AMORETTI AND Epithalamion.  
Written not long since by Edmund Spenser.  
Printed for William Ponsonby. 1695.   

To the Right Worshipful Sir Robart Needham Knight.  
SIr, to gratulate your safe return from Ireland, I had nothing so ready, nor thought any thing so meet, as these sweet conceited Sonnets, the deed of that weld serving gentleman, master Edmond Spenser: whose name sufficiently warranting the worthiness of the work: I do more confidently presume to publish it in his absence, under your name to whom (in my poor opinion) the patronage thereof, doth in some respects properly appertain. For, besides your judgement and delight in learned poesy: This gentle Muse for her former perfection long wished for in England, now at the length crossing the Seas in your happy company, (though to yourself unknown) seemeth to make choice of you, as meetest to give her deserved countenance, after her return: entertain her, then, (Right worshipful) in sort best beseeming your gentle mind, and her merit, and take in worth my good will herein, who seek no more, but to show myself yours in all dutiful affection.  
W. P   

G: W. signior, to the Author  
dark is the day, when Phoebus' face is shrouded,  
and weaker sights may wander soon astray:  
but when they see his glorious rays unclowded,  
with steady steps they keep the perfect way,  
So while this Muse in foreign lands doth stay,  
invention weeps, and pens are cast aside,  
the time like night, deprived of cheerful day,  
and few do write, but (ah) too soon may slide.  
Then, hie thee home, that art our perfect guide,  
and with thy wit illustrate England's fame,  
daunting thereby our neighoures ancient pr●  
that do for poesy, challenged chiefest name.  
So we that live and ages that succeed,  
With great applause thy learned works shall ree   

Ah Colin, whether on the lowly plain.  
piping to shepherds thy sweet roudelays:  
or whether singing in some lofty vain,  
heroic deeds of past, or present days.  
Or whether in thy lovely mistress praise,  
thou list to exercise thy learned quill.  
thy muse hath got such grace, and power to please,  
with rare invention beautified by skill.  
As who therein can ever joy their fill.  
O therefore let that happy muse proceed  
to climb the height of virtues sacred hill,  
where endless honour shall be made thy meed.  
Because no malice of succeeding days,  
can raze those records of thy lasting praise.  
G.W. I.   


SONNET. I.  
HAppy ye leaves when as those lily hands,  
which hold my life in their dead doing might  
shall handle you and hold in loves soft bands,  
like captives trembling at the victor's sight.  
And happy lines, on which with starry light,  
those lamping eyes will deign sometimes to look  
and read the sorrows of my dying sprite,  
written with tears in hearts close bleeding book.  
And happy rhymes bathed in the sacred brook,  
of Helicon whence she derived is,  
when ye behold that Angel's blessed look,  
my souls long lacked food, my heavens bliss.  
Leaves, lines, and rhymes, seek her to please alone,  
whom if ye please, I care for other none.   

SONNET. II.  
Unquiet thought, whom at the first I bred,  
Of th'inward bale of my love pined heart:  
and sithence have with sighs and sorrows fed,  
till greater than my womb thou waxed art.  
Break forth at length out of the inner part,  
in which thou lurkest like to viper's brood:  
and seek some succour both to ease my smart  
and also to sustain thyself with food.  
But if in presence of that fairest proud  
thou chance to come, fall lowly at her feet:  
and with meek humblesse and afflicted mood,  
pardon for thee, and grace for me entreat.  
Which if she grant, then live and my love cherish,  
if not, die soon, and I with thee will perish.   

SONNET. III.  
THe sovereign beauty which I do admire,  
witness the world how worthy to be prayzed:  
the light whereof hath kindled heavenly fire,  
in my frail spirit by her from baseness raised.  
That being now with her huge brightness dazed,  
base thing I can no more endure to view:  
but looking still on her I stand amazed,  
at wondrous sight of so celestial hue.  
So when my tongue would speak her praises dew,  
it stopped is with thoughts astonishment:  
and when my pen would write her titles true,  
it ravished is with fancy's wonderment:  
Yet in my heart I then both speak and write,  
the wonder that my wit cannot indite.   

SONNET. FOUR  
NEw year forth looking out of janus gate,  
Doth seem to promise hope of new delight:  
and bidding th'old Adieu, his passed date  
bids all old thoughts to die in dampish sprite.  
And calling forth out of sad Winter's night,  
fresh love, that long hath slept in cheerless bower:  
wills him awake, and soon about him dight  
his wanton wings and darts of deadly power.  
For lusty spring now in his timely hour,  
is ready to come forth him to receive:  
and warns the Earth with divers colord flower,  
to deck herself, and her fair mantle weave.  
Then you fair flower, in whom fresh youth doth rain,  
prepare yourself new love to entertain.   

SONNET. V  
RVdely thou wrongest my dear heart's desire,  
In finding fault with her too portly pride:  
the thing which I do most in her admire,  
is of the world unworthy most envied.  
For in those lofty looks is close implied,  
scorn of base things, & sdeigne of foul dishonour:  
threatening rash eyes which gaze on her so wide,  
that loosely they ne dare to look upon her.  
Such pride is praise, such portliness is honour,  
that boldened innocence bears in her eyes:  
and her fair countenance like a goodly banner,  
spreads in defiance of all enemies.  
Was never in this world ought worthy tried,  
without some spark of such self-pleasing pride.   

SONNET. VI  
BE nought dismayed that her unmoved mind,  
doth still persist in her rebellious pride:  
such love not like to lusts of base kind,  
the harder won, the firmer will abide.  
The duresull Oak, whose sap is not yet dried,  
is long ere it conceive the kindling fire:  
but when it once doth burn, it doth divide  
great heat, and makes his flames to heaven aspire.  
So hard it is to kindle new desire,  
in gentle breast that shall endure for ever:  
deep is the wound, that dints the parts entire  
with chaste affects, that nought but death can sever.  
Then think not long in taking little pain,  
to knit the knot, that ever shall remain.   

SONNET. VII.  
Fair eyes, the mirror of my mazed heart,  
what wondrous virtue is contained in you  
the which both life and death forth from you dart  
into the object of your mighty view?  
For when ye mildly look with lovely hue,  
then is my soul with life and love inspired:  
but when ye lower, or look on me askew  
then do I die, as one with lightning fired.  
But since that life is more than death desired,  
look ever lovely, as becomes you best,  
that your bright beams of my weak eyes admired,  
may kindle living fire within my breast.  
Such life should be the honour of your light,  
such death the sad ensample of your might.   

SONNET. VIII.  
MOre than most fair, full of the living fire,  
Kindled above unto the maker near:  
no eyes but joys, in which all powers conspire,  
that to the world nought else be counted dear  
Through your bright beams doth not the blinded guest,  
shoot out his darts to base affections wound:  
but Angels come to lead frail minds to rest  
in chaste desires on heavenly beauty bound.  
You frame my thoughts and fashion me within,  
you stop my tongue, and teach my heart to speak,  
you calm the storm that passion did begin,  
strong through your cause, but by your virtue weak.  
Dark is the world, where your light shined never;  
well is he borne, that may behold you ever.   

SONNET. IX.  
Longwhile I sought to what I might compare  
those powerful eyes, which lighten my dark sprite,  
yet find I nought on earth to which I dare  
resemble th'image of their goodly light.  
Not to the Sun: for they do shine by night;  
nor to the Moon: for they are changed never;  
nor to the Stars: for they have purer sight;  
nor to the fire: for they consume not ever;  
Nor to the lightning: for they still persever;  
nor to the Diamond: for they are more tender;  
nor unto Crystal: for nought may them sever;  
nor unto glass: such baseness mought offend her:  
Then to the Maker self they likest be,  
whose light doth lighten all that here we see.   

SONNET. X.  
Unrighteous Lord of love what law is this,  
That me thou makest thus tormented be:  
the whiles she lordeth in licentious bliss  
of her free-will, scorning both thee and me.  
See how the Tyranness doth joy to see  
the huge massacres which her eyes do make:  
and humbled hearts brings captives unto thee,  
that thou of them mayst mighty vengeance take.  
But her proud heart do thou a little shake  
and that high look, with which she doth control  
all this world's pride bow to a base make,  
and all her faults in thy black book enrol.  
That I may laugh at her in equal sort,  
as she doth laugh at me & makes my pain her sport.   

SONNET. XI.  
Daily when I do seek and sew for peace,  
And hostages do offer for my truth:  
she cruel warrior doth herself address,  
to battle, and the weary war reneweth.  
Ne willbe moved with reason or with rewth,  
to grant small respite to my restless toil:  
but greedily her fell intent poursewth,  
Of my poor life to make unpitteid spoil.  
Yet my poor life, all sorrows to assoil,  
I would her yield, her wrath to pacify:  
but then she seeks with torment and turmoil,  
to force me live and will not let me die.  
All pain hath end and every war hath peace,  
but mine no price nor prayer may surcease.   

SONNET. XII.  
ONe day I sought with her hart-thrilling eyes,  
to make a truce and terms to entertain:  
all fearless then of so false enemies,  
which sought me to entrap in treasons train.  
So as I then disarmed did remain,  
a wicked ambush which lay hidden long  
in the close covert of her guileful eyen,  
thence breaking forth did thick about me throng.  
Too feeble I t'abide the brunt so strong,  
was forced to yield myself into their hands:  
who me captiving straight with rigorous wrong,  
have ever since me kept in cruel bands.  
So Lady now to you I do complain,  
against your eyes that justice I may gain.   

