AURORA. Containing the first fancies of the Author's youth, William Alexander of Menstrie.   printer's device of Richard Field (McKerrow 192): "framed device of an anchor suspended by a hand from the clouds" 
ANCHORA SPEI  
LONDON, Printed by RICHARD FIELD for Edward Blount. 1604.   

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE AND VIRTUOUS Lady, the Lady Agnes Dowglas Countess of Argyle.  
MADAM, when I remember the many obligations which I own to your manifold merits, I oftentimes accuse myself to myself, of forgetfulness, and yet I am to be excused: for how can I satisfy so infinite a debt, since whilst I go to disengage myself in some measure, by giving you the patronage of these unpolished lines (which indeed to their many errors, had need of a respected Sanctuary) I but engage myself further, while as you take the patronage of so unpolished lines. Yet this shall not discourage me, for always I carry this advantage, that as they were the fruits of beauty, so shall they be sacrificed as oblations to beauty. And to a beauty, though of itself most happy, yet more happy in this, that it is thought worthy (and can be no more than worthy) to be the outward cover of so many inward perfections. So assuring myself, that as no darkness can abide before the Sun, so no deformity can be found in those papers, over which your eyes have once shined. I rest  
Your honours most humbly devoted, William Alexander.   

AURORA.  

Sonnet 1.  
Whilst charming fancies move me to reveal  
The idle rave of my brainsick youth,  
My heart doth pant within, to hear my mouth  
Unfold the follies which it would conceal:  
Yet bitter Critics may mistake my mind;  
Not beauty, no, but virtue raised my fires,  
Whose sacred flame did cherish chaste desires,  
And through my cloudy fortune clearly shined.  
But had not others otherwise advisd,  
My cabinet should yet these scrolls contain,  
This childish birth of a conceitie brain,  
Which I had still as trifling toys despised:  
Pardon those errors of mine unripe age;  
My tender Muse by time may grow more sage.   

Sonnet 2.  
AS yet three lustres were not quite expired,  
Since I had been a partner of the light,  
When I beheld a face, a face more bright  
Than glistering Phoebus when the fields are fired:  
Long time amazed rare beauty I admired,  
The beams reflecting on my captived sight,  
Till that surprised (I wots not by what flight)  
More than I could conceive my soul desired,  
My takers state I longed for to comprise.  
For still I doubted who had made the rape,  
If 'twas a body or an airy shape,  
With feigned perfections for to mock the eyes:  
At last I knew 'twas a most divine creature,  
The Crown of th'Earth, th'excellency of Nature.   

Son. 3.  
THat subtle Greek who for t'advance his art,  
Shaped Beauties Goddess with so sweet a grace,  
And with a learned pencil limned her face,  
Till all the world admired the workman's part.  
Of such whom Fame did most accomplished call  
The naked snows he severally perceived,  
Then drew th' Idea which his soul conceived,  
Of that which was most exquisite in all:  
But had thy form his fancy first possessed,  
If worldly knowledge could so high attain,  
Thou mightst have spared the curious Painter's pain,  
And satisfied him more than all the rest.  
O if he had all thy perfections noted,  
The Painter with his Picture strait had doted.   

Song. 1.  
O Would to God a way were found,  
That by some secret sympathy unknown,  
My Fair my fancy's depth might sound,  
And know my state as clearly as her own.  
Then blest, most blessed were I,  
No doubt beneath the sky  
I were the happiest wight:  
For if my state they knew,  
It ruthless rocks would rue,  
And mend me if they might.  
But as the babe before the wand,  
Whose faultless part his parents will not trust,  
For very fear doth trembling stand,  
And quakes to speak although his cause be just:  
So set before her face,  
Though bent to plead for grace,  
I wots not how I fail:  
Yet minding to say much,  
That string I never touch,  
But stand dismayed and pale.  
The deepest rivers make least din,  
The silent soul doth most abound in care:  
Then might my breast be read within,  
A thousand volumes would be written there.  
Might silence show my mind,  
Sighs tell how I were pined,  
Or looks my woes relate;  
Then any pregnant wit,  
That well remarked it,  
Would soon discern my state.  
No favour yet my Fair affords,  
But looking haughty, though with humble eyes,  
Doth quite confound my staggering words;  
And as not spying that thing which she spies.  
A mirror makes of me,  
Where she herself may see:  
And what she brings to pass,  
I trembling too for fear,  
Move neither eye nor ear,  
As if I were her glass.  
Whilst in this manner I remain,  
Like to the statue of some one that's dead,  
Strange tyrants in my bosom reign,  
A field of fancy's fights within my head:  
Yet if the tongue were true,  
We boldly might pursue  
That Diamantine heart.  
But when that it's restrained,  
As doomed to be disdained,  
My sighs show how I smart.  
No wonder then although I wrack,  
By them betrayed in whom I did confide,  
Since tongue, heart, eyes and all gave back,  
She justly may my childishness deride.  
Yet that which I conceal,  
May serve for to reveal  
My fervency in love.  
My passions were too great,  
For words t'express my state,  
As to my pains I prove.  
Oft those that do deserve disdain,  
For forging fancies get the best reward:  
Where I who feel what they do feign,  
For too much love am had in no regard.  
Behold by proof we see  
The gallant living free,  
His fancies doth extend:  
Where he that is o'ercome,  
Reigned with respects stands dumb,  
Still fearing to offend.  
My bashfulness when she beholds,  
Or rather my affection out of bounds,  
Although my face my state unfolds,  
And in my hue discovers hidden wounds:  
Yet jesting at my woe,  
She doubts if it be so,  
As she could not conceive it.  
This grieves me most of all,  
She triumphs in my fall,  
Not seeming to perceive it.  
Then since in vain I plaints impart  
To scornful ears, in a contemned scroll;  
And since my tongue betrays my heart,  
And cannot tell the anguish of my soul:  
Henceforth I'll hide my losses,  
And not recount the crosses  
That do my joys o'erthrow:  
At least to senseless things,  
Mounts, vales, woods, floods, and springs,  
I shall them only show.  
Ah unaffected lines,  
True models of my heart,  
The world may see, that in you shines  
The power of passion more than art.   

Son. 4.  
ONce to debate my cause whilst I drew near,  
My staggering tongue against me did conspire,  
And whilst it should have charged, it did retire,  
A certain sign of love that was sincere:  
I saw her heavenly virtues shine so clear,  
That I was forced for to conceal my fire,  
And with respects even bridling my desire.  
More than my life I held her honour dear,  
And though I burned with all the flames of love,  
Yet frozen with a reverent kind of fears,  
I durst not pour my passions in her ears;  
Lest so I might the hope I had remove.  
Thus Love marred love, Desire desire restrained;  
Of mind to move a world, I dumb remained.   

Son. 5.  
NO wonder though that this my bliss dismays,  
Whilst rendered up to never-pleased desires,  
I burn, and yet must cover cursed fires,  
Whose flame itself against my will bewrays.  
Sometimes my fair to lance my wound assays,  
And with th'occasion as it seems conspires,  
And indirectly oft my state inquires,  
Which I would hide whilst it itself betrays.  
If that a guilty gesture did disclose  
The hideous horrors that my soul contained,  
Or wandering words derived from inward woes,  
Did tell my state, their treason I disdained:  
And I could wish to be but as I am,  
If that she knew how I conceal the same.   

Sonnet 6.  
HVge hosts of thoughts imbattled in my breast,  
Are ever busied with intestine wars,  
And like to Cadmus' earthborn troops at jars,  
Have spoiled my soul of peace, themselves of rest.  
Thus forced to reap such seed as I have sown,  
I (having interest in this doubtful strife)  
Hope much, fear more, doubt most, unhappy life.  
What ever side prevail, I'm still o'erthrown:  
O neither life nor death! o both, but bade  
Imparadized, whiles in mine own conceit,  
My fancies strait again embroil my state,  
And in a moment make me glad and sad.  
Thus neither yielding quite to this nor that,  
I live, I die, I do I wots not what.   

Son. 7.  
A Flame of love that glanceth in those eyes,  
Where majesty with sweetness mixed remains,  
Doth pour so sweet a poison in the veins,  
That who them views strait wounded wondering dies.  
But yet who would not look on those clear skies,  
And love to perish with so pleasant pains,  
While as those lights of love hide beauty's train  
With ivory Orbs, where still two stars arise:  
When as those crystal Comets whiles appear,  
Eye-rauished I go gazing on their rays,  
Whilst they enriched with many princely prays,  
o'er hosts of hearts triumphing still retire:  
Those planets when they shine in their own kinds,  
Do boast t'o'erthrow whole monarchies of minds.   

Son. 8.  
AH what disastrous fortune have I had!  
Lo still in league with all that may annoy,  
And entered in enmity with joy,  
I entertain all things that make me sad,  
With many miseries almost gone mad:  
To purchase pains I all my pains employ,  
And use all means myself for to destroy,  
The tenor of my star hath been so bad.  
And though my state a thousand times were worse,  
As it is else past bounds of all belief:  
Yet all Pandora's plagues could not have force,  
To aggravate the burden of my grief:  
Th'Occasion might move mountains to remorse:  
I hate all help, and hope for no relief.   

Son. 9  
ALthough that words chained with affection fail,  
As that which makes me burst abashed t'unfold,  
Yet Lines (dumb Orators) ye may be bold,  
Th'ink will not blush, though paper doth look pale,  
Ye of my state the secrets did contain,  
That then through clouds of dark inventions shined:  
Whilst I disclosed, yet not disclosed my mind,  
Obscure to others, but to one over plain.  
And yet that one did whiles (as th'end may prove)  
Not mark, not understand, or else despise,  
That (though mysterious) language of mine eyes,  
Which might have been interpreted by love.  
Thus she, what I discovered, yet concealed:  
Knows, and not knows; both hid, and both revealed.   

Elegy 1.  
EVen as the dying Swan almost bereft of breath,  
Sounds doleful notes and dreary songs, a presage of her death:  
So since my date of life almost expired I find,  
My obsequies I sadly sing, as sorrow tunes my mind,  
And as the rarest Bird a pile of wood doth frame,  
Which being fired by Phoebus' rays, she falls into the flame:  
So by two sunny eyes I give my fancy's fire,  
And burn myself with beauties rays, even by mine own desire.  
Thus th'angry Gods atlength begin for to relent,  
And once to end my deathful life, for pity are content.  
For if th'infernal powers, the damned souls would pine,  
Then let them send them to the light, to lead a life like mine.  
O if I could recount the crosses and the cares,  
That from my cradle to my Bear conduct me with despairs;  
Then hungry Tantalus pleased with his lot would stand:  
I famish for a sweeter food, which still is rest my hand,  
Like Ixion's restless wheel my fancies roll about;  
And like his guest that stole heavens fires, they tear my bowels out.  
I work an endless task and lose my labour still:  
Even as the bloody sisters do, that empty as they fill,  
As Sisiph's stone returns his guilty ghost t'appall,  
I ever raise my hopes so high, they bruise me with their fall.  
And if I could in sum my several griefs relate,  
All would forget their proper harms, & only wail my state.  
So grievous is my pain, so painful is my grief,  
That death which doth the world affright, would yield to me relief.  
I have mishaps so long, as in a habit had,  
I think I look not like myself, but when that I am sad.  
As birds fly but in th'air, fishes in seas do dive,  
So sorrow is as th'Element by which I only live:  
Yet this may be admired as more than strange in me,  
Although in all my Horoscope not one clear point I see.  
Against my knowledge, yet I many a time rebel,  
And seek to gather grounds of hope, a heaven amidst a hell.  
O poison of the mind, that dost the wits bereave:  
And shrouded with a cloak of love dost all the world deceive.  
Thou art the rock on which my comforts ship did dash,  
It's thou that daily in my wounds thy hooked heads dost wash.  
Blind Tyrant it is thou by whom my hopes lie dead:  
That whiles throws forth a dart of gold, & whiles a lump of lead.  
Thus oft thou woundest two, but in two different states,  
Which through a strange antipathy, th'one loves, & th'other hates.  
O but I err I grant, I should not thee upbraid,  
It's I to passions tyranny that have myself betrayed:  
And yet this cannot be, my judgements aims amiss:  
Ah dear Aurora it is thou that ruin'd hast my bliss:  
A fault that by thy sex may partly be excused,  
Which still doth loath what proffered is, affects what is refused.  
Whilst my distracted thoughts I strived for to control,  
And with feigned gestures did disguise the anguish of my soul,  
Then with inviting looks and accents stamped with love,  
The mask that was upon my mind thou labordst to remove.  
And when that once ensnared thou in those nets me spied,  
Thy smiles were shadowed with disdains, thy beauties clothed with pride.  
To reattaine thy grace I wots not how to go:  
Shall I once fold before thy feet, to plead for favour so?  
No, no, I'll proudly go my wrath for to assuage,  
And liberally at last enlarge the rains unto my rage.  
I'll tell what we were once, our chaste (yet fervent) loves,  
Whilst in effect thou seemed t'affect that which thou didst disprove.  
Whilst once t'engraue thy name upon a rock I sat,  
Thou vowed to write mine in a mind, more firm by far then that:  
The marble stone once stamped retains that name of thine:  
But ah, thy more than marble mind, it did not so with mine:  
So that which thralled me first, shall set me free again;  
Those flames to which thy love gave life, shall die with thy disdain.  
But ah, where am I now, how is my judgement lost!  
I speak as it were in my power, like one that's free to boast:  
Have I not sold myself to be thy beauty's slave?  
And when thou tak'st all hope from me, thou tak'st but what thou gave.  
That former love of thine, did so possess my mind,  
That for to harbour other thoughts, no room remains behind.  
And th'only means by which I mind t'avenge this wrong,  
It is, by making of thy praise the burden of my song.  
Then why shouldst thou such spite for my goodwill return?  
Was ever god as yet so mad to make his temple burn?  
My breast the temple was, whence incense thou received,  
And yet thou settest the same a fire, which others would have saved.  
But why should I accuse Aurora in this wise?  
She is as faultless as she's fair, as innocent as wise.  
It's but through my mis-lucke, if any fault there be:  
For she who was of nature mild, was cruel made by me.  
And since my fortune is, in woe to be bewrapt,  
I'll honour her as oft before, and hate mine own mishap.  
Her rigorous course shall serve loyal part to prove,  
And as a touchstone for to try the virtue of my love.  
Which when her beauty fades, shall be as clear as now,  
My constancy it shall be known, when wrinkled is her brow:  
So that such two again, shall in no age be found,  
She for her face, I for my faith, both worthy to be crowned.   

