Poems and Dramas of Fulke Greville :: :: University of Virginia Library

Loue, the delight of all well-thinking minds;
Delight, the fruit of vertue dearely lov'd;
Vertue, the highest good, that reason finds;
Reason, the fire wherein mens thoughts bee prov'd;
Are from the world by Natures power bereft,
And in one creature, for her glory, left.

Beautie, her couer is, the eyes true pleasure;
In honours fame she liues, the eares sweet musicke;
Excesse of wonder growes from her true measure;
Her worth is passions wound, and passions physicke;
From her true heart, cleare springs of wisdome flow,
Which imag'd in her words and deeds, men know.

Time faine would stay, that she might never leave her,
Place doth reioyce, that she must needs containe her,
Death craues of Heauen, that she may not bereaue her,
The Heauens know their owne, and doe maintaine her;
Delight, Loue, Reason, Vertue let it be,
To set all women light, but only she.

Sonnet II

[Faire Dog, which so my heart dost teare asunder]

Faire Dog, which so my heart dost teare asunder,
That my liues-blood, my bowels ouerfloweth,
Alas, what wicked rage conceal'st thou vnder
These sweet enticing ioyes, thy forehead showeth?

Me, whom the light-wing'd God of long hath chased,
Thou hast attain'd, thou gau'st that fatall wound,
Which my soules peacefull innocence hath rased,
And reason to her seruant humour bound.

Kill therefore in the end, and end my anguish,
Give me my death, me thinks euen time vpbraideth
A fulnesse of the woes, wherein I languish:
Or if thou wilt I liue, then pittie pleadeth
Helpe out of thee, since Nature hath reuealed,
That with thy tongue thy bytings may be healed.

Sonnet III

[More than most faire, full of that heauenly fire]

More than most faire, full of that heauenly fire,
Kindled aboue to shew the Makers glory,
Beauties first-born, in whom all powers conspire,
To write the Graces life, and Muses storie.
If in my heart all Saints else be defaced,
Honour the Shrine, where you alone are placed.

Thou window of the skie, and pride of spirits,
True Character of honour in perfection,
Thou heauenly creature, Iudge of earthly merits,
And glorious prison of mans pure affection,
If in my heart all Nymphs else be defaced,
Honour the shrine, where you alone are placed.

Sonnet IV

[You little starres that liue in skyes]

You little starres that liue in skyes,
And glory in Apollo's glorie,
In whose aspects conioined lyes
The Heauens will, and Natures storie,
Ioy to be likened to those eyes,
Which eyes make all eyes glad, or sorie,
For when you force thoughts from aboue,
These ouer-rule your force by loue.

And thou O Loue, which in these eyes
Hast married Reason with Affection,
And made them Saints of beauties skyes,
Where ioyes are shadowes of perfection,
Lend me thy wings that I may rise
Vp not by worth but thy election;
For I haue vow'd in strangest fashion,
To loue, and neuer seeke compassion.

Sonnet V

[Who trusts for trust, or hopes of loue for loue]

Who trusts for trust, or hopes of loue for loue,
Or who belou'd in Cupids lawes doth glory;
Who ioyes in vowes, or vowes not to remoue,
Who by this light God, hath not beene made sory;
Let him see me eclipsed from my Sunne,
With shadowes of an Earth quite ouer-runne.

Who thinks that sorrowes felt, desires hidden,
Or humble faith with constant honour armed,
Can keep loue from the fruit that is forbidden,
(Change I doe meane by no faith to be charmed,)
Looking on me, let him know, loues delights
Are treasures hid in caues, but kept with sprites.

Sonnet VI

[Eyes, why did you bring vnto me those graces]

Eyes, why did you bring vnto me those graces,
Grac'd to yeeld wonder out of her true measure,
Measure of all ioyes, stay to phansie-traces,
Module of pleasure?

Reason is now growne a disease in reason,
Thoughts knit vpon thoughts free alone to wonder,
Sense is a spie, made to doe phansie treason,
Loue goe I vnder.

Since then eyes pleasure to my thoughts betray me,
And my thoughts reasons-leuell haue defaced,
So that all my powers to be hers, obey me,
Loue be thou graced.

Grac'd by me Loue? no, by her that owes me.
She that an Angells spirit hath retained
In Cupids faire skie, which her beauty showes me,
Thus haue I gained.

Sonnet VII

[The World, that all containes, is euer mouing]

The World, that all containes, is euer mouing,
The Starres within their spheres for euer turned,
Nature (the Queene of Change) to change is louing,
And Forme to matter new, is still adiourned.

Fortune our phansie-God, to varie liketh,
Place is not bound to things within it placed,
The present time vpon time passed striketh,
With Phœbus wandring course the earth is graced.

The Ayre still moues, and by its mouing cleareth,
The Fire vp ascends, and planets feedeth,
The Water passeth on, and all lets weareth,
The Earth stands still, yet change of changes breedeth;

Her plants, which Summer ripes, in Winter fade,
Each creature in vnconstant mother lyeth,
Man made of earth, and for whom earth is made,
Still dying liues, and liuing euer dyeth;
Onely like fate sweet Myra neuer varies,
Yet in her eyes the doome of all Change carries.

Sonnet VIII

[Selfe-pitties teares, wherein my hope lyes drown'd]

Selfe-pitties teares, wherein my hope lyes drown'd,
Sighs from thoughts fire, where my desires languish,
Despaire by humble loue of beauty crown'd,
Furrowes not worne by time, but wheeles of anguish;
Dry vp, smile, ioy, make smooth, and see
Furrowes, despaires, sighes, teares, in beauty be.

Beauty, out of whose clouds my heart teares rained,
Beauty, whose niggard fire sighs' smoke did nourish,
Beauty, in whose eclipse despaires remained,
Beauty, whose scorching beames make wrinkles florish;
Time hath made free of teares, sighs, and despaire,
Writing in furrowes deep; she once was faire.

Sonnet IX

[O Loue, thou mortall sphere of powers diuine]

O Loue, thou mortall sphere of powers diuine,
The paradise of Nature in perfection,
What makes thee thus thy Kingdome vndermine,
Vailing thy glories vnder woes reflection?
Tyrannie counsell out of feare doth borrow,
To thinke her Kingdome safe in feare, and sorrow.

If I by nature, Wonder and Delight,
Had not sworne all my powers to worship thee,
Iustly mine owne reuenge receiue I might,
And see thee, Tyrant, suffer tyrannie:
See thee thy selfe-despaire, and sorrow breeding,
Vnder the wounds of woe and sorrow bleeding.

For sorrow holds mans life to be her owne,
His thoughts her stage, where tragedies she plaies,
Her orbe she makes his Reason ouerthrowne,
His loue foundations for her ruines layes;
So as while loue will torments of her borrow,
Loue shall become the very loue of sorrow.

Loue therefore speake to Cælica for me,
Shew her thy selfe in euerything I doe;
Safely thy powers she may in others see,
And in thy power see her glories too;
Moue her to pitty, stay her from disdaine,
Let neuer man loue worthinesse in vaine.

Sonnet X

[Loue, of mans wandring thoughts the restlesse being]

Loue, of mans wandring thoughts the restlesse being,
Thou from my mind with glory wast inuited,
Glory of those faire eyes, where all eyes, seeing
Vertues and beauties riches, are delighted;
What Angells pride, or what selfe-disagreeing,
What dazling brightnesse hath your beames benighted,
That fall'n thus from those ioyes which you aspired,
Downe to my darkened minde you are retired?

Within which minde since you from thence ascended,
Truth clouds it selfe, Wit serues but to resemble,
Enuie is King, at others good offended,
Memorie doth worlds of wretchednesse assemble,
Passion to ruin passion is intended,
My reason is but power to dissemble;
Then tell me Loue, what glory you diuine
Your selfe can find within this soule of mine?

Rather goe backe vnto that heauenly quire
Of Natures riches, in her beauties placed,
And there in contemplation feed desire,
Which till it wonder, is not rightly graced;
For those sweet glories, which you doe aspire,
Must, as Ideas only be embraced
Since excellence in other forme enioyed,
Is by descending to her Saints destroyed.

Sonnet XI

[Ivno, that on her head Loues liuerie carried]

Ivno, that on her head Loues liuerie carried,
Scorning to weare the markes of Io's pleasure,
Knew while the Boy in Æquinoctiall tarried,
His heats would rob the heauen of heauenly treasure,
Beyond the Tropicks she the Boy doth banish,
Where smokes must warme, before his fire do blaze,
And Childrens thoughts not instantly grow Mannish,
Feare keeping lust there very long at gaze:
But see how that poore Goddesse was deceiued,
For Womens hearts farre colder there than ice,
When once the fire of lust they haue receiued,
With two extremes so multiply the vice,
As neither partie satisfying other,
Repentance still becomes desires mother.

Sonnet XII

[Cvpid, thou naughtie Boy, when thou wert loathed]

Cvpid, thou naughtie Boy, when thou wert loathed,
Naked and blind, for vagabunding noted,
Thy nakednesse I in my reason clothed,
Mine eyes I gaue thee, so was I deuoted.

Fye Wanton, fie; who would shew children kindnesse?
No sooner he into mine eyes was gotten,
But straight he clouds them with a seeing blindnesse,
Makes reason wish that reason were forgotten.

From thence to Myra's eyes the Wanton strayeth,
Where while I charge him with vngratefull measure,
So with faire wonders he mine eyes betrayeth,
That my wounds, and his wrongs, become my pleasure;
Till for more spite to Myra's heart he flyeth,
Where liuing to the world, to me he dieth.

Sonnet XIII

[Cvpid, his Boyes play many times forbidden]

Cvpid, his Boyes play many times forbidden
By Venus, who thinks Mars best manhood boyish,
While he shot all, still for not shooting chidden,
Weepes himselfe blind to see that Sexe so coyish.

And in this blindnesse wandreth many places,
Till his foe Absence, hath him prisonner gotten,
Who breaks his arrowes, bow and wings defaces,
Keepes him till he his Boys play hath forgotten.

Then lets him loose, no God of yeeres, but houres,
Cures and restores him all things, but his blindnesse,
Forbids him nothing but the constant powers,
Where Absence neuer can haue power of kindnesse:
Ladies, this blind Boy that ran from his Mother,
Will euer play the wag with one or other.

Sonnet XIV

[Why how now Reason, how are you amazed?]

Why how now Reason, how are you amazed?
Is Worth in Beauty, shrin'd vp to be lothed?
Shall Natures riches by your selfe be razed?
In what but these can you be finely clothed?

Though Myra's eyes, glasses of ioy, and smart,
Daintily shadowed, shew forth loue and feare,
Shall feare make reason from her right depart?
Shall lacke of hope the loue of worth forbeare?

Where is the homage then that Nature oweth?
Loue is a tribute to perfection due,
Reason in selfe-loues-liuerie bondage showeth,
And hath no freedome, Myra, but in you;
Then Worth, Loue, Reason, Beauty be content,
In Myra onely to be permanent.

Sonnet XV

[When gentle Beauties ouer-wanton kindnesse]

When gentle Beauties ouer-wanton kindnesse,
Had giuen loue the liberty of playing,
Change brought his eye-sight by and by to blindnesse,
Still hatching in excesse her owne decaying;
Then cut I selfe-loues wings to lend him fethers,
Gaue him mine eyes to see, in Myra's glory,
Honour and Beauty reconcil'd togethers
Of Loue, the birth, the fatall tombe and story.
Ah Wag, no sooner he that sphere had gotten,
But out of Myra's eyes my eyes he woundeth;
And, but his Boyes-play hauing all forgotten,
His heate in her chast coldnesse so confoundeth,
As he that burnes must freeze, who trusts must feare,
Ill quarter'd coats, which yet all Louers beare.