SONNET. XIII.  
IN that proud port, which her so goodly graceth,  
whiles her fair face she rears up to the sky:  
and to the ground her eye lids low embaseth,  
most goodly temperature ye may descry,  
Mild humblesse mixed with awful majesty,  
for looking on the earth whence she was borne:  
her mind remembreth her mortality,  
what so is fairest shall to earth return.  
But that same lofty countenance seems to scorn  
base thing, & think how she to heaven may climb:  
treading down earth as loathsome and forlorn,  
that hinders heavenly thoughts with drossy slime.  
Yet lowly still vouchsafe to look on me,  
such lowliness shall make you lofty be.   

SONNET. XIIII.  
Return again my forces late dismayed,  
Unto the siege by you abandoned quite,  
great shame it is to leave like one afraid,  
so fair a piece for one repulse so light.  
'Gainst such strong castles needeth greater might,  
than those small forts which ye were wont belay,  
such haughty minds enured to hardy fight,  
disdain to yield unto the first assay.  
Bring therefore all the forces that ye may,  
and lay incessant battery to her heart,  
plaints, prayers, vows, ruth, sorrow, and dismay,  
those engines can the proudest love convert.  
And if those fail fall down and die before her,  
so dying live, and living do adore her.   

SONNET. XV.  
YE tradefull Merchants that with weary toil,  
do seek most precious things to make your ga●●●  
and both the India's of their treasures spoil,  
what needeth you to seek so far in vain?  
For lo my love doth in herself contain  
all this world's riches that may far be found,  
if sapphires, lo her eyes be sapphires plain,  
if Rubies, lo her lips be Rubies sound:  
If Pearls, her teeth be pearls both pure and round;  
if Ivory, her forehead ivory ween;  
if Gold, her locks are finest gold on ground;  
if silver, her fair hands are silver sheen,  
But that which fairest is, but few behold,  
her mind adorned with virtues manifold.   

SONNET. XVI.  
ONe day as I unwarily did gaze  
on those fair eyes my loves immortal light:  
the whiles my stonisht heart stood in amaze,  
through sweet illusion of her looks delight.  
I moat perceive how in her glancing sight,  
legions of loves with little wings did fly:  
darting their deadly arrows fiery bright,  
at every rash beholder passing by.  
One of those archers closely I did spy,  
aiming his arrow at my very heart:  
when suddenly with twincle of her eye,  
the Damsel broke his misintended dart.  
Had she not so done, sure I had been slain,  
yet as it was, I hardly 'scaped with pain.   

SONNET. XVII.  
THe glorious portrait of that Angel's face,  
Made to amaze weak men's confused skill:  
and this world's worthless glory to embase,  
what pen, what pencil can express her fill?  
For though he colours could devise at will,  
and eke his learned hand at pleasure guide:  
lest trembling it his workmanship should spill,  
yet many wondrous things there are beside.  
The sweet eye-glaunces, that like arrows glide,  
the charming smiles, that rob sense from the heart:  
the lovely pleasance and the lofty pride,  
cannot expressed be by any art.  
A greater craftsman's hand thereto doth need,  
that can express the life of things indeed.   

SONNET. XVIII.  
THe rolling wheel that runneth often round,  
The hardest steel in tract of time doth tear:  
and drizzling drops that often do redound,  
the firmest flint doth in continuance wear.  
Yet cannot I with many a dropping tear,  
and long entreaty soften her hard heart:  
that she will once vouchsafe my plaint to hear,  
or look with pity on my painful smart.  
But when I plead, she bids me play my part,  
and when I weep, she says tears are but water:  
and when I sigh, she says I know the art,  
and when I wail she turns herself to laughter.  
So do I weep, and wail, and plead in vain,  
whiles she as steel and flint doth still remain.   

SONNET. XIX.  
THe merry Cuckoo, messenger of Spring,  
His trumpet shrill hath thrice already sounded:  
that warns all lovers wait upon their king,  
who now is coming forth with girl and crowned  
With noise whereof the choir of Birds resounded  
their anthems sweet devized of loves praise,  
that all the woods their echoes back rebounded  
as if they knew the meaning of their lays.  
But 'mongst them all, which did loves honour raise  
no word was heard of her that most it ought.  
but she his precept proudly disobayes,  
and doth his idle message set at nought.  
Therefore O love, unless she turn to thee  
ere Cuckoo end, let her a rebel be.   

SONNET. XX.  
IN vain I seek and sew to her for grace,  
and do m●ne humbled heart before her pour:  
the whiles her foot she in my neck doth place,  
and tread my life down in the lowly flower.  
And yet the Lion that is Lord of power,  
and reigneth over every beast in field:  
in his most pride disdeigneth to devour  
the silly lamb that to his might doth yield.  
But she more cruel and more salvage wild,  
than either Lion or the L●onesse:  
shames not to be with guiltless blood defiled,  
but taketh glor● in her cruelness.  
Fairer then fairest let none ever say,  
that ye were blooded in a yielded pray.   

SONNET. XXI.  
WAs it the work of nature or of Art?  
which tempered so the feature of her face:  
that pride and meekness mixed by equal par●,  
do both appear t'adorn her beauty's grace.  
For with mild pleasance, which doth pride displace,  
she to her loves doth lookers eyes allure:  
& with stern countenance back again doth chase  
their loser looks that stir up lusts impure,  
With such strange terms her eyes she doth enure,  
that with one look she doth my life dismay:  
and with another doth it straight re●ure,  
her smile me draws, her frown me drives away.  
Thus doth she train and teach me with her looks,  
such art of eyes I never read in books.   

SONNET. XXII.  
THis holy season fit to fast and pray,  
Men to devotion ought to be inclined:  
therefore, I likewise on so holy day,  
for my sweet Saint some service fit will find.  
Her temple fair is built within my mind,  
in which her glorious image placed is,  
on which my thoughts do● day and night attend  
like sacred priests that never think amiss.  
There I to her as th'author of my bliss,  
will build an altar to appease her ire:  
and on the same my heart will sacrifice,  
burning in flames of pure and chaste desire:  
The which vouchsafe O goddess to accept,  
amongst thy dearest relics to be kept.   

SONNET. XXIII.  
PEnelope for her Ulysses sake,  
Devised a Web her wooers to deceive:  
in which the work that she all day did make  
the same at night she did again unreave,  
Such subtle craft my Damsel doth conceive,  
th`importune suit of my desire to shun:  
for all that I in many days do weave,  
in one short hour I find by her undone.  
So when I think to end that I begun,  
I must begin and never bring to end:  
for with one look she spills that long I spun,  
& with one word my whole years work doth rend.  
Such labour like the Spiders web I find,  
whose fruitless work is broken with least wind.   

SONNET. XXIIII.  
WHen I behold that beauty's wonderment,  
And rare perfection of each goodly part●  
of nature's skill the only complement,  
I honour and admire the maker's art.  
But when I feel the bitter baleful smart,  
which her fair eyes unwares do work in me:  
that death out of their shiny beams do dart,  
I think that I a new Pandora see.  
Whom all the Gods in council did agree,  
into this sinful world from heaven to send:  
that she to wicked men a scourge should be,  
for all their ●aults with which they did offend.  
But since ye are my scourge I will entreat,  
that for my faults ye will me gently beat.   

SONNET. XXV.  
HOw long shall this like dying life endure,  
And know no end of her own misery:  
but waist and wear away in terms unsure,  
twixt fear and hope depending doubtfully.  
Yet better were at once to let me die,  
and show the last ensample of your pride:  
then to torment me thus with cruelty,  
to prove your power, which I too well have tried.  
But yet if in your hardened breast ye hide,  
a close intent at last to show me grace:  
then all the woes and wrecks which I abide,  
as means of bliss I gladly will embrace.  
And wish that more and greater they might be,  
that greater meed at last may turn to me.   

SONNET. XXVI.  
SWeet is the Rose, but grows upon a briar;  
Sweet is the junipere, but sharp his bough;  
sweet is the Eglantine, but pricketh near;  
sweet is the firbloome, but his branches rough.  
Sweet is the Cypress, but his rind is tough,  
sweet is the nut, but bitter is his pill;  
sweet is the broome-flowre, but yet sour enough●  
and sweet is Moly, but his root is ill.  
So every sweet with sour is tempered still,  
that maketh it be coveted the more:  
for easy things that may be got at will,  
most sorts of men do set but little store.  
Why then should I account of little pain,  
that endless pleasure shall unto me gain.   

SONNET. XXVII.  
Fair proud now tell me why should fair be proud,  
Sith all world's glory is but dross unclean:  
and in the shade of death itself shall shroud,  
how ever now thereof ye little ween.  
That goodly Idol now so gay beseen,  
shall doff her flesh's borowd fair attire:  
and be forgot as it had never been,  
that many now much worship and admire.  
Ne any than shall after it inquire,  
●e any mention shall thereof remain:  
but what this verse, that never shall expire,  
shall to you purchas with her thankless pain.  
Fair be no longer proud of that shall perish,  
but that which shall you make immortal, cherish.   

SONNET. XXVIII.  
THe laurel leaf, which you this day do wear,  
gives me great hope of your relenting mind:  
for since it is the badge which I do bear,  
ye bearing it do seem to me inclined:  
The power thereof, which o●te in me I find,  
let it likewise your gentle breast inspire  
with sweet infusion, and put you in mind  
of that proud maid, whom now those leaves attire  
Proud Daphne scorning Phoebus' lovely fire,  
on the Thessalian shore from him did fly:  
for which the gods in their revengeful ire  
did her transform into a laurel tree.  
Then fly no more fair love from Phoebus' chase,  
but in your breast his leaf and love embrace.   

