SONNET XXIII

But the his precept proudly disobeys,
And doth his idle meffage fet at nought;
Therefore, O Love! unless fhe turn to thee
E'er cuckow end, let her a rebel be.

SONNET XX.

N vain I feek and fue to her for grace, And do mine humble heart before her pour, The whiles her foot fhe in my neck doth place, and tread my life down in the lowly flour: nd yet the lion, that is lord of power, .nd reigneth over every beast in field, his moft pride difdeigneth to devour 'he filly lamb that to his might doth yield: ut fhe, more cruel and more falvage wild han either lion or the lioness,

names not to be with guiltless blood defil'd, ut taketh glory in her cruelness. airer than faireft, let none ever fay

hat

ус were blooded in a yielded prey.

SONNET XXI.

As it the work of Nature or of Art, hich tempred fo the features of her face, at pride and meeknefs, mixt by equal part, both appear t' adorn her beauty's grace? r with mild pleasance, which doth pride displace.

e to her love doth lookers' eyes allure,

d with ftern count'nance back again doth chace

eir loofer looks, that ftir up lufts impure. th fuch ftrange trains her eyes fhe doth inure, at with one look the doth my life difmay, d with another doth it straight recure:

r fmile me draws, her frown me drives away.

us doth the train and teach me with her looks;

h art of eyes I never read in books.

SONNET XXII.

is holy feafon, fit to faft and pray, en to devotion ought to be inclin'd, erefore I likewife on fo holy day, my fweet faint fome fervice fit will find. r temple fair is built within my mind, which her glorious image placed is, which my thoughts do day and night attend,

ce facred priests, that never think amifs; ere I to her, as th' author of my blifs,

ill build an altar to appease her ire,

id on the fame my heart will facrifice, rning in flames of pure and chafte defire; e which vouchfafe, O Goddefs! to accept, nongst thy dearcft relicks to be kept.

PENELOPE, for her Ulyffes' fake,
Deviz'd a web her wooers to deceive,

In which the work that the all day did make,
The fame at night the did again unreave:
Such fubtil craft my damfel doth conceive,
Th' importunate fute of my desire to shun,
For all that I in many days do weave,

In one fhort hour I find by her undun.
So when I think to end that I begun,

I must begin and never bring to end:

Forth with one look fhe fpills that long I fpun, And with one word my whole year's work doth rend.

Such labour like the fpider's web I find,
Whofe fruitlefs work is broken with leaft wind.

SONNET XXIV.

WHEN I behold that beauty's wonderment,
And rare perfection of each goodly part,
Of Nature's kill the only complement,
I honour and admire the Maker's art;
But when I feel the bitter baleful smart
Which her fair eyes unwares do work in me,
That death out of their fhiny beams do dart,
I think that I a new Pandora fee,
Whom all the gods in counfel did agree
Into this finful world from heaven to fend,
That the to wicked men a fcourge should be
For all their faults with which they did offend.
But fince ye are my fcourge, I will intreat,
That for my faults ye will me gently beat.

SONNET XXV.

How long fhall this like dying life endure,
And know no end of its own mifery,
But waste and wear away in terms unfure,
'Twixt fear and hope depending doubtfully?
Yet better were attonce to let me die,
And fhew the last enfample of your pride,
Then to torment me thus with cruelty,
To prove your pow'r, which I too well have tride,
But yet if in your harden'd breast you hide
A clofe intent at laft to fhew me grace,
Then all the woes and wrecks which I abide,
As means of blifs I gladly will embrace,
And wish that more and greater they might be,
That greater meed at last may turn to me.

SONNET XXVI.

SWEET is the rofe, but grows upon a brere; Sweet is the juniper, but tharp his bough; Sweet is the eglantine, but pricketh near; Sweet is the firbloom, but his branches rough; Sweet is the cyprefs, but his rind is tough; Sweet is the nut, but bitter is his pill;

Sweet is the broom-flowre, but yet four enough;

And fweet is moly, but his root is ill:
So every fweet with four is tempred still.
That maketh it be coveted the more;
For eafy things, that may be got at will,
Moft forts of men do fet but little ftore.
Why then fhould I account of little pain,
That endless pleasure shall unto me gain?