Sonnet XVI

[Fye foolish Earth, thinke you the heauen wants glory]

Fye foolish Earth, thinke you the heauen wants glory,
Because your shadowes doe your selfe be-night?
All's darke vnto the blind, let them be sory,
The heauens in themselues are euer bright.

Fye fond desire, thinke you that Loue wants glory,
Because your shadowes doe your selfe benight?
The hopes and feares of lust, may make men sorie,
But loue still in her selfe finds her delight.

Then Earth stand fast, the skye that you benight
Will turne againe, and so restore your glory;
Desire be steady, hope is your delight,
An orbe wherein no creature can be sorie;
Loue being plac'd aboue these middle regions,
Where euery passion warres it selfe with legions.

Sonnet XVII

[Cynthia, whose glories are at Full for euer]

Cynthia, whose glories are at Full for euer,
Whose beauties draw forth teares, and kindle fires,
Fires, which kindled once are quenched neuer,
So beyond hope your worth beares vp desires.

Why cast you clouds on your sweet looking eyes?
Are you afraid they shew me too much pleasure?
Strong Nature decks the graue wherein it lyes,
Excellence can neuer be exprest in measure.

Are you afraid, because my heart adores you,
The world will thinke I hold Endymion's place?
Hippolytus, sweet Cynthia, kneel'd before you,
Yet did you not come downe to kisse his face.
Angells enioy the heauens inward Quires:
Starre-gazers only multiply desires.

Sonnet XVIII

[I offer wrong to my beloued Saint]

I offer wrong to my beloued Saint,
I scorne, I change, I falsify my loue,
Absence and time haue made my homage faint,
With Cupid I doe euery where remoue.

I sigh, I sorrow, I doe play the foole,
Mine eyes like Weather-cocks, on her attend:
Zeale thus on either side she puts to schoole,
That will needs haue inconstancy to friend.

I grudge, she saith, that many should adore her,
Where loue doth suffer, and thinke all things meet,
She saith, All selfe-nesse must fall downe before her:
I say, Where is the sauce should make that sweet?
Change and contempt (you know) ill speakers be:
Cælica: and such are all your thoughts of me.

Sonnet XIX

[Ah silly Cupid, doe you make it coy]

Ah silly Cupid, doe you make it coy
To keepe your seate in Cala's furrowed face?
Thinke in her beauty what you did enioy,
And doe not seruice done you so disgrace.

She that refused not any shaft you shot,
Lent dewes to Youth, and sparks to Old desire;
If such flat homage be so soone forgot,
Many good fellowes will be out of hire.

Good Archers euer have two bowes at least,
With beauty faded shoot the elder sort;
For though all be not to shoot at the best,
Yet Archers with their Butting-bowes make sport:
The glory that men in good Kingdomes see,
Is when both Yong, and Old in traffique be.

Sonnet XX

[Why how now Cupid, doe you couet change?]

Why how now Cupid, doe you couet change?
And from a Stealer to a Keepers state,
With barkings Doggs doe you the Couerts range,
That carried bread to still them but of late?

What shall we doe that with your Bow are wounded?
Your Bow which blindeth each thing it doth hit,
Since feare and lust in you are so confounded,
As your hot fire beares water still in it.

Play not the foole, for though your Dogs be good,
Hardy, loud, earnest, and of little sleep,
Yet mad desires with cryes are not with-stood,
They must be better arm'd that meane to keep:
And since vnweapon'd care makes men forlorne,
Let me first make your Dogge an Vnicorne.

Sonnet XXI

[Sathan, no Woman, yet a wandring spirit]

Sathan, no Woman, yet a wandring spirit,
When he saw ships saile two wayes with one wind,
Of Saylers trade he hell did disinherit:
The Diuell himselfe loues not a halfe-fast mind.

The Satyre when he saw the Shepheard blow
To warme his hands, and make his pottage coole,
Manhood forsweares, and halfe a beast did know,
Nature with double breath is put to schoole.

Cupid doth head his shafts in Womens faces,
Where smiles and teares dwell euer neere together,
Where all the Arts of Change giue Passion graces;
While these clouds threaten, who feares not the weather?
Saylers and Satyres, Cupids Knights, and I,
Feare Women that Sweare, Nay; and know they lye.

Sonnet XXII

[I with whose colors Myra drest her head]

I with whose colors Myra drest her head,
I, that ware posies of her owne hand making,
I, that mine owne name in the chimnies read
By Myra finely wrought ere I was waking:
Must I looke on, in hope time comming may
With change bring backe my turne againe to play?

I, that on Sunday at the Church-stile found,
A Garland sweet, with true-loue knots in flowers,
Which I to weare about mine arme was bound,
That each of vs might know that all was ours:
Must I now lead an idle life in wishes?
And follow Cupid for his loaues, and fishes?

I, that did weare the ring her Mother left,
I, for whose loue she gloried to be blamed,
I, with whose eyes her eyes committed theft,

I, who did make her blush when I was named;
Must I lose ring, flowers, blush, theft and go naked,
Watching with sighs, till dead loue be awaked?

I, that when drowsie Argus fell asleep,
Like Iealousie o'rewatched with desire,
Was euen warned modestie to keepe,
While her breath, speaking, kindled Natures fire:
Must I looke on a-cold, while others warme them?
Doe Vulcans brothers in such fine nets arme them?

Was it for this that I might Myra see
Washing the water with her beauties, white?
Yet would she neuer write her loue to me;
Thinks wit of change while thoughts are in delight?
Mad Girles must safely loue, as they may leaue,
No man can print a kisse, lines may deceiue.

Sonnet XXIII

[Merlin, they say, an English Prophet borne]

Merlin, they say, an English Prophet borne,
When he was yong and gouern'd by his Mother,
Took great delight to laugh such fooles to scorne,
As thought, by Nature we might know a Brother.

His Mother chid him oft, till on a day,
They stood, and saw a Coarse to buriall carried,
The Father teares his beard, doth weepe and pray;
The Mother was the woman he had married.

Merlin laughs out aloud in stead of crying;
His Mother chides him for that childish fashion;
Sayes, Men must mourne the dead, themselues are dying,
Good manners doth make answer vnto passion.

The Child (for children see what should be hidden)
Replies vnto his Mother by and by,
“Mother, if you did know, and were forbidden,
“Yet you would laugh as heartily, as I.

“This Man no part hath in the child he sorrowes,
“His Father was the Monke that sings before him:
“See then how Nature of Adoption borrowes,
“Truth couets in me, that I should restore him.
“True fathers singing, supposed fathers crying,
“I thinke make women laugh, that lye a-dying.

Sonnet XXIV

[Painting, the eloquence of dumbe conceipt]

Painting, the eloquence of dumbe conceipt,
When it would figure forth confused passion,
Hauing no tables for the Worlds receipt,
With few parts of a few, doth many fashion.
Who then would figure Worthinesse disgraced,
Nature and Wit imprisoned, or sterued,
Kindnesse a scorne, and Courtesie defaced,
If he doe well paint Want, hath well deserued.
But who, his Art in worlds of woe, would proue,
Let him within his heart but cipher Loue.

Sonnet XXV

[Cvpid, my pretty Boy, leaue off thy crying]

Cvpid, my pretty Boy, leaue off thy crying,
Thou shalt haue Bells or Apples; be not peeuish;
Kisse me sweet Lad; beshrew her for denying;
Such rude denyalls doe make children theeuish.

Did Reason say that Boyes must be restrained?
What was it, Tell: hath cruell Honour chidden?
Or would they haue thee from sweet Myra weyned?
Are her faire brests made dainty to be hidden?

Tell me (sweet Boy,) doth Myra's beauty threaten?
Must you say Grace when you would be a playing?
Doth she cause thee make faults, to make thee beaten?
Is Beauties pride in innocents betraying?
Giue me a Bow, let me thy Quiuer borrow,
And she shall play the child with loue, or sorrow.

Sonnet XXVI

[VVas euer Man so ouer-match't with Boy?]

VVas euer Man so ouer-match't with Boy?
When I am thinking how to keep him vnder,
He plaies and dallies me with euerie toy;
With pretty stealths, he makes me laugh and wonder.

When with the child, the child-thoughts of mine owne
Doe long to play and toy as well as he,
The Boy is sad, and melancholy growne,
And with one humor cannot long agree.

Straight doe I scorne and bid the child away
The Boy knowes furie, and soone sheweth me
Cælica's sweet eyes, where Loue and Beauty play,
Furie turnes into loue of that I see.
If these mad changes doe make children Gods,
Women, and children are not farre at odds.

Sonnet XXVII

[Cvpid, in Myra's faire bewitching eyes]

Cvpid, in Myra's faire bewitching eyes,
(Where Beauty shewes the miracles of pleasure)
When thou laist bound for honours sacrifice,
Sworne to thy hate, equalitie and measure.

With open hand thou offeredst me her heart,
Thy bow and arrowes, if I would conspire,
To ruine honour, with whose frozen Art
She tyranniz'd thy Kingdome of desire.

I glad to dwell, and raigne in such perfections,
Gaue thee my reason, memory, and sense,
In them to worke thy mysticall reflexions,
Against which Nature can haue no defence;
And wilt thou now to nourish my despaire;
Both head and feather all thy shafts with feare?

Sonnet XXVIII

[You faithlesse Boy, perswade you me to reason?]

You faithlesse Boy, perswade you me to reason?
With vertue doe you answere my affection?
Vertue, which you with liuerie and seisin
Haue sold and changed out of your protection.

When you lay flattering in sweet Myra's eyes,
And plaid the wanton both with worth, and pleasure,
In beauties field you told me vertue dies,
Excesse and infinite in loue, was measure.

I tooke your oath of dalliance and desire,
Myra did so inspire me with her graces,
But like a Wag that sets the straw on fire,
You running to doe harme in other places,
Sware what is felt with hand, or seene with eye,
As mortall, must feele sicknesse, age and dye.

Sonnet XXIX

[Faction, that euer dwells]

Faction, that euer dwells
In Courts where Wit excels,
Hath set defiance:
Fortune and Loue haue sworne,
That they were neuer borne,
Of one alliance.

Cupid, that doth aspire
To be God of desire,
Sweares he giues lawes:
That where his arrowes hit,
Some ioy, some sorrow it,
Fortune no cause.

Fortune sweares weakest hearts,
The books of Cupids arts,
Turne with her wheele:
Senses themselues shall proue,
Venture hath place in loue,
Ask them that feele.

This discord it begot
Atheists, that honour not
Nature, thought good;
Fortune should euer dwell
In Courts, where Wits excell:
Loue keepe the Wood.

Thus to the Wood went I
With Loue to liue and dye;
Fortune's forlorne:
Experience of my youth
Thus makes me thinke the truth
In desart borne.

My Saint is deare to me,
Myra her selfe is she,
She faire, and true:
Myra that knowes to moue,
Passions of loue with loue:
Fortune Adieu.

Sonnet XXX

[Rome, while thy Senate gouernours did choose]

Rome, while thy Senate gouernours did choose,
Your Souldiers florish'd, Citizens were free,
Thy State by Change of Consuls did not loose,
They honour'd were that seru'd or ruled thee:

But after thy proud Legions gave thee Lawes,
That their bought voices Empire did bestow,
Worthinesse no more was of election cause,
Authority her owners did not know.

Sweet Myra, while good will your friends did choose,
Passions were dainty, sweet desires free,
By one friend marriage did no honour loose,
They were esteem'd, that seru'd or ruled thee:

But after flattring Change did giue thee lawes,
That her false voices did thy faith bestow,
Worthinesse no more was of affection cause,
Desire did many heads like monsters show;
Thus Rome and Myra acting many parts,
By often changes lost commanding arts.

