 | Poems (1914) |  |
Poesie IX. Fides in Fortunam.
Most sacred is the sweete where fortune swayes,
Deuine the sound of her enchaunting voice.
Noe hope of rest, wher hope, true hope delayes,
Though I dispaire I may not change me choise:
For hue [sic] I well, though fortune me dispise,
To honour her, that scornes my enterprise.
Deuine the sound of her enchaunting voice.
Noe hope of rest, wher hope, true hope delayes,
Though I dispaire I may not change me choise:
For hue [sic] I well, though fortune me dispise,
To honour her, that scornes my enterprise.
To bandie lookes will ease my thrauled heart,
With lookes, my life shalbe at her commaunde,
Yf so much grace to faith she will impart:
With lookes againe, to answere my demaunde;
And that I may still loue her to my graue,
With purest faith, is all that I doe craue.
With lookes, my life shalbe at her commaunde,
Yf so much grace to faith she will impart:
With lookes againe, to answere my demaunde;
And that I may still loue her to my graue,
With purest faith, is all that I doe craue.
Let Phœbus drawe his shining beam's away,
Let heau'ns forsake to graunt me any light,
Let foode me faile; let hope, my hope delay;
Let eares not heare; let watch-full eies want sight:
Let sense, my sense, with furies fell confound,
Before that faith, to fortune false be found.
Let heau'ns forsake to graunt me any light,
Let foode me faile; let hope, my hope delay;
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Let sense, my sense, with furies fell confound,
Before that faith, to fortune false be found.
Thy eu'r sworne friende, and seruant to thy end,
Hath made a vowe and promise with his soule.
His fortun's right with courage to defend,
Against proudest he, this offer dare controle:
My match is sure if Fortune grace her swayne,
And coulors giue her quarrell to maintaine.
Hath made a vowe and promise with his soule.
His fortun's right with courage to defend,
Against proudest he, this offer dare controle:
My match is sure if Fortune grace her swayne,
And coulors giue her quarrell to maintaine.
Colours they are of purest Indian die,
For none but such doth Fortune vse to lend.
Whose sight may moue the coward neu'r to flie,
And all his force against his foe to bend.
Then let sweet soule thy colours be my guide,
And hap what maye, thy doome I will abide.
For none but such doth Fortune vse to lend.
Whose sight may moue the coward neu'r to flie,
And all his force against his foe to bend.
Then let sweet soule thy colours be my guide,
And hap what maye, thy doome I will abide.
Then write thy Censure with thy prettie hand,
I will obay the sentence of thy minde,
And graue the same in table faire to stand;
So that, ensuing age the same may finde:
For monument in goulden letters wrought,
To whet with sight the accents of my thought.
I will obay the sentence of thy minde,
And graue the same in table faire to stand;
So that, ensuing age the same may finde:
For monument in goulden letters wrought,
To whet with sight the accents of my thought.
| Poems (1914) | |