SONNET XXVII.

FAIR Proud! now tell me why fhould fair be proud,

Sith all the world's glory is but grofs unclean?
And in the fhade of death itself should shroud,
However now thereof ye little ween.
That goodly idol, now fo gay beseen,
Shall doff her fleshes borrow'd fair attire,
And be forgot as it had never been,
That many now much worship and admire :
Ne any then fhall after it inquire,
Ne any mention fhall thereof remain,
But what this verfe, that never shall expire,
Shall to your purchase with her thankless pain.
Fair! be no longer proud of that shall perish,
But that which thall you make immortal cherish.

SONNET XXVIII.

THE laurel leaf, which you this day do wear,
Gives me great hope of your relenting mind,
For fince it is the badge which I do bear,
Ye bearing it do feem to me inclin'd:
The power thereof, which oft in me I find,
Let it likewife your gentle breast inspire
With sweet infusion, and put you in mind

Of that proud maid whom now thofe leaves attire.
Proud Daphne, fcorning Phœbus' lovely fire,
On the Theffalian fhore from him did flie,
For which the gods, in their revengeful ire,
Did her transform unto a laurel-tree.

Then fly no more, fair Love! from Phœbus'

chace,

But in your breast his leaf and love embrace.

SONNET XXIX.

SEE how the ftubborn damfel doth deprave
My fimple meaning with difdainful fcorn,
And by the bay which I unto her gave,
Accounts my felf her captive quite forlorn.
The bay, quoth fhe, is of the victor born,
Yielded them by the vanquifht as their meeds,
And they therewith do poets' heads adorn,
To fing the glory of their famous deeds;
But fith fhe will the conqueft challenge needs,
Let her accept me as her faithfull thrall,
That her great triumph, which my fkill exceeds,
I may in trump of Fame blaze over all;
Then would I deck her head with glorious bays,
And fill the world with her victorious praise.

SONNET XXX.

My love is like to ice, and I to fire:
How comes it, then, that this her cold fo great
Is not diffolv'd through my fo hot defire,
But harder grows the more I her intreat?
Or how comes it that my exceeding heat
Is not delaid by her heart-frozen cold,
But that I burn much more in boiling (weat,
And feel my flames augmented manifold?
What more miraculous thing may be told,
That fire, which all things melts, should haria
ice,

And ice which is congeal'd with fenfelefs cold,
Should kindle fire by wonderful device?
Such is the power of love in gentle mind,
That it can alter all the course of kind.

SONNET XXXI.

Au! why hath Nature to fo hard a heart
Given fo goodly gifts of beauty's grace,
Whose pride depraves each other better part,
And all thofe precious ornaments deface?
Sith to all other beatts of bloody race
A dreadful countenance fhe given hath,
That with their terrour all the reft may chace,
And warn to fhun the danger of their wrath :
But my proud one doth work the greater feath
Through sweet allurement of her lovely hue,
That the the better may in bloody bath

Of fuch poor thrall her cruel hands embrew;
But did the know how ill these two accord,
Such cruelty fhe would have foon abhorr❜d.

SONNET XXXII.

THE painful fmith, with force of fervent heat.
The hardest iron foon doth mollifie,
That with his heavy fledge he can it beat,
And fashion to what he it lift apply;
Yet cannot all these flames in which I fry
Her heart, more hard than iron, soft awhit,
Ne all the plaints and prayers with which I
Do beat on th' anvile of her ftubborn wit;
But ftill the more the fervent fees my fit,
The more the frizeth in her wilful pride,
And harder grows the harder she is smit,
With all the plaints which to her be applide:
What then remains but I to afhes burn,
And the to ftones at length all frozen turn?

SONNET XXXIII.