Sonnet XXXI

[Good-fellowes whom men commonly doe call]

Good-fellowes whom men commonly doe call,
Those that doe liue at warre with truth, & shame,
If once to loue of honesty they fall,
They both lose their Good-fellowes, and their name;

For theeues, whose riches rest in others wealth,
Whose rents are spoiles, and others thrift their gaine,
When they grow bankrupts in the Art of Stealth,
Booties to their old fellowes they remaine.

Cupid, thou free of these Good-Fellowes art:
For while Man cares not who, so he be one,
Thy Wings, thy Bow, thy Arrowes take his part,
He neither liues, nor loues, nor lyes alone;
But be he once to Hymens close yoke sworne,
Thou straight brau'st this Good-fellow with the horne.

Sonnet XXXII

[Heauens! see how bringing vp corrupts or betters]

Heauens! see how bringing vp corrupts or betters;
Cupid long prentice to his Mother bound,
Hath taken oath, onely to scape her fetters,
That he will still like to her selfe be found.

Which is faire in his Youth, in Old age painted,
Kind out of lust, and humble for his pleasure,
Not long agreeing with things well acquainted,
Couetous, yet prodigall of fame and treasure.

Now as they wrong themselues, that for it thunders
Blame skye, or ayre, wherein these tempests blow:
So doth he that at Womens changes wonders,
Since strange it should not be that all men know:
Therefore if Myra change as others doe,
Free her; but blame the Sonne, and Mother too.

Sonnet XXXIII

[Cvpid, thy folly bleares sweet Myra's eyes]

Cvpid, thy folly bleares sweet Myra's eyes,
For like the blind, that vpwards looke for light,
You fix those fatall starres on Fortunes skies,
As though such planets gaue not Fortune might.

Base Boy, what heart will doe him sacrifice,
That wraps repentance in his greatest pleasure?
And his true seruants vnder Fortune tyes,
As though his owne coyne were no currant treasure?

Must Danaes lap be wet with golden showers?
Or through the seas must buls Europa beare?
Must Leda onely serue the higher Powers?
Base changeling Boy, and wouldst thou haue me sweare,
The well-knowne secrets of Astolpho's cup,
Not to disclose, but with white wax seale up?

Sonnet XXXIV

[The Gods to shew they ioy not in offences]

The Gods to shew they ioy not in offences,
Nor plague of humane Nature doe desire,
When they haue made their rods and whipt our senses,
They throw the rods themselues into the fire.

Then Cupid, thou whom Man hath made a God,
Be like thy fellow Gods in weight and fashion,
And now my faults are punish'd, burne the rod
In fires blowne with many-headed passion.

Thy rod is Worth, in Myra's beauty plac'd,
Which like a Sunne hath power to burne another,
And though it selfe can no affections taste,
To be in all men else affections mother:
Therefore if thou wilt proue thy selfe a God,
In thy sweet fires, let me burne this faire rod.

Sonnet XXXV

[Cvpid, my little Boy, come home againe]

Cvpid, my little Boy, come home againe,
I doe not blame thee for thy running hence,
Where thou found'st nothing but desires paine,
Iealousie, with selfe-vnworthinesse, offence.

Alas, I cannot Sir, I am made lame,
I light no sooner in sweet Myra's eyes,
(Whence I thought ioy and pleasure tooke their name)
But my right wing of wanton passion dyes.

And I poore child am here in stead of play,
So whip'd and scourg'd with modestie and truth,
As hauing lost all hope to scape away,
I yet take pleasure to 'tice hither youth:
That my Schoole-fellowes plagu'd as well as I,
May not make merry, when they heare me cry.

Sonnet XXXVI

[Kings that in youth like all things else, are fine]

Kings that in youth like all things else, are fine,
Haue some who for their childish faults are beaten;
When more yeeres vnto greater vice incline,
Some, whom the world doth for their errors threaten:

So Cupid, you, who boast of Princes blood,
For Womens Princelike weakenesses are blamed,
And common errour, yet not vnderstood,
Makes you for their New-fanglenesse, defamed.

Poore Women sweare, they ignorant of harmes,
With gentle minds perchance take easie motions;
Sweet nature yeelding to the pleasing charmes
Of Mans false lust disguised with deuotion;
But which are worse, Kings ill, or easly led,
Schooles of this truth are yet not brought a-bed.

Sonnet XXXVII

[A Theefe, risen early vp to seeke his prey]

A Theefe, risen early vp to seeke his prey,
Spieth a pretty Boy, whereas he lay,
Crying fast by a well:
He wills him why to tell,
And sweares to make him well, if that he may.

The pretty Boy smileth, and thanketh the man,
Told him, that he hath falne his Fathers Canne,
All of Gold in the deepe,
Which losse did make him weepe;
Prayeth him counsell keepe; helpe if he can.

The Man not for conscience, but onely for hope,
Puts off his clothes, goes downe by the rope,
Meaning to haue the Cup,
If he can get it vp;
He spills that steales a sup; hast loseth hope.

For while in the water the false fellow sought,
The pretty Boy steales his cloke, well was he taught:
Wet comes the fellow vp,
He cannot find the Cup;
His cloke is taken vp; falshood is naught.

Little lad Cupid, by night and by day,
Wonted in beauties face wanton to play,
Fast bound and prison'd lyes,
In Myra's stealing eyes,
Woefully whence he cries, to runne away.

I asked the Boy, the Boy telleth his case,
He saith, that Vertue seeks Beauties disgrace,
Vertue that grieues to find,
With what an humble minde,
Men are to Beautie kinde, and her deface.

Vertue thinks all this is long of my bow,
Which hiding her Beauties doe counterfeits show,
And Beautie Vertues arme,
With such a modest charme,
As my shafts doe no harme: she can say, No.

I that was wont to make wisdome a toy,
Vertue a pastime, am now made a boy,
I am throwne from the heart,
Banish'd is Passions art,
Neither may I depart, nor yet enioy.

This was the cause, he said, made him complaine,
He sweares, if I help him, to help me againe;
And straightwayes offers me,
If Vertue conquer'd be,
Beauty and Pleasure free; Ioy without paine.

I glad, not for pittie, but hope of the prize,
And proud of this language from Cælica's eyes,
Threw off my liberty,
Hoping that blessed I,
Shall with sweet Cupid flye, in Beauties skyes.

But when in my heart I had peeced his bow,
And on the ayre of my thoughts made his wings goe,
The little Lad feares the rod,
He is not there a God,
I and delight are odd: Myra sayes, No.

The Flint keepeth fire, the Lad he sayes true,
But bellowes it will not be kindled by you;
He that takes starres with staues,
Yet hath not all he craues;
Loue is not his that raues: hope is vntrue.

Sonnet XXXVIII

[Cælica, I ouernight was finely vsed]

Cælica, I ouernight was finely vsed,
Lodg'd in the midst of paradise, your Heart:
Kind thoughts had charge I might not be refused,
Of euery fruit and flower I had part.

But curious Knowledge, blowne with busie flame,
The sweetest fruits had downe in shadowes hidden,
And for it found mine eyes had seene the same,
I from my paradise was straight forbidden.

Where that Curre, Rumor, runnes in euery place,
Barking with Care, begotten out of feare;
And glassy Honour, tender of Disgrace,
Stands Ceraphin to see I come not there;
While that fine soyle, which all these ioyes did yeeld,
By broken fence is prou'd a common field.

Sonnet XXXIX

[The pride of Flesh by reach of humane wit]

The pride of Flesh by reach of humane wit,
Did purpose once to ouer-reach the skye;
And where before God drown'd the world for it,
Yet Babylon it built vp, not to dye.

God knew these fooles how foolishly they wrought,
That Destiny with Policie would breake,
Straight none could tell his fellow what he thought,
Their tongues were chang'd, & men not taught to speake:

So I that heauenly peace would comprehend,
In mortall seat of Cælica's faire heart,
To babylon my selfe there, did intend,
With naturall kindnesse, and with passions art:
But when I thought my selfe of her selfe free,
All's chang'd: she vnderstands all men but me.

Sonnet XL

[The nurse-life Wheat within his greene huske growing]

The nurse-life Wheat within his greene huske growing,
Flatters our hope and tickles our desire,
Natures true riches in sweet beauties shewing,
Which set all hearts, with labours loue, on fire.

No lesse faire is the Wheat when golden eare
Showes vnto hope the ioyes of neare enioying:
Faire and sweet is the bud, more sweet and faire
The Rose, which proues that time is not destroying.

Cælica, your youth, the morning of delight,
Enamel'd o're with beauties white and red,
All sense and thoughts did to beleefe inuite,
That Loue and Glorie there are brought to bed;
And your ripe yeeres loue-noone (he goes no higher)
Turnes all the spirits of Man into desire.

Sonnet XLI

[Alas poore soule, thinke you to master Loue]

Alas poore soule, thinke you to master Loue,
With constant faith; doe you hope true deuotion
Can stay that God-head, which liues but to moue,
And turne mens hearts, like Vanes, with outward motion.

No; proud Desire thou run'st Misfortunes way,
Loue is to hers, like Vessells made of glasse;
Delightfull while they do not fall away;
But broken, neuer brought to that it was.

When Honours Audit cals for thy receipt,
And chargeth on thy head much time mispent;
Nature corrupted by thy vaine conceipt,
Thy Reason seruile, poore, and passion-rent.

What shall be thy excuse, what canst thou say?
That thou hast erred out of Loue and wonder?
No hereticke, thou Cupid dost betray
And with religion wouldst bring Princes vnder;

By merit banish Chance from Beauties sky,
Set other lawes in Womens hearts, than will;
Cut Changes wings, that she no more may flye,
Hoping to make that constant, which is ill;
Therefore the doome is, wherein thou must rest,
Myra that scornes thee, shall loue many best.

Sonnet XLII

[Pelius, that loth was Thetis to forsake]

Pelius, that loth was Thetis to forsake,
Had counsell from the Gods to hold her fast,
Fore-warn'd what lothsome likenesse she would take,
Yet, if he held, come to her selfe at last.
He held; the snakes, the serpents and the fire,
No monsters prou'd, but trauells of desire.

When I beheld how Cælica's faire eyes,
Did shew her heart to some, her wit to me;
Change, that doth proue the error is not wise,
In her mis-shape made me strange visions see,
Desire held fast, till Loues vnconstant zone,
Like Gorgon's head transform'd her heart to stone.

From stone she turnes againe into a cloud,
Where water still had more power than the fire,
And I poore Ixion to my Iuno vowed,
With thoughts to clip her, clipt my owne desire:
For she was vanisht, I held nothing fast,
But woes to come, and ioyes already past.

This Cloud straight makes a stream, in whose smooth face,
While I the Image of my selfe did glasse,
Thought Shadowes I, for beautie did embrace,
Till streame and all except the cold did passe;
Yet faith held fast, like foyles where stones be set,
To make toyes deare, and fooles more fond to get.

Thus our desires besides each inward throw,
Must passe the outward toyles of Chance, and Feare,
Against the streames of reall truthes they goe,
With hope alone to ballance all they beare,
Spending the wealth of nature in such fashion,
As good and ill lucke, equally breeds passion.

Thus our Delights, like faire shapes in a glasse,
Though pleasing to our senses, cannot last,
The metall breaks, or else the Visions passe,
Onely our griefes in constant moulds are cast:
Ile hold no more, false Cælica, liue free;
Seeme faire to all the world, and foule to me.

Sonnet XLIII

[Cælica, when you looke downe into your heart]

Cælica, when you looke downe into your heart,
And see what wrongs my faith endureth there,
Hearing the groanes of true loue, loth to part,
You thinke they witnesse of your changes beare.

And as the Man that by ill Neighbours dwells,
Whose curious eyes discerne those works of shame,
Which busie Rumour to the people tells,
Suffers for seeing those darke springs of fame.