Madrig. 1.  
WHen in her face mine eyes I fix,  
A fearful boldness takes my mind,  
Sweet honey love with gall doth mix,  
And is unkindly kind:  
It seems to breed,  
And is indeed  
A special pleasure to be pined.  
No danger then I dread:  
For though I went a thousand times to Styx,  
I know she can revive me with her eye;  
As many looks, as many lives to me:  
And yet had I a thousand hearts,  
As many looks as many darts,  
Might make them all to die.   

Sestin. 1.  
Heard is my fortune, stormy is my state,  
And as inconstant as the waving sea,  
Whose course doth still depend upon the winds:  
For lo, my life in danger every hour,  
And though even at the point for to be lost,  
Can find no comfort but a flying show.  
And yet I take such pleasure in this show,  
That still I stand contented with my state,  
Although that others think me to be lost:  
And whilst I swim amidst a dangerous sea,  
Twixt fear and hope, and looking for the hour,  
When my last breath should glide amongst the winds.  
Lo to the seaman beaten with the winds,  
Sometimes the heavens a smiling face will show,  
So that to rest himself he finds some hour.  
But nought (ay me) can ever calm my state,  
Who with my tears as I would make a sea,  
Am flying Silla in Charybdis lost.  
The Pilot that was likely to be lost,  
When he hath scaped the furor of the winds,  
Doth strait forget the dangers of the sea.  
But I unhappy I, can never show,  
No kind of token of a quiet state,  
And am tormented still from hour to hour.  
O shall I never see that happy hour,  
When I (whose hopes once utterly were lost)  
May find a means to re-erect my state,  
And leave for to breath forth such dolorous winds,  
Whilst I myself in constancy do show  
A rock against the waves amidst the sea.  
As many waters make in end a sea,  
As many minutes make in end an hour:  
And still what went before th'effect doth show:  
So all the labours that I long have lost,  
As one that was but wrestling with the winds,  
May once in end concur to bless my state.  
And once my storme-stead state saved from the sea,  
In spite of adverse winds, may in one hour  
Pay all my labours lost, at least in show.   

Song 2.  
Whilst I by wailing sought  
T'have in some sort assuaged my grief,  
I found that rage gave no relief,  
And carefulness did but increase my fears:  
Then now I'll mourn for nought,  
But in my secret thought,  
Will thesaurize all my mischief.  
For long experienced woe well witness bears,  
That tears cannot quench sighs, nor sighs dry tears.  
To calm a stormy brow,  
The world doth know how I did smart,  
Yet could not move that marble heart,  
Which was too much to cruelty inclined:  
But to her rigour now,  
I lift my hands and bow,  
And in her grace will claim no part:  
I take great pains of purpose to be pined,  
And only mourn to satisfy my mind.  
How I my days have spent,  
The heavens above no doubt they know;  
The world hath likewise seen below,  
Whilst with my sighs I poisoned all the air:  
Those streams which I augment,  
Those woods where I lament,  
I think my state could clearly show:  
By those the same rests registered as rare,  
That such like monstrous things used to declare.  
The trees where I did bide,  
Seemed for to chide my froward fate:  
Then whistling wailed my wretched state,  
And bowing whiles to hear my woeful song:  
They spread their branches wide,  
Of purpose me to hide:  
Then of their leaves did make my seat:  
And if they reason had as they are strong,  
No doubt but they would join t'avenge my wrong.  
The beasts in every glen,  
Which first to kill me had ordained,  
Were by my privilege restrained,  
Who indenized was within those bounds:  
I harboured in a den,  
I fled the sight of men,  
No sign of reason I retained.  
The beasts they fly not when the hunter sounds,  
As I at mine own thoughts when Cupid hounds.  
This moves me, my distress  
And sorrows sometime to conceal,  
Lest that the torments which I feel,  
Might likewise my concitizens annoy.  
And partly I confess,  
Because the means grow less  
By which I should such harms reveal:  
Which I protest, doth but prejudge my joy,  
That still do strive myself for to destroy.  
All comfort I despite,  
And willingly with woe comport,  
My passions do appear a sport;  
I take a special pleasure to complain:  
All things that move delight,  
I with disdain acquit.  
Small ease seems much, long travels short,  
A world of pleasure is not worth my pain,  
I will not change my loss with others gain.  
Here robbed of all repose,  
Not interrupted by repair,  
My fancies freely I declare:  
And counting all my crosses one by one,  
I daily do disclose  
To woods and vales my woes.  
And as I saw Aurora there,  
I think to her that I my state bemoan,  
When in effect it is but to a stone.  
This my most monstrous ill,  
Compassion moves in every thing:  
When as I shout the forests ring;  
When I begin to groan, the beasts they bray:  
The trees they tears distill,  
The rivers all stand still,  
The birds my Tragedy they sing;  
The woeful Echo waits upon my way,  
Prompt to resound my accents when I stay.  
When wearied I remain,  
That sighs, tears, voice, and all do fail,  
Discoloured, bloodless, and grown pale,  
Upon the earth my body I distend:  
And then o'ercome with pain,  
I agonize again:  
And passions do so far prevail,  
That though I want the means my woes to spend,  
A mournful meaning never hath an end.  
My child in deserts borne,  
For griefe-tuned ears thy accents frame,  
And tell to those thy plaints that scorn,  
Thou plead'st for pity, not for fame.   

Son. 10.  
I Swear Aurora, by thy starry eyes,  
And by those golden locks whose lock none slips,  
And by the Coral of thy rosy lips,  
And by the naked snows which beauty dies,  
I swear by all the jewels of thy mind,  
Whose like yet never worldly treasure bought,  
Thy  judgement and thy generous thought,  
Which in this darkened age have clearly shined:  
I swear by those, and by my spotless love,  
And by my secret, yet most fervent fires,  
That I have never nursed but chaste desires,  
And such as modesty might well approve.  
Then since I love those virtuous parts in thee,  
Shouldst thou not love this virtuous mind in me▪   

Son. 11.  
AH that it was my fortune to be borne,  
Now in the time of this degenered age,  
When some, in whom impiety doth rage,  
Do all the rest discredit whilst they scorn.  
And this is grown to such a custom now,  
That those are thought to have the bravest spirits,  
Who can feign fancies and imagine merits:  
As who but for their lusts of love allow.  
And yet in this I had good hap, I find,  
That chanced to chain my thoughts to such an one,  
Whose judgement is so clear, that she anon  
Can by the outward gestures judge the mind.  
Yet wit and fortune rarely wait on one,  
She knows the best, yet can make choice of none.   

Son. 12.  
SWeet blushing goddess of the golden morning,  
Fair patroness of all the world's affairs,  
Thou art become so careless of my cares,  
That I must name thee goddess of my mourning.  
Lo how the Sun part of thy burden bears,  
And whilst thou dost in pearly drops regrate,  
As 'twere to pity thy distressed state,  
Exhales the Crystal of thy glistering tears;  
But I pour forth my vows before thy shrine,  
And whilst thou dost my loving zeal despise,  
Do drown my heart in th'ocean of mine eyes;  
Yet deign'st thou not to dry these tears of mine,  
Unless it be with th' Aetna of desires,  
Which even amidst those floods doth foster fires.   

Son. 13.  
LO how that Time doth still disturb my peace,  
And hath his course to my confusion bend;  
For when th'Occasion kindly gives consent,  
That I should feed upon Aurora's face:  
Then mounted on the chariot of the Sun,  
That tyrant Time doth post so fast away,  
That whilst I but advise what I should say,  
I'm forced to end ere I have well begun:  
And then again it doth so slowly fly,  
Whilst I leave her whom I hold only dear,  
Each minute makes an hour, each hour a year,  
Years lustres seem, one lustre ten to me.  
Thus changing course to change my state I know,  
In presence time proves swift, in absence slow.   

Son. 14.  
WHen first I viewed that ey-enchanting face,  
Which for the world chief treasure was esteemed,  
I judging simply all things as they seemed,  
Thought humble looks had promised pity place;  
Yet were they but ambushments, to deceive  
My overrash heart that feared no secret fires:  
Thy bashfulness emboldened my desires,  
Which seemed to offer what I was to crave.  
Can cruelty then borrow beauties shape?  
And pride so deck itself with modest looks?  
Too pleasant baits to hide such poisoned hooks,  
Whose unsuspected slight none can escape.  
Who can escape this more than devilish art,  
When golden hairs disguise a brazen heart?   

Son. 15.  
STay blubring pen to spot one that's so pure;  
She is my love, although she be unkind,  
I must admire that diamantine mind,  
And praise those eyes that do my death procure:  
Nor will I willingly those thoughts endure,  
That are to such apostasy inclined.  
Shall she, even she in whom all virtue shined,  
Be wronged by me? shall I her worth injure?  
No, rather let me die, and die disdained,  
Long ere I think, much less I speak the thing,  
That may disgrace unto her beauty bring,  
Who o'er my fancies hath so sweetly reigned.  
If any pitying me will damn her part,  
I'll make th'amends, and for her error smart.   

Son. 16.  
Love so engaged my fancies to that fair,  
That whilst I live I shall advance her name,  
And imping stately feathers in her fame,  
May make it glide more glorious through the air:  
So she in beauties right shall have her share,  
And I who strive her praises to proclaim,  
Encouraged with so excellent a theme,  
May rest enrolled amongst those that were rare.  
O if my wit were equal with her worth!  
Th' Antipodes all ravished by report,  
From regions most removed should here resort,  
To gaze upon the face which I set forth:  
Or were my wit but equal with my will,  
I with her praise both Titans bow●●s should fill.   

Son. 17.  
I Saw six gallant Nymphs, I saw but one,  
One stained them all, one did them only grace;  
And with the shining of her beauteous face,  
Gave to the world new light when it had none.  
Then when the god that guides the light was gone,  
And o'er the hills directed had his race,  
A brighter far than he supplied his place,  
And lightened our horizon here anon.  
The rest pale Moons were bettered by this Sun,  
They borrowed beams from her star-staining eyes:  
Still when she sets her lights, their shining dies,  
And at their opening is again begun:  
Phoebus all day I would be bard thy light,  
For to be shined on by this Sun at night.   

Son. 18.  
Praiseworthy part where praises praise is placed,  
As th'Oracle of th'Earth believed below.  
I'll to the world thy beauty's wonders show,  
O unstained Rose, with Lilies interlaced:  
But what a labour hath my Muse embraced?  
Shall I commend the coral, or the snow,  
Which such a sweet embalmed breath did blow,  
That th'oriental odours are disgraced?  
Mouth moistened with celestial Nectar still,  
Whose music oft my famished ears hath fed,  
With softened sounds in sugared speeches spread,  
Whilst pearls and rubies did unfold thy will.  
I wish that thy last kiss might stop my breath,  
Then I would think I died a happy death.   

Son. 19  
LEt some bewitched with a deceitful show,  
Love earthly things unworthily esteemed;  
And losing that which cannot be redeemed,  
Pay back with pain according as they owe:  
But I disdain to cast mine eyes so low,  
That for my thoughts over base a subject seemed,  
Which still the vulgar course too beaten deemed;  
And loftier things delighted for to know,  
Though presently this plague me but with pain,  
And vex the world with wondering at my woes:  
Yet having gained that long desired repose,  
My mirth may more miraculous remain.  
That for the which long languishing I pine,  
It is a show, but yet a show divine.   

Song 3.  
WHen as my fancies first began to fly,  
Which youth had but englared of late,  
Enamoured of mine own conceit,  
I sported with my thoughts that then were free;  
And never thought to see  
No such mishap at all,  
As might have made them thrall.  
When lo, even than my fate  
Was labouring to o'erthrow my prosperous state:  
For Cupid did conspire my fall,  
And with my honey mixed his gall,  
Long ere I thought that such a thing could be.  
Love after many stratagems were tried,  
His grief t'his mother did impart,  
And prayed her to find out some art,  
By which he might have means t'abate my pride.  
And she by chance espied  
Where beauties beauty strayed,  
Like whom strait ways arrayed,  
She took a powerful dart,  
Which had the force t'inflamenflame an icy heart:  
And when she had this slight assayed,  
The time no longer she delayed,  
But made an arrow through my bowels glide.  
Then when I had received the deadly wound,  
And that the goddess fled my sight,  
Inveigled with her beauty's light:  
First having followed o'er the stable ground,  
Unto the deep profound,  
My course I next did hold,  
In hope the truth t'unfold.  
If Thetis by her might,  
Or some sea-nymph had used the fatal slight:  
In th'haven I did a bark behold,  
With sails of silk, and oars of gold,  
Which being richly decked, did seem most sound,  
In this embarked when from the port I passed,  
Fair gales at first my sails did greet,  
And all seemed for the voyage meet;  
But yet I sailed not long, when lo a blast  
Did quite oreturne my mast;  
Which being once thrown down,  
Still looking for to drown,  
And stricken off my feet,  
Betwixt two rocks I did with danger fleet:  
Whilst seas their waves with clouds did crown,  
Yet with much toil I got a town,  
Whereas I saw her whom I sought at last.  
What were my joys then scarcely can be thought;  
When in distress she did me spy,  
My mind with fortunes best to try,  
She to a chamber made of pearl me brought,  
Where whilst I proudly sought,  
In state with jove to strive;  
A flame which did arrive  
In twinkling of an eye,  
The chamber burned, and left me like to die:  
For after that, how could I live,  
That in the depth of woes did dive,  
To see my glory to confusion brought?  
But with prosperity yet once again,  
(To try what was within my mind)  
She on my back two wings did bind,  
Like to Ioues birds, and I who did disdain  
On th'earth for to remain,  
Since I might soar over all,  
Did th'airy spirits appall,  
Till through fierce flying blind,  
I was encountered with a mighty wind,  
With which through th'air tossed like a ball,  
Even as a star from heaven doth fall,  
I glided to the ground almost quite slain.  
Then (as it seemed) grown kinder than before,  
This Lady for to cure my wounds,  
Did seek o'er all the nearest bounds,  
To try what might my wont state restore,  
And still her care grew more;  
Of flowers she made my bed,  
With Nectar I was fed,  
And with most surged sounds,  
Oft lulled asleep betwixt two ivory rounds,  
Whose dainty turrets all were clad  
With Lilies white, and Roses red,  
The leaves of which could only ease my sore.  
When I was cured of every thing save care,  
She whom I name (without a name)  
Did lead me forth t'a mighty frame,  
A curious building that was wondrous fair,  
A labyrinth most rare,  
All made of precious stones:  
That which in Candie once  
Did hide pasipha's shame,  
Was not so large, though more enlarged by fame:  
There whilst none listened to their moans,  
A world of men shed weighty groans,  
That tortured were with th'engines of despair.  
As Forth at Sterling, glides at 'twere in doubt,  
What way she should direct her course;  
If to the sea, or to the source,  
And sporting with herself, herself doth flout:  
So wandered I about  
In th'intricated way,  
Where whilst I did still stray,  
With an abrupt discourse,  
And with a courtesy, I must say course,  
My beauteous guide fled quite away,  
And would not do so much as stay,  
To lend me first a thread to lead me out:  
Through many a corner whilst I staggering went,  
Which in the dark I did embrace,  
A nymph like th'other in the face,  
But whose affections were more mildly bend,  
Spying my breath near spent,  
Played Ariadne's part,  
And led me by the heart  
Out of the guileful place.  
And like th'ungrateful Theseus' in this case,  
I made not my deliverer smart:  
Thus oft afraid my panting heart,  
Can yet scarce trust t'have scaped some bad event.  
If any muse mysterious song,  
At those strange things that thou hast shown,  
And wots not what to deem;  
Tell that they do me wrong,  
I am myself, what ere I seem,  
And must go masked, that I may not be known.   

