And then we shall be throughly blest;
But now no more than all the rest.
Here upon earth we 're kings, and none but
Can be such kings, nor of such subjects be.
Who is so safe as we? where none can do
Treason to us, except one of us two.
True and false fears let us refrain, Let us love nobly, and live, and add again. Years and years unto years, till we attain To write threescore; this is the second of our reign.
The glorious image of the Maker's beauty,
My sovereign saint, the idol of my thought,
Dare not henceforth, above the bounds of duty,
To accuse of pride, or rashly blame for aught.
For being, as she is, divinely wrought,
And of the brood of Angels heavenly born;
And with the crew of blessed Saints upbrought,
Each of which did her with their gifts adorn;
The bud of joy, the blossom of the morn,
The beam of light, whom mortal admire;
What is it then but she should scorn
Base things, that to her love too bold aspire?
Such heavenly forms ought rather worshipped be,
Than dare be loved by men of mean degree.
Since first I saw your face I resolved to honour and
If now I be disdained I wish my heart had never known ye.
What? I that loved and you that liked shall we begin to wrangle?
No, no, no, my heart is fast, and cannot disentangle.
If I admire or praise you too much, that fault you may forgive me,
my hands had strayed but a touch, then justly might you leave me.
bade me love; is 't now a
No, no, no, I'll love you still what fortune e'er be
The sun whose beams most glorious are rejecteth no beholder,
And your sweet beauty past compare made my poor eyes the bolder:
Where beauty moves, and wit delights, and signs of kindness bind me,
There, O there! where'er I go I'll leave heart
When like an eaglet I first found my love,
For that the virtue I thereof would know,
Upon the nest I set it forth, to prove
If it were of that kingly kind or no:
But it no sooner saw my sun appear,
But on her rays with open eyes it stood,
To show that I had hatched it for the air,
And rightly came from that brave-mounting brood.
And, when the plumes were summed with sweet de-
To prove the pinions, it ascends the skies;
Do what I could, it need'sly would aspire
To my soul's sun, those two celestial eyes.
Thus from my breast, where it was bred alone,
It after thee is like an eaglet flown.
Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to show.
That She, dear She, might take some pleasure of
pain; Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know,
Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain;
I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe,
Studying inventions fine, her wits to entertain;
Oft turning others' leaves, to see if thence would
flow
Some fresh and fruitful showers upon my sunburned brain.
But words came halting forth, wanting Invention's
Invention, Nature's child, fled step-dame Study's
And others' feet still seemed but strangers in my
Thus, great with child to speak, and helpless in my throes,
Biting my truant pen, beating myself for spite,
Fool," said my Muse to me,
Muse to me, "look in thy
heart, and write!"
In truth, O Love, with what a boyish kind
Thou dost proceed in thy most serious ways,
That when the heaven to thee his best displays
Yet of that best thou leav'st the best behind.
For, like a child that some fair book doth find,
With gilded leaves or coloured vellum plays,
Or, at the most, on some fair picture stays,
But never heeds the fruit of writer's mind;
So when thou saw'st in Nature's cabinet
Stella, thou straight look'st babies in her eyes,
In her cheek's pit thou didst thy pitfold set,
And in her breast bo-peep or couching lies,
Playing and shining in each outward part;
But, fool, seek'st not to get into her heart.
Alas, have I not pain enough, my friend,
Upon whose breast a fiercer gripe doth tire
Than did on him who first stole down the fire,
While Love on me doth all his quiver spend;
But with your rhubarb words ye must contend
To grieve me worse in saying, that Desire
Doth plunge my well-formed soul even in the mire
Of sinful thoughts, which do in ruin end?
If that be sin which doth the manners frame,
Well stayed with truth in word and faith of deed,
Ready of wit, and fearing nought but shame;
If that be sin which in fixt hearts doth breed
A loathing of all loose unchastity,
Then love is sin, and let me sinful be!
The curious wits, seeing dull pensiveness
Bewray itself in my long settled eyes,
Whence those same fumes of melancholy rise,
With idle pains and missing aim, do guess.
Some that know how my spring I did address,
Deem that my Muse some fruit of knowledge plies;
Others, because the Prince my service tries,
Think that I think state errors to redress.
But harder judges judge ambition's rage,
Scourge of itself, still climbing slippery place,
Holds my young brain captived in golden cage.
O fools, or overwise: alas, the race
Of all my thoughts hath neither stop nor start,
But only Stella's eyes and Stella's heart.
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