So I because I cannot choose but know,
How constantly you haue forgotten me,
Because my Faith doth like the Sea-marks show,
And tell the strangers where the dangers be,
I, like the child, whom Nurse hath ouerthrowne,
Not crying, yet am whipt, if you be knowne.

Sonnet XLIV

[The Golden-Age was when the world was yong]

The Golden-Age was when the world was yong,
Nature so rich, as Earth did need no sowing,
Malice not knowne, the Serpents had not stung,
Wit was but sweet Affections ouerflowing.

Desire was free, and Beauties first-begotten;
Beauty then neither net, nor made by art,
Words out of thoughts brought forth, and not forgotten,
The Lawes were inward that did rule the heart.

The Brasen Age is now when Earth is worne,
Beauty growne sicke, Nature corrupt and nought,
Pleasure vntimely dead as soone as borne,
Both words and kindnesse strangers to our thought:

If now this changing World doe change her head,
Cælica, what haue her new Lords for to boast?
The old Lord knowes Desire is poorely fed,
And sorrowes not a wauering prouince lost,
Since in the guilt-Age Saturne rul'd alone,
And in this painted, Planets euery one.

Sonnet XLV

[Absence, the noble truce]

Absence, the noble truce
Of Cupids warre:
Where though desires want vse,
They honoured are.
Thou art the iust protection,
Of prodigall affection,
Haue thou the praise;
When bankrupt Cupid braueth,
Thy mines his credit saueth,
With sweet delayes.

Of wounds which presence makes
With Beauties shot,
Absence the anguish slakes,
But healeth not:

100

Absence records the Stories,
Wherein Desire glories,
Although she burne;
She cherisheth the spirits
Where Constancy inherits
And passions mourne.

Absence, like dainty Clouds,
On glorious-bright,
Natures weake senses shrowds,
From harming light.
Absence maintaines the treasure
Of pleasure vnto pleasure,
Sparing with praise;
Absence doth nurse the fire,
Which starues and feeds desire
With sweet delayes.

Presence to euery part
Of Beauty tyes,
Where Wonder rules the Heart
There Pleasure dyes:
Presence plagues minde and senses
With modesties defences,
Absence is free:
Thoughts doe in absence venter
On Cupids shadowed center,
They winke and see.

But Thoughts be not so braue,
With absent ioy;
For you with that you haue
Your selfe destroy:
The absence which you glory,
Is that which makes you sory,
And burne in vaine:
For Thought is not the weapon,
Wherewith thoughts-ease men cheapen,
Absence is paine.

101

Sonnet XLVI

[Patience, weake fortun'd, and weake minded Wit]

Patience, weake fortun'd, and weake minded Wit,
Perswade you me to ioy, when I am banish'd?
Why preach you time to come, and ioyes with it,
Since time already come, my ioyes hath vanish'd?

Giue me sweet Cynthia, with my wonted blisse,
Disperse the clouds that coffer vp my treasure,
Awake Endymion, with Diana's kisse,
And then sweet Patience, counsell me to measure.

But while my Loue feeles nothing but correction
While carelessnesse o'reshadowes my deuotion,
While Myra's beams shew riuall-like reflection,
The life of Patience then must be commotion;
Since not to feele what wrong I beare in this,
A senselesse state, and no true Patience is.

Sonnet XLVII

[Atlas vpon his shoulders bare the skye]

Atlas vpon his shoulders bare the skye,
The loade was heauy, but the loade was faire:
His sense was rauish'd with the melodie,
Made from the motion of the highest sphere.

Not Atlas I, Nor did I heauen beare,
Cælica, 'tis true, once on my shoulder sate,
Her eyes more rich by many characts were
Than Starres or Planets, which men wonder at:
Atlas bare heauen, such burdens be of grace,
Cælica in heauen, is the Angels place.

Sonnet XLVIII

[Mankinde, whose liues from houre to houre decay]

Mankinde, whose liues from houre to houre decay,
Lest sudden change himselfe should make him feare
For if his blacke head instantly waxt gray,
Doe you not thinke man would himselfe forsweare?

102

Cælica, who ouernight spake, with her eyes
“My Loue complaines, that it can loue no more,”
Shewing me shame, that languisheth and dyes,
Tyrannis'd by loue, it tyrannis'd before;
If on the next day Cynthia change and leaue,
Would you trust your eyes, since her eyes deceaue?

Sonnet XLIX

[Princes, who haue (they say) no minde, but thought]

Princes, who haue (they say) no minde, but thought,
Whose vertue is their Pleasure, and their end,
That kindnes, which in their hearts neuer wrought,
They like in others, and will praise a Friend.

Cupid, who, People say, is bold with blindnesse,
Free of excesse, and enemy to measure,
Yet glories in the reuerence of kindnesse,
In silent-trembling eloquence hath pleasure.

Princes wee comprehend, and can delight,
We praise them for the good they neuer had;
But Cupids wayes are farre more infinite,
Kisses at times, and curt'sies make him glad:
Then Myra giue me leaue for Cupids sake,
To kisse thee oft, that I may curt'sie make.

Sonnet L

[Scoggin his wife by chance mistooke her bed]

Scoggin his wife by chance mistooke her bed;
Such chances oft befall poore Women-kind,
Alas poore soules, for when they misse their head,
What maruell it is, though the rest be blind?

This bed it was a Lords bed where she light,
Who nobly pittying this poore Womans hap,
Gaue almes both to releeue, and to delight,
And made the Golden shower fall on her lap.

103

Then in a freedome askes her as they lay,
Whose were her lips and breasts: and she sware, His:
For hearts are open when thoughts fall to play.
At last he askes her, Whose her backside is?
She vow'd that it was Scoggins onely part,
Who neuer yet came neerer to her heart.

Scoggin o're-heard; but taught by common vse,
“That he who sees all those which doe him harme,
Or will in marriage boast such small abuse,
Shall neuer haue his Night-gowne furred warme:
And was content, since all was done in play,
To know his lucke, and beare his Armes away.

Yet when his Wife should to the market goe,
Her breast and bellie he in cauasse drest,
And on her backe-side fine silke did bestow,
Ioying to see it brauer than the rest.

His Neighbours askt him, Why? and Scoggin sware,
That part of all his Wife was onely his:
The Lord should decke the rest, to whom they are,
For he knew not what Lordly-fashion is.
If Husbands now should onely decke their owne,
Silke would make many by their backs be knowne.

Sonnet LI

[Cælica, because we now in absence liue]

Cælica, because we now in absence liue,
Which liu'd so long in free-borne loue at one,
Straight curious Rumour doth her censure giue,
That our Aspects are to another Zone.

Yet Cælica, you know I doe not change,
My heart beares witnesse that there is no cause,
Authority may bid Good-will be strange,
But True desire is subiect to no lawes:
If I haue spoken to the common sense,
It Enuy kills, and is a wise Offence.

104

Sonnet LII

[Away with these selfe-louing Lads]

Away with these selfe-louing Lads,
Whom Cupids arrow neuer glads:
Away poore soules, that sigh and weep,
In loue of those that lye asleepe:
For Cupid is a meadow-God,
And forceth none to kisse the rod.

Sweet Cupids shafts like Destinie
Doe causelesse good or ill decree;
Desert is borne out of his bow,
Reward vpon his wing doth goe;
What fooles are they that haue not knowne,
That Loue likes no Lawes but his owne.

My songs they be of Cynthia's praise,
I weare her Rings on Holy dayes,
In euery Tree I write her name,
And euery Day I read the same.
Where Honour Cupids riuall is
There miracles are seene of his.

If Cynthia craue her Ring of me,
I blot her name out of the Tree,
If doubt doe darken things held deare,
Then well-fare Nothing once a yeare
For many runne, but one must winne,
Fooles only hedge the Cuckoe in.

The worth that worthinesse should moue,
Is Loue, that is the bow of loue,
And Loue as well thee foster can,
As can the mighty Noble-man.
Sweet Saint 'tis true, you worthy be,
Yet without Loue nought worth to me.

Sonnet LIII

[Bvt that familiar things are neuer wonder]

Bvt that familiar things are neuer wonder,
What greater beauty than the heauens glories?
Where Phœbus shines, and when he is gone vnder,
Leaueth in fairest starres mans fatall stories;
Yet Venus choose with Mars the netty bed,
Before that heauenly-life, which Vulcan led.

Who doth intreate the Winter not to raine,
Or in a storme the wind to leaue his blowing?
Ladies, shew you how Iuno did complaine,
Of Iupiter vnto Europa going.
Faire Nymphs, if I wooe Cynthia not to leaue me,
You know 'tis I my selfe, not she deceaues me.

Masters that aske their Schollers leaue to beat them,
Husbands that bid their Wiues tell all they know,
Men that giue Children sweet meates not to eate them,
Ladies, you see what destinie they goe:
And who intreats, you know intreats in vaine,
That Loue be constant, or come backe againe.

Sonnet LIV

[Light Rage and Griefe, limmes of vnperfect loue]

Light Rage and Griefe, limmes of vnperfect loue,
By ouer-acting euer lose their ends;
For Griefe while it would good affection moue,
With self-affliction doth deface her friends;
Putting on poore weake Pitties pale reflexion,
Whereas Good-will is stirr'd with good complexion.

Rage againe fond of her inflam'd desire,
Desire which conquers best by close inuasion,
Forgetting light and heat liue in one fire,
So ouerblowes the temper of Occasion,
That scorch'd with heate, by light discouered,
Vntimely borne is, and vntimely dead.

106

Poore fooles, why striue you then since all hearts feele
That idle Chance so gouernes in affection,
As Cupid cannot turne his fatall wheele,
Nor in his owne orbe banish her election?
Then teach Desire hope; not rage, feare, griefe,
Powers as vnapt to take, as giue reliefe.

Sonnet LV

[Cynthia, because your Hornes looke diuerse wayes]

Cynthia, because your Hornes looke diuerse wayes,
Now darkned to the East, now to the West;
Then at Full-glorie once in thirty dayes,
Sense doth beleeue that Change is Natures rest.

Poore earth, that dare presume to iudge the skye;
Cynthia is euer round, and neuer varies,
Shadowes and distance doe abuse the eye,
And in abused sense truth oft miscarries:
Yet who this language to the People speaks,
Opinions empire senses idoll breaks.

Sonnet LVI

[All my senses, like Beacons flame]

All my senses, like Beacons flame,
Gaue Alarum to desire
To take armes in Cynthia's name,
And set all my thoughts on fire:
Furies wit perswaded me,
Happy loue was hazards heire,
Cupid did best shoot and see
In the night where smooth is faire;
Vp I start beleeuing well
To see if Cynthia were awake;
Wonders I saw, who can tell?
And thus vnto my selfe I spake;
Sweet God Cupid where am I,
That by pale Diana's light:
Such rich beauties doe espie,
As harme our senses with delight?

107

Am I borne vp to the skyes?
See where Ioue and Venus shine,
Shewing in her heauenly eyes
That desire is diuine:
Looke where lyes the Milken way,
Way vnto that dainty throne,
Where while all the Gods would play,
Vulcan thinkes to dwell alone.
I gaue reynes to this conceipt,
Hope went on the wheele of lust:
Phansies scales are false of weight,
Thoughts take thought that goe of trust,
I stept forth to touch the skye,
I a God by Cupid dreames,
Cynthia who did naked lye,
Runnes away like siluer streames;
Leauing hollow banks behind,
Who can neither forward moue,
Nor if riuers be vnkind,
Turne away or leaue to loue.
There stand I, like Articke pole,
Where Sol passeth o're the line,
Mourning my benighted soule,
Which so loseth light diuine.
There stand I like Men that preach
From the Execution place,
At their death content to teach
All the world with their disgrace:
He that lets his Cynthia lye,
Naked on a bed of play,
To say prayers ere she dye,
Teacheth time to runne away:
Let no Loue-desiring heart,
In the Starres goe seeke his fate,
Loue is onely Natures art,
Wonder hinders Loue and Hate.
None can well behold with eyes,
But what vnderneath him lies.