Son. 20.  
Unhappy ghost go wail thy grief below,  
Where never soul but endless horror sees,  
Dismaske thy mind amongst the myrtle trees,  
Which here I see thou art ashamed to show;  
This breast that such a fiery breath doth blow,  
Must have of force some flood those flames to freeze.  
And o that drowsy Lethe best agrees,  
To quench these evils that come, because I know  
Since she whom I have harboured in my heart,  
Will grant me now no portion of her mind,  
I die content, because she lives unkind,  
And suffers one whom once she graced to smart:  
But I lament that I have lived so long,  
Lest blaming her, I ere I die do wrong.   

Son. 21.  
IN this cursed breast, borne only to be pined,  
Some fury hath such fantasies infused,  
That I though with her cruelties well used,  
Can deign myself to serve one so inclined.  
Such hellish horrors toss my restless mind,  
That with beguiling hopes vainly abused,  
It yet affects that which the Fates refused,  
And dare presume to plead for that unkind:  
Then traitorous thoughts, that have seduced my sense,  
Whose vain inventions I have oft times wailed,  
I banish you the bounds, whereas ye failed  
To live from hence, exiled for your offence.  
But what avails all this, though I would leave them,  
If that the heart they hurt again receive them?   

Son. 22.  
WHilst nothing could my fancy's course control,  
T'have matchless beauties matched with matchless love,  
And from thy mind all rigour to remove,  
I sacrificed th'affections of my soul:  
And Hercules had never greater pains,  
With dangerous toils his stepdames wrath t'assuage,  
Than I, while as I did my thoughts engage,  
With my deserts t'oreballance thy disdains:  
Yet all my merits could not move thy mind,  
But furnished trophies for t'adorn thy pride,  
That in the furnace of those troubles tried  
The temper of my love, whose flame I find  
Fined and refined too oft, but faintles flashes,  
And must within short time fall down in ashes.   

Son. 23.  
Erst stately juno in a great disdain,  
Her beauty by ones judgement but injured,  
T'avenge on a whole nation oft procured,  
And for ones fault saw many thousands slain:  
But she whom I would to the world prefer,  
Although I spend my spirit to praise her name,  
She in a rage, as if I sought her shame,  
Thirsts for my blood, and saith I wrong her far.  
Thus ruthless tyrants that are bend to kill,  
Of all occasions procreate a cause:  
How can she hate me now (this makes me pause)  
When yet I cannot but commend her still?  
For this her fault comes of a modest mind,  
Where fond ambition made the goddess blind.   

Sonnet 24.  
A Country Swain while as he lay at rest,  
Near dead for cold a serpent did perceive,  
And through preposterous pity strait would save  
That viper's life, whose death had been his best:  
For being by his bosoms heat reviv'd,  
O vile ingratitude! a monstrous thing,  
Not thinking how he strengthened had her sting,  
She killed the courteous Clown by whom she lived.  
I in this manner harboured in my heart  
A speechless picture, destitute of force,  
And lo attracted with a vain remorse,  
I gave it life, and fostered it with art;  
But like that poisonous viper being strong,  
She burned the breast where she had lodged so long.   

Son. 25.  
Clear moving crystal, pure as the Sun beams,  
Which had the honour for to be the glass,  
Of the most dainty beauty ever was;  
And with her shadow did enrich thy streams,  
Thy treasures now cannot be bought for money,  
Whilst she drank thee, thou drank'st thy fill of love,  
And of those roses didst the sweetness prove,  
From which the Bees of love do gather honey:  
Th'ambrosian liquor that he fills above,  
Whom th'Eagle ravished from th'inferior round,  
It is not like this Nectar (though renowned)  
Which thou didst taste, whilst she her lips did move:  
But yet beware lest burning with desires,  
That all thy waters cannot quench thy fires.   

Son. 26.  
I'll give thee leave my love, in beauty's field  
To rear red colours while, and bend thine eyes;  
Those that are bashful still, I quite despise  
Such simple souls are too soon moved to yield:  
Let majesty armed in thy countenance sit,  
As that which will no injury receive;  
And I'll not hate thee, whiles although thou have  
A spark of pride, so it be ruled by wit.  
This is to chastity a powerful guard,  
Whilst haughty thoughts all servile things eschew,  
That spark hath power the passions to subdue,  
And would of glory challenge a reward:  
But do not fall in love with thine own self;  
Narcissus erst was lost on such a shelf.   

Son. 27.  
THe thoughts of those I cannot but disprove,  
Who basely lost their thraldom must bemoan:  
I scorn to yield myself to such a one,  
Whose birth and virtue is not worth my love.  
No, since it is my fortune to be thrall,  
I must be fettered with a golden band;  
And if I die, i'll die by Hector's hand:  
So may the victor's fame excuse my fall;  
And if by any means I must be blind,  
Than it shall be by gazing on the Sun;  
Oft by those means the greatest have been won,  
Who must like best of such a generous mind:  
At least by this I have allowed of fame,  
Much honour if I win, if lose, no shame.   

Son. 28.  
THen whilst that Lathmos did contain her bliss,  
chaste Phoebe left her Church so much admired,  
And when her brother from that bounds retired,  
Would of the sleepy shepherd steal a kiss,  
But to no greater grace I crave to climb,  
Then of my goddess whiles whilst she reposes,  
That I might kiss the stil-selfekissing roses,  
And steal of her that which was stolen of him;  
And though I know that this would only prove,  
A maimed delight, whereof th'one half would want,  
Yet whilst the light did Morpheus' power supplant:  
If that my theft did her displeasure move,  
I render would all that I robbed again,  
And for each kiss I take would give her twain.   

Son. 29.  
I Envy not Endymion now no more,  
Nor all the happiness his sleep did yield,  
While as Diana straying through the field,  
Sucked from his sleep-sealed lips balm for her sore:  
Whilst I embraced the shadow of my death,  
I dreaming did far greater pleasure prove,  
And quaffed with Cupid sugared draughts of love,  
Then jove-like feeding on a Nectared breath:  
Now judge which of us two might be most proud;  
He got a kiss yet not enjoyed it right,  
And I got none, yet tasted that delight  
Which Venus on Adonis once bestowed:  
He only got the body of a kiss,  
And I the soul of it, which he did miss.   

Son. 30.  
ASpiring Spirit, fly low, yet fly despair,  
Thy haughty thoughts the heavenly powers despise.  
Thus balanced lo betwixt the earth and th'air,  
I wots not whether for to fall or rise;  
Through desperate dangers whiles I scale the skies,  
As if that nought my courage could restrain,  
When lo, anon down in the Centre lies  
That restless mind, which th'heavens did once contain;  
I toil for that which I cannot attain:  
Yet fortune nought but fickleness affords:  
Where I have been, I hope to be again;  
She once must change, her common course records.  
Although my hap be hard, my heart is high,  
And it must mount, or else my body die.   

Elegy 2.  
LEt not the world believe th'accusing of my fate  
Tends to allure it to condole with me my tragic state:  
Nor that I have sent forth these stormy tears of rage,  
So by disburd'ning of my breast, my sorrows to assuage.  
No, no, that serves for nought, I crave no such relief,  
Nor will I yield that any should be partners of my grief.  
My fantasy to feed I only spend those tears:  
My plaints please me, no music sounds so sweetly in my ears,  
I wish that from my birth I had acquainted been  
Still with mishaps, and never had but woes and horrors seen:  
Then ignorant of joys, lamenting as I do,  
As thinking all men did the like, I might content me too.  
But ah, my fate was worse: for it (as in a glass)  
Showed me through little blinkes of bliss, the stare wherein I was.  
Which unperfected joys, scarce constant for an hour,  
Were like but to a watery Sun, that shines before a shower.  
For if I ever thought or rather dreamed of joys,  
That little lightning but foreshowed a thunder of annoys:  
It was but like the fruit that Tantalus torments,  
Which while he sees & nought attains, his hunger but augments.  
For so the shadow of that but imagined mirth,  
Called all the crosses to record, I suffered since my birth,  
Which are to be bewailed, but hard to be redressed:  
Whose strange effects may well be felt, but cannot be expressed.  
judge what the feeling was, when thinking on things past,  
I tremble at the torment yet, and stand a time aghast.  
Yet do I not repent, but will with patience pine:  
For though I mourn, I murmur not, like men that do repine.  
I grant I wail my lot, yet I approve her will;  
What my soul's oracle thinks good, I never shall think ill.  
If I had only sought a salve to ease my pains,  
Long since I had bewailed my lot alongst th' Elysian plains:  
Yet mind I not in this selfe-lover-like to die,  
As one that cared not for her loss, so I myself were free.  
No, may ten nights annoys make her one night secure,  
A day of dolours unto her a moment's mirth procure:  
Or may a years laments rejoice her half an hour,  
May seven years' sorrows make her glad, I shall not think them sour,  
And if she do delight to hear of my disease,  
Then o blest I, who so may have th'occasion her to please:  
For now the cause I live, is not for love of life,  
But only for to honour her that holds me in this strife.  
And ere those vows I make do unperformed escape,  
This world shall once again renuerst resume her shapeless shape.  
But what? what have I vowed, my passions were too strong,  
As if the mildest of the world delighted to do wrong:  
As she whom I adore with so devote a mind,  
Can rest content to see me starve, be glad to see me pined.  
No, no, she wails my state, and would appease my cares,  
Yet interdicted to the fates, conforms her will to theirs.  
Then o unhappy man, whom even thy Saint would save,  
And yet thy cruel destiny doth damn thee to the grave.  
This sentence than may serve for to confound my fears,  
Why burst I not my breast with sighs, & drown mine eyes with tears?  
Ah, I have mourned so much, that I may mourn no more,  
My miseries pass numbering now, plaints perish in their store.  
The means t'vnlode my breast doth quite begin to fail;  
For being drunk with too much dole, I wots not how to wail.  
And since I want a way my anguish to reveal,  
Of force contented with my Fate, I'll suffer and conceal.  
And for to use the world, even as my love used me.  
I'll use a countenance like to one, whose mind from grief were free.  
For when she did disdain, she show'd a smiling face,  
Even then when she denounced my death, she seemed to promise grace.  
So shall I feeme in show my thoughts for to repose,  
Yet in the centre of my soul shall shroud a world of woes:  
Then woeful breast and eyes your restless course control,  
And with no outward signs betray the anguish of my soul.  
Eyes rain your showers within, arrowze the Earth no more,  
Pass drown with a deluge of tears the breast ye burned before:  
Breast arm yourself with sighs, if o'er weak to defend,  
Then perish by your proper fires, and make an honest end.   

Song 4.  
O Bitter time that dost begin the year,  
And dost begin each bitter thing to breed!  
O season sour, that season'st so with gall  
Each kind of thing, in thee that life doth take;  
Yet cloak'st thy sourness with a sweet-like hue,  
And for my share dost make me still to pine,  
As one that's robbed of rest.  
Now when through all the earth the basest brire,  
In sign of joy is clothed with summers weed,  
Even now when as hills, herbs, woods, vales and all,  
Begin to spring, and off th'old ruins shake,  
Thou but beginnest mine anguish to renew;  
O rigour rare, to banish me from mine,  
When birds do build their nest.  
By these thy fierce effects it may appear,  
That with the Bull the Sun sojourns indeed.  
What savage Bull disbanded from his stall,  
Of wrath a sign more inhuman could make?  
Over all the Earth thou powr'st down pleasant dew:  
But with despair dost all my hopes confine,  
With tears to bathe my breast.  
Now when the time t'increase is drawing near,  
Thou in my breast of sorrow sow'st the seed,  
And those old griefs thou goest for to recall,  
That fading hang and would the stalk forsake.  
Thus how can I some huge mishap eschew,  
Who killed with care, all comfort must resign,  
And yield to th'amorous pest?  
The heaven of my estate grows never clear,  
I many torments feel, yet worse do dread:  
Mishaps have me environed with a wall,  
And my heart sting with pains that never slake:  
Yet to the end I'll to my Dear be true;  
So this sharp air my constancy shall fine,  
Which may come for the best.  
I'll write my woes upon this Pine-tree here,  
That passengers such rarities may read,  
Who when they think of this my wretched fall,  
With sighs may sing those evils that make me quake,  
And for compassion wail, while as they view,  
How that I there with such a savage line,  
A tyrant's Trophies dressed.  
This time desired of all I'll to hold dear,  
And as that all things now to flourish speed:  
So moving on this sea-environed ball,  
Forth tears to bring mine eyes shall ever wake:  
And whilst even senseless things my sorrows rue,  
I shall not spare no part of my engine,  
Myself for to molest.  
The sourest herbs shall be my sweetest cheer,  
Since to prolong my pains I only feed;  
Some dungeon dark shall serve me for a hall,  
And like a king I shall companions lake.  
Though never Envy do my state pursue,  
Of wormwood bore I mind to make my wine,  
Thus shall I be distressed.  
For since my Fair doth not upon me rue,  
My hopes set in the west.   