SONNET. XXIX.  
See how the stubborn damsel doth deprave  
my simple meaning with disdainful scorn:  
and by the bay which I unto her gave,  
accounts myself her captive quite forlorne●  
The bay (quoth she) is of the victors borne,  
yielded them by the vanquished as their meeds,  
and they therewith do poets heads adorn,  
to sing the glory of their famous deeds.  
But sith ●he will the conquest challenge needs,  
let her accept me as her faithful thrall,  
that her great triumph which my skill exceeds,  
I may in trump of fame blaze over all.  
Then would I deck her head with glorious bays,  
and fill the world with her victorious praise.   

SONNET. XXX.  
MY love is like to ice, and I to fire;  
how comes it then that this her cold so great  
is not dissolved through my so hot desire,  
but harder grows the more I her entreat?  
Or how comes it that my exceeding heat  
is not delayed by her heart frozen cold:  
but that I burn much more in boiling sweat,  
and feel my flames augmented mani●old?  
Wh●t more miraculous thing may be told  
that fire which all thing melts, should harden yse●  
and ice which is congealed with ●encelesse cold,  
should kindle fire by wonderful devise.  
Such is the power of love in gentle mind,  
that it can alter all the course of kind.   

SONNET. XXXI.  
Ah why hath nature to so hard a heart,  
given so goodly gifts of beauty's grace?  
whose pride depraves each other better part,  
and all those precious ornaments deface.  
Sith to all other beasts of bloody race,  
a dreadful countenance she given hath  
that with their terror all the rest may chacen  
and warn to shun the danger of their wrath  
But my proud one doth work the greater s●ath,  
through sweet allurement of her lovely hue:  
that she the better may in bloody bath,  
of such poor thralls her cruel hands imbrue.  
But did she know how ill these two accord,  
such cruelty she would have soon abhorred.   

SONNET. XXXII.  
The painful smith with force of fervent heat,  
the hardest iron soon doth mollify:  
that with his heavy sledge he can it beat,  
and fashion to what he it list apply.  
Yet cannot all these flames in which I fry,  
her heart more hard than iron soft a whit:  
ne all the plaints and prayers with which I  
do beat on th'anduyle of her stubborn wit:  
But still the more she fervent sees my fit:  
the more she frieseth in her wilful pride:  
and harder grows the harder she is smit,  
with all the plaints which to her be applied.  
What then remains but I to ashes burn,  
and she to stones at length all frozen turn?   

SONNET. XXXIII.  
GReat wrong I do, I can it not deny,  
to that most sacred Empress my dear dread,  
not finishing her Queen of faery,  
that moat enlarge her living praises dead:  
But lodwick, this of grace to me aread:  
do ye not think th'accomplishment of it,  
sufficient work for one man's simple head,  
all were it as the rest but rudely wri●.  
How then should I without another wit:  
think ever to endure so tedious toil,  
sins that this one is tossed with troublous ●it,  
of a proud love, that doth my spirit spoil.  
Cease then, till she vouchsafe to grawnt me rest,  
or lend you me another living breast.   

SONNET. XXXIIII.  
Like as a ship that through the Ocean wide,  
by conduct of some star doth make her way.  
whenas a storm hath dimmed her trusty guide.  
out of her course doth wander far astray.  
So I whose star, that wont with her bright ray,  
me to direct, with clouds is overcast,  
do wander now in darkness and dismay,  
through hidden pe●ils round about me placed  
Yet hope I well, that when this storm is passed  
my Helice the lodestar of my life  
will shine again, and look on me at last,  
with lovely light to clear my cloudy grief,  
Till than I wander careful comfortless,  
in secret sorrow and sad pensiveness.   

SONNET. XXXV.  
MY hungry eyes through greedy co●etize,  
still to behold the object of their pain:  
with no contentment can themselves suffice,  
but having pine and having not complain.  
For lacking it they cannot life sustain,  
and having it they gaze on it the more:  
in their amazement like Narcissus vain  
whose eyes him starved: so plenty makes me poor  
Yet are mine eyes so filled with the store  
of that fair sight, that nothing else they brook,  
but loath the things which they did like before,  
and can no more endure on them to look.  
All this world's glory seemeth vain to me,  
and all their shows but shadows saving she.   

SONNET. XXXVI.  
TEll me when shall these weary woes have end,  
Or shall their ruthless torment never cease:  
but all my da●es in pining languor spend,  
without hope of aswagement or release.  
Is there no means for me to purchase peace,  
or make agreement with her thrilling eyes:  
but that their cruelty doth still increase,  
and daily more augment my miseries.  
But when ye have showed all extremities,  
then think how little glory ye have gained:  
by slaying him, whose life though ye despise,  
moat have your life in honour long maintained.  
But by his death which some perhaps will moon,  
ye shall condemned be of many a one.   

SONNET. XXXVII.  
WHat guile is this, that those her golden tresses,  
She doth attire under a net of gold:  
and with sl● skill so cunningly them dresses,  
that which is gold or hear, may scarce be told?  
Is it that men's frail eyes, which gaze too bold,  
she may entangle in that golden snare:  
and being caught may craftily enfold,  
their weaker hearts, which are not well aware?  
Take heed therefore, mine eyes, how ye do stare  
hence forth too rashly on that guileful net,  
in which if ever ye entrapped are,  
out of her bands ye by no means shall get.  
Fondness it were for any being free,  
to covet fetters, though they golden be.   

SONNET. XXXVIII.  
A Rion, when through tempests cruel wrack,  
He forth was thrown into the greedy seas:  
through the sweet music which his harp did make  
allu'rd a Dolphin him from death to ease.  
But my rude music, which was wont to please  
some dainty ears, cannot with any skill,  
the dreadful tempest of her wrath appease,  
nor move the Dolphin from her stubborn will,  
But in her pride she doth persever still,  
all careless how my life for her decays:  
yet with one word she can it save or spill,  
to spill were pity, but to save were praise.  
Chose rather to be praised for doing good,  
then to be blamed for spilling guiltless blood.   

SONNET. XXXIX.  
SWeet smile, the daughter of the Queen of love,  
Expressing all thy mother's powerful art:  
with which she wonts to temper angry jove,  
when all the gods he threats with thundering dart.  
Sweet is thy virtue as thyself sweet art,  
for when on me thou shinedst late in sadness:  
a melting pleasance ran through every part,  
and me revived with heart robbing gladness.  
Whilst rapt with joy resembling heavenly madness,  
my soul was ravished quite as in a trance:  
and feeling thence no more her sorrows sadness,  
fed on the fullness of that cheerful glance.  
●ore sweet than Nectar or Ambrosial meat,  
seemed every bit, which thenceforth I did eat.   

SONNET. XL.  
MArk when she smiles with amiable cheer,  
And tell me whereto can ye liken it:  
when on each eyelid sweetly do appear,  
an hundred Graces as in shade to sit.  
Likest it seemeth in my simple wit  
unto the fair sunshine in summer's day:  
that when a dreadful storm away is flit,  
through the broad world doth spread his goodly ray  
At sight whereof each bird that sits on spray,  
and every beast that to his den was fled:  
comes forth afresh out of their late dismay,  
and to the light lift up their drooping head.  
So my storm beaten heart likewise is cheered,  
with that sunshine when cloudy looks are cleared.   

SONNET. XLI.  
IS it her nature or is it her will,  
to be so cruel to an humbled foe:  
if nature, than she may it mend with skill,  
if will, than she at will may will forego.  
But if her nature and her will be so,  
that she will plague the man that loves her most:  
and take delight t'increase a wretches woe,  
than all her natures goodly guilts are lost.  
And that same glorious beauties idle boast,  
is but a bait such wretches to beguile:  
as being long in her loves tempest ●ost,  
she means at last to make her piteous spoil.  
O fairest fair let never it be named,  
that so fair beauty was so foully shamed.   

SONNET. XLII.  
THe love which me so cruelly tormenteth,  
So pleasing is in my extremest pain:  
that all the more my sorrow it augmenteth,  
the more I love and do embrace my bane.  
Ne do I wish (●or wishing were but vain)  
to be acquit fro my continual smart:  
but joy her thrall ●or ever to remayne●  
and yield for pledge my poor captived heart  
The which that it from her may never start,  
let her, if please her, bind with adamant chain:  
and from all wandering loves which mote pervart,  
his safe assurance strongly it restrain.  
Only let her abstain from cruelty,  
and do me not before my time to die.   

SONNET. XLIII.  
SHall I then silent be or shall I speak?  
And if I speak, her wrath renew I shall:  
and if I silent be, my heart will break,  
or choked be with oue●f●wing gall.  
What tyranny is this both my heart to thrall,  
and eke my tongue with proud restraint to tie?  
that neither I may speak nor think at all,  
but like a stupid stock in silence die.  
Yet I my heart with silence secretly  
will teach to speak, and my just cause to pleads  
and eke mine eyes wi●h meek humility,  
love learned letters to her eyes to read.  
Which her deep wit, that true heart's thought can s●el,  
will soon conceive, and learn to construe well.   

SONNET. XLIIII.  
WHen those renowned noble Peres of Greece,  
through stubborn pride amongst themselves did jan  
forgetful of the famous golden fleece,  
than Orpheus with his harp their strife did bar.  
But this continual cruel civil war,  
the which myself against myself do make:  
whilst my weak powers of passions warreid are  
no skill can stint nor reason can aslake.  
But when in hand my tunelesse harp I take,  
then do I more augment my foes despite:  
and grief renew, and passions do awake,  
to battle fresh against myself to fight.  
'mongst whom the more I seek to settle peace,  
the more I find their malice to increase.   