108

Sonnet LVII

[Cælica, you blame me that I suffer not]

Cælica, you blame me that I suffer not
Absence with ioy, Authority with ease:
Cælica, what Powers can Natures inside blot?
They must looke pale without that feele disease.

You say that you doe like faire Tagus streames,
Swell ouer those that would your channells choake;
Yeelding due tribute vnto Phœbus beams,
Yet not made dry with losse of Vapours smoke.

Cælica, 'tis true, Birds that doe swimme and flye,
The waters can endure to haue and misse:
Their feet for seas, their wings are for the skie,
Nor errour is it, that of Nature is.
I like the fish bequeath'd to Neptunes bed,
No sooner tast of ayre, but I am dead.

Sonnet LVIII

[The tree in youth proud of his leaues, and springs]

The tree in youth proud of his leaues, and springs,
His body shadowed in his glorie layes;
For none doe flie with Art, or others wings,
But they in whom all, saue Desire, decayes;
Againe in age, when no leaues on them grow,
Then borrow they their greene of Misseltoe.

Where Cælica, when she was young and sweet,
Adorn'd her head with golden borrowed haire,
To hide her owne for cold; she thinkes it meet
The head should mourne, that all the rest was faire;
And now in Age when outward things decay,
In spite of age, she throwes that haire away.

Those golden haires she then vs'd but to tye
Poore captiu'd soules which she in triumph led,
Who not content the Sunnes faire light to eye,
Within his glory their sense dazeled:
And now againe, her owne blacke haire puts on,
To mourne for thoughts by her worths ouerthrowne.

109

Sonnet LIX

[Who euer sailes neere to Bermuda coast]

Who euer sailes neere to Bermuda coast,
Goes hard aboord the Monarchy of Feare,
Where all desires (but Lifes desire) are lost,
For wealth and fame put off their glories there.

Yet this Ile poyson-like, by mischiefe knowne,
Weanes not desire from her sweet nurse, the Sea;
But vnseene showes vs where our hopes be sowne,
With woefull signes declaring ioyfull way.
For who will seeke the wealth of Westerne Sunne,
Oft by Bermuda's miseries must runne.

Who seeks the God of Loue, in Beauties skye,
Must passe the Empire of confused Passion,
Where our desires to all but Horrors die,
Before that ioy and peace can take their fashion.

Yet this faire Heauen that yeelds this Soule-despaire,
Weanes not the heart from his sweet God, Affection;
But rather shewes vs what sweet ioyes are there,
Where constancy is seruant to perfection.
Who Cælica's chast heart then seeks to moue,
Must ioy to suffer all the woes of Loue.

Sonnet LX

[Cælica, you said, I doe obscurely liue]

Cælica, you said, I doe obscurely liue,
Strange to my friends, with strangers in suspect,
(For darkenesse doth suspition euer giue,
Of hate to men or too much selfe-respect)
Fame you doe say, with many wings doth flye,
Who leaues himselfe, you say, doth liuing dye.

Cælica, 'tis true, I doe in darkenesse goe,
Honour I seeke not, nor hunt after Fame:
I am thought bound, I doe not long to know,
I feele within, what men without me blame:
I scorne the world, the world scornes me, 'tis true;
What can a heart doe more to honour you?

110

Knowledge and fame in open hearts doe liue,
Honour is pure hearts homage vnto these,
Affection all men vnto Beauty giue,
And by that Law enioyned are to please:
The world in two I haue diuided fit;
My selfe to you, and all the rest to it.

Sonnet LXI

[Cælica, while you doe sweare you loue me best]

Cælica, while you doe sweare you loue me best,
And euer loued onely me,
I feele that all powers are opprest
By Loue, and Loue by Destinie.

For as the child in swadling-bands,
When it doth see the Nurse come nigh,
With smiles and crowes doth lift the hands,
Yet still must in the cradle lie:
So in the boate of Fate I rowe,
And looking to you, from you goe.

When I see in thy once-beloued browes,
The heauy marks of constant loue,
I call to minde my broken vowes,
And child-like to the Nurse would moue;

But Loue is of the Phœnix-kind,
And burnes it selfe, in selfe-made fire,
To breed still new birds in the minde,
From ashes of the old desire:
And hath his wings from constancy,
As mountaines call'd of mouing be.

Then Cælica lose not heart-eloquence,
Loue vnderstands not, come againe:
Who changes in her owne defence,
Needs not cry to the deafe in vaine.

111

Loue is no true made Looking-glasse,
Which perfect yeelds the shape we bring,
It vgly showes vs all that was,
And flatters euery future thing.
When Phœbus beames no more appeare,
Tis darker that the day was here.

Change I confesse it is a hatefull power,
To them that all at once must thinke,
Yet Nature made both sweet and sower,
She gaue the eye a lid to winke:

And though the Youth that are estrang'd
From Mothers lap to other skyes,
Doe thinke that Nature there is chang'd
Because at home their knowledge lyes;
Yet shall they see who farre haue gone,
That Pleasure speaks more tongues than one.

The Leaues fall off, when Sap goes to the root,
The warmth doth clothe the bough againe;
But to the dead tree what doth boot,
The silly mans manuring paine?

Vnkindnesse may peece vp againe,
But kindnesse either chang'd or dead,
Selfe-pittie may in fooles complaine;
Put thou thy Hornes on others head:
For constant faith is made a drudge,
But when requiting loue is iudge.

Sonnet LXII

[VVho worships Cupid, doth adore a boy]

VVho worships Cupid, doth adore a boy,
Boyes earnest are at first in their delight,
But for a new, soone leaue their dearest toy,
And out of minde, as soone as out of sight,
Their ioyes be dallyings and their wealth is play,
They cry to haue, and cry to cast away.

112

Mars is an Idoll, and Mans lust, his skye;
Whereby his glories still are full of wounds,
Who worship him, their fame goes farre and nigh,
But still of ruine and distresse it sounds.
Yet cannot all be wonne, and who doth liue,
Must roome to neighbours and succession giue.

Those Mercurists that vpon humors worke,
And so make others skill, and power their owne,
Are like the Climats, which farre Northward lurke,
And through long Winters must reape what is sowne;
Or like the Masons, whose Art building well,
Yet leaues the house for other men to dwell.

Mercurie, Cupid, Mars, they be no Gods,
But humane Idols, built vp by desire,
Fruit of our boughs, whence heauen maketh rods,
And babyes too for child-thoughts that aspire:
Who sees their glories, on the earth must prye;
Who seeks true glory must looke to the skye.

Sonnet LXIII

[The greatest pride of humane kind is Wit]

The greatest pride of humane kind is Wit,
Which all Art out, and into methode drawes;
Yet Infinite, is farre exceeding it,
And so is Chance, of vnknowne things the cause,
The feet of men against our feet doe moue,
No wit can comprehend the wayes of Loue.

He that direct on parallels doth saile,
Goes Eastward out, and Eastward doth returne;
The shadowed man, whom Phœbus light doth faile,
Is blacke like him, his heat doth ouerburne;
The wheeles of high desire with force doe moue,
Nothing can fall amisse to them that loue.

113

Vapours of earth which to the Sunne aspire,
As Natures tribute vnto heate or light,
Are frozen in the midst of high desire,
And melted in sweet beames of selfe-delight,
And who to flye with Cupids wings will proue,
Must not bewaile these many ayres of Loue.

Men that doe vse the Compasse of the Sea,
And see the Needle euer Northward looke,
Some doe the vertue in the Loadstone lay,
Some say, the stone it from the North-starre tooke,
And let him know that thinks with faith to moue,
They once had eyes, that are made blind by loue.

Sonnet LXIV

[Cælica, when I did see you euery day]

Cælica, when I did see you euery day,
I saw so many worths so well vnited,
As in this vnion while but one did play,
All others eyes both wondred and delighted:

Whence I conceau'd you of some heauenly mould,
Since Loue, and Vertue, noble Fame and Pleasure,
Containe in one no earthly metall could,
Such enemies are flesh, and blood to measure.

And since my fall, though I now onely see
Your backe, while all the world beholds your face,
This shadow still shewes miracles to me,
And still I thinke your heart a heauenly place:
For what before was fill'd by me alone,
I now discerne hath roome for euery one.

Sonnet LXV

[Cælica, when I was from your presence bound]

Cælica, when I was from your presence bound,
At first good-will both sorrow'd and repined,
Loue, Faith, and Nature felt restraint a wound,
Honour it selfe, to Kindnesse yet inclined;

114

Your vowes one way, with your desires did goe,
Selfe-pittie then in your did pittie me,
Yea sex did scorne to be imprisoned so,
But fire goes out for lacke of vent, we see.

For when with time, Desire had made a truce,
I onely was exempt, the world left free,
Yet what winne you by bringing change in vse,
But to make currant Infidelity?
Cælica, you say, you loue me, but you feare,
Then hide me in your heart, and keep me there.

Sonnet LXVI

[Cælica, you (whose requests commandments be)]

Cælica, you (whose requests commandments be)
Aduise me to delight my minde with books,
The Glasse where Art doth to posterity,
Shew nature naked vnto him that looks,
Enriching vs, shortning the wayes of wit,
Which with experience else deare buyeth it.

Cælica, if I obey not, but dispute,
Thinke it is darkenesse, which seeks out a light,
And to presumption do not it impute,
If I forsake this way of Infinite;
Books be of men, men but in clouds doe see,
Of whose embracements Centaures gotten be.

I haue for books, aboue my head the Skyes,
Vnder me, Earth; about me Ayre and Sea:
The Truth for light, and Reason for mine eyes,
Honour for guide, and Nature for my way.
With change of times, lawes, humors, manners, right;
Each in their diuerse workings infinite.

Which powers from that wee feele, conceiue, or doe,
Raise in our senses thorough ioy, or smarts,
All formes, the good or ill can bring vs to,
More liuely farre, than can dead Books or Arts;
Which at the second hand deliuer forth,
Of few mens heads, strange rules for all mens worth.

115

False Antidotes for vitious ignorance,
Whose causes are within, and so their cure,
Errour corrupting Nature, not Mischance,
For how can that be wise which is not pure?
So that Man being but mere hypocrisie,
What can his arts but beames of follie be?

Let him then first set straight his inward sprite,
That his Affections in the seruing roomes,
May follow Reason, not confound her light,
And make her subiect to inferiour doomes;
For till the inward moulds be truly plac'd,
All is made crooked that in them we cast.

But when the heart, eyes light grow pure together,
And so vice in the way to be forgot,
Which threw man from creation, who knowes whither?
Then this strange building which the flesh knowes not,
Reuiues a new-form'd image in mans minde,
Where Arts reueal'd, are miracles defin'd.

What then need halfe-fast helps of erring wit,
Methods, or books of vaine humanity?
Which dazell truth, by representing it,
And so entayle clouds to posterity.
Since outward wisdome springs from truth within,
Which all men feele, or heare, before they sinne.

Sonnet LXVII

[Vnconstant thoughts where light desires do moue]

Vnconstant thoughts where light desires do moue,
With euery obiect which sense to them showes,
Still ebbing from themselues to Seas of Loue,
Like ill led Kings that conquer but to lose,
With blood and paine these dearely purchase shame,
Time blotting all things out, but euill name.

116

The double heart that loueth it selfe best,
Yet can make selfe-loue beare the name of friend,
Whose kindnesse onely in his wit doth rest,
And can be all but truth, to haue his end,
Must one desire in many figures cast;
Dissemblings then are knowne when they are past.

The heart of man mis-seeking for the best,
Oft doubly or vnconstantly must blot,
Betweene these two the misconceipt doth rest,
Whether it euer were that lasteth not,
Vnconstancy and doublenesse depart,
When man bends his desires to mend his heart.