Son. 31.  
MY fairest Fair advise thee with thy heart,  
And tell in time if that thou thinkest to love me,  
Lest that I perish whilst thou thinkest to prove me,  
And so thou want the means to act thy part:  
For I account myself so done accursed,  
That from despairs refuge I scarce refrain.  
The daintiest colours do the soonest stain,  
And the most noble minds do soon burst.  
Why shouldst thou thus thy rarest treasure venture?  
Lo, all the weighty thoughts, the burdenous cares,  
And every horror that the health impairs,  
Draw to the heart, as to the body's Centre:  
And it o'erbalanced with so great a weight,  
Doth boast to yield unto the burden strait.   

Son. 32.  
THe turret of my hope which never falls,  
Did at the first all Cupid's power despise:  
But it t'o'erthrow while as thou armed thine eyes;  
Thy looks were Canons, thy disdains their balls:  
I braved thy beauties in a gallant sort,  
And did resist all thy assaults a time:  
But ah, I find in end, (my wrack thy crime)  
That treason enters in the strongest fort.  
Thou seeing thou wast like to lose the field,  
Unto my thoughts some favour didst impart,  
Which like bribed Orators informed the heart,  
The victor would prove kind, if I could yield:  
And o, what can this grace thy beauty's strains?  
'tis no true victory that treason gains.   

Son. 33.  
O If thou knewest how thou thyself dost harm,  
And dost prejudge thy bliss, and spoil my rest:  
Then thou wouldst melt the ice out of thy breast,  
And thy relenting heart would kindly warm.  
O if thy pride did not our joys control,  
What world of loving wonders shouldst thou see!  
For if I saw thee once transformed in me,  
Then in thy bosom I would pour my soul,  
Then all thy thoughts should in my visage shine.  
And if that aught mischanced thou shouldst not moon,  
Nor bear the burden of thy griefs alone;  
No, I would have my share in what were thine.  
And whilst we thus should make our sorrows one,  
This happy harmony would make them none.   

Son. 34.  
WHat uncouth motion makes my mirth decay?  
Is this the thing poor martyred men call Love?  
And whilst their torment doth their wits dismay,  
As those that rave, do for a god approve?  
Although he bring his greatness from above,  
And rule the world according to his will,  
Yet doth he even from those all rest remove,  
That were devoted to his deity still.  
Can that which is th'original of ill,  
From which doth flow an Ocean of mischief,  
Whose poisonous waves doth many thousands kill  
Can that be love? no, 'tis the source of grief.  
And all those err that hold this vain conceit;  
Then I err too, one in this same estate.   

Sestin. 2.  
WHile as the day delivers us his light,  
I wander through the solitary fields,  
And when the evening hath obscured the earth,  
And hath with silence lulled the world asleep:  
Then rage I like a madman in my bed,  
Which being fired with sighs, I quench with tears.  
But ere Aurora rise to spend her tears,  
Still languishing again to see the light,  
As th'enemy of my rest, I fly my bed,  
And take me to the most deserted fields:  
There is no soul save I but gets some sleep,  
Though one would seek through all the peopled earth.  
Whiles th' Aetna of my fires affrights the earth,  
And whiles it dreads, I drown it with my tears:  
And it's suspicious-like, I neither sleep,  
When Phoebus gives nor gathers in his light:  
So many piles of grass not  the fields,  
As I devise designs within my bed.  
Unto the time I find a frosty bed,  
Digged within the bowels of the earth,  
Mine eyes salt floods shall still o'erflow the fields:  
I look not for an abstinence from tears,  
Till first I be secluded from the light,  
And end my torments with an endless sleep.  
For now when I am purposed to sleep,  
A thousand thoughts assail me in my bed,  
That oft I do despair to see the light:  
O would to God I were dissolved in earth;  
Then would the savage beasts bemoan with tears,  
Their neighbour's death through all th'unpeopled fields.  
Whilst ravished while I walk alongst the fields,  
The lookers on lament, I lose my sleep:  
But of the Crocodiles those be the tears,  
So to persuade me for to go to sleep;  
As being sure, when once I leave the light,  
To render me the greatest wretch on th'earth.  
O happiest I in th'earth, if in the fields,  
I might still see the light and never sleep,  
Drinking salt tears, and making stones my bed.   

Son. 35.  
WHen I behold that face for which I pined,  
And did myself so long in vain annoy,  
My tongue not able to unfold my joy,  
A wondering silence only shows my mind:  
But when again thou dost extend thy rigour,  
And wilt not deign to grace me with thy sight,  
Thou kill'st my comfort, and so spoil'st my might,  
That scarce my corpse retains the vital vigour.  
Thy presence thus a great contentment brings,  
And is my souls inestimable treasure:  
But o, I drown in th'Ocean of displeasure,  
When I in absence think upon those things.  
Thus would to God that I had seen thee never,  
Or would to God that I might see thee ever.   

Sonnet 36.  
LOyr, witness thou what was my spotless part,  
Whilst thou amazed to see thy Nymphs so fair,  
As loath to part thence where they did repair,  
Still murmuring did thy plaints t'each stone impart:  
Then did mine eyes betake them to my heart,  
As scorning to behold all those, though rare,  
And gazed upon her beauty's image there,  
Whose eyes have furnished Cupid many a dart:  
And as devoted only unto her,  
They did disdain for to bestow their light,  
For to be entertained with any sight,  
Save only that which made them first to err.  
Then famous river through the Ocean glide,  
And tell my love how constant I abide.   

Son. 37.  
I Cannot comprehend how this doth come,  
Thou whose affections never yet were warm,  
Which cold disdain with leaden thoughts doth arm:  
Though in thyself still cold, yet burnest thou some.  
Even as the Sun (as th'Astrologian dreams)  
In th'airy region where itself doth move,  
Is never hot, yet darting from above,  
Doth parch all things that repercusse his beams:  
So thou that in thyself from fires art free,  
Who eye's indifferent still, as Titans stays,  
Whilst I am th'object that reflect thy rays:  
That which thou never hadst, thou workest in me.  
Since but below thou show'st that power of thine,  
I would the Zodiac be whence thou dost shine.   

Son. 38.  
MY tears might all the parched sands have drenched,  
Though Phaeton had undone the liquid frame:  
I'll furnish Vulcan's furnace with a flame,  
That like the Vestals fire was never quenched.  
And though th'infected air turmoiled remain,  
It by my sighs and cries may be refined:  
And if the body answer to the mind,  
If no earth were, mine might make th'earth again:  
Though all the savage flocks lay dead in heaps,  
With which th' Arabian deserts are best stored,  
My breast might many a fiercer beast afford,  
If like themselves all clothed with monstrous shapes:  
And thus within myself I create so,  
A world with all the Elements of wo.   

Son. 39  
MVst I attend an unrelenting will,  
Which never any sign of favour show?  
Ah, why shouldst thou Aurora thus pursue  
An innocent, that never did thee ill?  
I did not with the Greek conspire to kill  
Thy son, for whom thou sheddest such floods of dew:  
But I as one that yet his destiny rue,  
For to condole with thee, huge tears distill;  
And like the loving birds that came each year,  
Upon his tomb to offer up their blood:  
So shall I too power forth a scarlet flood,  
And sacrifice a heart that holds thee dear:  
That since my life to make thee love lacks force,  
At least my death may move thee to remorse.   

Son. 40.  
THy cruelties (fierce Fair) may be excused:  
For it was I that gave thy beauty power,  
And taught thee when to smile, and when to lower,  
Which thou hast since still to my ruin used:  
As he that others purposed was to pine,  
And for his brazen bull a guerdon claimed,  
Was tortured first with that which he had framed,  
And made th'experience of his cursed engine:  
So in this manner dost thou me torment,  
Who told thee first the force of thy disdains:  
But ah, I suffer many greater pains,  
Then the Sicilian tyrants could invent:  
And yet this grieves me most that thou disgraced,  
Art in the rank with such like tyrants placed.   

Son. 41.  
IF that so many brave men leaving Greece,  
Durst erst adventure through the raging depth,  
And all to get the spoils of a poor sheep,  
That had been famous for his golden fleece.  
O then for that pure gold what should be sought,  
Of which each hair is worth a thousand such!  
No doubt for it one cannot do too much.  
Why should not precious things be dearly bought?  
And so they are, for in the Colchik guise,  
This treasure many a danger doth defend:  
Of which, when I have brought some one to end,  
Strait out of that a number doth arise:  
Even as the Dragon's teeth bred men at arms,  
Which (ah) t'o'erthrow, I want Medea's charms.   

Son. 42.  
OFt with that mirror would I change my shape,  
From which my Fair asks counsel every day,  
How she th'untainted beauties should array,  
To th'end their fierce assaults no soul may scape.  
Then in my bosom I behooved t'embrace  
That which I love, and whilst on me she gazed,  
In her sweet eyes I many a time amazed,  
Would woe myself, and borrow thence a grace.  
But ah, I seek that which I have, and more,  
She but too oft in me her picture spies,  
And I but gaze too oft on those fair eyes,  
Whence I the humour draw that makes mine sore.  
Well may my love come glass herself in me,  
In whom all what she is, the world may see.   

Son. 43.  
NOw when the Siren sings, as one dismayed,  
I strait with wax begin to stop mine ears;  
And when the Crocodile doth shed forth tears,  
I fly away, for fear to be betrayed.  
I know when as thou seem'st to wail my state,  
Thy face is no true table of thy mind:  
And thou wouldst never show thyself so kind,  
Wert not thy thoughts are hatching some deceit:  
Whilst with vain hopes thou go'st about to fill me.  
I wots whereto those drams of favour tend;  
Lest by my death thy cruelties should end,  
Thou thinkest by giving life again to kill me:  
No, no, thou shalt not thus thy greatness raise,  
I'll break the trumpet that proclaimed thy praise.   

Son. 44.  
O Now I think, and do not think amiss,  
That th'old Philosophers were all but fools,  
Who used such curious questions in their schools,  
Yet could not apprehend the highest Bliss.  
Lo, I have learned in th'Academe of Love,  
A Maxim which they never understood:  
To love and be beloved this is the good,  
Which for most sovereign all the world will prove,  
That which delights us most must be our treasure:  
And to what greater joy can one aspire,  
Then to possess all that he doth desire,  
Whilst two united souls do melt in pleasure?  
This is the greatest good can be invented,  
That is so great it cannot be augmented.   

Son. 45.  
I Wonder not at Procris raging fits,  
Who was afraid of thy entangling grace:  
O there be many sorcerers in thy face,  
Whose Magic may enchant the rarest wits.  
To Shafalus what would thy looks have bred,  
When thou while as the world thy sight pursued,  
As blushing of so many to be viewed,  
A vale of roses o'er thy beauties spread:  
Then ever gazing on thine ivory brows,  
He wounded with thy Christall-pointed eyes,  
Had reared a Trophy to the morning skies,  
Not mindful of his Hymenaean vows.  
But I am glad it chanced not to be so,  
Lest I had partner been of Procris wo.   

Son. 46.  
Love swore by Styx whilst all the depths did tremble,  
That he would be avenged of my proud heart,  
Who to his Deity durst base styles impart,  
And would in that Latona's imp resemble:  
Then strait denounced his rebel, in a rage  
He laboured by all means for to betray me,  
And gave full leave to any for to slay me,  
That he might by my wrack his wrath assuage:  
A Nymph that longed to finish Cupid's toils,  
Chanced once to spy me come in beauties bounds,  
And strait o'erthrew me with world of wounds,  
Then unto Paphos did transport my spoils.  
Thus, thus I see, that all must fall in end,  
That with a greater than themselves contend.   

Song 7.  
A 'Longst the borders of a pleasant plain,  
The sad Alexis did his garments tear,  
And though alone, yet fearing to be plain,  
Did maim his words with many a sigh and tear:  
For whilst he leaned him down upon a green,  
His wounds again began for to grow green.  
At last in show as one whose hopes were light,  
From fainting breath he forced those words to part:  
O dear Aurora, dearer than the light,  
Of all the world's delights mine only part:  
How long shall I in barren fields thus ear,  
Whilst to my sad laments thou lendest no ear!  
O what a rage doth boil in every vain,  
Which shows the world my better part's not sound:  
And yet thou lettest me spend those plaints in vain,  
T'amaze the world with many a mournful sound:  
And whilst that I to grief enlarge the rains,  
A shower of sorrow o'er my visage rains.  
Ah, what have I whereon my hopes to found,  
That hoped t'have had repose within thine arm,  
Yet have not any sign of favour found,  
Thy marble mind such frozen fancies arm:  
For when in humble sort for grace I pray,  
Thou triumphest o'er me, as thy beauties pray.  
I that transported once was near gone wood,  
Now with long travels growing faint and lean,  
While as I wander through the defart wood,  
My wearied body on each tree must lean:  
And whilst my heart is with strange Harpies rend,  
I pay to sorrow the accustomed rent.  
And whilst I wander like the wounded Deer,  
That seeks for Dictamne to recure his scar,  
And come to thee whom I hold only dear,  
Thou dost (fierce Fair) at my disaster scar:  
And makest me from all kind of comfort barred,  
Live in the deserts like a raging Bard.  
Ah, be there now no means t'undo the band,  
That thou hast framed of those thy golden locks!  
I'll range my fancies in a desperate band,  
And burst asunder all thy beauty's locks:  
Then to thy breast those fiery troops will lead,  
There from about thy heart to melt the lead.  
But ah, I boast in vain, this cannot be,  
Although myself to many shapes I turn:  
I only labour like the restless Bee,  
That toils in vain to serve another's turn.  
My hopes which once winged with thy favours rose,  
Are falling now, as doth the blasted rose.  
That those my torments cannot long time last,  
In my declining eyes the world may read,  
Lo wounded with thy pride I fall at last,  
As doth before the winds a beaten reed:  
And this my death with shame thy cheeks may die,  
Since sacrificed to thy disdain I die.   

