She took him ftraight full piteously lamenting, And wrapt him in her fmock:

She wrapt him foftly, all the while repenting
That he the Ay did mock:

She dreft his wound, and it embalmed well
With falve of foveraign might,

And then the bath'd him in a dainty well,
The well of dear Delight.

Who would not oft be flung as this,
To be fo bath'd in Venus' bliss?

The wanton boy was fhortly well recur'd
Of that his malady;

But he foon after, fresh again enur'd
His former cruelty;

And fince that time he wounded hath
With his fharp dart of love,

And now forgets the cruel careless elf
His mother's heal to prove :
So now I languifh till he please
My pining anguifh to appeale.

my

SONNET. I.

HAPPY, ye Leaves! whenas thofe lilly hands,
Which hold my life in their dead-doing might,
Shall handle you, and hold in Love's foft bands,
Like captives trembling at the victor's fight.
And happy Lines on which with starry light
Those lamping eyes will deign fometimes to look,
And read the forrows of my dying spright,
Written with tears in heart's clofe bleeding book.
And happy Rimes! bath'd in the facred brook
Of Helicon, whence the derived is,
When ye behold that angel's blessed look,
My foul's long-lacked food, my heaven's blifs,
Leaves, Lines, and Rimes, feek her to please alone,
Whom if ye please, I care for other none.

SONNET II.

UNQUIET thought, whom at the first I bred
Of th' inward bale of my love pined-heart,
And fithence have with fighs and sorrow fed,
Till greater than my womb thou woxen art,
Break forth at length out of the inner part,
In which thou lurkeft like to vipers' brood,
And feck fome fuccour, both to ease my smart,
And alfo to fuftain thy felf with food:
But if in prefence of that faireft proud
Thou chance to come, fall lowly at her feet,
And with meek humblefs and afflicted mood
Pardon for thee, and grace for me, entreat;
Which if the grant, then live, and my love cherish;
If not, die foon, and I with thee will perish.

SONNET III.

THE fovereign beauty which I do admire,
Witness the world how worthy to be praif'd,
The light whereof hath kindled heavenly fire
In my frail fpirit, by her from baseness raif'd,
That being now with her huge brightness daz'd,
Bafe thing I can no more endure to view,
But looking fill en her, I stand amaz'd

At wondrous fight of so celestial hue.
So when my tongue would speak her praises due,
It stopped is with thought's aftonishment,
And when my pen would write her titles true,
It ravish'd is with fancy's wonderment;
Yet in my heart I then both speak and write
The wonder that my wit cannot endite.

SONNET IV.

New year forth looking out of Janus' gate,
Doth feem to promise hope of new delight,
And bidding th' old adieu, his paffed date
Bids all old thoughts to die in dumpifh spright.
And calling forth out of fad Winter's night
Fresh Love, that long hath slept in cheerless bowe,
Wills him awake, and soon about him dight
His wanton wings, and darts of deadly power:
For lufty Spring, now in his timely howre,
Is ready to come forth, him to receive,
And warns the Earth, with divers-colour'd flow,
To deck herself, and her fair mantle weave;
Then you, fair Flowre! in whom fresh youth doth
reign,

Prepare your felf new love to entertain.

SONNET V.

RUDELY thou wrongest my dear heart's defire,
The thing in which I do most in her admire,
In finding fault with her too portly pride:
Is of the world unworthy moft envide;
For in thofe lofty locks is clofe implide
Scorn of bafe things and 'fdeign of foul difhonor,
Threatning rash eyes which gaze on her fo wi
That loosely they ne dare to look upon her.
Such pride is praise, such portliness is honour,
That boldnefs innocence bears in her eyes,
And her fair countenance, like a goodly banner,
Spreads in defiance of all enemies.

Was never in this world ought worthy tride,
Without fome fparke of fuch felf-pleafing pride.

SONNET VI.

Br nought difmaid that her unmoved mind
Doth ftill perfift in her rebellious pride;
Such love not like to luits of baser kind,
The harder won, the firmer will abide.
The dureful oak, whofe fap is not yet dride,
Is long e'er it conceive the kindling fire,
But when it once doth burn, it doth divide
Great heat, and make his flames to heaven afpire:
So hard it is to kindle new defire

In gentle breast that shall endure for ever;
Deep is the wound that dints the parts entire
With chafte effects that nought but death can
fever.

Then think not long in taking little pain
To knit the knot that ever fhall remain.

SONNET VII.

FAIR eyes, the mirrour of my mazed heart,
What wondrous vertue is contain'd in you,

The which both life and death forth from you dart

Into the object of your mighty view?

For when ye mildly look with lovely hue, Then is my foul with life and love infpir'd; But when ye lowre, or look on me askew, Then do I die, as one with lightning fir'd. But fince that life is more than death defir'd, Look ever lovely, as becomes you best; That your bright beams of my weak eyes admir'd, May kindle living fire within my breft. Such life fhould be the honour of your light, Such death the fad enfample of your might.

SONNET VIII.

MORE than most fair, full of the living fire
Kindled above, unto the Maker near;
No eyes but joys, in which all powers confpire,
That to the world nought elfe be counted dear:
Through your bright beams doth not the blinded
guest

Shoot out his darts to bafe affection's wound?
But angels come to lead frail minds to rest
In chafte defires, on heavenly beauty bound.
You frame my thoughts, and fashion me within;
You ftop my tongue, and teach my heart to speak;
You calm the ftorm that paflion did begin,
Strong through your cause, but by your vertue
weak.

