonnet 54

CRuell suspition, O! be now at rest,
Let daily torments bring to thee some stay,
Alas, make not my ill thy ease-full pray,
Nor giue loose raines to Rage, when Loue's opprest.
I am by care sufficiently distrest,
No Racke can stretch my heart more, nor a way
Can I find out, for least content to lay
One happy foot of ioy, one step that's blest.
But to my end thou fly'st with greedy eye,
Seeking to bring griefe by bace Iealousie;
O, in how strange a Cage am I kept in?
No little signe of fauour can I prooue,
But must be way'd, and turn'd to wronging loue,
And with each humour must my state begin.

Sonnet 55

HOw many nights haue I with paine endurd?
Which as so many Ages I esteem'd,
Since my misfortune, yet noe whit redeem'd
But rather faster ty'de, to griefe assur'd.
How many houres haue my sad thoughts endur'd
Of killing paines? yet is it not esteem'd
By cruell Loue, who might haue these redeemd,
And all these yeeres of houres to ioy assur'd.
But fond Childe{34}, had he had a care to saue,
As first to conquer, this my pleasures graue,
Had not beene now to testifie my woe.
I might haue beene an Image of delight,
As now a Tombe for sad misfortunes spight,
Which Loue vnkindly, for reward doth show.

Sonnet 56

MY paine still smother'd in my grieued brest,
Seekes for some ease, yet cannot passage finde,
To be discharg'd of this vnwellcome guest,
When most I striue, more fast his burthens binde.
Like to a Ship on Goodwins{35} cast by winde,
The more she striues, more deepe in Sand is prest,
Till she be lost: so am I in this kind
Sunck, and deuour'd, and swallow'ed by vnrest.
Lost, shipwrackt, spoyl'd, debar'd of smallest hope,
Nothing of pleasure left, saue thoughts haue scope,
Which wander may; goe then my thoughts and cry:
Hope's perish'd, Loue tempest-beaten, Ioy lost,
Killing Despaire hath all these blessings crost;
Yet Faith still cries, Loue will not falsifie.

Sonnet 57

AN end fond Ielousie, alas I know
Thy hiddenest, and thy most secret Art,
Thou canst no new inuention frame but part,
I haue already seene, and felt with woe.
All thy dissemblings, which by faigned showe,
Wonne my beliefe, while truth did rule my heart,
I with glad minde embrac'd, and deemd my smart
The spring of ioy, whose streames with blisse should flow.
I thought excuses had beene reasons true,
And that no falshood could of thee ensue,
So soone beliefe in honest mindes is wrought;
But now I finde thy flattery, and skill,
Which idely made me to obserue thy will,
Thus is my learning by my bondage bought.

Sonnet 58

POore Loue in chaines, and fetters like a thiefe
I mett ledd forth, as chast Diana's gaine
Vowing the vntaught Lad should no reliefe
From her receiue, who gloried in fond paine.
She call'd him theife; with vowes he did mainetaine
He neuer stole, but some sadd slight of griefe
Had giuen to those who did his power disdaine,
In which reuenge, his honour was the chiefe.
Shee say'd he murther'd and therefor must dye,
He that he caus'd but Loue, did harmes deny,
But, while she thus discoursing with him stood;
The Nymphes vnti'de him, and his chaines tooke off,
Thinking him safe; but he (loose) made a scoffe,
Smiling and scorning them; flew to the wood.

Sonnet 59

PRay doe not vse these words, I must be gone;
Alasse doe not foretell mine ills to come:
Let not my care be to my ioyes a Tombe;
But rather finde my losse with losse alone.
Cause me not thus a more distressed one,
Not feeling blisse, because of this sad doome
Of present crosse; for thinking will orecome
And loose all pleasure, since griefe breedeth none.
Let the misfortune come at once to me,
Nor suffer me with griefe to punish'd be;
Let mee be ignorant of mine owne ill:
Then now with the fore-knowledge quite to lose
That which with so much care and paines Loue chose
For his reward, but ioye now, then mirth kill.