Son. 47.  
WHen whiles I hear some gallants to give forth,  
That those whom they adore are only fair,  
With whom they think none other can compare;  
The beauty of beauty, and the height of worth,  
Then jealousy doth all my joys control,  
For o I think, who can accomplished be,  
(There is no Sun but one) save only she  
Whom I have made the idol of my soul;  
And this suspicion wounds my better parts:  
I rage to have a rival in my light,  
And yet would rage's far more, if any might  
Give her their eyes, and yet hold back their hearts;  
Too great affection doth those passions move,  
I may not trust my shadow with my love.   

Son. 48.  
WHen as I come to thy respected sight,  
Thy looks are all so chaste, thy words so grave,  
That my affections do the foil receive,  
And like to darkness yield unto the light;  
Still virtue holds the balance of thy wit,  
In which great reason ponders every thought,  
And thou dear Lady never stained in aught,  
Thus o'er thyself dost as an Empress sit.  
O what is beauty if not free from blame,  
It have the soul as white as is the skin,  
The froth of vanity, the dregs of sin,  
A wrack to others, to itself a shame;  
And as it is most precious if kept pure,  
It is as much abhorred if once impure.   

Song 6.  
WHen silence lulls the world asleep,  
And stars do glance in th'Azure field,  
The mountains making shadows o'er the plains,  
All creatures than betake themselves to rest,  
And to the law of nature yield,  
Save I, who no good order keep,  
That then begin to feel my pains;  
For in the Zodiac of my breast,  
The Sun that I adore her light revives,  
Whilst wearied Phoebus in the Ocean dives.  
The world's clear day was night to me,  
Who seemed asleep still in a trance,  
And all my words were spoken through a dream:  
But then when th'earth puts on th'umbrageous mask,  
My passions do themselves advance,  
And from those outward lets set free,  
That had them erst restrained with shame,  
Do set me to my woeful task:  
Then from the night her privilege I take,  
And in despite of Morpheus I will wake.  
But strait the Sun that gives melight,  
With many duskish vapours clad,  
Doth seem to boast me with some fearful storm;  
And whilst I gaze upon the glorious beams,  
Lo metamorphosed in my bed,  
I lose at once my shapher sight;  
And taking on another form,  
Am all dissolved in bitter streams,  
Where many monsters bathe themselves anon,  
At which strange sight the Fauns and satires moon.  
But whilst I seek more springs t'assemble,  
My waters are dried up again,  
And as the mighty Giant that jove tames:  
I wots not whether, if thundered or thundering,  
Against the heavens smokes forth disdain,  
And makes mount Aetna tremble.  
So I send forth a flood of flames,  
Which makes the world for to stand wondering,  
And never did the Lemnian furnace burn,  
As than my breast, whilst all to fire I turn.  
At last no constancy below,  
Thus plagued in two divers shapes,  
I'm turned into myself, and then I quake,  
For this I have by proof found worst of all:  
Then do my hopes fall dead in heaps,  
And to b'avenged of their overthrow,  
Strange troops of thoughts their musters make,  
Which toss my fancy like a ball:  
Thus one mishap doth come as th'other's past,  
And still the greatest cross comes ever last.  
To tell the stars my night I pass,  
And much conclude, yet questions do arise;  
I harrengues make though dumb, and see though blind,  
And though alone, am hemmed about with bands:  
I build great castles in the skies,  
Whose tender turrets but of glass,  
Are strait o'erturned with every wind,  
And reared and razed, yet without hands;  
I in this state strange miseries detect,  
And more devise than thousands can effect.  
My Sun whilst thus I stand perplexed,  
The darknsse doth Igaine control,  
And then I gaze upon that divine grace,  
Which as that I had viewed Medusa's head,  
Transformed me once; and my sad soul,  
That thus hath been so strangely vexed,  
Doth from her seat those troubles chase,  
The which before despair had made,  
And all her power upon contentment feeds,  
No joy to that which after woe succeeds.  
And yet those dainties of my joys,  
Are still confected with some fears,  
That well accustomed with my cruel fate,  
Can never trust the gift that th'enemy gives,  
And only th'end true witness bears:  
For whilst my soul her power employs,  
To surfeit in this happy state,  
The heaven again my wrack contrives,  
And the world's Sun envying this of mine,  
To darken my loves world gins to shine.   

Son. 49.  
I Think that Cyprus in a high disdain,  
Barred by the barbarous Turks that conquered seat,  
To re-erect the ruins of her state,  
Comes o'er their bounds t'establish beauties reign;  
And whilst her greatness doth begin to rise,  
As sdaining temples built of base frame,  
She in those rosy snows t'enstall her name,  
Rears stately altars in thy starry eyes,  
Before whose sacred shrine divinely fair,  
Breasts boiling still with generous desires,  
Fall sacrificed with memorable fires;  
The incense of whose sighs endears the air,  
In which thy same unparagond doth flee,  
Whilst thou by beauty, beauty lives by thee.   

Son. 50.  
ONce Cupid had compassion of my state,  
And wounded with a wonderful remorse,  
Vowed that he would my cruel fair enforce,  
To melt the rigour of her cold conceit:  
But when he came his purpose to fulfil,  
And shot at her a volley from the skies,  
She did receive the darts within her eyes;  
Then in those crystal quivers kept them still.  
Who vaunt before they win, oft lose the game;  
And the presumptuous mind gets maniest foils.  
Lo he that thought t'have triumphed o'er her spoils,  
But come with pride, and went away with shame:  
And where he hoped t'have helped me by this strife,  
He brought her arms wherewith to take my life.   

Son. 51.  
I Dreamed the Nymph that o'er my fancy reigns,  
Came to a part whereas I paused alone;  
Then said, what needs you in such sort to moon?  
Have I not power to recompense your pains?  
Lo I conjure you by that loyal love,  
Which you profess, to cast those griefs apart,  
It's long dear love since that you had my heart,  
Yet I was coy your constancy to prove,  
But having had a proof, I'll now be free:  
I am the Echo that your sighs resounds,  
Your woes are mine, I suffer in your wounds,  
Your passions all they sympathise in me:  
Thus whilst for kindness both began to weep,  
My happiness evanished with the sleep.   

Son. 52.  
SOme men delight huge buildings to behold,  
Some theatres, mountains, floods, and famous springs;  
Some monuments of monarch, and such things  
As in the books of fame have been enrolled:  
Those stately towns that to the stars were raised,  
Some would their ruins see (their beauty's gone)  
Of which the world's three parts, each boasts of one,  
For Caesar, Hannibal, and Hector praised:  
Though none of those, I love a sight as rare,  
Even her that o'er my life as Queen doth sit,  
juno in majesty, Pallas in wit;  
As Phoebe chaste, than Venus' far more fair:  
And though her looks even threaten death to me.  
Their threatenings are so sweet I cannot fly.   

Son. 53.  
IF now clear Po, that pity be not spent,  
Which for to quench his flames did once thee move,  
Whom the great thunderer thundered from above,  
And to thy silver bosom burning sent,  
To pity his coequal be content;  
That in effect doth the like fortune prove,  
Thrown headlong from the highest heavens of love:  
Here burning on thy borders I lament,  
The success did not second my design,  
Yet must I like my generous intent,  
Which cannot be condemned by the event,  
That fault was fortunes, though the loss be mine;  
And by my fall I shall be honoured oft,  
My fall doth witness I was once aloft.   

Son. 54.  
GReat God that guides the Dolphin through the deep,  
Look now as thou didst then with smiling grace,  
When seeking once her beauties to embrace,  
Thou forced the fair Amimone to weep:  
The liquid monarchy thou canst not keep,  
If thus the blustering God usurp thy place;  
Rise and against his blasts erect thy face;  
Let Triton's trumpet sound the seas asleep,  
With thine own arms the wind thy bosom wounds,  
And whilst that it thy followers fall contrives,  
Thy Trident to endanger daily strives,  
And desolate would render all thy bounds:  
Then if thou thinkest for to preserve thy state,  
Let not such storms disturb thy watery seat.   

Son. 55.  
I Envy Neptune oft, not that his hands  
Did build that lofty Ilion's stately towers,  
Nor that he Emperor of the liquid powers,  
Doth brook a place amongst the'immortall bands,  
But that embracing her whom I love best,  
As Achelous with Alcides once,  
Still wrestling with the rival earth he groans,  
For earnestness t'ouerflow her happienest:  
Thus would he bar me from her presence still,  
For when I come a field, he fanned my sails,  
With mild Zephyr's fair yet prosperous gales,  
And like t' Ulysses gave me wind at will:  
But when I would return, O what deceit  
With tumbling waves thou barrest the glassy gate!   

Son. 56.  
LO, now reviving my disastrous style,  
I prosecute the tenor of my fate,  
And follow forth at dangers highest rate,  
In foreign Realms my fortune for a while:  
I might have learned this by my last exile,  
That change of countries cannot change my state:  
Where ever that my body seek a seat,  
I leave my heart in Albion's glorious isle;  
And since then banished from a lovely sight,  
I married have my mind to sad conceits,  
Though to the furthest part that fame dilates,  
I might on Pegasus address my flight;  
Yet should I still whilst I might breathe or move,  
Remain the monster of mishap and love.   

Sonnet. 57  
WHilst th'apennine seems clothed with snows to vaunt,  
As if that their pure white all hues did stain,  
I match them with thy matchless fair again,  
Whose lilies have a lustre, that they want:  
But when some die, trained with a pleasant show,  
In their plaine-seeming depths, as many do,  
Then I remember how Aurora too,  
With lovely rigour thousands doth o'erthrow.  
Thus is it fatal by th'effects we know,  
That beauty must do harm, more than delight:  
For lo the snow, the whitest of the white,  
Comes from the clouds, t'engender ice below:  
So she with whom for beauty none compares,  
From clouds of cold disdain, rains down despairs.   

Sonnet. 58.  
Fear not, my Fair, that ever any chance  
So shake the resolutions of my mind,  
That like Demophon changing with the wind,  
I thy fames rend not labour to enhance:  
The ring which thou in sign of favour gave,  
Shall from fine gold transform itself in glass:  
The Diamond which then so solid was,  
Soft like the wax, each image shall receive:  
First shall each river turn unto the spring,  
The tallest Oak stand trembling like a reed,  
Hearts in the air, Whales on the mountains feed,  
And foul confusions seize on every thing;  
Before that I begin to change in aught,  
Or on another but bestow one thought.   

Son. 59  
WHilst every youth to entertain his love,  
Did strain his wits as far as they might reach,  
And arming passions with a powerful speech,  
Used each patheticke phrase that served to move:  
Then to some corner still retired alone,  
I, whom melancholy from mirth did lead,  
As having viewed Medusa's snaky head,  
Seemed metamorphosed in a marble stone:  
And as that wretched mirror of mischief,  
Whom erst Apollo spoiled, doth still shed tears,  
And in a stone the badge of sorrow bears,  
While as a humid vapour shows her grief:  
So whilst transformed as in a stone I stay,  
A fiery smoke doth blow my grief away.   

Son. 60.  
THe heavens beheld that all men did despise,  
That which the owner from the grave acquits,  
That sleep, the belly, and some base delights,  
Had banished virtue from beneath the skies;  
Which to the world again for to restore,  
The gods did one of theirs, to th'earth transfer,  
And with as many blessings following her,  
As erst Pandora kept of plagues in store.  
She since she came within this wretched vale,  
Doth in each mind a love of glory breed;  
Bettering the better parts that have most need,  
And shows how worldlings to the clouds may scale:  
She clears the world, but ah hath darkened me,  
Made blind by her, myself I cannot see.   

Son. 61.  
HOw long shall I bestow my time in vain,  
And sound the praises of that spiteful boy;  
Who whilst that I for him my pains employ,  
Doth guerdon me with bondage and disdain?  
O, but for this I must his glory raise,  
Since one that's worthy triumphs of my fall;  
Where great men oft of such have been made thrall,  
Whose birth was base, whose beauty without praise.  
And yet in this his hatred doth appear,  
For otherwise I might my loss repair.  
But being as she is exceeding fair,  
I'm forced to hold one that's ungrateful dear:  
These everchanging thoughts which nought can bind,  
May well bear witness of a troubled mind.   

Son. 62.  
WHen as the Sun doth drink up all the streams,  
And with a fervent heat the flowers doth kill;  
The shadow of a wood, or of a hill,  
Doth serve us for a targe against his beams:  
But ah, those eyes that burn me with desire,  
And seek to parch the substance of my soul,  
The ardour of their rays for to control,  
I wots not where myself for to retire:  
Twixt them and me, to have procured some ease,  
I interposed the seas, woods, hills, and rivers;  
And yet am of those never emptied quivers,  
The object still, and burn, be where I please:  
But of the cause I need not for to doubt,  
Within my breast I bear the fire about.   

Son. 63.  
OFt have I heard, which now I must deny,  
That nought can last if that it be extreme,  
Times daily change, and we likewise in them,  
Things out of sight do strait forgotten die:  
There is nothing more vehement than love,  
And yet I burn, and burn still with one flame.  
Time's oft have changed, yet I remain the same.  
Nought from my mind her image can remove:  
The greatness of my love aspires to ruth,  
Time vows to crown my constancy in th'end,  
And absence doth my fancies but extend;  
Thus I perceive the Poet spoke the truth,  
That who to see strange countries were inclined,  
Might change the air, but never change the mind.   