Sonnet LXVIII

[While that my heart an Altar I did make]

While that my heart an Altar I did make,
To sacrifice desire and faith to loue,
The little Boy his Temples did forsake,
And would for me no bow nor arrow moue.
Dewes of disgrace my incense did depresse:
That heat went in, the heart burnt not the lesse.

And as the man that sees his house opprest
With fire; and part of his goods made a prey,
Yet doth pull downe the roofe to saue the rest,
Till his losse giue him light to runne away:
So when I saw the bell on other sheep,
I hid my selfe, but dreames vex them that sleep.

My exile was not like the barren tree,
Which beares his fruitlesse head vp to the skye,
But like the trees whose boughs o'reloaden be,
And with selfe-riches bowed downe to die;
When in the night with songs, not cries, I moane,
Lest more should heare what I complaine of one.

117

Sonnet LXIX

[When all this All doth passe from age to age]

When all this All doth passe from age to age,
And reuolution in a circle turne,
Then heauenly Iustice doth appeare like rage,
The Caues doe roare, the very Seas doe burne,
Glory growes darke, the Sunne becomes a night,
And makes this great world feele a greater might.

When Loue doth change his seat from heart to heart,
And worth about the wheele of Fortune goes,
Grace is diseas'd, desert seemes ouerthwart,
Vowes are forlorne, and truth doth credit lose,
Chance then giues Law, Desire must be wise,
And looke more wayes than one, or lose her eyes.

My age of ioy is past, of woe begunne,
Absence my presence is, strangenesse my grace,
With them that walke against me, is my Sunne:
The wheele is turn'd, I hold the lowest place,
What can be good to me since my loue is,
To doe me harme, content to doe amisse?

Sonnet LXX

[Cvpid did pine, Venus that lou'd her sonne]

Cvpid did pine, Venus that lou'd her sonne,
Or lackt her sport, did looke with heauy heart:
The Gods are cal'd, a Councell is begunne,
Delphos is sought, and Æsculapius art.

Apollo saith, Loue is a Relatiue,
Whose being onely must in others be;
As bodies doe their shadowes keepe aliue,
So Eros must with Anteros agree;
They found him out a mate with whom to play,
Loue straight enioy'd, and pin'd no more away.

118

Cælica, this image figures forth my heart,
Where Venus mournes, and Cupid prospers not,
For this is my affections ouerthwart,
That I remember what you haue forgot;
And while in you my selfe I seeke to find,
I see that you your selfe haue lost your minde.

When I would ioy, as I was wont to doe,
Your thoughts are chang'd, and not the same to me;
My loue that lacks her play-fellow in you,
Seeks vp and downe, but blinded cannot see.
The Boy hath stolne your thoughts some other way,
Where wantonlike they doe with many play.

Sonnet LXXI

[Loue; I did send you forth enamel'd faire]

Loue; I did send you forth enamel'd faire
With hope, and gaue you seisin and liuery
Of Beauties skye, which you did claime as heyre,
By obiects and desires affinitie.

And doe you now returne leane with Despaire?
Wounded with Riualls warre, scorched with Iealousie?
Hence Changeling; Loue doth no such colours weare:
Find sureties, or at Honours sessions dye.

Sir, know me for your owne, I onely beare,
Faiths ensigne, which is Shame, and Miserie;
My Paradise, and Adams diuerse were:
His fall was Knowledge, mine Simplicitie.

What shall I doe, Sir? doe me Prentice bind,
To Knowledge, Honour, Fame or Honestie;
Let me no longer follow Womenkinde,
Where change doth vse all shapes of tyranny;
And I no more will stirre this earthly dust,
Wherein I lose my name, to take on lust.

119

Sonnet LXXII

[Cælica, you that excell in flesh and wit]

Cælica, you that excell in flesh and wit,
In whose sweet heart Loue doth both ebb and flow
Returning faith more than it tooke from it,
Whence doth the Change, the World thus speakes on, grow?

If Worthinesse doe ioy to be admired,
My soule, you know, onely be-wonders you;
If Beauties glorie be to be desired,
My heart is nothing else; What need you new?

If louing ioy of worths beloued be,
And ioyes not simple, but still mutuall,
Whom can you more loue, than you haue lou'd me?
Vnlesse in your heart there be more than all;
Since Loue no doomes-day hath, where bodies change,
Why should new be delight, not being strange?

Sonnet LXXIII

[Myraphill, 'tis true, I lou'd, and you lou'd me]

Myraphill, 'tis true, I lou'd, and you lou'd me,
My thoughts as narrow as my heart, then were;
Which made change seeme impossible to be,
Thinking one place could not two bodies beare.
This was but earnest Youths simplicitie,
To fadome Nature within Passions wit,
Which thinks her earnestnesse eternity,
Till selfe-delight makes change looke thorough it:
You banish'd were, I grieu'd, but languish'd not,
For worth was free and of affection sure;
So that time must be vaine, or you forgot,
Nature and Loue, no Vacuum can endure;
I found desert, and to desert am true;
Still dealing by it, as I dealt by you.

120

Sonnet LXXIV

[In the window of a Graunge]

In the window of a Graunge,
Whence mens prospects cannot range
Ouer groues, and flowers growing,
Natures wealth, and pleasure showing;
But on graues where shepheards lye,
That by loue or sicknesse die;
In that window saw I sit,
Cælica adorning it,
Sadly clad for sorrowes glory,
Making ioy glad to be sorie:
Shewing Sorrow in such fashion,
As Truth seem'd in loue with Passion,
Such a sweet enamell giueth
Loue restrain'd, that constant liueth.
Absence, that bred all this paine,
Presence heal'd not straight againe;
Eyes from darke to suddaine light,
See not straight, nor can delight.
Where the heart reuiues from death,
Grones doe first send forth a breath:
So, first looks did looks beget,
One sigh did another fet,
Hearts within their breast did quake,
While thoughts to each other spake.
Philocell entraunced stood,
Rackt, and ioyed with his good,
His eyes on her eyes were fixed,
Where both true Loue and Shame were mixed:
In her eyes he pittie saw,
His Loue did to Pittie draw:
But Loue found when it came there,
Pitty was transform'd to Feare:
Then he thought that in her face,
He saw Loue, and promis'd Grace.
Loue calls his Loue to appeare,
But as soone as it came neere,

121

Her Loue to her bosome fled,
Vnder Honours burthens dead.
Honour in Loues stead tooke place,
To grace Shame, with Loues disgrace;
But like drops throwne on the fire,
Shames restraints, enflam'd Desire:
Desire looks, and in her eyes,
The image of it selfe espies,
Whence he takes selfe-pitties motions
To be Cynthia's owne deuotions;
And resolues Feare is a lyar,
Thinking she bids speake Desire,
But true loue that feares, and dare
Offend it selfe with pleasing Care,
So diuers wayes his heart doth moue,
That his tongue cannot speake of loue.
Onely in himselfe he sayes,
How fatall are blind Cupids waies,
Where Endymions poore hope is,
That while Loue sleepes, the heauens kisse.
But silent Loue is simple wooing,
Euen Destiny would haue vs doing.
Boldnesse neuer yet was chidden,
Till by Loue it be forbidden,
Myra leaues him, and knowes best,
What shall become of all the rest.

Sonnet LXXV

[In the time when herbs and flowers]

In the time when herbs and flowers,
Springing out of melting powers,
Teach the earth that heate and raine
Doe make Cupid liue againe:
Late when Sol, like great hearts, showes
Largest as he lowest goes,
Cælica with Philocell
In fellowship together fell:
Cælica her skinne was faire,
Daintie aborne was her haire;

122

Her haire Nature dyed browne,
To become the morning gowne,
Of hopes death which to her eyes,
Offers thoughts for sacrifice.
Philocell was true and kind
Poore, but not of poorest minde,
Though Mischance to harme affected
Hides and holdeth Worth suspected,
He good Shepherd loueth well,
But Cælica scorn'd Philocell.
Through enamel'd Meades they went,
Quiet she, he passion rent.
Her Worths to him hope did moue;
Her Worths made him feare to loue.
His heart sighs and faine would show,
That which all the World did know:
His heart sigh'd the sighs of feare,
And durst not tell her loue was there;
But as Thoughts in troubled sleepe,
Dreaming feare, and fearing weepe,
When for helpe they faine would cry,
Cannot speake, and helplesse lie:
So while his heart, full of paine,
Would it selfe in words complaine,
Paine of all paines, Louers feare,
Makes his heart to silence sweare.
Strife at length those dreames doth breake,
His despaire taught feare thus speake:

“Cælica, what shall I say?
You, to whom all Passions pray,
Like poore Flies that to the fire,
Where they burne themselues, aspire:
You, in whose worth men doe ioy,
That hope neuer to enioy,
Where both grace, and beautie's framed,
That Loue being might be blamed.
Can true Worthinesse be glad,
To make hearts that loue it, sad?

123

What meanes Nature in her Iewell,
To shew Mercies image cruell?
Deare, if euer in my dayes,
My heart ioy'd in others praise:
If I of the world did borrow,
Other ground for ioy or sorrow:
If I better wish to be
But the better to please thee;
I say, if this false be proued,
Let me not loue, or not be loued.
But when Reason did inuite
All my sense to Fortunes light;
If my loue did make my reason,
To it selfe for thy selfe treason;
If when Wisdome shewed me
Time and thoughts both lost for thee;
If those losses I did glory,
For I could not more lose, sory;
Cælica then doe not scorne
Loue, in humble humour borne.
Let not Fortune haue the power,
Cupids Godhead to deuoure.
For I heare the Wise-men tell,
Nature worketh oft as well,
In those men whom chance disgraceth,
As in those she higher placeth.
Cælica, 'tis neare a God,
To make euen Fortunes odd;
And of farre more estimation,
Is Creator, than Creation.
Then Deare, though I worthlesse be,
Yet let them to you worthy be,
Whose meeke thoughts are highly graced,
By your image in them placed.

Herewithall like one opprest,
With selfe-burthens he did rest,
Like amazed were his senses,
Both with pleasure and offences.

124

Cælica's cold answers show,
That which fooles feele, wise men know:
How self-pitties haue reflexion,
Backe into their owne infection:
And that Passions onely moue
Strings tun'd to one note of Loue:
She thus answeres him with Reason,
Neuer to desire in season;
“Philocell, if you loue me,
(For you would beloued be)
Your owne will must be your hire,
And desire reward desire.
Cupid is in my heart sped,
Where all desires else are dead.
Ashes o're Loues flames are cast,
All for one is there disgrac'd.
Make not then your owne mischance,
Wake your selfe from Passions-traunce,
And let Reason guide affection,
From despaire to new election.

Philocell that onely felt
Destinies which Cupid dealt;
No lawes but Loue-lawes obeying,
Thought that Gods were wonne with praying.
And with heart fix'd on her eyes,
Where Loue he thinks liues or dyes,
His words, his heart with them leading,
Thus vnto her dead loue pleading:
“Cælica, if euer you
Loued haue, as others doe;
Let my present thoughts be glassed,
In the thoughts which you haue passed,
Let self-pittie, which you know,
Frame true pittie now in you;
Let your forepast woe, and glorie,
Make you glad them, you make sory.
Loue reuengeth like a God,
When he beats he burnes the rod:

125

Who refuse almes to desire,
Dye when drops would quench the fire.
But if you doe feele againe
What peace is in Cupids paine,
Grant me, Deare, your wished measure,
Paines but paines that be of pleasure;
Find not these things strange in me,
Which within your heart we see;
For true Honour neuer blameth,
Those that Loue her seruants nameth.
But if your heart be so free,
As you would it seeme to be,
Nature hath in free hearts placed
Pitty for the poore disgraced.