SONNET. XLV.  
Leave lady in your glass of crystal clean,  
Your goodly self for evermore to view:  
and in myself, my inward self I mean,  
most lively like behold your semblant true.  
Within my heart, though hardly it can show,  
thing so divine to view of earthly eye:  
the fair Idea of your celestial hue,  
and every part remains immortally:  
And were it not that through your cruelty,  
with sorrow dimmed and deformed it were:  
the goodly image of your phisnomy,  
clearer than crystal would therein appear.  
But if yourself in me ye plain will see,  
remove the cause by which your fair beams darkened be.   

SONNET. XLVI.  
WHen my abodes prefixed time is spent,  
My cruel fair strength bids me wend my way:  
but then from heaven most hideous storms are sent  
as willing me against her will to stay.  
Whom then shall I or heaven or her obey,  
the heavens know best what is the best for me●  
but as she will, whose will my life doth sway,  
my lower heaven, so it perforce must be.  
But ye high heavens, that all this sorrow see,  
sith all your tempests cannot hold me back:  
assuage your storms, or else both you and she,  
will both together me too sorely wrack.  
Enough it is for one man to sustain,  
the storms, which she alone on me doth rain.   

SONNET. XLVII.  
TRust not the treason of those smile looks,  
until ye have their guyle●ull trains well trydel  
for they are like but unto golden books,  
that from the foolish sith their baits do hide:  
So she with flattering smiles weak hearts doth guide,  
unto her love and tempt to their decay,  
whom being caught she kills with cruel pride,  
and feeds at pleasure on the wretched prey:  
Yet even whilst her bloody hands them sl●y●  
her eyes look lovely and upon them smile:  
that they take pleasure in her cruel play,  
and d●ing do themselves of pain beguile.  
O mighty charm which makes men love their bane,  
and think they die with pleasure, live with pain.   

SONNET. XLVIII.  
INnocent paper whom too cruel hand,  
Did make the matter to avenge her ire:  
and e●e she could thy cause well understand,  
did sacrifice unto the greedy fire.  
Well worthy thou to have found better hire,  
than so bad end for heretics ordained:  
yet heresy nor treason didst conspire,  
but plead thy masters cause unjustly pained.  
Whom she all careless of his grief constrained  
to utter forth th'anguish of his heart:  
and would not hear, when he to her complained,  
the piteous passion o● his dying smart.  
Yet live for ever, though against her will,  
and speak her good, though she requite it ill.   

SONNET. XLIX.  
Fair cruel, why are ye so fierce and cruel?  
Is it because your eyes have power to kill?  
then know, that mercy is the mighti●● jewel,  
and greater glory think to save, then spill.  
But i● it be your pleasure and proud will,  
to show the power of your imperious eyess  
then not on him that never thought you ill,  
but bend your force against your enemies.  
Let them ●eele th'utmost of your cruelties,  
and kill, with looks as Cockatrices do:  
but him that at your footstool humbled lies,  
with merciful regard, give mercy too.  
Such mercy shall you make admired to be,  
so shall you live by giving life to me.   

SONNET. L.  
LOng languishing in double malady,  
of my heart's wound and of my body's grief:  
there came to me a leech that would apply  
fit medicines for my body's best relief.  
Vain man (quoth I) that hast but little prie●e:  
in deep discovery of the minds disease,  
is not the heart of all the body chief?  
and rules the members as itself doth please.  
Then with some cordials seek first to appease,  
the inward languour of my wounded heart,  
and then my body shall have shortly ease:  
but such sweet cordials pass Physicians art.  
Then my loses Leach do you your skill reveal,  
and with one salve both heart and body heal.   

SONNET. LI.  
Do I not see that fairest images  
Of hardest Marble are o● purpose made●  
for that they should endure through many ages,  
ne let their famous monuments to ●ade.  
Why then do I, untrainde in lovers trade,  
her hardness blame which I should more commend  
sith never aught was excellent assayed,  
which was not hard t'achieve and bring to end  
Ne ought so hard, but he that would attend,  
moat soften it and to his will allu●e:  
so do I hope her stubborn heart to bend,  
and that it then more steadfast will endure.  
Only my pains will be the more to get her,  
but having her, my joy will be the greater.   

SONNET. LII.  
SO oft as homeward I from her departed,  
I go like one that having lost the field:  
is prisoner led away with heavy ha●t,  
despoilded of warlike arms and known shield.  
So do I now myself a prisoner yield,  
to sorrow and to solitary pain:  
from presence o● my dearest dear exiled,  
long while alone in languor to remain.  
There let no thought of joy or pleasure vain,  
dare to approach, that may my solace breed:  
but sudden dumps and dreary sad disdain,  
of all world's gladness more my torment feed.  
So I h●r absens will my penance make,  
that of her presence I my meed may take.   

SONNET. LIII.  
THe Panther knowing that his spotted hide,  
Doth please all beast's but that his looks thē●ray:  
within a bush his dreadful head doth hide,  
to let them gaze why lest he on them may pray.  
Right so my cruel fair with me doth play,  
for with the goodly semblant of her h●w●  
she doth allure me to mine own decay,  
and then no mercy will unto me show.  
Great shame it is, thing so divine in view,  
made for to be the world's most ornament:  
to make the bait her gazers to imbrue,  
good shames to be to ill an instrument.  
But mercy doth with beauty best agree,  
as in their maker ye them best may see.   

SONNET. liv.  
OF this world's Theatre in which we stay,  
My love like the Spectator ydly sits  
beholding me that all the pageants play,  
disguising diversly my troubled wits.  
Sometimes I joy when glad occasion sits,  
and mask in mirth like to a Comedy:  
soon after when my joy to sorrow flits,  
I wail and make my woes a Tragedy.  
Yet she beholding me with constant eye,  
delights not in my mirth nor ●●es my smart●  
but when I laugh she mocks, and when I cry  
she laughs, and hardens evermore her heart.  
What then ca● move her? if nor mirth nor moan,  
she is no woman, but a senseless stone.   

SONNET. LV.  
SO oft as I her beauty do behold,  
And therewith do her cruelty compare:  
I marvel of what substance was the mould  
the which her made at once so cruel fair.  
Not earth; for her high thoughts more heavenly are,  
not water; for her love doth burn like fire:  
not air; for she is not so light or rare,  
not fire; for she doth fries with ●aint desire.  
Then needs another Element inquire  
whereof she moat be made; that is the sky.  
for to the heaven her haughty looks aspire:  
and eke her mind is pure immortal high.  
Then sith to heaven ye likened are the best,  
be like in mercy as in all the rest:   

SONNET. LVI.  
Fair ye be sure, but cruel and unkind,  
As is a Tiger that with greediness  
hunts after blood, when he by chance doth find  
a feeble beast, doth felly him oppress.  
Fair be ye sure but proud and pitiless,  
as is a storm, that all things doth prostrate:  
finding a tree alone all comfortless,  
beats on it strongly it to ruinated.  
Fair be ye sure, but hard and obstinate,  
as is a rock amidst the raging ●loods:  
'gainst which a ship of succour desolate,  
doth suffer wreck both of herself and goods.  
That ship, that tre●, and that same beast am I,  
whom ye do wreck do ruin, and destroy.   

SONNET. LVII.  
SWeet warrior when shall I have peace with you?  
High time it is, this war now ended were:  
which I no longer can endure to ●ue,  
ne your incessant batory more to bear:  
So weak my powers, so sore my wounds appear,  
that wonder is how I should live a jot,  
seeing my heart through launched every where  
with thousand arrows, which your eyes have shot:  
Yet shoot ye sharply still, and spare me not,  
but glory think to make the●e cruel stoures,  
ye cruel one, what glory can be got,  
in slaying him that would live ●ladl● yours?  
Make peace therefore, and grant me timely grace.  
that all my wounds will heal in little space.   

SONNET. LVIII. By her that is most assured to herself.  
Weak is th'a●surance that weak ●lesh reposeth,  
In her own power and scorneth others aid:  
that soonest ●als when as she most supposeth,  
herself assured, and is of nought afraid.  
All flesh is frail, and all her strength vnstayd,  
like a vain bubble blown up with air:  
devouring time & changeful chance have prayed,  
her glories pride that none may it repair.  
Ne none so rich or wise, so strong or fair,  
but faileth trusting on his own assurance:  
and he that standeth on the highest stair  
fal● lowest: for on earth nought hath endurance.  
Why then do ye proud fair, misdeem so far,  
that to yourself ye most assured are.   

SONNET. LIX.  
Thrice happy she, that is so well assured  
Unto herself and settled so in heart:  
that neither will for better be allureds  
ne ●ea●d with worse to any chance to start●  
But like a steady ship doth strongly p●●t  
the raging waves and keeps her course aright:  
ne ought for tempest doth from it depart,  
ne aught for fairer weathers ●alse delight.  
Such sel●e assurance need not fear the spite,  
of grudging foes, ne favour seek o●●●iends:  
but in the stay of her own steadfast might,  
neither to one herself nor other bends.  
Most happy she that most assured doth rest,  
but he most happy who such one loves best.   