Son. 64.  
I Wots not what strange things I have designed,  
But all my gestures do presage no good;  
My looks are gastly-like, thoughts are my food,  
A silent pausing shows my troubled mind:  
Huge hosts of thoughts are mustering in my breast,  
Whose strongest are conducted by despair,  
Which have involved my hopes in such a snare,  
That I by death would seek an endless rest.  
What Fury in my breast strange cares enrols,  
And in the same would rear stern Pluto's seat!  
Go get you hence to the Tartarian gate,  
And breed such terrors in the damned souls:  
Too many grievous plagues my state extorse,  
Though apprehended horrors boast not worse.   

Song 7.  
O Memorable day, that chanced to see  
A world of loving wonders strangely wrought,  
Deep in my breast engraved by many a thought,  
Thou shalt be celebrated still by me:  
And if that Phoebus so benign will be,  
That happy happy place,  
Whereas that divine face  
Did distribute such grace,  
By pilgrims once as sacred shall be sought.  
When she whom I a long time have affected,  
Amongst the flowers went forth to take the air;  
They being proud of such a guests repair,  
Though by her garments divers times dejected,  
To gaze on her again themselves erected;  
Then softly seemed to say:  
O happy we this day;  
Our worthless dew it may,  
Washing her feet with Nectar now compare.  
The Roses did the rosy hue envy,  
Of those sweet lips that did the Bees deceive,  
That colour oft the Lilies wished to have,  
Which did the Alabaster pillar die,  
On which all beauty's glory did rely;  
Her breath so sweetly smelled,  
The Violets as excelled,  
To look down were compelled;  
And so confessed what foil they did receive.  
I heard at , love made it so appear,  
The feathered flocks her praises did proclaim:  
She whom the tyrant Tereus put to shame,  
Did leave sad plaints, and learned to praise my dear:  
To join with her sweet breath the winds drew near;  
They were in love no doubt,  
For circling her about,  
Their fancies bursted out,  
Whilst all their sounds seemed but to sound her name.  
There I mine eyes with pleasant sighs did cloy,  
Whose several parts in vain I strive t'unfold;  
My fair was fairer many a thousand fold  
Then Venus, when she wooed the bashful boy:  
This I remember both with grief and joy,  
Each of her looks a dart,  
Might well have killed a heart:  
Mine from my breast did part,  
And thence retired it to a sweeter hold.  
Whilst in her bosom whiles she placed a flower,  
Strait of the same I envy would the case,  
And wished my hand a flower t'have found like grace;  
Then when on her it reigned some happening hour,  
I wished like jove t'have fallen down in a shower:  
But when the flowers she spread,  
To make herself a bed,  
And with her gown them clad,  
A thousand times I wished t'have had their place.  
Thus whilst that senseless things that bliss attained,  
Which unto me good justice would adjudge,  
Behind a little bush (O poor refuge)  
Fed with her face, I Lizard-like remained:  
Then from her eyes so sweet a poison reigned,  
That gladly drinking death,  
I was not moved to wrath,  
Though like t'have lost my breath,  
Drowned with the streams of that most sweet deluge.  
And might that happiness continue still,  
Which did content me with so pleasant sights,  
My soul then ravished with most rare delights,  
With Ambrosia and Nectar I might fill:  
Which ah I fear, I surfeiting would kill.  
Who would leave off to think,  
To move, to breath, or wink,  
But never irk to drink  
The sugared liquor that transports my spirits?   

Son. 65.  
MY face the colours whiles of death displays,  
And I who at my wretched state repine,  
This mortal vail would willingly resign,  
And end my dole together with my days;  
But Cupid whom my danger must dismays,  
As loath to lose one that decores his shrine,  
Strait in my breast doth make Aurora shine,  
And by this stratagem my dying stays.  
Then in mine ears he sounds th'angelic voice,  
And to my sight presents the beauteous face,  
And calls to mind that more than divine grace,  
Which made me first for to confirm my choice:  
And I who all those slights have oft perceived,  
Yet thus content myself to be deceived.   

Sonnet. 66.  
B. GO get thee heart from hence, for thou hast proved  
The hateful traitor that procured my fall.  
H. May I not yet once satisfy for all,  
Whose loyalty may make thee to be loved?  
B. I'll never trust one that hath once betrayed me:  
For once a traitor, and then never true.  
H. Yet would my wrack but make thee first to rue,  
That could trust none if thou hadst once dismayed me.  
B. How ever others make me for to smart,  
I scorn to have an enemy in my breast.  
H. Well, if that thou spoil me, I'll spoil thy rest,  
Want I a body, thou shalt want a heart:  
Thus do th'unhappy still augment their harms,  
And thou hast killed thyself with thine own arms.   

Son. 67.  
A. WHat art thou, in such sort that wail'st thy fall,  
And comes surcharged with an excessive grief?  
H. A woeful wretch, that comes to crave relief,  
And was his heart that now hath none at all.  
A. Why dost thou thus to me unfold thy state,  
As if with thy mishaps I would imbroile me,  
H. Because the love I bore to you did spoil me,  
And was the instrument of my hard fate:  
A. And dare so base a wretch so high aspire,  
As for to plead for interest in my grace?  
Go get thee hence; or if thou do not cease,  
I vow to burn thee with a greater fire:  
H. Ah, ah, this great unkindness stops my breath,  
Since those that I love best procure my death.   

Son. 68  
I Hope, I fear, resolved, and yet I doubt,  
I'm cold as ice, and yet I burn as fire;  
I wots not what, and yet I much desire,  
And trembling too, am desperately stout:  
Though melancholious wonders I devise,  
And compass much, yet nothing can embrace;  
And walk over all, yet stand still in one place,  
And bound on th'earth, do soar above the skies:  
I beg for life, and yet I bray for death,  
And have a mighty courage, yet despair;  
I ever muse, yet am without all care,  
And shout aloud, yet never strain my breath:  
I change as oft as any wind can do,  
Yet for all this am ever constant too.   

Son. 69.  
WHat wonder though my countenance be not bright,  
And that I look as one with clouds enclosed?  
A great part of th'earth is interposed  
Betwixt the Sun and me that gives me light:  
Ah (since sequestered from that divine face)  
I find myself more sluggishly disposed:  
Nor whilst on that clear pattern I reposed,  
That put my inward darkness to the flight.  
No more than can the Sun shine without beams,  
Can she uncompassed with her virtues live,  
Which to the world an evidence do give  
Of that rare worth which many a mouth proclaims:  
And which sometime did purify my mind,  
That by the want thereof is now made blind.   

Son. 70.  
SOme gallant spirits whose ways none yet dare trace,  
To show the world the wonders of their wit,  
Did (as their tossed fancies thought most fit)  
Form rare Ideas of a divine face.  
Yet never Art to that true worth attained,  
Which Nature now grown prodigal, imparts  
To one, dear one, whose sacred several parts,  
Are more admired than all that Poets feigned.  
Those bordering climes that boast of beauty's shrine,  
If once thy sight enriched their soils (my love:)  
Then all with one consent behooved t'approve,  
That Calydon doth beauties best confine.  
But ah, the heaven on this my ruin sounds,  
The more her worth, the deeper are my wounds.   

Son. 71.  
FOr eyes that are delivered of their birth,  
And hearts that can complain, none needs to care:  
I pity not their sighs that pierce the air,  
To weep at will were a degree of mirth:  
But he (ay me) is to be pitied most,  
Whose sorrows have attained to that degree,  
That they are passed expressing, and can be  
Only imagined by a man that's lost.  
The tears that would burst out yet are restrained,  
Th'imprisoned plaints that perish without fame,  
Sighs formed and smothered ere they get a name,  
Those to be pitied are (o grief unfeigned)  
Whilst sighs the voice, the voice the sighs confounds,  
Then tears mar both, and all are out of bounds.   

Son. 72.  
O My Desire, if thou tookst time to mark,  
When I against my will thy sight forsook:  
How that mine eyes with many an earnest look,  
Did in thy beauty's depth themselves embark:  
And when our lips did seal the last farewell,  
How loath were mine from those delights to part.  
For what was purposed by the panting heart,  
My tongue cleaved to the throat, and could not tell.  
Then when to sorrow I the rains enlarged,  
Whilst being spoiled of comfort and of might,  
As forced for to forego thy beauty's light,  
Of burning sighs a volley I discharged:  
No doubt then when thou spid'st what I did prove,  
Thou saidst within thyself, This man doth love.   

Madr. 2.  
BEheld'st thou me look back at our goodnight:  
O no good night,  
Dismal, obscure and black:  
Mine eyes then in their language spoke,  
And would have thus complained:  
Thou leav'st the heart, makes us departed;  
Cursed is our part,  
And hard to be sustained.  
O happy heart that was retained:  
Alas, to leave us too, there is no Art:  
It in her bosom now should nightly sleep,  
And we exiled, still for her absence weep.   

Son. 73.  
WHen whiles thy dainty hand doth cross my light,  
It seems an ivory table for loves story,  
On which th'impearled pillars, beauty's glory,  
Are reared betwixt the Sun and my weak sight.  
Though this would great humanity appear,  
Which for a little while my flame alleys,  
And saves me unconsumed with beauty's rays,  
I rather die, then buy my life so dear.  
Oft have I wished whilst in this state I was,  
That th'alabaster bulwark might transpare,  
And that the pillars rarer than they are,  
Might while permit some happening rays to pass:  
But if Eclipsed thy beauty's Sun must stand,  
Then be it with the moon of thine own hand.   

Son. 74.  
LO, in my Fair each of the Planets reigns:  
She is as Saturn, ever grave and wise,  
And as Ioues thunderbolts, her thundering eyes  
Do plague the pride of men with endless pains:  
Her voice is as Apollo's, and her head  
Is ever garnished with his golden beams,  
And o her heart, which never fancy tames:  
More fierce than Mars makes thousands to lie dead.  
From Mercury her eloquence proceeds,  
Of Venus she the sweetness doth retain,  
Her face still full doth Phoebe's lightness stain,  
Whom likewise she in Chastity exceeds.  
No wonder then though this in me doth move,  
To such a divine soul, a divine love.   

Son. 75.  
MY faithful thoughts no duty do omit;  
But being fraughted with most zealous cares,  
Are ever busied for my loves affairs,  
And in my breast as Senators do sit,  
To my heart's famine yielding pleasant food.  
They sugared fancies in my bosom breed,  
And would have all so well for to succeed,  
That through excessive care they nought conclude:  
But ah, I fear that their affections try  
In end like th'Apes, that whilst he seeks to prove  
The powerful motions of a parents love,  
Doth oft embrace his young ones till they die:  
So to my heart my thoughts do cleave so fast,  
That o, I fear they make it burst at last.   

Son. 76.  
WHat fortune strange, what strange misfortune erst  
Did toss me with a thousand things in vain,  
Whiles sad despairs confounded did remain?  
Whiles all my hopes were to the winds dispersed?  
Erected while, and whiles again renuerst?  
Whiles nursed with smiles, whiles murmured with disdain,  
Whiles borne aloft, whiles laid as low again?  
And with what state have I not once been versed?  
But yet my constant mind which virtue binds,  
From the first course no new occurrence draws:  
Still like a rock by sea against the waves,  
Or like a hill by land against the winds:  
So all the world that views that which I find,  
May damn my destiny, but not my mind.   

Son. 77.  
I Long to see this Pilgrimage expire,  
That makes the eyes for to envy the mind,  
Whose sight with absence cannot be confined,  
But warms itself still at thy beauty's fire.  
Love in my bosom did thy image sink  
So deeply once, it cannot be worn out:  
Yet once the eyes may have their course about,  
And see far more, than now the mind can think.  
I'll once retire in time before I die,  
There where thou first my liberty didst spoil:  
For otherwise dead in a foreign soil,  
Still with myself entombed my faith shall lie.  
No, no, I'll rather die once in thy sight,  
Then in this state die ten times in one night.   

Son. 78.  
I Chanced my dear to come upon a day,  
Whilst thou wast but arising from thy bed,  
And the warm snows with comely garments clad;  
More rich than glorious, and more fine than gay:  
Then blushing to be seen in such a case,  
O how thy curled locks mine eyes did please,  
And well become those waves, thy beauty's seas,  
Which by thy hairs were framed upon thy face:  
Such was Diana once when being spied  
By rash Actaeon, she was much commoved:  
Yet more discreet than th'angry goddess proved,  
Thou knewest I came through error, not of pride:  
And thought the wounds I got by thy sweet sight,  
Were too great scourges for a fault so light.   

Madr. 3.  
I Saw my Love like Cupid's mother,  
Her tresses sporting with her face,  
Which being proud of such a grace;  
Whiles kissed th'one cheek, and whiles the other:  
Her eyes glad such a means t'embrace,  
Whereby they might have me betrayed,  
Themselves they in ambushment laid,  
Behind the treasures of her hair,  
And wounded me so deadly there:  
That doubtless I had dead remained,  
Were not the treason she disdained;  
And with her lips sweet balm my health procured:  
I would be wounded oft to be so cured.   

Madr. 4.  
ONce for her face, I saw my Fair  
Did of her hairs a shadow make:  
Or rather wandering hearts to take.  
She stented had those nets of gold,  
Sure by this means all men t'ensnare,  
She tossed the streamers with her breath,  
And seemed to boast a world with death:  
But when I did the sleight behold,  
I to the shadow did repair,  
To fly the burning of thine eyes;  
O happy he, by such a sleight that dies.   

Son. 79.  
THe most refreshing waters come from rocks,  
Some bitter roots oft send forth dainty flowers,  
The growing greene's are cherished with showers,  
And pleasant stems spring from deformed stocks:  
The hardest hills do feed the fairest flocks:  
All greatest sweets were sugared first with sours,  
The headless course of uncontrolled hours,  
To all difficulties a way unlocks.  
I hope to have a heaven within thine arms,  
And quiet calms when all these storms are past,  
Which coming unexpected at the last,  
May bury in Oblivion by-gone harms.  
To suffer first, to sorrow, sigh, and smart,  
Endears the conquest of a cruel heart.   