Sonnet 60

FOlly would needs make me a Louer be,
When I did litle thinke of louing thought;
Or euer to be tyde, while shee told me
That none can liue, but to these bands are brought.
I (ignorant) did grant, and so was bought,
And sold againe to Louers slauery:
The duty to that vanity once taught,
Such band is, as wee will not seeke to free.
Yet when I well did vnderstand his might,
How he inflam'd, and forc'd one to affect:
I loud{36} and smarted, counting it delight
So still to waste, which Reason did reiect.
When Loue came blind-fold, and did challenge me.
Indeed I lou'd, but wanton Boy not hee,

Sonnet 61

O pardon Cupid, I confesse my fault,
Then mercy grant me in so iust a kinde:
For treason neuer lodged in my minde
Against thy might, so much as in a thought.
And now my folly I haue dearely bought,
Nor could my soule least rest or quiett finde;
Since Rashnes did my thoughts to Error binde,
Which now thy fury, and my harme hath wrought.
I curse that thought, and hand which that first fram'd,
For which by thee I am most iustly blam'd:
But now that hand shall guided be aright,
And giue a Crowne{37} vnto thy endlesse praise,
Which shall thy glory, and thy greatnesse raise,
More then these poore things could thy honor spight.

A Crowne of Sonnets dedicated to Love

Sonnet 1

IN this strange Labyrinth how shall I turne,
Wayes are on all sids while the way I misse:
If to the right hand, there, in loue I burne,
Let mee goe forward, therein danger is.
If to the left, suspition hinders blisse;
Let mee turne back, shame cryes I ought returne:
Nor faint, though crosses [with] my fortunes kiss,
Stand still is harder, allthough sure to mourne.
Thus let mee take the right, or left hand way,
Goe forward, or stand still, or back retire:
I must these doubts indure without allay
Or helpe, but trauell finde for my best hire.
Yet that which most my troubled sense doth moue,
Is to leaue all, and take the threed of Loue.

Sonnet 2

IS to leaue all, and take the threed of Loue,
Which line straite leades vnto the soules content,
Where choice delights with pleasures wings doe moue,
And idle fant'sie neuer roome had lent.
When chaste thoughts guide vs, then our minds are bent
To take that good which ills from vs remoue:
Light of true loue brings fruite which none repent;
But constant Louers seeke and wish to proue.
Loue is the shining Starre of blessings light,
The feruent fire of zeale, the roote of peace,
The lasting lampe, fed with the oyle of right,
Image of Faith, and wombe for ioyes increase.
Loue is true Vertue, and his ends delight,
His flames are ioyes, his bands true Louers might.

Sonnet 3

HIs flames are ioyes, his bandes true Louers might,
No stain is there, but pure, as purest white,
Where no cloud can appaere to dimme his light,
Nor spot defile, but shame will soon requite.
Heere are affections, tryde by Loues iust might
As Gold by fire, and black discern'd by white;
Error by truth, and darknes knowne by light,
Where Faith is vallu'd, for Loue to requite.
Please him, and serue him, glory in his might
And firme hee'le be, as Innocency white,
Cleere as th'ayre, warme as Sun's beames, as day light
Iust as Truth, constant as Fate, ioy'd to requite.
Then loue obey, striue to obserue his might
And be in his braue Court a glorious light.

Sonnet 4

ANd be in his braue Court a glorious light
Shine in the eyes of Faith, and Constancy
Maintaine the fires of Loue, still burning bright,
Not slightly sparkling, but light flaming be.
Neuer to slake till earth no Starres can see,
Till Sun, and Moone doe leaue to vs darke night,
And secound Chaos once againe doe free
Vs, and the World from all deuisions spight,
Till then affections which his followers are,
Gouerne our hearts, and prooue his powers gaine,
To taste this pleasing sting, seeke with all care
For happy smarting is it with small paine.
Such as although it pierce your tender heart,
And burne, yet burning you will loue the smart.