SONNET. LX.  
THey that in course of heavenly spheres are skilled,  
To every planet point his sundry year:  
in which her circles voyage is fulfilled,  
as Mars in three ●core years doth run his sphere  
So since the winged God his planet clear,  
began in me to move, one year is spent:  
the which doth longer unto me appear,  
than all those forty which my li●e outwent.  
Then by that count, which loue●s books invent,  
the sphere o● Cupid forty years contains:  
which I have wasted in long languishment,  
that seemed the longer for my greater pains.  
But let my loves fair Planet short her ways  
this year ensuing, or else short my days.   

SONNET. LXI.  
THe glorious image of the maker's beauty,  
My sovereign saint, the Idol of my thought,  
dare not henceforth above the bounds of duty,  
t'accuse of pride, or rashly blame for aught.  
For being as she is divinely wrought,  
and of the brood of Angels heavenly borne:  
and with the crew of blessed Saints upbrought,  
each of which did her with their guilts adorn;  
The bud of joy, the blossom of the morn,  
the beam of light, whom mortal eyes admire:  
what reason is it then but she should scorn,  
base things that to her love too bold aspire?  
Such heavenly forms ought rather worshipped be,  
then dare be loved by men of mean degree.   

SONNET. LXII.  
THe weary year his race now having run,  
The new gins his compassed course anew:  
with show of morning mild he hath begun,  
betokening peace and plenty to ensue,  
So let us, which this change of weather view,  
change ●eke our minds and former lives amend  
the old years sins forepast let us eschew,  
and fly the faults with which we did offend.  
Then shall the new years joy forth freshly send,  
into the glooming world his gladsome ray:  
and all these storms which now his beauty blend,  
shall turn to caulmes and timely clear away.  
So likewise love cheer you your heavy sprite,  
and change old years annoy to new delight.   

SONNET. LXIII.  
AFter long storms and tempests sad assay,  
Which hardly I endured heretofore:  
in dread of death and dangerous dismay,  
with which my silly bark was tossed sore.  
I do at length descry the happy shore,  
in which I hope ere long for to arrive,  
fair soil it seems from far & fraught with store  
of all that dear and dainty is alive.  
Most happy he that can at last atchyve,  
the joyous safety of so sweet a rest:  
whose least delight sufficeth to deprive,  
remembrance of all pains which him oppressed.  
All pains are nothing in respect of this,  
all sorrows short that gain eternal bliss.   

SONNET. LXIIII  
Coming to kiss her lips, (such grace I found)  
Me seemed I smelled a gardin of sweet flowers:  
that dainty odours from th●m threw around  
for damsels fit to deck their lovers bowers.  
Her lips did smell like unto Gillyflowers,  
her ruddy cheeks like unto Roses red:  
her snowy brows like budded Bellamoures,  
her lovely eyes like Pinks but newly spread,  
Her goodly bosom like a Strawberry bed,  
her neck like to a bounch of Cullambynes:  
her breast like lilies, ere their leaves be shed,  
her nipples like young blossomed jessemynes,  
Such fragrant flowers do give most odorous smell,  
but her sweet odour did them all excel.   

SONNET. LXV.  
THe doubt which ye misdeem, fair love, is vain  
That sondly fear to lose your liberty,  
when losing one, two liberties ye gain,  
and make him bond that bondage erst did fly.  
Sweet be the bands, the which true love doth tie,  
without constraint or dread of any ill:  
the gentle bird feels no captivity  
within her cage, but singes and feeds her fill.  
There pride dare not approach, nor discord spill  
the league twixt them, that loyal love hath bound:  
but simple truth and mutual good will,  
seeks with sweet peace to sal●e each others wound  
There faith doth fearless dwell in brazen tower,  
and spotless pleasure builds her sacred bower.   

SONNET. LXVI.  
TO all those happy blessings which ye have,  
with plenteous hand by heaven upon you thrown:  
this one disparagement they to you gave,  
that ye your love lent to so mean a one.  
Ye whose high worths surpassing paragon,  
could not on earth have found one fit for mate,  
ne but in heaven matchable to none,  
wh● did ye stoop unto so lowly state.  
But ye thereby much greater glory gate,  
than had ye sorted with a princes pere:  
for now your light doth more itself dilate,  
and in my darkness greater doth appear.  
Yet since your light hath once enlumind me,  
with my reflex yours shall increased be.   

SONNET. LXVII.  
Like as a huntsman after weary chase,  
Seeing the game from him escaped away:  
sits down to rest him in some shady place,  
with panting hounds beguiled of their prey.  
So after long pursuit and vain assay,  
when I all weary had the chase forsook,  
the gentle dear returned the self-same way,  
thinking to quench her thirst at the next brook.  
There she beholding me with milder look,  
sought not to fly, but fearless s●ill did bide:  
till I in hand her yet half trembling took,  
and with her own goodwill her firmly tied.  
Strange thing me seemed to see a beast so w●ld,  
so goodly won with her own will beguiled.   

SONNET. LXVIII.  
MOst glorious Lord of life that on this day,  
Didst make thy triumph over death and sin:  
and having harrowd hell didst bring away,  
captivity thence captive us to win.  
This joyous day, dear Lord, with joy begin,  
and grant that we for whom tbou didst die  
being with thy dear blood clean washed from sin,  
may live for ever in felicity.  
And that thy love we weighing worthily,  
may likewise love thee for the same again:  
and for thy sake that all like dear didst buy,  
with love may one another entertain.  
So let us love, dear love, like as we ought,  
love is the lesson which the Lord us taught.   

SONNET. LXIX.  
THe famous warriors of the antic world,  
Used Trophies to ●rect in stately wise:  
in which they would the records have enrolled,  
of their great deeds and valorous emprize.  
What trophy then shall I most fit devise,  
in which I may record the memory  
of my loves conquest, peerless beauty's prise●  
adorned with honour, love, and chastity.  
Even this verse vowed to eternity,  
shall be thereof immortal monument:  
and tell her praise to all posterity,  
that may admire such world's rare wonderment.  
The happy purchase of my glorious spoil,  
gotten at last with labour and long toil.   

SONNET. LXX.  
FResh spring the herald of loves mighty king,  
In whose cote armour richly are displayed,  
all sorts of flowers the which on earth do spring  
in goodly colours gloriously arrayed.  
Go to my love, where she is careless laid,  
yet in her winter's bower not well awake:  
tell her the joyous time will not be stayed  
unless she do him by the forelock take.  
Bid her therefore herself soon ready make,  
to wait on love amongst his lovely crew:  
where every one that misseth then her make,  
shall be by him amerced with penance dew.  
Make haste therefore sweet love, whilst it is prime●  
for none can call again the passed time.   

SONNET. LXXI.  
I joy to see how in your drawn work,  
Yourself unto the Bee ye do compare;  
and me unto the Spider that doth lurk,  
in close await to catch her unaware.  
Right so yourself were caught in cunning snare  
of a dear foe, and thralled to his love:  
in whose straight bands ye now captived are  
so firmly, that ye never may remove.  
But as your work is woven all about,  
with woodbind flowers and fragrant Eglantine:  
so sweet your prison you in time shall prove,  
with many dear delights bedecked ●yne.  
And all thenceforth eternal peace shall see.  
between the Spider and the gentle Bee.   

SONNET. LXXII.  
OFt when my spirit doth spread her bolder wings,  
In mind to mount up to the purest sky:  
it down is weighed with thought of earthly things  
and clogged with burden of mortality,  
Where when that sovereign beauty it doth spy,  
resembling heavens glory in her light:  
drawn with sweet pleasures bait, it back doth fly,  
and unto heaven forgets her former flight.  
There my frail fancy fed with full delight,  
doth bath in bliss and mantleth most at ease:  
ne thinks of other heaven, but how it might  
her hearts desire with most contentment please.  
heart need not wish none other happiness,  
but here on earth to have such heavens bliss.   

SONNET. LXXIII.  
BEing myself captived here in care,  
My heart, whom none with servile bands can tie:  
but the fair tresses of your golden hair,  
breaking his prison forth to you doth fly.  
Like as a bird that in ones hand doth spy  
desired food, to it doth make his slight:  
even so my heart, that wont on your fair eye  
to feed his fill, flies back unto your sight.  
Do you him take, and in your bosom bright,  
gently encage, that he may be your thrall:  
perhaps he there may learn with rare delight,  
to sing your name and praises over all.  
That it hereafter may you not repent,  
him lodging in your bosom to have lent.   

SONNET. LXXIIII.  
MOst happy letters framed by skilful trade,  
with which that happy name was first de●ynd:  
the which three times thrice happy hath me made,  
with gifts of body, fortune and of mind.  
The first my being to me gave by kind,  
from mother's womb deriu`d by due descent,  
the second is my sovereign Queen most kind,  
that honour and large richesses to me lent.  
The third my love, my lives last ornament,  
by whom my spirit out of dust was raised:  
to speak her pray●e and glory excellent,  
of all alive most worthy to be praised.  
Ye three Elizabeth's for ever live,  
that three such graces did unto me give.   

SONNET. LXXV.  
ONe day I wrote her name upon the strand,  
but came the waves and washed it a way:  
again I wrote it with a second hand,  
but came the tide, and made my pains his prey.  
Vain man, said she, that dost in vain assay,  
a mortal thing so to immortalize.  
for I my selue shall like to this decay,  
and eek my name be wiped out lykewize.  
Not so, (quoth I) let base things devise,  
to die in dust, but you shall live by fame:  
my verse your virtues rare shall eternize,  
and in the heavens write your glorious name.  
Where whenas death shall all the world subdue,  
our love shall live, and later life renew.   