GREAT Wrong I do, I can it not deny,
To that most facred emprefs, my dear dread,
Not finishing her Queen of Facry,
That mote enlarge her living praifes dead.
But, Lodwick this of grace to me aread;
Do ye not think th' accomplishment of it
Sufficient work for one man's fimple head,
All were it, as the rest, but rudely writ?

How then should I, without another wit, 'hink ever to endure fo tedious toil? ith that this one is toft with troublous fit f a proud love that doth my spirit spoil. cafe then till fhe vouchfafe to grant me reft, r lend you me another living breast.

SONNET XXXIV.

IKE as a fhip that through the ocean wide, 7 conduct of fome star, doth make her way, Then as a storm hath dim'd her trufty guide, at of her course doth wander far astray;

I, whofe ftar, that wont with her bright ray e to direct, with clouds is overcaft, > wander now in darkness and difmay, hrough hidden perils round about me plac'd; et hope I will that when this storm is past ly Helice, the loadftar of my life, Till fhine again, and look on me at last Fith lovely light, to clear my cloudy grief : ill then I wander careful, comfortiefs, fecret forrow and fad penfiveness.

ELL me, when fhall thefe weary woes have end? r fhall their ruthless terment never ceafe; ut all my days in pining languor spend, Tithout hope of affwagement or release. there no means for me to purchase peace? 'r make agreement with her thrilling eyes, ut that their cruelty doth still increase, and daily more augment my miseries. but when ye have fhew'd all extremities, Then think how little glory ye have gain'd by daying him, whofe life though ye despise, Mate have your life in honour long maintain'd; 3ut by his death, which fome perhaps will mone, Ye shall condemned be of many a one.

VOL. II.

SONNET XXXVII.

WHAT guile is this, that thofe her golden treffes
She doth attire under a net of gold,

And with fly fkill fo cunningly them dreffes,
That which is gold or hair may scarce be told?
Is it that mens frail eyes, which gaze too bold,
She may entangle in that golden fnare,
And being caught, may craftily enfold
Their weaker hearts, which are not well aware?
Take heed, therefore, mine Eyes! how ye do ftare
Henceforth too rafhly on that guileful net,
In which, if ever ye entrapped are,
Out of her bands ye by no means fhall get.
Fondness it were for any, being free,
To covet fetters, though they golden be.

SONNET XXXVIII.

ARION, when through tempeft's cruel wrack
He forth was thrown into the greedy feas,
Through the fweet mufic which his harp did
make,

Allur'd a dolphin him from death to ease;
But my rude mufick, which was wont to please
Some dainty ears, cannot with any skill
The dreadful tempeft of her wrath appease,
Nor move the dolphin from her ftubborn will,
But in her pride the doth perfevere still,
All careless how my life for her decays,
Yet with one word the can it fave or fpill;"
To fpill were pity, but to fave were praise.
Chufe rather to be prais'd for doing good,
Than to be blam'd for spilling guiltless blood.

SONNET XXXIX.

SWEET Smile, the daughter of the Queen of Love
Expreffing all thy mother's powerful art,
With which he wonts to temper angry Jove,
When all the gods he threats with thundring dart,
Sweet is thy vertue, as thy felf sweet art;
For when on me thou fhinedft late in sadness,
A melting pleafance ran through every part,
And me revived with heart-robbing gladness.
Whilst rapt with joy resembling heavenly madness,
My foul was ravisht quite as in a trance,
And feeling thence no more her forrow's fadnefs,
Fed on the fulness of that chearful glance;
More fweet than nectar or ambrofial mcat
Seem'd every bit which thenceforth I did eat.

SONNET XL.

MARK when he failes with amiable chear,
And tell me whereto can ye liken it,
When on each eye-lid fweetly do appear
An hundred graces, as in fhade to fit :
Likeft it feemeth, in my fimple wit,
Unto the fair funfhine in funimer's-dav,
That when a dreadful form away is flit,

Through the broad world doth spread his goodly

ray,

At fight whereof each bird that fits on spray,
And every beaft that to his den was fled,
Come forth afresh out of their late difmay,
And to the light lift up their drooping head:
So my fterm-beaten heart likewife is chear'd
With that fun-fhine, when cloudy looks are
clear'd.