Son. 80.  
WHen Love spied death like to triumph o'er me,  
That had been such a pillar of his throne;  
And that all Aesculapius' hopes were gone,  
Whose drugs had not the force to set me free,  
He laboured to reduce the Fates decree,  
And thus bespoke the tyrant that spares none:  
Thou that wast never moved with worldlings moon,  
To save this man for my request agree:  
And I protest that he shall dearly buy  
The short prolonging of a wretched life:  
For it shall be involved in such a strife,  
That he shall never live, but ever die.  
O what a cruel kindness Cupid craved,  
Who for to kill me oft, my life once saved.   

Son. 81.  
OFt have I vowed of none t'attend relief,  
Whose ardour was not equal unto mine,  
And in whose face there did not clearly shine,  
The very image of my inward grief:  
But so the destinies do my thoughts dispose,  
I wots not what a fatal force ordains,  
That I abase myself to bear disdains,  
And honour one that ruins my repose.  
Oft have I vowed no more to be o'erthrown,  
But still retaining my affections free,  
To fancy none, but them that fancied me:  
But now I see my will is not mine own.  
Then ah, may you bewitch my judgement so,  
That I must love, although my heart say no!   

Son. 82.  
I Rage to see some in the scrolls of fame,  
Whose lovers wits more rare than their deserts,  
Do make them praised for many gallant parts,  
The which doth make themselves to blush for shame:  
Where thou whom even thine enemies cannot blame,  
Though famous in the centre of all hearts;  
Yet to the world thy worth no pen imparts:  
Which justly might those wrong-spent praises claim.  
But what vain pen so fond durst aspire,  
To paint that worth which soars above each wit,  
Which hardly highest apprehensions hit,  
Not to be told, but thought of with desire:  
For where the subject doth surmount the sense,  
We best by silence show a great pretence.   

Song. 8.  
I would thy beauty's wonders show,  
Which none can tell, yet all do know:  
Thou borrows nought to move delight,  
Thy beauties (Dear) are all perfit.  
And at the head I'll first begin,  
Most rich without, more rich within:  
Within a place Minerva claims,  
Without, Apollo's golden beams,  
Whose smiling waves those seas may scorn,  
Where Beauties goddess erst was borne:  
And yet do boast a world with death,  
If tossed with gales of thy sweet breath.  
I for two crescents take thy brows,  
Or rather for two bended bows,  
Whose archer love, whose white men's hearts,  
Thy frowns, no, smiles, smiles are thy darts;  
Which to my ruin ever bend,  
Are oft discharged but never spent.  
Thy suns, I dare not say, thine eyes,  
Which oft do set, and oft do rise:  
Whilst in thy faces heaven they move,  
Give light to all the world of love:  
And yet do while defraud our sight,  
Whilst two white clouds eclipse their light.  
The labyrinths of thine ears,  
Where Beauty both her colours rears,  
Are lawn laid on a scarlet ground,  
Whereas loves echoes ever sound:  
Thy cheeks, strawberries dipped in milk,  
As white as snow, as soft as silk;  
Gardens of lilies and of roses,  
Where Cupid still himself reposes,  
And on their dainty rounds he sits,  
When he would charm the rarest wits.  
Those swelling vales which beauty owes,  
Are parted with a dike of snows:  
The line that still is stretched out even,  
And doth divide thy faces heaven:  
It hath the prospect of those lips,  
From which no word unbalanced slips:  
There is a grot by Nature framed,  
Which Art to follow is ashamed:  
All those whom fame for rare gives forth,  
Compared with this are little worth,  
'tis all with pearls and rubies set;  
But I the best almost forget,  
There do the gods (as I have tried)  
Their Ambrosia and Nectar hide.  
The dainty pot that's in thy chin,  
Makes many a heart for to fall in,  
Whereas they boil with pleasant fires,  
Whose fuel is inflamed Desires.  
'tis eminent in Beauty's field,  
As that which threatens all to yield.  
T'uphold those treasures undefaced,  
There is an ivory pillar placed,  
Which like to Maia's son doth prove,  
For to bear up this world of love:  
In it some branched veins arise,  
As th'azure pure would brave the skies.  
I see while as I downward move,  
Two little globes, two worlds of love,  
Which undiscovered, undistressed,  
Were never with no burden pressed:  
Nor will for Lord acknowledge none,  
To be enstaled in Beauty's throne:  
As barren yet so were they bore,  
O happy he that might dwell there.  
And now my Muse we must make haste,  
To it that's justly called the waist,  
That wastes my heart with hopes and fears,  
My breath with sighs, mine eyes with tears:  
Yet I to it for all those harms,  
Would make a girdle of mine arms.  
There is below which no man knows,  
A mountain made of naked snows;  
Amidst the which is loves great seal,  
To which for help I oft appeal,  
And if by it my right were passed,  
I should brook beauty still at last.  
But ah, my Muse will lose the Crown,  
I dare not go no further down,  
Which doth discourage me so much,  
That I no other thing will touch.  
No not those little dainty feet,  
Which Thetis stain, for Venus meet:  
Thus wading through the depths of Beauty,  
I would have feign discharged my duty:  
Yet doth thy worth so pass my skill,  
That I show nothing but good will.   

Son. 83.  
THat fault on me (my Fair) no further urge,  
Nor wrist it not unto a crooked sense,  
The punishment else passeth the offence:  
This fault was in itself too great a scourge,  
Since I behooved to give th'occasion place,  
And could not have the means to visit thee.  
Can there have come a greater cross to me,  
Then so to be sequestered from thy face?  
And yet I think that fortune for my rest,  
Though for the time it did turmoil my mind  
Admit she be (as many call her) blind,  
Did for the time then stumble on the best.  
To look upon thine eyes had I presumed,  
I might have rested by their rays consumed.   

Son. 84.  
AH thou (my Love) wilt lose thyself at last,  
Who can to match thyself with none agree:  
Thou ow'st thy father Nephews, and to me  
A recompense for all my passions past.  
Ah, why shouldst thou thy beauty's treasure waste,  
Which will begin for to decay I see?  
Erst Daphne did become a barren tree,  
Because she was not half so wise as chaste:  
And all the fairest things do soon fade,  
Which O, I fear thou with repentance try;  
The roses blasted are the lilies die,  
And all do languish in the summers shade:  
Yet will I grieve to see those flowers fall down,  
Which for my temples should have framed a crown.   

Son. 85.  
SOme yet not borne surveying lines of mine,  
Shall envy with a sigh, the eyes that viewed  
Those beauties with my blood so oft imbrued,  
The which by me in many a part do shine.  
Those relics then of this turmoiled engine,  
Which for thy favour have so long pursued,  
Then after death will make my fortune rued,  
And thee despited that didst make me pine.  
Ah, that thou shouldst, to wrack so many hearts,  
Exceed in all excellencies, but love!  
That mask of rigour from thy mind remove,  
And then thou art accomplished in all parts:  
Then shall thy fame o'er all untainted fly,  
Thou in my lines, and I shall live in thee.   

Song. 9  
O Happy Tithon, if thou knowst thy hap,  
And value thy wealth, but as I do my want,  
Then needest thou not (which (ah) I grieve to grant)  
Repine at jove, lulled in his lemen lap:  
That golden shower in which he did repose,  
One dewy drop it stains,  
Which thy Aurora rains  
Upon the rural plains,  
When from thy bed she passionately goes.  
Then wakened with the music of the Mearles,  
She not remembers Memnon when she mourns:  
That faithful flame which in her bosom burns,  
From crystal conduits throws those liquid pearls.  
Sad from thy sight so soon to be removed,  
She so her grief delates,  
O favoured by the fates,  
Above the happiest states,  
Who art of one so worthy well beloved.  
This is not she that only shines by night,  
No borrowed beam doth beautify thy Fair:  
But this is she, whose beauties more than rare,  
Come crowned with roses to restore the light,  
When Phoebe pitched her pitchy pavilion out,  
The world with weeping told,  
How happy it would hold  
Itself, but to behold  
The azure pale that compassed her about.  
Whilst like a palide half-imprisoned rose,  
Whose naked white doth but to blush begin,  
A little scarlet decks the ivory skin,  
Which still doth glance transparent as she goes:  
The beamy god comes burning with desire;  
And when he finds her gone,  
With many a grievous groan,  
Enraged, remounts anon,  
And threateneth all our Hemisphere with fire.  
Lift up thine eyes and but behold thy bliss,  
Th'heavens rain their riches on thee whilst thou sleepest:  
Think what a matchless treasure that thou keep'st,  
When thou hast all that any else can wish.  
Those Suns which daily dazzle thy dim eyes,  
Might with one beam or so,  
Which thou mightst well forego,  
Strait banish all my woe,  
And make me all the world for to despise.  
But Sun-parched people loathe the precious stones,  
And through abundance vilify the gold;  
All disesteem the treasures that they hold,  
And think not things possessed (as they thought) once.  
Who surfeit oft on such excessive joys,  
Can never pleasure prize,  
But building on the skies,  
All present things despise,  
And like their treasure less, than others toys.  
I envy not thy bliss, so heaven hath doomed;  
And yet I cannot but lament mine own,  
Whose hopes hard at the harvest were o'erthrown,  
And bliss half ripe, with frosts of fear consumed:  
Fair blossoms, which of fairer fruits did boast,  
Were blasted in the flowers,  
With eye-exacted showers,  
Whose sweet-supposed sowers  
Of preconceited pleasures grieved me most.  
And what a grief is this (as chance effects)  
To see the rarest beauties worst bestowed?  
Ah, why should halting Vulcan be made proud  
Of that great beauty which stern Mars affects?  
And why should Tithon thus, whose day grows late,  
Enjoy the morning's love?  
Which though that I disprove,  
Yet will I too approve,  
Since that it is her will, and my hard fate.   

An Echo.  
AH, will no soul give ear unto my moan? one  
Who answers thus so kindly when I cry? I  
What fostered thee that pities my despair? air  
Thou blabbing guest, what knowst thou of my fall? all  
What did I when I first my Fair disclosed? loosed  
Where was my reason, that it would not doubt? out  
What canst thou tell me of my Ladies will? ill  
Wherewith can she acquit my loyal part? art  
What hath she then with me to disguise? a guise  
What have I done, since she 'gainst love repined? pined  
What did I when I her to life preferred? erred  
What did mine eyes, whilst she my heart restrained? reigned  
What did she whilst my muse her praise proclaimed? claimed  
And what? and how? this doth me most affright. of right  
What if I never sue to her again? gain  
And what when all my passions are repressed? rest  
But what thing will best serve t'assuage desire? ire  
And what will serve to mitigate my rage? age  
I see the Sun gins for to descend. end   

Son. 87.  
NO wonder, thou endang'rest lives with looks,  
And dost bewitch the bosom by the ear:  
What hosts of hearts, that no such sleight did fear,  
Are now entangled by thy beauty's hooks?  
But if so many to the world approve,  
Those princely virtues that every my mind,  
And hold thee for the honour of thy kind;  
Yea though disdained, yet desperately love:  
O what a world of hapless lovers live,  
That like a treasure entertain their thought,  
And seem in show as if affecting nought,  
And in their breast t'entomb their fancies strive:  
Yet let not this with pride thy heart possess;  
The Sun being mounted high, doth seem the less.   

Son. 88  
THose beauties (Dear) which all thy sex envies,  
As grieved men should such sacred wonders view:  
For pomp apparelled in a purple hue,  
Do whiles disdain the pride of mortal eyes,  
Which ah attempting far above their might,  
Do gaze upon the glory of those Suns,  
Whilst many a ray that from their brightness runs,  
Doth dazzle all that dare look on their light:  
Or was it this, which o I fear me most,  
That clad with scarlet, so thy purest parts,  
Thy face it having wounded worlds of hearts,  
Would die her Lilies with the blood they lost:  
Thus ere thy cruelties were long concealed,  
They by thy guilty blush would be revealed.   

Son. 89.  
SMall comfort might my banished hopes recall,  
When whiles my dainty fair I sighing see;  
If I could think that one were shed for me,  
It were a guerdon great enough for all:  
Or would she let one tear of pity fall,  
That seemed dismissed from a remorcefnll eye,  
I could content myself ungrieved to die,  
And nothing might my constancy appall,  
The only sound of that sweet word of love,  
priest twixt those lips that do my doom contain,  
Were I embarked, might me back again  
From death to life, and make me breath and move.  
Strange cruelty, that never can afford  
So much as once one sigh, one tear, one word.   

Son. 90.  
I Wots not what transported hath my mind,  
That I in arms against a goddess stand;  
Yet though I sue t'one of th'immortal band,  
The like before was prosperously designed.  
To love Anchises Venus thought no scorn,  
And Thetis erst was with a mortal matched,  
Whom if th'aspiring Peleus' had not catched,  
The great Achilles never had been borne.  
Thus flatter I myself whilst nought confines.  
My wandering fancies that strange ways do trace;  
He that embraced a cloud in juno's place,  
May be a terror to the like designs:  
But fame in end th'adventurer ever crowns,  
Whom either th'issue or th'attempt renowns.   

Son. 91.  
ANd must I lose in vain so great a love,  
And build thy glory on my ruin'd state?  
And can a heavenly breast contract such hate?  
And is the mildest sex so hard to move?  
Have all my offerings had no greater force,  
The which so oft have made thine altars smoke?  
Well, if that thou have vowed not to revoke  
The fatal doom that's far from all remorse,  
For the last sacrifice myself shall smart,  
My blood must quench my vehement desires;  
And let thine eyes drink up my funeral fires,  
And with my ashes glut thy Tygrish heart:  
So though thou at my wont flames didst spurn,  
Thou must trust those, when as thou seest me burn.   