SONNET. LXXVI.  
Fair bosom fraught with virtues richest treasure,  
The nest of love, the lodging of delight:  
the bower of bliss, the paradise of pleasure,  
the sacred harbour o● that heavenly sprite.  
How was I ravished with your lovely sight,  
and my frail thoughts too rashly led astray?  
whiles diving deep through amorous insight,  
on the sweet spoil of beauty they did pray.  
And twixt her paps like early fruit in May,  
whose harvest seemed to hasten now apace:  
they loosely did their wanton wings display,  
and there to rest themselves did boldly place.  
Sweet thoughts I envy your so happy rest,  
which oft I wished, yet never was so blest.   

SONNET. LXXVII.  
Was it a dream, or did I see it plain,  
a goodly table of pure ivory:  
all spread with iun●ats, fit to entertain,  
the greatest Prince with pompous royalty.  
'mongst which there in a silver dish did lie,  
two golden apples of unvalued price:  
far passing those which Hercules came by,  
or those which Atalanta did entice.  
Exceeding sweet, yet void of sinful vice,  
That many sought yet none could ever taste,  
sweet fruit of pleasure brought from paradise:  
By love himself and in his garden plas●e.  
Her breast that table was so richly spread,  
my thoughts the guests, which would thereon have fed.   

SONNET. LXXVIII.  
Lacking my love I go from place to place,  
like a young fawn that late hath lost the hind:  
and seek each where, where last I saw her face,  
whose image ye● I carry fresh in mind.  
I seek the fields with her late footing ●ynd,  
I seek her bower with her late presence decked,  
yet nor in field nor bower I her can find:  
yet field and bower are full of her aspect,  
But when mine eyes I thereunto direct,  
they ydly back return to me again,  
and when I hope to see their true object,  
I find myself but fed with fancies vain.  
Cease then mine eyes, to seek herself to see,  
and let my thoughts behold herself in me:   

SONNET. LXXIX.  
MEn call you fair, and you do credit it,  
For that yourself ye daily such do see:  
but the true fair, that is the gentle wit,  
and virtuous mind is much more praised of me.  
For all the rest, how ever fair it be,  
shall turn to nought and lose that glorious hue  
but only that is permanent and free  
from frail corruption, that doth flesh en●ew.  
That is true beauty: that doth argue you  
to be divine and borne o● heavenly ●eed●  
derived from that fair Spirit, from whom all true  
and perfect beauty did at first proceed.  
He only fair, and what he fair hath made,  
all other fair like flowers untimely ●ade.   

SONNET. LXXX.  
AFter so long a race as I have run  
Through Fairy land, which those six books compile  
give leave to rest me being half fordone,  
and gather to myself new breath awhile.  
Then as a steed refreshed after toil,  
out of my prison I will break anew:  
and stou●ly will that second work assoil,  
with strong endeavour and attention dew.  
Till then give leave to me in pleasant mew,  
to sport my muse and sing my loves sweet praise:  
the contemplation of whose heavenly hue,  
my spirit to an higher pitch will raise.  
But let her praises yet be low and mean,  
fit for the handmaid of the Fairy Queen.   

SONNET. LXXXI.  
Fair is my love, when her fair golden hears,  
with the lose wind ye wa●ing chance to mark:  
fair when the rose in her red che●kes appears,  
or in her eyes the fire of love does spark.  
Fair when her breast like a rich laden ba●ke,  
with precious merchandise she forth doth lay:  
fair when that cloud of pride, which o●t doth dark  
her goodly light with smiles she drives away.  
But fairest she, when so she doth display,  
the gate with pearls and rubies richly dight:  
through which her words so wise do make their way  
to bear the message of her gentle sprite,  
The rest be works of nature's wonderment,  
but this the work of heart's astonishment.   

SONNET. LXXXII.  
Joy of my life, full oft for loving you  
I bless my lot, that was so lucky placed:  
but then the more your own mishap I rue,  
that are so much by so mean love embased.  
For had the equal heavens so much you graced  
in this as in the rest, ye moat invent  
some heavenly wit, whose verse could have enchased  
your glorious name in golden monument.  
But since ye deigned so goodly to relent  
to me your thrall, in whom is little worth,  
that little that I am, shall all be spent,  
in setting your immortal praises forth.  
Whose lofty argument uplifting me,  
shall lift you up unto an high degree.   

SONNET. LXXXIII.  
MY hungry eyes, through greedy covetise,  
Still to behold the object of their pain:  
with no contentment can themselves suffice,  
but having pine, and having not complain  
For lacking it, they cannot life sustain,  
and seeing it, they gaze on it the more:  
in their amazement like Narcissus vain  
whose eyes him starved: so plenty makes me pore●  
Yet are mine eyes so filled with the store  
of that fair sight, that nothing else they brook:  
but loath the things which they did like before,  
and can no more endure on them to look.  
All this world's glory seemeth vain to me,  
and all their shows but shadows saving she.   

SONNET. LXXXIIII.  
LEt not one spark of filthy lustful ●yre  
break out, that may her sacred peace molest:  
ne one light glance of sensual desire:  
Attempt to work her gentle minds unrest.  
But pure affections bred in spotless breast,  
& modest thoughts breathed ●rom well tempered spirits  
go visit her in her chaste bower of rest,  
accompanyde with angelic delights.  
There fill yourself with those most joyous sights,  
the which myself could never yet attain:  
but speak no word to her of these sad plights,  
which her too constant stiffness doth constrain.  
Only behold her rare perfection,  
and bless your fortunes fair election.   

SONNET. LXXXV.  
THe world that cannot deem of worthy things,  
when I do praise her, say I do but flatter:  
so does the Cuckoo, when the Mavis sings,  
begin his witless note apace to clatter●  
But they that skill not of so heavenly matter,  
all that they know not, envy or admire,  
rather than envy let them wonder at her,  
but not to deem of her desert aspire.  
Deep in the closet of my parts entire,  
her worth is written with a golden quill:  
that me with heavenly fury doth inspire,  
and my glad mouth with her sweet praises fill.  
Which when as fame in her shrill trump shall thunder  
let the world chose to envy or to wonder.   

SONNET. LXXXVI.  
Venomous tongue tipped with vile adders sting●  
Of that self kind with which the Furies ●ell  
their snaky heads do comb, from which a spring  
of poisoned words and spiteful speeches well.  
Let all the plagues and horrid pains of hell,  
upon thee fall for thine accursed hire:  
that with false forged lies, which thou didst tell,  
in my true love did stir up coals of ire,  
The sparks whereof let kindle thine own fire,  
and catching hold on thine own wicked head  
consume thee quite, that didst with guile conspire  
in my sweet peace such breaches to have bred.  
Shame be thy meed, and mischief thy reward.  
dew to thyself that it for me prepared.   

SONNET. LXXXVII.  
SInce I did leave the presence of my love,  
Many long weary days I have outworn:  
and many nights, that slowly seemed to move,  
their sad protract from evening until morn.  
For when as day the heaven doth adorn,  
I wish that night the noyous day would end:  
and when as night hath us of light forlorn,  
I wish that day would shortly reascend.  
Thus I the time with expectation spend,  
and feign my grief with changes to beguile,  
that further seems his term still to extend,  
and maketh every minute seem a mile.  
So sorrow still doth seem too long to last,  
but joyous hours do fly away too fast.   

SONNET: LXXXVIII.  
SInce I have lacked the comfort of that light,  
The which was wont to lead my thoughts astray:  
I wander as in darkness of the night,  
afraid of every dangers lest dismay.  
Ne ought I see, though in the clearest day,  
when others gaze upon their shadows vain:  
but th`onely image of that heavenly ray,  
whereof some glance doth in mine eye remain.  
Of which beholding th'Idae a plain,  
through contemplation of my purest part:  
with light thereof I do myself sustain,  
and thereon feed my love-affamisht heart.  
But with such brightness why lest I fill my mind,  
I starve my body and mine eyes do blind.   

SONNET. LXXXIX.  
Like as the Culuer on the bared bough,  
Sits mourning for the absence of her mate:  
and in her songs sends many a wishful view,  
for his return that seems to linger late.  
So I alone now left disconsolate,  
mourn to myself the absence of my love:  
and wandering here and there all desolate,  
seek with my plaints to match that mournful dove  
Ne joy of aught that under heaven doth hove,  
can comfort me, but her own joyous sight:  
whose sweet aspect both God and man can move,  
in her unspotted pleasauns to delight.  
Dark is my day, whiles her fair light I miss,  
and dead my life that wants such lively bliss.   

IN youth before I waxed old.  
The blind boy Venus' baby,  
For want of cunning made me bold,  
In bitter hive to grope ●or honey.  
But when he saw me stung and cry,  
He took his wings and away did fly.   

As Diane hunted on a day,  
She chanced to come where Cupid lay,  
his quiver by his head:  
One of his shafts she stole away,  
And one of hers did close convey,  
into the others stead:  
With that love wounded my loves heart,  
but Diane beasts with Cupid's dart.   

I Saw in secret to my Dame,  
How little Cupid humbly came:  
and said to her All hail my mother●  
But when he saw me laugh, for shame●  
His face with bashful blood did ●●ame,  
not knowing Venus from the other●  
Than never blush Cupid (quoth I)  
for many have erred in this beauty●   

Upon a day as love lay sweetly slumbering,  
all in his mother's lap:  
A gentle Bee with his loud trumpet murmuring,  
about him flew by hap.  
Whereof when he was wakened with the noise,  
and saw the beast so small:  
What's this (quoth he) that gives so great a voice,  
that wakens men withal.  
In angry wise he flies about,  
and threatens all with courage stout.   