SONNET XLI.

Is it her nature, or is it her will,
To be fo cruel to an humbled foe?

If nature, then the may it mend with fkill;
If will, then fhe at will may will forgoe;
But if her nature and her will be fo,
That he will plague the man that loves her most,
And take delight t'encrease a wretch's woe,
Then all her nature's goodly gifts are loft,
And that fame glorious beauty's idle boast
Is but a bait fuch wretches to beguile,
As being long in her love's tempest tost,
She means at haft to make her piteous spoil.
O fairest Fair! let never it be nam'd,
That fo fair beauty was fo foully sham'd!

SONNET XLII.

THE love which me fo cruelly tormenteth,
So pleafing is in my extreameft pain,
That all the more my forrow it augmenteth,
The more I love and do embrace my bane;
Ne do I wish (for wishing were but vain)
To be acquit fro my continual fmart,
But joy her thrall for ever to remain,
And yield for pledge my poor captived heart,
The which, that it from her may never start,
Let her, if pleafe her, bind with adamant chain,
And from all wandring loves which mote pervart,
In fafe affurance ftrongly it reftrain;
Only let her abstain from cruelty,

And dome me not before my time to die.

SONNET XLIII.

SHALL I then filent be, or fhall I speak?,
And if I speak, her wrath renew I fhall;
And if I filent be my heart will break,
Or choked be with overflowing gall.
What tyranny
is this my heart to thrall,
And cke my tongue with proud reftraint to tie,
That neither I may speak nor think at all,
But like a ftupid ftock in filence die?
Yet I my heart with filence fecretly

Will teach to fpeak, and my just cause to plead,
And eke mine eyes with meek humility,
Love-learned letters to her eyes to read,

Which her deep wit, that true heart's thought can

SONNET XLIV.

WHEN those renowned noble peers of Greece, Through stubborn pride among themselves jar,

Forgetful of the famous Golden Fleece,
Then Orpheus with his harp their strife did bar
But this continual, cruel, civil war,

The which my felf against my felf do make,
Whilft my weak powers of paffions warreid are,
No fkill can flint, nor reafon can aflake:
But when in hand my tunelefs horp I take,
Then do I more augment my foes defpight,
And grief renew, and paffions do awake
To battail, fresh against my felf to fight;
'Mongft whom the more I feek to fettle peac
The more I find their malice to increase.

SONNET XLV.

LEAVE, Lady! in your glafs of crystal clean
Your goodly felf for ever more to view,
And in my felf, my inward felf I mean,
Moft lively like behold your femblant true.
Within my heart, though hardly it can fhew
Thing fo divine to view of earthly eye,
The fair idea of your celestial hue,
And every part, remains immortally;
And were it not that through your cruely,
With forrow dimmed and deform'd it were,
The goodly image of your vifnomy,
Clearer than cryftal would therein appear;
But if your felf in me ye plain will fee,
Remove the caufe by which your fair bern
darkned be.

SONNET XLVI.

WHEN my abode's prefixed time is spent, My cruel fair ftraight bids me wend away; But then from heaven moft hideous form

fent,

As willing me against her will to stay.
Whom then fhail I, or heaven or her obey?
'The heavens know beft what is the best fer,
But as fhe will, whofe will my life doth fway,
My lower heaven, fo it perforce must be:
But ye, high Heavens, that all this forrow it,
Sith all your tempefts cannot me hold back,
Affwage your forms, or eife both you and
Will both together me too forely wreck,
Enough it is for one man to fuitain,
The torms which the alone on me doth rain,

SONNET XLVII.