Dark is the world where your light fhined never;
Well is he born that may behold you ever.

SONNET IX.

DAILY when I do feek and fue for peace,
And hoftages do offer for my truth,
She, cruel warriour, doth her felf address
To battel, and the weary war renew'th;
Ne will be mov'd with reafon or with ruth
To grant fmall refpit to my restless toil,
But greedily her fell intent perfu’th,
Of my poor life, to make unpitied spoil.
Yet my poor life, all forrows to affoil,
I would her yield, her wrath to pacifie,
But then the feeks, with torment and turmoil,
To force me live, and will not let me die.
All pain hath end, and every war hath peace;
But mine no price nor prayer may furceafe.

SONNET XII.

ONE day I fought with heart-thrilling eyes
To make a truce, and terms to entertain,
All fearlefs then of fo falfe enemies,
Which fought me to entrap in treason's train :
So as I then difarmed did remain,
A wicked ambush, which lay hidden long
In the clofe covert of her guileful eyen,
Thence breaking forth, did thick about me throng.
Too feeble I t' abide the brunt so strong,
Was forc'd to yield my felf into their hands,

Who me captiving, ftraight with rigorous wrong
Have ever fince kept me in cruel bands:
So, Lady, now to you I do complain
Against your eyes, that justice I may gain.

SONNET XIII.

IN that proud port which her so goodly graceth,
Whiles her fair face the rears up to the sky,
And to the ground her eye-lids low embraceth,
Moft goodly temperature ye may defcry,
Mild humblefs, mixt with aweful majefty;
For looking on the earth, whence fhe was born,
Her mind remembreth her mortality;
What-fo is faireft fhall to earth return.

But that fame lofty countenance feems to fcorn
Bafe thing, and think how the to heaven may clime,
Treading down earth as loathsome and forlorn,
'That hinders heavenly thoughts with droffy flime;
Yet lowly fill vouchfafe to look on me,
Such lowiinefs fhall make you lofty be.

SONNET XIV.

RETURN again, my forces, late dismaid,
Unto the fiege by you abandon'd quite;
Great fhame it is to leave, like one afraid,
So fair a piece for one repulfe fo light,
'Gainft fuch strong caftles needeth greater might
Than thofe fmall forces ye were wont belay;
Such haughty minds, enur'd to hardy fight,
Difdain to yield unto the first afsay.
Bring, therefore, all the forces that ye may,
And lay inceffant battry to her heart;
Plaints, prayers, vows, ruth, forrow, and difmay,
Thofe engins can the proudeft love convert;
And if thofe fail, fall down and die before her,
So dying live, and living do adore her.

SONNET XV.

YE tradeful Merchants! that with weary toil
Do feek most precious things to make your gain,
And both the Indias of their treasure spoil,
What needeth you to feek fo far in vain?
For, lo! my love doth in her felf contain
All this world's riches that may far be found;
If faphyrs, lo! her eyes be faphyrs plain;
If rubies, lo! her lips be rubies found;

If pearls, her teeth be pearls, both pure and round;
If ivory, her forehead ivory ween;
If gold, her locks are fineft gold on ground;
If filver, her fair hands are filver sheen :
But that which faireft is, but few behold,
Her mind, adorn'd with vertues manifold.

SONNET XVI.

ONE day as I unwarily did gaze

On thofe fair eyes, my love's immortal light,

The whiles my flonifh'd heart flood in amaze,
Through fweet illufion of her look's delight,
I mote perceive how in her glancing fight
Legions of Loves with little wings did fly,
Darting their deadly arrows fiery bright
At every rafh beholder paffing by:
One of those archers closely I did spy
Aiming his arrow at my very heart,
When fuddenly, with twinkle of her eye,
The damfel broke his mifintended dart:
Had the not fo done fure I had been flain,
Yet as it was I hardly fcap'd with pain.

What

SONNET XVII.

THE glorious pourtract of that angel's face,
Made to amaze weak mens confused skill,
And this world's worthlefs glory to embrace,
pen, what penfil, can exprefs her fill?
For though he colours could devife at will,
And eke his learned hand at pleasure guide,
Left trembling it his workmanship should spl,
Yet many wondrous things there are befide:
The fweet eye-glances, that like arrows guide,
The charming fmiles that rob fenfe from th
heart;

The lovely pleafance, and the lofty pride,
Cannot expreffed be by any art:

A greater craftsman's hand thereto doth need,
That can exprefs the life of things indeed.

SONNET XVII.

THE rolling wheel, that runneth often round,
The hardest steel in tract of time doth tear;
And drizling drops, that often do redound,
The firmest flint doth in continuance wear:
Yet cannot I, with many a dropping tear,
And long intreaty, foften her hard heart,
That the will once vouchfafe my plaint to he
Or look with pity on my painful smart :
But when I plead, the bids me play my part;
And when I weep, fhe fays tears are but water;
And when I figh, fhe fays I know the art;
And when I wail, fhe turns her felf to laughter
So do I weep and wail, and plead in vain,
Whiles fhe as steel and flint doth still remain.