TO whom his mother closely smiling said,  
twixt earnest and twixt game:  
See thou thyself likewise art little made,  
if thou regard the same.  
And yet thou su●●rest neither gods in sky,  
nor men in earth to rest:  
But when thou art disposed cruelly,  
their sleep thou dost molest.  
Then either change thy cruelty,  
or give like leave unto the fly.   

NAthlesse the cruel boy not so content,  
would needs the fly pursue:  
And in his hand with heedless hardiment,  
him caught for to subdue.  
But when on it he hasty hand did lay,  
the Be him stung therefore:  
Now ou● alas (he cried) and wellaway,  
I wounded am full sore:  
The fly that I so much did scorn,  
hath hurt me with his little horn.   

Unto his mother strait he weeping came,  
and of his grief complained:  
Who could not chose but laugh at his fond game,  
though sad to see him pained.  
Think now (quoth she) my son how great the smart  
of those whom thou dost wound:  
Full many thou hast pricked to the heart,  
that pity never found:  
Therefore henceforth some pity take,  
when thou dost spoil of lovers make.   

SHe took him straight full piteously lamenting,  
and wrapped him in her smock:  
She wrapped him softly, all the while repenting,  
that he the fly did mock.  
She dressed his wound and it embalmed well  
with s●lue of sovereign might:  
And then she bathed him in a dainty well  
the well of dear delight.  
Who would not oft be stung as this,  
to be so bathed in Venus' bliss.   

THe wanton boy was shortly well recured,  
of that his malady:  
But ●e soon after fresh again enured,  
his former cruelty.  
And since that time he wounded hath myself  
with his sharp dart of love:  
And now forgets the cruel careless elf,  
his mother's hest to prove.  
So now I languish till he please,  
my pining anguish to appease.   
FINIS.   

Epithalamion.  

YE learned sisters which have oftentimes  
been to me aiding, others to adorn:  
Whom ye thought worthy of your graceful rhymes,  
That even the greatest did not greatly scorn  
To hear their names sung in your simple lays,  
But joyed in their praise.  
And when ye list your own mishaps to mourn,  
Which death, or love, or fortune's wreck did raise,  
Your string could soon to sadder tenor turn,  
And teach the woods and waters to lament  
Your doleful dreariment.  
Now lay those sorrowful complaints aside,  
And having all your heads with garland crowned,  
Help me mine own loves praises to resound,  
Ne let the same of any be envied,  
So Orpheus did for his own bride,  
So I unto myself alone will sing,  
The woods shall to me answer and my Echo ring.   

EArly before the world's light giving lamp,  
His golden beam upon the hills doth spread,  
Having dispersed the night's vncheare●ull damp,  
Do ye awake and with fresh lusty head,  
Go to the bower of my beloved love,  
My truest turtle dove  
Bid her awake; for Hymen is awake,  
And long since ready forth his mask to move,  
With his bright Tead that flames with many a flake,  
And many a bachelor to wait on him,  
In their fresh garments trim.  
Bid her awake therefore and soon her dight,  
For ●o the wished day is come at last,  
That shall for all the pains and sorrows past,  
Pay to her usury of long delight,  
And whilst she doth her dight,  
Do ye to her of joy and solace sing,  
That all the woods may answer and your echo ring.   

BRing with you all the Nymphs that you can hear  
both of the rivers and the forests green:  
And of the sea that neighbours to her near,  
All with gay garlands goodly well beseen.  
And let them also with them bring in hand,  
Another gay garland  
For my fair love of lilies and of roses,  
Bound true love wise with a blue silk ribbon.  
And let them make great store of bridal poses,  
And let them eke bring store of other flowers  
To deck the bridal bowers.  
And let the ground whereas her foot shall tread,  
For fear the stones her tender foot s●ould wrong  
Be strewed with fragrant flowers all along,  
And diapered like the discoloured mead.  
Which done, do at her chamber door await,  
For she will waken straight,  
The whiles do ye this song unto her sing,  
The woods shall to you answer and your Echo ring.   

YE Nymphs of Mulla which with careful heed,  
The silver scaly trout do tend full well,  
and greedy pikes which use therein to feed,  
(Those trout and pikes all others do excel)  
And ye likewise which keep the rushy lake,  
Where none do fishes take.  
Bind up the locks the which hang scattered light,  
And in his waters which your mirror make,  
Behold your faces as the crystal bright,  
That when you come whereas my love doth lie,  
No blemish she may spy.  
And eke ye lightfoot maids which keep the door,  
That on the ho●●y mountain use to tower,  
And the wild wolves which seek them to devour,  
With your steel darts do chase fro coming near  
Be also present here,  
To help to deck her and to help to sing,  
That all the woods may answer and your echo ring.   

WAke now my love, awake; for it is time,  
The Rosy Morn long since left Tithones bed,  
All ready to her silver coach to climb,  
And Phoebus 'gins to show his glorious head.  
Hark how the cheerful birds do chant their lays  
And carol of loves praise.  
The merry Lark her matins sings alo●t,  
The thrush replies, the Mavis de●●ant plays,  
The Ouzel shrills, the Ruddock warbles soft,  
So goodly all agree with sweet consent,  
To this days merriment.  
Ah my dear love why do ye sleep thus long,  
When meeter were tha● ye should now awake,  
T'awayt the coming of your joyous make,  
And hearken to the birds love learned song,  
The dewy leaves among.  
For they of joy and pleasance to you sing,  
That all the woods them answer & their echo ring●   

MY love is now awake out of her dream,  
and her fair eyes like stars that dimmed were  
With darksome cloud, now show their goodly beams  
More bright than Hesperus his head doth rear.  
Come now ye damsels, daughters of delight,  
Help quickly her to dight,  
But first come ye fair hours which were begot  
In Ioues sweet paradise, of Day and Night,  
Which do the seasons of the year allot,  
And all that ever in this world is fair  
Do make and still repair.  
And ye three handmaids of the Cyprian Queen,  
The which do still adorn her beauty's pride,  
Help to addorne my beautifullest bride  
And as ye her array, still throw between  
Some graces to be seen,  
And as ye use to Venus, to her sing,  
The whiles the woods shall answer & your echo ring   

NOw is my love all ready forth to come,  
Let all the virgins therefore well aways,  
And ye fresh boys that tend upon her groom  
Prepare yourselves; for he is coming straight.  
Set all your things in seemly good array  
Fit for so joyful day,  
The joyfull'st day that ever sun did see  
Fair Sun, show forth thy favourable ray,  
And let thy lifull heat not fervent be  
For fear of burning her sunshyny face,  
Her beauty to disgrace.  
O fairest Phoebus, father of the Muse,  
If ever I did honour thee aright,  
Or sing the thing, that mote thy mind delight,  
Do not thy servants simple boon refuse,  
But let this day let this one day be mine,  
Let all the rest be thine.  
Then I thy sovereign praises loud will sing,  
That all the woods shall answer and their echo ring.   

Hark how the Minstrels gi'en to shrill aloud,  
Their merry Music that resounds from far,  
The pipe, the tabor, and the trembling Crowd,  
That well agree withouten breach or jar.  
But most of all the Damsels do delight,  
When they their timbrels smite,  
And thereunto do dance and carol sweet,  
That all the senses they do ravish quite,  
The whiles the bo●es run up and down the street,  
Crying aloud with strong confused noise,  
As if it were one voice.  
Hymen ●o Hymen, Hymen they do shout,  
That even to the heavens their s●outing shrill  
Doth reach, and all the firmament doth fill,  
To which the people standing all about,  
As in approvance do thereto applaud  
And loud advance her la●d,  
And evermore they Hymen Hymen sing,  
that all the woods them answer and their echo ring.   

Lo where she comes along with portly pace,  
Like Phoebe from her chamber of the East,  
Arising forth to run her mighty race,  
Clad all in white, that seems a virgin best.  
So well it her beseems that ye would ween  
Some angel she had been.  
Her long lose yellow locks like golden wire,  
Sprinkled with pearl, and perling flowers a tween,  
Do l●ke a golden mantle her attire,  
And being crowned with a garland green,  
Seem like some maiden Queen,  
Her modest eyes abashed to behold  
So many gazers, as on her do stare,  
Upon the lowly ground affixed are.  
Ne dare lift up her countenance too bold,  
But blush to hear her praises sung so loud,  
So far from being proud.  
Nathlesse do ye still loud her praises sing,  
That all the woods may answer and your echo ring.   

TEll me ye merchants daughters did ye see  
So fair a creature in your town before,  
So sweet, so lovely, and so mild as she,  
Adorned with beauties grace and virtues store,  
Her goodly eyes like sapphires shining bright,  
Her forehead ivory white,  
Her cheeks like apples which the sun hath rudded,  
Her lips like cherries charming men to bite,  
Her breast like to a bowl of cream uncrudded,  
Her paps like lilies budded,  
Her snowy neck l●ke to a marble tower,  
And all her body like a palace fair,  
Ascending up with many a stately stair,  
To honours seat and chastities sweet bower.  
Why stand ye still ye virgins in amaze,  
Upon her so to gaze,  
Whiles ye forget your former lay to sing,  
To which the woods did answer and your echo ring   

But if ye saw that which no eyes can see,  
The inward beauty of her lively sprite,  
Garnished with heavenly gifts of high degre●,  
Much more than would ye wonder at that ●ight,  
And stand astonished like to those which ●●d  
Medusa's mazeful head.  
There dwells sweet love and constant chastity,  
Unspotted faith and comely womanhood  
Regard of honour and mild modesty,  
There virtue raynes as Queen in royal throne,  
And giveth laws alone.  
The which the base affectio●s do obey,  
And yield their services unto her will,  
Ne thought of thing uncomely ever may  
Thereto approach to tempt her mind to ill.  
Had ye once seen these her celestial threasures,  
And unrevealed pleasures●  
Then would ye wonder and her praises sing,  
That all the woods should answer and your echo ring.   