TRUST not the treason of those smiling looks, Until ye have their guileful trains weh tridt, For they are like but unto golden hooks, That from the foolish fish their bates do hide;

guide

Unto her love, and tempt to their decay,
Whom being caught, fhe kills with cruel pride,
And feeds at pleafure on the wretched prey;
Yet even whilft her bloody hands them flay,
Her eyes look lovely, and upon them fmile,
That they take pleasure in their cruel play,
And dying, do themselves of pain beguile.

O mighty charm, which makes men love their bane,

And with one falve both heart and body heal.

SONNET LI.

Do I not fee the fairest images

Of hardest marble are of purpose made,
For that they should endure through many ages,
Ne let their famous monimets to fade?

Why then do I, untrain'd ia lover's trade,

SONNET XLVIII.

NNOCENT Paper! whom too cruel hand Did make the matter to avenge her ire, And ere she could thy caufe well underfland, Did facrifice unto the greedy fire; Well worthy thou to have found better hire Than fo bad end, for hereticks ordain'd; Yet hereûe nor treafon didit confpire, But plead thy mafter's caufe, anjuftly pain'd; Whom fhe, all careiefs of his grief, confirain'd o utter forth the anguifh of his heart, and would not hear, when he to her complain'd The piteous paflion of his dying fmart: et live for ever, though againt her will, nd speak her good, though the requite it ill.

SONNET XLIX.

AIR Cruci! why are ye fo fierce and cruel? it because your eyes have power to kill? en know, that mercy is the mighty's jewel, nd greater glory think to fave than fpill, it if it be your pleasure and proud will

fhew the power of your imperious eyes, ten not on him that never thought you ill, it bend your force against your enemies: et them feel th' utmolt of your crucities, ad kill with looks, as cockatrices do; #t him that at your footftool humbled lies ith merciful regard, give mercy to: ch mercy fhall you make admir'd to be; fhall you live by giving life to me.

SONNET L.

ONG languishing in double malady

my heart's wound and of my body's grief, here came to me a leach that would apply t med'cines for my body's beft relief: ain Man quoth I, that haft but little prief deep difcovery of the mini's difeafe, not the heart of all the body chief, nd rules the members as it felf doth please? hen with fome cordials fcek fer to appeale he inward langour of my wounded heart, nd then my body thall have fhortly eafe: ut fuch sweet cordials pals phyficians' art.

Sith never ought was excellent affaid,

Which was not hard t'atchive and bring to end;
Ne cught fo hard, but he that would attend
Mote foften it, and to his will allure;
So do I hope her stubborn heart to bend,
And that it then more ftedfast will endure ;,
Only my pains will be the more to get her,
But having her, my joy will be the greater.

SONNET LU.

So oft as homeward I from her depart,
I goe like one that, having loft the field,
Is prifoner led away with heavy heart,
Ditpoil'd of warlike arms and knowen shield :
So do I now my felf a prifoner yield
To forrow and to folitary pain,
From prefence of my deareft dear exild,
Long-while alone in langour to remain.
Then let no thought of joy, or pleasure vain,
Dare to approach, that may my folace breed,
But fuddain dumps, and drezy fad difdain
Of all world's gladness more my torment feed:
So I her abfence wai my penance make,
That of my prefence I my meed may take.,

SONNET LIII.

THE panther, knowing that his fpotted hide
Doth pleafe all beafts, but that his looks them
Within a bush his dreadful head doth hide, [fray,
To let them gaze, whilft he on them may prey:
Right fo my cruel fair with me doth play,
For with the goodly femblance of her hue
She doth allure me to mine own decay,
And then no mercy will unto me fhew.
Great fhame it is thing fo divine in view,
Made for to be the world's most ornament,
To make the bait her gazers to embrew;
Good fhames to be to ill an inftrument;
But mercy doth with beauty belt agree,
As in their Maker ye them best may fee.

SONNET LIV.

Of this world's theater, in which we stay, My love, like the fpectator, idle fits, Beholding me that all the pageants play Difguiling divertly my troubled wits.