His eyes great with child with teares
Spies in her eyes many feares,
Sees he thinks, that sweetnesse vanish
Which all feares was wont to banish.
Sees, sweet Loue, there wont to play,
Arm'd and drest to runne away,
To her heart where she alone,
Scorneth all the world but one.
Cælica with clouded face,
Giuing vnto anger grace,
While she threatned him displeasure,
Making anger looke like pleasure,
Thus in furie to him spake,
Words which make euen hearts to quake:
“Philocell, farre from me get you,
Men are false, we cannot let you;
Humble, and yet full of pride,
Earnest, not to be denyed;
Now vs, for not louing, blaming,
Now vs, for too much, defaming:
Though I let you posies beare,
Wherein my name cyphred were,
For I bid you in the tree,
Cipher downe your name by me:

126

For the Bracelet pearle-like white,
Which you stale from me by night,
I content was you should carry
Lest that you should longer tarry,
Thinke you that you might encroach,
To set kindnesse more abroach?
Thinke you me in friendship tyed,
So that nothing be denyed?
Doe you thinke that I must liue,
Bound to that which you will giue?
Philocell, I say, depart,
Blot my loue out of thy heart,
Cut my name out of the tree,
Beare not memorie of me.
My delight is all my care,
All lawes else despised are,
I will neuer rumour moue,
At least for one I doe not loue.

Shepheardesses, if it proue,
Philocell she once did loue,
Can kind doubt of true affection
Merit such a sharpe correction?
When men see you fall away,
Must they winke to see no day?
It is worse in him that speaketh,
Than in her that friendship breaketh?
Shepheardesses, when you change,
Is your ficklenesse so strange?
Are you thus impatient still?
Is your honour slaue to will?
They to whom you guiltie be,
Must not they your errour see?
May true Martyrs at the fire
Not so much as life desire?
Shepheardesses, yet marke well,
The Martyrdome of Philocell:
Rumour made his faith a scorne,
Him, example of forelorne,

127

Feeling he had of his woe,
Yet did loue his overthrow;
For that she knew loue would beare,
She to wrong him did not feare;
Ielousie of riuals grace,
In his passion got a place;
But Loue, Lord of all his powers,
Doth so rule this heart of ours,
As for our belou'd abuses,
It doth euer find excuses.
Loue teares Reasons law in sunder,
Loue, is God, let Reason wonder.
For nor scorne of his affection,
Nor despaire in his election,
Nor his faith damn'd for obeying,
Nor her change, his hopes betraying,
Can make Philocell remoue,
But he Cælica will loue.
Here my silly Song is ended,
Faire Nymphs be not you offended,
For as men that trauell'd farre,
For seene truths, oft scorned are,
By their neighbours, idle liues,
Who scarce know to please their Wiues;
So though I haue sung you more,
Than your hearts haue felt before,
Yet that faith in men doth dwell,
Who trauells Constancy can tell.

Sonnet LXXVI

[Fortune, art thou not forc'd sometimes to scorne?]

Fortune, art thou not forc'd sometimes to scorne?
That seest Ambition striue to change our state?
As though thy Scepter slaue to lust were borne?
Or Wishes could procure themselues a fate?

128

I, when I haue shot one shaft at my mother,
That her desires a-foote thinke all her owne,
Then straight draw vp my bow to strike another,
For Gods are best by discontentment knowne.

And when I see the poore forsaken sprite,
Like sicke men, whom the Doctor saith must dye,
Sometime with rage and strength of passion fight,
Then languishing enquire what life might buy:
I smile to see Desire is neuer wise,
But warres with Change, which is her paradise.

Sonnet LXXVII

[The Heathen Gods finite in Power, Wit, Birth]

The Heathen Gods finite in Power, Wit, Birth,
Yet worshipped for their good deeds to men,
At first kept Stations betweene heauen, and earth,
Alike iust to the Castle, and the Denne;
Creation, Merit, Nature duly weighed,
And yet, in show, no rule, but will obeyed.

Till time, and selfenesse, which turne worth to Arts,
Loue into complements, and things to thought,
Found out new Circles to enthrall Mens hearts
By Lawes; wherein while Thrones seeme ouerwrought,
Power finely hath surpriz'd this faith of man,
And tax'd his freedome at more than he can.

For to the Scepters Iudges Lawes reserue
As well the practicke, as expounding sense,
From which no Innocence can painlesse swerue,
They being Engines of Omnipotence:
With equall showes, then is not humble man
Here finely tax'd at much more than he can?

Our moderne Tyrants, by more grosse ascent,
Although they found distinction in the State
Of Church, Law, Custome, Peoples gouernment,
Mediums (at least) to giue excesse a rate
Yet fatally haue tri'd to change this frame,
And, make Will law, Mans wholesome lawes but name.

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For when Power once hath trod this path of Might,
And found how Place aduantagiously extended
Waines, or confoundeth all Inferiors right
With thinne lines hardly seene, but neuer ended;
It straight drownes in this gulfe of vast affections,
Faith, truth, worth, law, all popular protections.

Sonnet LXXVIII

[The little Hearts, where light-wing'd Passion raignes]

The little Hearts, where light-wing'd Passion raignes,
Moue easily vpward, as all frailties doe;
Like Strawes to Ieat, these follow Princes veines,
And so, by pleasing, doe corrupt them too.
Whence as their raising proues Kings can create,
So States proue sicke, where toyes beare Staple-rate.

Like Atomi they neither rest, nor stand,
Nor can erect; because they nothing be
But baby-thoughts, fed with time-presents hand,
Slaues, and yet darlings of Authority;
Eccho's of wrong; shadowes of Princes might;
Which glow-worme-like, by shining, show 'tis night.

Curious of fame, as foule is to be faire;
Caring to seeme that which they would not be;
Wherein Chance helpes, since Praise is powers heyre,
Honor the creature of Authoritie:
So as borne high, in giddie Orbes of grace,
These Pictures are, which are indeed but Place.

And as the Bird in hand, with freedome lost,
Serues for a stale, his fellowes to betray:
So doe these Darlings rays'd at Princes cost
Tempt man to throw his libertie away;
And sacrifice Law, Church, all reall things
To soare, not in his owne, but Eagles wings.

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Whereby, like Æsops dogge, men lose their meat,
To bite at glorious shadowes, which they see;
And let fall those strengths which make all States great
By free Truths chang'd to seruile flatterie.
Whence, while men gaze vpon this blazing starre,
Made slaues, not subiects, they to Tyrants are.

Sonnet LXXIX

[As when men see a Blazing starre appeare]

As when men see a Blazing starre appeare,
Each stirres vp others leuitie to wonder,
In restlesse thoughts holding those visions deare,
Which threaten to rent Gouernment in sunder;
Yet be but horrors, from vaine hearts sent forth,
To prophecie against Annointed worth:

So likewise mankinde, when true Gouernment
Her great examples to the world brings forth,
Straight in the errors natiue discontent,
Sees apparitions opposite to worth;
Which gathers such sense out of Enuies beames,
As still casts imputation on Supreames.

Sonnet LXXX

[Cleare spirits, which in Images set forth]

Cleare spirits, which in Images set forth
The wayes of Nature by fine imitation,
Are oft forc'd to Hyperboles of worth,
As oft againe to monstrous declination;
So that their heads must lin'd be, like the Skie,
For all Opinions arts to traffike by.

Dull Spirits againe, which loue all constant grounds,
As comely veyles for their vnactiuenesse,
Are oft forc'd to contract, or stretch their bounds,
As actiue Power spreads her beames more, or lesse:
For though in Natures waine these guests come forth;
Can place, or stampe make currant ought but worth?

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Sonnet LXXXI

[Vnder a Throne I saw a Virgin sit]

Vnder a Throne I saw a Virgin sit,
The red, and white Rose quarter'd in her face;
Starre of the North, and for true guards to it,
Princes, Church, States, all pointing out her Grace.
The homage done her was not borne of Wit,
Wisdome admir'd, Zeale tooke Ambitions place,
State in her eyes taught Order how to fit,
And fixe Confusions vnobseruing race.
Fortune can here claime nothing truly great,
But that this Princely Creature is her seat.

Sonnet LXXXII

[You that seeke what Life is in Death]

You that seeke what Life is in Death,
Now find it aire that once was breath.
New names vnknowne, old names gone:
Till time end bodies, but soules none.
Reader! then make time, while you be,
But steppes to your Eternitie.

Sonnet LXXXIII

[VVho Grace, for Zenith had, from which no shadowes grow]

VVho Grace, for Zenith had, from which no shadowes grow,
Who hath seene Ioy of all his hopes, and end of all his woe,
Whose Loue belou'd hath beene the crowne of his desire,
Who hath seene sorrowes glories burnt, in sweet affections fire:
If from this heauenly state, which soules with soules vnites,
He be falne downe into the darke despaired warre of sprites;
Let him lament with me, for none doth glorie know,
That hath not beene aboue himselfe, and thence falne downe to woe:
But if there be one hope left in his languish'd heart,
In feare of worse, if wish of ease, if horrour may depart,

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He playes with his complaints, he is no mate for me,
Whose loue is lost, whose hopes are fled, whose feares for euer be.
Yet not those happy feares which shew Desire her death
Teaching with vse a peace in woe, and in despaire a faith:
No, no, my feares kill not, but make vncured wounds,
Where ioy and peace doe issue out, and onely paine abounds.
Vnpossible are helpe, reward and hope to me,
Yet while vnpossible they are, they easie seeme to be.
Most easie seemes remorse, despaire and deathe to me,
Yet while they passing easie seeme, vnpossible they be.
So neither can I leaue my hopes that doe deceiue
Nor can I trust mine owne despaire, and nothing else receiue.
Thus be vnhappy men, blest to be more accurst;
Neere to the glories of the Sunne, clouds with most horrour burst.
Like Ghosts raised out of graues, who liue not, though they goe,
Whose walking feare to others is, and to themselues a woe:
So is my life by her whose loue to me is dead,
On whose worth my despaire yet walks, and my desire is fed;
I swallow downe the baite, which carries downe my death;
I cannot put loue from my heart, while life drawes in my breath;
My Winter is within which withereth my ioy;
My Knowledge, seate of Ciuill warre, where friends and foes destroy,
And my Desires are Wheeles, whereon my heart is borne,
With endlesse turning of themselues, still liuing to be torne.
My Thoughts are Eagles food, ordayned to be a prey
To worth; and being still consum'd, yet neuer to decay.
My Memorie, where once my heart laid vp the store
Of helpe, of ioy, of spirits wealth to multiply them more;
Is now become the Tombe wherein all these lye slaine,
My helpe, my ioy, my spirits wealth all sacrific'd to paine.
In Paradise I once did liue; and taste the tree,
Which shadowed was from all the world, in ioy to shadow me.
The tree hath lost his fruit, or I have lost my seate,
My soule both blacke with shadow is, and ouer-burnt with heat:

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Truth here for triumph serues, to shew her power is great,
Whom no desert can ouercome, nor no distresse intreat.
Time past layes vp my ioy; and time to come my griefe,
She euer must be my desire, and neuer my reliefe.
Wrong, her Lieutenant is; my wounded Thoughts are they,
Who haue no power to keepe the field, nor will to runne away.
O ruefull Constancy, and where is Change so base,
As it may be compar'd with thee in scorne, and in disgrace?
Like as the Kings forlorne, depos'd from their estate,
Yet cannot choose but loue the Crowne, although new Kings they hate;
If they doe plead their right, nay, if they onely liue,
Offences to the Crowne alike their Good and Ill shall giue;
So (I would I were not) because I may complaine,
And cannot choose but loue my Wrongs, and ioy to Wish in vaine;
This faith condemneth me, my right doth rumor moue,
I may not know the cause I fell, nor yet without cause loue.
Then Loue where is reward, at least where is the fame
Of them that being, beare thy crosse, and being not, thy name?
The worlds example I, a Fable euery where,
A Well from whence the springs are dried, a Tree that doth not beare:
I like the Bird in cage at first with cunning caught,
And in my bondage for delight with greater cunning taught.
Now owners humour dyes, I neither loued nor fed,
Nor freed am, till in the cage forgotten I be dead.
The Ship of Greece, the Streames and she be not the same
They were, although Ship, Streames and she still beare their antique name.
The Wood which was, is worne, those waues are runne away,
Yet still a Ship, and still a Streame, still running to a Sea.
She lou'd, and still she loues, but doth not still loue me,
To all except my selfe yet is, as she was wont to be.
O, my once happy thoughts, the heauen where grace did dwell,
My Saint hath turn'd away her face, and made that heauen my hell.