Sonnet 5

ANd burne, yet burning you will loue the smart,
When you shall feele the waight of true desire,
So pleasing, as you would not wish your part
Of burthen showld be missing from that fire.
But faithfull and vnfaigned heate aspire
Which sinne abollisheth, and doth impart
Salues to all feare, with vertues which inspire
Soules with diuine loue; which showes his chast art.
And guide he is to ioyings, open eyes
He hath to happinesse, and best can learne
Vs, meanes how to deserue, this he descries,
Who blinde, yet doth our hiden'st thoughts discerne.
Thus we may gaine since liuing in blest Loue,
He may our [profitt], and our Tutor prooue.

Sonnet 6

HE may our Prophett, and our Tutor prooue,
In whom alone we doe this power finde,
To ioine two hearts as in one frame to mooue
Two bodies, but one soule to rule the minde
Eyes which must care to one deare Obiect binde,
Eares to each others speach as if aboue
All else, they sweete, and learned were; this kind
Content of Louers witnesseth true loue.
It doth inrich the wits, and make you see
That in your selfe which you knew not before,
Forceing you to admire such guifts showld be
Hid from your knowledge, yet in you the store.
Millions of these adorne the throane of Loue,
How blest [bee] they then, who his fauours proue?

Sonnet 7

HOw bless'd be they, then, who his fauors proue,
A life whereof the birth is iust desire?
Breeding sweete flame, which harts inuite to moue,
In these lou'd eyes which kindle Cupids fire,
And nurse his longings with his thoughts intire,
Fix't on the heat of wishes form'd by Loue,
Yet whereas fire destroyes, this doth aspire,
Increase, and foster all delights aboue.
Loue will a Painter make you, such, as you
Shall able be to draw, your onely deare,
More liuely, perfect, lasting, and more true
Then rarest Workeman, and to you more neere.
These be the least, then all must needs confesse,
He that shuns Loue, doth loue himselfe the lesse.

Sonnet 8

HE that shuns Loue, doth loue himselfe the lesse,
And cursed he whose spirit, not admires
The worth of Loue, where endlesse blessednes
Raignes, & commands, maintain'd by heau'nly fires.
Made of Vertue, ioyn'd by Truth, blowne by Desires,
Strengthned by Worth, renew'd by carefulnesse,
Flaming in neuer changing thoughts: bryers
Of Iealousie shall heere misse welcomnesse.
Nor coldly passe in the pursutes of Loue
Like one long frozen in a Sea of yce:
And yet but chastly let your passions [mooue],
No thought from vertuous Loue your minds intice.
Neuer to other ends your Phant'sies place,
But where they may returne with honor's grace.

Sonnet 9

BVt where they may returne with Honor's grace,
Where Venus follies can no harbour winne,
But chased are, as worthlesse of the face,
Or stile of Loue, who hath lasciuious beene.
Our hearts are subiect to her Sonne; where sinne
Neuer did dwell, or rest one minutes space;
What faults he hath in her did still beginne,
And from her breast he suck'd his fleeting pace.
If Lust be counted Loue 'tis falsely nam'd,
By wickednesse, a fairer glosse to set
Vpon that Vice, which else makes men asham'd
In the owne Phrase to warrant, but beget
This Childe for Loue, who ought like Monster borne
Be from the Court of Loue, and Reason torne.

Sonnet 10

BEe from the Court of Loue, and Reason torne,
For Loue in Reason now doth put his trust,
Desert, and liking are together borne
Children of Loue, and Reason, Parents iust,
Reason aduiser is, Loue ruler must
Be of the State, which Crowne he long hath worne;
Yet so, as neither will in least mistrust
The gouernment where no feare is of scorn.
Then reuerence both their mights thus made of one,
But wantonesse, and all those errors shun,
Which wrongers be, Impostures, and alone
Maintainers of all follies ill begunne.
Fruit of a [sowre], and vnwholsome grownd
Vnprofitably pleasing, and vnsound.

Sonnet 11

VNprofitably pleasing, and vnsound.
When Heauen gaue liberty to fraile dull earth,
To bringe foorth plenty that in ills abound,
Which ripest, yet doe bring a certaine dearth.
A timelesse, and vnseasonable birth,
Planted in ill, in worse time springing found,
Which Hemlocke like might feed a sicke-wits mirth
Where vnrul'd vapours swimme in endlesse round.
Then ioy we not in what we ought to shunne,
Where shady pleasures shew, but true borne fires
Are quite quench'd out, or by poore ashes won,
Awhile to keepe those coole, and wann desires.
O no, let Loue his glory haue, and might
Be giu'n to him, who triumphs in his right.