Son. 92.  
I Wots not which to challenge for my death,  
Of those thy beauties that my ruin seeks,  
The pure white fingers or the dainty cheeks,  
The golden tresses, or the Nectared breath:  
Ah they be all too guilty of my fall,  
All wounded me though I their glory raised;  
Although I grant they need not to be praised,  
It may suffice they be Aurora's all:  
Yet for all this, O most ingrateful woman,  
Thou shalt not scape the scourge of just disdain;  
I gave thee gifts thou shouldst have given again,  
It's shame to be in thy inferiors common:  
I gave all what I held most dear to thee,  
Yet to this hour thou never guerdoned me.   

Son. 93.  
WHilst careless swimming in thy beauty's seas,  
I wondering was at that bewitching grace,  
Thou painted pity on a cruel face,  
And angled so my judgement by mine eyes:  
But now begun to triumph in my scorn,  
When I cannot retire my steps again,  
Thou armest thine eyes with envy and disdain,  
To murder my abortive hopes half borne:  
Whilst like to end this long continued strife,  
My paleness shows I perish in despair;  
Thou loath to lose one that esteems thee fair,  
With some sweet word or look prolongst my life:  
And so each day in doubt redact'st my state,  
Dear do not so, once either love or hate.   

Son. 94.  
MIne eyes would ever on thy beauties gaze,  
Mine ears are ever greedy of thy fame,  
My heart is ever musing on the same,  
My tongue would still be busied with thy praise:  
I would mine eyes were blind and could not see,  
I would mine ears were deaf and would not hear;  
I would my heart would never hold thee dear,  
I would my tongue all such reports would flee:  
Th'eyes in their circles do thy picture hold,  
Th'ears conducts, keep still echoes of thy worth,  
The heart can never bar sweet fancies forth,  
The tongue that which I think must still unfold:  
Thy beauties then from which I would rebel,  
Th'eyes see, th'ears hear th'heart thinks, and tongue must tell.   

Son. 95.  
WHile as th'undaunted squadrons of my mind,  
On mountains of deserts reared high desires,  
And my proud heart that evermore aspires,  
To scale the heaven of beauty had designed:  
The fair faced goddess of that stately frame,  
Looked on my haughty thoughts with scorn a space;  
Then thundered all that proud Gigantike race,  
And from her lightning lights throwed many a flame.  
Then quite for to confound my lofty cares,  
Even at the first encounter as it chanced,  
Th'over-daring heart that to th'assault advanced,  
Was covered with a weight of huge despairs,  
Beneath the which the wretch doth still remain,  
Casting forth flames of fury and disdain.   

Son. 96.  
Fair Tigress tell, contents it not thy sight,  
To see me die each day a thousand times?  
O how could I commit such monstrous crimes,  
As merit to this martyrdom by night?  
Not only hath thy wrath adjudged to pain,  
This earthly prison that thy picture keeps,  
But doth the soul while as the body sleeps,  
With many fearful dreams from rest restrain.  
Lo thus I waste to work a tyrant's will,  
My days in torment, and my nights in terror,  
And here confined within an endless error,  
Without repentance do persever still:  
That it is hard to judge though both be lost,  
Whose constancy or cruelty is most.   

Son. 97.  
Look to a tyrant what it is to yield,  
Who printing still to publish my disgrace,  
The story of my overthrow in my face,  
Erects pale Trophies in that bloodless field:  
The world that views this strange triumphal ark,  
Reads in my looks as lines thy beauty's deeds,  
Which in each mind so great amazement breeds,  
That I am made of many eyes the mark:  
But what avails this Tigress triumph, O  
And couldst thou not be cruel if not known,  
But in this meager map it must be shown,  
That thou insultst to see thy subjects so?  
And my disgrace it grieves me not so much,  
As that it should be said that thou art such.   

Son. 98.  
LEt others of the world's decaying tell,  
I envy not those of the golden age,  
That did their careless thoughts for nought engage,  
But cloyed with all delights, lived long and well:  
And as for me, I mind t'applaud my fate;  
Though I was long in coming to the light,  
Yet may I mount to fortunes highest height,  
So great a good could never come too late;  
I'm glad that it was not my chance to live,  
Till as that heavenly creature first was borne,  
Who as an Angel doth the earth adorn,  
And buried virtue in the tomb revive:  
For vice overflows the world with such a flood,  
That in it all save she there is no good.   

Sonnet, 99  
WHilst curiously I gazed on beauty's skies,  
My soul in little liquid ruslets run,  
Like snowy mountains melted with the Sun,  
Was liquified through force of two fair eyes,  
Thence sprang pure springs and never-tainted streams,  
In which a Nymph her image did behold,  
And cruel she (ah that it should be told)  
While deigned to grace them with some cheerful beams,  
Till once beholding that her shadow so,  
Made those poor waters partners of her praise,  
She by abstracting of her beauty's rays,  
With grief congealed the source from whence they flow:  
But through the ice of that unjust disdain,  
Yet still transpares her picture and my pain.   

Son. l00.  
AVrora now have I not cause to rage,  
Since all thy fishing but a frog hath catched?  
May I not mourn to see the morning matched,  
With one that's in the evening of his age?  
Should hoary locks sad messengers of death,  
Sport with thy golden hairs in beauty's Inn?  
And should that furrowed face foil thy smooth skin,  
And bathe itself in th'Ambrosy of thy breath?  
More than mine own I lament thy mishaps;  
Must he who jealous through his own defects,  
Thy beauties unstained treasure still suspects,  
Sleep on the snow-swolne pillows of thy paps,  
While as a loathed burden in thine arms,  
Doth make thee out of time wail cureless harms.   

Son. 101.  
ALL that behold me on thy beauty's shelf,  
To cast myself away tossed with conceit,  
Since thou wilt have no pity of my state,  
Would that I took some pity of myself:  
For what, say they, though she disdain to bow,  
And takes a pleasure for to see thee sad,  
Yet there be many a one that would be glad,  
To boast themselves of such a one as thou.  
But ah their counsel of small knowledge savours,  
For O poor fools, they see not what I see,  
Thy frowns are sweeter than their smiles can be,  
The worst of thy disdains worth all their favours:  
I rather (dear) of thine one look to have,  
Then of another all that I would crave.   

Son. 102.  
WHen as that lovely tent of beauty dies,  
And that thou as thine enemy fleest thy glass,  
And dost with grief remember what it was,  
That to betray my heart allured mine eyes:  
Then having bought experience with great pains,  
Thou shalt (although too late) thine error find,  
Whilst thou reuolu'st in a digested mind,  
My faithful love, and thy unkind disdains:  
And if that former times might be recalled,  
While as thou sadly sit'st retired alone,  
Then thou wouldst satisfy for all that's gone,  
And I in thy heart's throne would be installed:  
Dear, if I know thee of this mind at last,  
I'll think myself avenged of all that's part.   

Elegy 3.  
IN silent horrors here, where never mirth remains,  
I do retire myself apart, as rage and grief constrains:  
So may I sigh unknown, whilst other comfort fails,  
An enfranchised citizen of solitary vales;  
Her privilege to plain, since nought but plaints can please,  
My sad conceptions I disclose, diseased at my ease.  
No barren pity here my passions doth increase,  
Nor no detractor here resorts, deriding my distress:  
But wandering through the world, a vagabonding guest,  
Acquiring most contentment then when I am rest of rest.  
Against those froward fates, that did my bliss control,  
I thunder forth a thousand threats in th'anguish of my soul.  
And lo lunaticke-like do dash on every shelf,  
And convocate a court of cares for to condemn myself:  
My fancies which in end time doth fantastic try,  
I figure forth essentially in all the objects by:  
In every corner where my reckless eye repairs,  
I read great volumes of mishaps, memorials of despairs:  
All things that I behold, upbraid me my estate,  
And oft I blush within my breast, ashamed of my conceit.  
Those branches broken down with mercie-wanting winds,  
I Object me my dejected state, that greater fury finds:  
Their winter-beaten weed dispersed upon the plain,  
Are like to my renounced hopes, all scattered with disdain.  
Lo wondering at my state the strongest torrent stays,  
And turning and returning oft, would scorn my crooked ways.  
In end I find my fate over all before my face,  
Enregistered eternally in th'anals of disgrace.  
Those crosses out of count might make die rocks to rive,  
That this small remanent of life for to extinguish strive:  
And yet my rocky heart so hardened with mishaps,  
Now by no means can be commoved, not with Ioues thunder claps:  
But in huge woes involved with intricating art,  
Surcharged with sorrows I succomb and senselessly do smart;  
And in this labyrinth exiled from all repose, breath,  
I consecrate this cursed corpses a sacrifice to woes:  
Whilst many a furious plaint my smoking breast shall breathe,  
Eclipsed with many a cloudy thought, aggrieved unto the death:  
With th'echo placed beside some solitary source,  
Disastruous accidents shall be the ground of our discourse.  
Her maimed words shall show how my hurt heart half dies,  
Consumed with corrosives of care, caractred in mine eyes.  
My Muse shall now no more transported with respects,  
Exalt that evil deserving one as fancy still directs:  
Nor yet no partial pen shall spot her spotless fame,  
unhonestly dishonouring an honourable name.  
But I shall sadly sing, too tragickly inclined,  
Some subject sympathising with my melancholious mind.  
Nor will I more describe my daily deadly strife,  
My public wrongs, my private woes, mislucks in love and life:  
That would but vex the world for to extend my toils,  
In painting forth particularly my many forms of foils.  
No, none in special I purpose to bewray,  
But one as all, and all as one, I mind to mourn for ay.  
For being justly weighed, the least that I lament,  
Deserves indeed to be bewailed, till th'use of th'eyes be spent;  
And since I should the least perpetually deplore,  
The most again though marvelous, can be bemoaned no more   

Son. 103.  
TO yield to those I cannot but disdain,  
Whose face doth but entangle foolish hearts;  
It is the beauty of the better parts,  
With which I mind my fancies for to chain.  
Those that have nought wherewith men's minds to gain,  
But only curled locks and wanton looks,  
Are but like fleeting baits that have no hooks,  
Which may well take, but cannot well retain:  
He that began to yield to th'outward grace,  
And then the treasures of the mind doth prove:  
He, who as 'twere was with the mask in love,  
What doth he think when as he sees the face?  
No doubt being limned by th'outward colours so,  
That inward worth would never let him go.   

Son. 104.  
LOng time I did thy cruelties detest,  
And blazed thy rigour in a thousand lines;  
But now through my complaints thy virtue shines,  
That was but working all things for the best:  
Thou of my rash affections held'st the rains,  
And spying dangerous sparks come from my fires,  
Didst wisely temper my inflamed desires,  
With some chaste favours, mixed with sweet disdains:  
And when thou saw'st I did all hope despise,  
And looked like one that wrestled with despair,  
Then of my safety thy exceeding care,  
show'd that I kept thine heart, thou but thine eyes:  
For whilst thy reason did thy fancies tame,  
I saw the smoke, although thou hidst the flame.   

Son. 105.  
SHould I the treasure of my life betake,  
To thought-tossed breath whose babbling might it mar,  
Words with affection winged might flee too far,  
And once sent forth can never be brought back:  
Nor will I trust mine eyes, whose partial looks  
Have oft conspired for to betray my mind,  
And would their light still to one object bind,  
While as the furnace of my bosom smokes:  
No, no, my love, and that which makes me thrall,  
Shall only be entrusted to my soul,  
So may I stray, yet none my course control,  
Whilst though o'erthrown, none triumphs for my fall:  
My thoughts while as confined within my breast,  
Shall only privy to my passions rest.   

Son. 106.  
A Wake my Muse, and leave to dream of loves,  
Shake off soft fancy's chains, I must be free,  
I'll parch no more, upon the myrtle tree,  
Nor glide through th'air with beauties sacred doves;  
But with Ioues slately bird I'll leave my nest,  
And try my sight against Apollo's rays:  
Then if that ought my venturous course dismays,  
Upon the olives boughs I'll light and rest:  
I'll tune my accents to a trumpet now,  
And seek the Laurel in another field,  
Thus I that once, as Beauty means did yield,  
Did divers garments on my thoughts bestow:  
Like Icarus I fear, unwisely bold,  
Am purposed others passions now t'unfold.   

Song. 10.  
FArewell sweet fancies, and once dear delights,  
The treasures of my life, which made me prove  
That unaccomplished joy that charmed the sprights,  
And whilst by it I only seemed to move,  
Did hold my ravished soul, big with desire,  
That tasting those, to greater did aspire.  
Farewell free thraldom, freedom that was thrall,  
While as I led a solitary life,  
Yet never less alone, whilst armed for all,  
My thoughts were busied with an endless strife:  
For than not having bound myself to any,  
I being bound to none, was bound to many.  
Great God that tamest the gods old-witted child,  
Whose temples breasts, whose altars are men's hearts.  
From my heart's fort thy legions are exiled,  
And Hymen's torch hath burned out all thy darts:  
Since I in end have bound myself to one,  
That by this means I may be bound to none.  
Thou dainty goddess with the soft white skin,  
To whom so many offerings daily smoke,  
Were beauty's process yet for to begin,  
That sentence I would labour to revoke:  
Which on mount Ida as thy smiles did charm,  
The Phrygian shepherd gave to his own harm.  
And if the question were referred to me,  
On whom I would bestow the ball of gold,  
I fear me Venus should be last of three,  
For with the Thunderers sister I would hold,  
Whose honest flames penned in a lawful bounds,  
No fear disturbs, nor yet no shame confounds.  
I mind to speak no more of beauty's Dove,  
The Peacock is the bird whose fame I'll raise;  
Not that I Argos need to watch my love,  
But so his mistress juno for to praise:  
And if I with his eyes, than it shall be,  
That I with many eyes my love may see  
Then farewell crossing joys, and joyful crosses,  
Most bitter sweets, and yet most sugared sowers,  
Most hurtful gains, yet most commodious losses,  
That made my years to flee away like hours,  
And spent the spring time of mine age in vain,  
Which now my summer must redeem again.  
O welcome easy yoke, sweet bondage come,  
I seek not from thy toils for to be shielded,  
But I am well content to be o'ercome,  
Since that I must command when I have yielded:  
Then here I quit both Cupid and his mother,  
And do resign myself t'obtain another.   
FINIS.