OPen the temple gates unto my love,  
Open them wide that she may enter in,  
And all the posts adorn as doth behove,  
And all the pillars deck with garlands trim,  
For to recyve this Saint with honour dew,  
That cometh in to you,  
With trembling steps and humble reverence,  
She cometh in, before th'almighties view,  
Of her ye virgins learn obedience,  
When so ●e come into those holy places,  
To humble your proud faces  
Bring her up to th'high altar that she may,  
The sacred ceremonies there partake,  
The which do endless matrimony make,  
And let the roaring Organs loudly play;  
The praises of the Lord in lively notes,  
The while with hollow throats.  
The Choristers the joyous Anthem sing,  
That all the woods may answer and their echo ring   

Behold whiles she before the altar stands  
Hearing the holy priest that to her speaks  
And blesseth her with his two happy hands,  
How the red roses flush up in her cheeks,  
And the pure snow with goodly vermill stain,  
Like crimson died in grain,  
That even th'Angels which continually  
About the sacred Altar do remain,  
Forget their service and about her fly,  
Oft peeping in her face that seems more fair,  
The more they on it stare.  
But her sad eyes still fastened on the ground,  
Are governed with goodly modesty,  
That suffers not one look to glance awry,  
Which may let in a little thought unsownd,  
Why blush ye love to give to me your hand●  
The pledge of all our band,  
Sing ye sweet Angels Alleluya sing,  
That all the woods may answer and your echo ring   

NOw all is done; bring home the bride again,  
bring home the triumph of our victory,  
Bring home with you the glory of her gain,  
With joyance bring her and with jollity.  
Never had man more joyful day than this,  
Whom heaven would heap with bliss.  
Make feast therefore now all this live long day,  
This day for ever to me holy is,  
Pour out the wine without restraint or stay,  
Pour not by cups, but by the belly full,  
Pour out to all that will,  
And sprinkle all the posts and walls with wine,  
That they may sweat, and drunken be withal.  
Crown ye God Bacchus with a coronal,  
And Hymen also crown with wreaths of vine,  
And let the Grace's dance unto the rest;  
For the● can do it best:  
The whiles the maidens do their carol sing,  
To which the woods shall answer & their echo ring.   

RIng ye the bells, ye young men of the town,  
And leave your wont labours for this day:  
This day is holy; do ye write it down,  
that ye for ●uer it remember may.  
This day the sun is in his chiefest height,  
With Barnaby the bright,  
From whence declining daily by degrees,  
He somewhat loseth of his heat and light,  
When once the Crab behind his back he sees.  
But for this time it ill ordained was,  
To choose the longest day in all the year,  
And shortest night, when longest fitter wear:  
Yet never day so long, but late would pass.  
Ring ye the bells, to make it wear away,  
And bonfires make all day,  
And dance about them, and about them sing:  
that all the woods may answer, and your echo ring.   

AH when will this long weary day have end,  
and lend me leave to come unto my love?  
How slowly do the hours their numbers spend?  
How slowly does sad Time his feathers move?  
Hast thee O fairest Planet to thy home  
Within the Western foam:  
Thy tired steeds long since have need of rest.  
Long though it be, at last I see it gloom,  
And the bright evening star with golden crest  
Appear out of the East.  
Fair child of beauty, glorious lamp of love  
That all the host of heaven in ranks dost lead,  
And guydest lovers through the night's dread,  
How cheerfully thou lookest from above,  
And seemest to laugh atween thy twinkling light  
As joying in the sight  
Of these glad many which for joy do sing,  
That all the woods them answer and their echo ring.   

Now cease ye damsels your delights forepast;  
Enough is it, that all the day was yours:  
Now day is done, and night is nighing fast:  
Now bring the Bride into the bridal bowers.  
Now night is come, now soon her disarray,  
And in her bed her lay;  
Lay her in lilies and in violets,  
And silken courteins over her display,  
And odourd sheets, and Arras coverlets,  
Behold how goodly my fair love does lie  
In proud humility;  
Like unto Maia, when as jove her took,  
In Tempe, lying on the flowery grass,  
Twixt sleep and wake, after she weary was,  
With bathing in the Acidalian brook  
Now it is night, ye damsels may be gone,  
And leave my love alone,  
And leave likewise your former lay to sing:  
The woods no more shall answer, nor your echo ring   

NOw welcome night, thou night so long expected,  
that long days labour dost at last defray,  
And all my cares, which cruel love collected,  
Hast summed in one, and canceled for aye:  
Spread thy broad wing over my love and me,  
that no man may us see,  
And in thy sable mantle us enwrap,  
From fear of peril and foul horror free.  
Let no false treason seek us to entrap,  
Nor any dread disquiet once annoy  
the safety of our joy:  
But let the night be calm and quietsome,  
Without tempestuous storms or sad afray:  
Like as when jove with fair Al●mena lay,  
When he begot the great Tirynthian groom:  
Or like as when he with thyself did lie,  
And begot Majesty.  
And let the maids and youngmen cease to sing:  
Ne let the woods them answer, nor their echo ring.   

LEt no lamenting cries, nor doleful tears,  
Be heard all night within nor yet without:  
Ne let false whispers breeding hidden fears,  
Break gentle sleep with misconceived doubt.  
Let no deluding dreams, nor dreadful ●ights  
Make sudden sad affrights;  
Ne let house fires, nor lightnings helpless harmes●  
Ne let the Ponke, no● other evil sprights,  
Ne let mischievous witches with their charms,  
Ne let hob Goblins, names whose sense we see not,  
Fray us with things that be not.  
Let not the shriech Owl, nor the Stork be heard:  
Nor the night Raven that still deadly ●els,  
Nor damned ghosts called up with mighty spells,  
Nor grisly vultures make us once afeard:  
Ne let th`unpleasant Quyre of Frogs still croaking  
Make us to wish their choking.  
Let none of these their dreary accents sing,  
Ne let the woods them answer, nor their echo ring.   

But let still Silence true night watches keep,  
That sacred peace may in assurance rain,  
And timely sleep, when it is time to sleep,  
May ponre his limbs forth on your pleasant plain,  
The whiles an hundred little winged loves,  
Like divers feathered doves,  
Shall fly and flutter round about your bed,  
And in the secret dark, that none reproves,  
Their pretty stealths shall work, & snares shall spread  
To filch away sweet snatches of delight,  
Concealed through covert night.  
Ye sons of Venus, play your sports at will,  
For greedy pleasure, careless of your toys,  
Thinks more upon her paradise of joys,  
Than what ye do, albe it good or ill.  
All night therefore attend your merry play,  
For it will soon be day:  
Now none doth hinder you, that say or sing,  
Ne will the woods now answer, nor your Echo ring●   

WHo is the same, which at my window peeps?  
Or whose is that fair face, that shi●es so bright,  
Is it not Cynthia, she that never sleeps,  
But walks about high heaven all the night?  
O fairest goddess, do thou not envy  
My love with me to spy:  
For thou likewise didst love, though now unthought,  
And for a fleece of will, which privily,  
The Latmian shepherd once unto thee brought,  
His pleasures with thee wrought.  
Therefore to us be favourable now;  
And sith of women's labours thou hast charge,  
And generation goodly dost enlarge,  
Incline they will t'effect our wishfully owe,  
And the chaste womb inform with timely seed,  
That may our comfort breed:  
Till which we cease our hopeful hap to sing,  
Ne let the woods us answer, nor our Echo ring.   

ANd thou great juno, which with awful might  
the laws of wedlock still dost patronize,  
And the religion of the faith first plight  
With sacred rites hast taught to solemnize:  
and ●eke for comfort o●ten called art  
Of women in their smart,  
Eternally bind thou this lovely band,  
And all thy blessings unto us impart.  
And thou glad Genius, in whose gentle hand,  
The bridal bower and genial bed remain,  
Without blemish or stain,  
And the sweet pleasures of their loves delight.  
With secret aid dost secure and supply,  
Till they bring forth the fruitful progeny,  
Send us the timely fruit of this same night.  
And thou fair Hebe, and thou Hymen free,  
Grant that it may so be.  
Till which we cease your further praise to sing,  
Ne any woods shall answer, nor your Echo ring.   

ANd ye high heavens, the temple of the gods,  
In which a thousand torches flaming bright  
Do burn, that to us wretched earthly clods:  
In dreadful darkness lend desired light;  
And all ye powers which in the same remain,  
More than we men can fayne,  
Pour out your blessing on us plenteously,  
And happy influence upon us rain,  
That we may raise a large posterity,  
Which from the earth, which they may long possess,  
With lasting happiness,  
Up to your haughty palaces may mount,  
And for the guerdon of their glorious merit  
May heavenly tabernacles there inherit,  
Of blessed Saints for to increase the count.  
So let us rest, sweet love, in hope of this,  
And cease till then our timely joys to sing,  
The woods no more us answer, nor our echo ring.   

Sung made in am of many ornaments,  
With which my love should duly have been decked,  
Which cutting off through hasty accidents,  
Ye would not stay your due time to expect,  
But promised both to recompense,  
Be unto her a goodly ornament,  
And for short time an endless monument.   
FINIS   

Imprinted by P. S. for William Ponsonby.