Sonnet 12

BE giu'n to him who triumphs in his right;
Nor fading be, but like those blossomes faire,
Which fall for good, and lose their colours bright,
Yet dye not, but with fruit their losse repaire:
So may Loue make you pale with louing care,
When sweet enioying shall restore that light,
More cleere in beauty, then we can compare,
If not to Venus in her chosen [night].
And who so giue themselues in this deare kinde,
These happinesses shall attend them still,
To be supplide with ioyes enrich'd in minde,
With treasures of content, and pleasures fill.
Thus loue to be deuine, doth here appeare,
Free from all foggs, but shining faire, and cleare.

Sonnet 13

FRee from all foggs, but shining faire, and cleare,
Wise in all good, and innocent in ill,
Where holly friendship is esteemed deare,
With Truth in loue, and Iustice in our Will.
In Loue these titles onely haue their fill
Of happy life-maintainer, and the meere
Defence of right, the punisher of skill,
And fraude, from whence directions doth appeare.
To thee then, Lord commander of all hearts,
Ruler of our affections, kinde, and iust,
Great King of Loue, my soule from faigned smarts,
Or thought of change, I offer to your trust,
This Crowne, my selfe, and all that I haue more,
Except my heart, which you bestow'd before.

Sonnet 14

EXcept my heart, which you bestow'd before,
And for a signe of Conquest gaue away
As worthlesse to be kept in your choice store;
Yet one more spotlesse with you doth not stay.
The tribute which my heart doth truely pay,
Is faith vntouch'd, pure thoughts discharge the score
Of debts for me, where Constancy beares sway,
And rules as Lord, vnharm'd by Enuies sore,
Yet other mischiefes faile not to attend,
As enimies to you, my foes must be,
Curst Iealousie doth all her forces bend
To my vndoing, thus my harmes I see.
So though in Loue I feruently doe burne,
In this strange Labyrinth how shall I turne?

Sonnets 1 - 9

Sonnet 1

MY heart is lost, what can I now expect,
An euening faire after a drowsie day?
Alas, fond Phant'sie, this is not the way,
To cure a mourning heart, or salue neglect:
They who should helpe, doe me, and helpe reiect,
Embracing loose desires, and wanton play,
While wanton base delights doe beare the sway,
[And] impudency raignes without respect.
O Cupid let [thy] Mother know her shame,
'T'is time for her to leaue this youthfull flame
Which doth dishonor her, is ages blame,
And takes away the greatnes of thy name.
Thou God of Loue, she only Queene of lust,
Yet striues by weakning thee, to be vniust.

Sonnet 2

LAte in the Forrest I did Cupid see
Cold, wett, and crying, he had lost his way,
And being blinde was farther like to stray;
Which sight, a kind compassion bred in me.
I kindly tooke, and dry'd him, while that he,
(Poore Child) complain'd, he sterued was with stay
And pin'd for want of his accustom'd prey,
For none in that wilde place his Host would be.
I glad was of his finding, thinking sure,
This seruice should my freedome still procure,
And in my armes I tooke him then vnharm'd,
Carrying him safe vnto a Myrtle bowre,
But in the way he made me, feele his powre,
Burning my heart, who had him kindly warm'd.

Sonnet 3

Juno still iealous of her husband Ioue
Descended from aboue, on earth to try,
Whether she there could find his chosen Loue,
Which made him from the Heau'ns so often flye.
Close by the place where I for shade did lye,
She [chaseing] came, but when shee saw me moue,
Haue you not seene this way (said she) to hye
One, in whom vertue neuer grownde did proue?
Hee, in whom Loue doth breed, to stirre more hate,
Courting a wanton Nimph for his delight;
His name is Iupiter, my Lord, by Fate,
Who for her, leaues Me, Heauen, his Throne, and light,
I saw him not (said I) although heere are
Many, in whose hearts, Loue hath made like warre.

