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University of Virginia Library

The Poems and Sonnets of Henry Constable

Constable, Henry (1562-1613)

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THE SHEEPHEARD'S SONG OF VENUS & ADONIS

DAMELUS' SONG TO HIS DIAPHENIA.

A PASTORALL SONG BETWEENE PHILLIS AND AMARILLIS, TWO NIMPHES, EACH AUNSWERING OTHER LINE FOR LINE.

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[Grace full of grace, though in these verses heere]

[Resolv'd to love, unworthy to obtaine]

[Fly low, deere Love, thy Sunne doost thou not see?]

[Thine eye, the glasse where I behold my hart]

[Delight in youre bright eyes my death did breede]

[When youre perfections to my thoughts appeare]

[It may be Love my death doth not pretend]

[Blame not my hart for flying up too hie]

[Eyes curiouse to behold what nature can create]

[Ladie! in beautie and in favour rare]

[Ladie of ladies, the delight alone]

[Not that thy hand is soft, is sweete, is white]

[Sweete Soveraigne! sith so many minds remaine]

[When beautie to the world vouchsafes this blisse]

[Falsly doth envie of your praises blame]

[My Lady's presence makes the Roses red]

[Sweet hand! the sweet but cruell bowe thou art]

[The Fouler hides, (as closely as he may)]

TO HIS MISTRISSE UPON THE OCCASION OF A PETRARCH HE GAVE HER.

[A friend of mine, pittying my hopelesse love]

[Faire Sunne! if you would have me praise your light]

[The sunne, his journey ending in the West]

TO SEVERALL PERSONS UPON SUNDRYE OCCASIONS.

COMPLAYNTS OF MISFORTUNES IN LOVE.

OF THE END AND DEATH OF HIS LOVE.

FOURE SONNETS TO SIR PHILLIP SIDNEY'S SOULE.

TO THE DIVINE PROTECTION OF THE LADIE ARBELLA, THE AUTHOR COMMENDETH BOTH HIS GRACE'S HONOURE AND HIS MVSE'S ÆTERNITIE.

OF THE DEATH OF MY LADIE RICH'S DAUGHTER. SHEWING THE REASON OF HER UNTIMELY DEATH HINDRED HER EFFECTING THOSE THINGS WHICH BY THE FORMER CALCULATION OF HER NATIVITYE HE FORETOLD.

SPIRITUALL SONNETTES TO THE HONOUR OF GOD & HYS SAYNTES. BY H. C.

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[Ladie! in beautie and in favour rare]

Ladie! in beautie and in favour rare,
Of favour (not of due) I favour crave;
Nature to thee beauty and favour gave;
Faire then thou art, and favour thou maist spare;

Nor when on mee bestow'd your favours are,
Lesse favour in your face you shall not have;
If favour then a wounded soule may save,
Of murther's guilt (deare Lady) then beware.

My losse of life a million fold were lesse
Than the least losse should unto you befall;
Yet graunt this gyft; which gift when I possesse,
Both I have life, and you no losse at all.
For by your favour onely I doe live;
And favour you may well both keepe and give.