Sonnet 4

WHen I beheld the Image of my deare,
With greedy lookes mine eies would that way bend,
Feare, and Desire, did inwardly contend;
Feare to be mark'd, Desire to drawe still neere.
And in my soule a Spirit would appeare,
Which boldnes waranted, and did pretend
To be my Genius, yet I durst not lend,
My eyes in trust, where others seem'd so cleare.
Then did I search, from whence this danger rose,
If such vnworthynesse in me did rest,
As my steru'd eyes must not with sight be blest,
When Iealousie her poyson did disclose.
Yet in my heart vnseene of Iealous eye,
The truer Image shall in tryumph lye.

Sonnet 5

LIke to huge Clowdes of smoake which well may hide
The face of fairest day, though for a while:
So wrong may shaddow me, till truth doe smile,
And Iustice Sunne-like hath those vapours tyde.
O doating Time, canst thou for shame let slid,
So many minutes, while ills doe beguile
Thy age, and worth, and falshoods thus defile
Thy auncient good, where now but crosses bide?
Looke but once vp, and leaue thy toyling pace
And on my miseries thy dimme eye place,
Goe not so fast, but giue my care some ende,
Turne not thy glasse (alas) vnto my ill
Since thou with sand it canst not so farre fill,
But to each one my sorrowes will extend.

Sonnet 6

O that no day would euer more appeare,
But clowdy night to gouerne this sad place,
Nor light from Heauen these haples roomes to grace
Since that light's shadow'd which my Loue holds deare.
Let thickest mists in enuy master here,
And Sunne-borne day for malice show no face,
Disdaining light, where Cupid, and the race
Of Louers are dispisd, and shame shines cleere.
Let me be darke, since barr'd of my chiefe light,
And wounding Iealousie commands by might,
But stage-play-like diguised pleasures giue:
To me it seemes, as ancient fictions make
The Starres, all [fashions], and all shapes partake,
While in my thoughts true forme of Loue shall liue.

Sonnet 7

NO time, no roome, no thought, or writing can
Giue rest, or quiet to my louing heart,
Or can my memory or Phant'sie scan,
The measure of my still renewing smart.
Yet whould I not (deare Loue) thou shouldst depart,
But let my passions as they first began,
Rule, wounde, and please, it is thy choysest Art,
To giue disquiet, which seemes ease to man.
When all alone, I thinke vpon thy paine,
How thou doest trauell our best selues to gaine,
Then houerly thy lessons I doe learne;
Thinke on thy glory, which shall still ascend,
Vntill the world come to a finall end,
And then shall we thy lasting powre dicerne.

Sonnet 8

HOw Glowworme-like the Sun doth now appeare,
Cold beames doe from his glorious face descend
Which shewes his daies, and force [draw] to an end,
Or that to leaue taking, his time grows neere.
[This] day his face did seeme but pale, though cleare,
The reason is, he to the North must lend
His light, and warmth must to that Climat bend,
Whose frozen parts cowld not loues heat hold deare
Alas, if thou bright Sunne to part from hence
Grieue so, what must I haplesse who from thence,
Where thou dost goe my blessing shall attend;
Thou shalt enioy that sight for which I dye,
And in my heart thy fortunes doe enuy,
Yet grieue, I'le loue thee, for this state may mend.

Sonnet 9

MY Muse now happy lay thy selfe to rest,
Sleepe in the quiet of a faithfull loue,
Write you no more, but let these Phant'sies mooue
Some other hearts, wake not to new vnrest.
But if you Study be those thoughts adrest
To truth, which shall eternall goodnes prooue;
Enioying of true ioy the most, and best
The endles gaine which neuer will remoue.
Leaue the discourse of Venus, and her sonne
To young beginners, and their braines inspire
With storyes of great Loue, and from that fire,
Get heat to write the fortunes they haue wonne.
And thus leaue off; what's past shewes you can loue,
Now let your Constancy your Honor proue.{51}


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Only after the last tree has been cut down
Only after the last river has been poisoned
Only after the last fish has been caught
Only then will we realise that money cannot be eaten
- Cree Indian Prophesy