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A hell, for so is that from whence no soules returne,
Where, while our spirits are sacrific'd, they waste not though they burne.
Since then this is my state, and nothing worse than this,
Behold the mappe of death-like life exil'd from louely blisse,
Alone among the world, strange with my friends to be,
Shewing my fall to them that scorne, see not or will not see.
My Heart a wildernesse, my studies only feare,
And as in shadowes of curst death, a prospect of despaire.
My Exercise, must be my horrours to repeat,
My Peace, Ioy, End, and Sacrifice her dead Loue to intreat.
My Food, the time that was; the time to come, my Fast;
For Drinke, the barren thirst I feele of glories that are past;
Sighs and salt teares my Bath; Reason, my Looking-glasse,
To shew me he most wretched is, that once most happy was.
Forlorne desires my Clocke to tell me euery day,
That time hath stolne Loue, Life, and All but my distresse away.
For Musicke heauy sighes, my Walke an inward woe,
Which like a shadow euer shall before my body goe:
And I my selfe am he, that doth with none compare,
Except in woes and lacke of worth; whose states more wretched are.
Let no man aske my name, nor what else I should be;
For Greiv-Ill, paine, forlorne estate doe best decipher me.

Sonnet LXXXIV

[Farewell sweet Boy, complaine not of my truth]

Farewell sweet Boy, complaine not of my truth;
Thy Mother lou'd thee not with more deuotion;
For to thy Boyes play I gaue all my youth,
Yong Master, I did hope for your promotion.

While some sought Honours, Princes thoughts obseruing,
Many woo'd Fame, the child of paine and anguish,
Others iudg'd inward good a chiefe deseruing,
I in thy wanton Visions ioy'd to languish.

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I bow'd not to thy image for succession,
Nor bound thy bow to shoot reformed kindnesse,
Thy playes of hope and feare were my confession,
The spectacles to my life was thy blindnesse;
But Cupid now farewell, I will goe play me,
With thoughts that please me lesse, & lesse betray me.

Sonnet LXXXV

[Loue is the Peace, whereto all thoughts doe striue]

Loue is the Peace, whereto all thoughts doe striue,
Done and begun with all our powers in one:
The first and last in vs that is aliue,
End of the good, and therewith pleas'd alone.

Perfections spirit, Goddesse of the minde,
Passed through hope, desire, griefe and feare,
A simple Goodnesse in the flesh refin'd,
Which of the ioyes to come doth witnesse beare.

Constant, because it sees no cause to varie,
A Quintessence of Passions ouerthrowne,
Rais'd aboue all that change of obiects carry,
A Nature by no other nature knowne:
For Glorie's of eternitie a frame,
That by all bodies else obscures her name.

Sonnet LXXXVI

[The Earth with thunder torne, with fire blasted]

The Earth with thunder torne, with fire blasted,
With waters drowned, with windie palsey shaken
Cannot for this with heauen be distasted,
Since thunder, raine and winds from earth are taken:
Man torne with Loue, with inward furies blasted,
Drown'd with despaire, with fleshly lustings shaken,
Cannot for this with heauen be distasted,
Loue, furie, lustings out of man are taken.

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Then Man, endure thy selfe, those clouds will vanish;
Life is a Top which whipping Sorrow driueth;
Wisdome must beare what our flesh cannot banish,
The humble leade, the stubborne bootlesse striueth:
Or Man, forsake thy selfe, to heauen turne thee,
Her flames enlighten Nature, neuer burne thee.

Sonnet LXXXVII

[When as Mans life, the light of humane lust]

When as Mans life, the light of humane lust,
In socket of his earthly lanthorne burnes,
That all this glory vnto ashes must,
And generation to corruption turnes;
Then fond desires that onely feare their end,
Doe vainely wish for life, but to amend.

But when this life is from the body fled,
To see it selfe in that eternall Glasse,
Where time doth end, and thoughts accuse the dead,
Where all to come, is one with all that was;
Then liuing men aske how he left his breath,
That while he liued neuer thought of death.

Sonnet LXXXVIII

[Man, dreame no more of curious mysteries]

Man, dreame no more of curious mysteries,
As what was here before the world was made,
The first Mans life, the state of Paradise,
Where heauen is, or hells eternall shade,
For Gods works are like him, all infinite;
And curious search, but craftie sinnes delight.

The Flood that did, and dreadfull Fire that shall,
Drowne, and burne vp the malice of the earth,
The diuers tongues, and Babylons downe-fall,
Are nothing to the mans renewed birth;
First, let the Law plough vp thy wicked heart,
That Christ may come, and all these types depart.

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When thou hast swept the house that all is cleare,
When thou the dust hast shaken from thy feete,
When Gods All-might doth in thy flesh appeare,
Then Seas with streames aboue thy skye doe meet;
For Goodnesse onely doth God comprehend,
Knowes what was first, and what shall be the end.

Sonnet LXXXIX

[The Manicheans did no Idols make]

The Manicheans did no Idols make,
Without themselues, nor worship gods of Wood,
Yet Idolls did in their Ideas take,
And figur'd Christ as on the crosse he stood.
Thus did they when they earnestly did pray,
Till clearer Faith this Idoll tooke away:

We seeme more inwardly to know the Sonne,
And see our owne saluation in his blood;
When this is said, we thinke the worke is done,
And with the Father hold our portion good:
As if true life within these words were laid,
For him that in life, neuer words obey'd.

If this be safe, it is a pleasant way,
The Crosse of Christ is very easily borne:
But sixe dayes labour makes the sabboth day,
The flesh is dead before grace can be borne.
The heart must first beare witnesse with the booke,
The earth must burne, ere we for Christ can looke.

Sonnet XC

[The Turkish gouernment allowes no Law]

The Turkish gouernment allowes no Law,
Mens liues and states depend on his behest;
We thinke Subiection there a seruile awe,
Where Nature finds both honour, wealth and rest.

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Our Christian freedome is, we haue a law,
Which euen the Heathen thinke no Power should wrest;
Yet proues it crooked as power lists to draw,
The rage or grace that lurkes in Princes brests.
Opinion bodies may to shadowes giue,
But no burnt Zone it is, where People liue.

Sonnet XCI

[Rewards of earth, Nobilitie and Fame]

Rewards of earth, Nobilitie and Fame,
To senses Glorie, and to conscience woe,
How little be you, for so great a name?
Yet lesse is he with men that thinks you so.
For earthly Power, that stands by fleshly wit,
Hath banish'd that Truth, which should gouerne it.

Nobilitie, Powers golden fetter is,
Wherewith wise Kings subiection doe adorne,
To make man thinke her heauy yoke, a blisse,
Because it makes him more than he was borne.
Yet still a slaue, dimm'd by mists of a Crowne,
Lest he should see, what riseth, what puls downe.

Fame, that is but good words of euill deeds,
Begotten by the harme we haue, or doe,
Greatest farre off, least euer where it breeds,
We both with dangers and disquiet wooe.
And in our flesh (the vanities false glasse)
We thus deceau'd adore these Calues of brasse.

Sonnet XCII

[Virgula diuina, Sorcerers call a rod]

Virgula diuina, Sorcerers call a rod,
Gather'd with vowes, and Magicke sacrifice;
Which borne about, by influence doth nod,
Vnto the siluer, where it hidden lyes;
Which makes poore men to these blacke arts deuout,
Rich onely in the wealth which hope findes out.

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Nobilitie, this pretious treasure is,
Laid vp in secret mysteries of State,
Kings creature, subiections gilded blisse,
Where grace, not merit, seemes to gouerne fate.
Mankinde I thinke to be this rod diuine,
For to the greatest euer they incline.

Eloquence, that is but wisdome speaking well,
(The Poets faigne) did make the sauage tame;
Of eares and hearts chain'd vnto tongues they tell;
I thinke Nobilitie to be the same:
For be they fooles, or speake they without wit,
We hold them wise, we fooles be-wonder it.

Inuisible there is an Art to goe,
(They say that studie Natures secret works)
And art there is to make things greater show;
In Noblenesse I thinke this secret lurks,
For place a Coronet on whom you will,
You straight see all great in him, but his Ill.

Sonnet XCIII

[The Augurs were of all the world admir'd]

The Augurs were of all the world admir'd,
Flatter' by Consulls, honour'd by the State,
Because the euent of all that was desir'd,
They seem'd to know, and keepe the books of Fate:
Yet though abroad they thus did boast their wit,
Alone among themselues they scorned it.

Mankinde, that with his wit doth gild his heart,
Strong in his Passions, but in Goodnesse weake;
Making great vices o're the lesse an Art,
Breeds wonder, and moues ignorance to speake,
Yet when his Fame is to the highest borne,
We know enough to laugh his praise to scorne.

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Sonnet XCIV

[Men, that delight to multiply desire]

Men, that delight to multiply desire,
Like tellers are that take coyne but to pay,
Still tempted to be false, with little hire,
Blacke hands except, which they would haue away:
For, where power wisely Audits her estate,
The Exchequer Mens best recompense is hate.

The little Maide that weareth out the day,
To gather flow'rs still couetous of more,
At night when she with her desire would play,
And let her pleasure wanton in her store,
Discernes the first laid vnderneath the last,
Wither'd, and so is all that we haue past:

Fixe then on good desires, and if you finde
Ambitious dreames or feares of ouer-thwart;
Changes, temptations, bloomes of earthly minde,
Yet waue not, since earth change, hath change of smart.
For lest Man should thinke flesh a seat of blisse,
God workes that his ioy mixt with sorrow is.

Sonnet XCV

[Malice and Loue in their waies opposite]

Malice and Loue in their waies opposite,
The one to hurt it selfe for others good;
The other, to haue good by others spite,
Both raging most, when they be most withstood;
Though enemies, yet doe in this agree,
That both still breake the hearts where in they be.

Malice a habit is, wrought in the spirit,
By intricate opinions information;
Of scornefull wrong or of suppressing merit,
Which either wounds mens states or reputation;
And Tyrant-like, though shew of strength it beare,
Yet is but weakenesse growne, enrag'd by feare.

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Loue is the true or false report of sense,
Who sent as spies, returning newes of worth,
With over-wonder breed the hearts offence,
Not bringing in, but carrying pleasure forth,
And child-like must have all things that they see,
So much lesse louers, than things loued be.

Malice, like ruine, with it selfe ouerthrowes
Mankinde, and therefore plaies a diuels part;
Loue puls it selfe downe, but to build vp those
It loues, and therefore beares an Angels heart.
Tyrants through feare and malice feed on blood,
Good Kings secure at home, seeke all mens good.

Sonnet XCVI

[In those yeeres, when our Sense, Desire and Wit]

In those yeeres, when our Sense, Desire and Wit,
Combine, that Reason shall not rule the heart;
Pleasure is chosen as a Goddesse fit,
The wealth of Nature freely to impart;
Who like an Idoll doth apparel'd sit
In all the glories of Opinions art;
The further off, the greater beauty showing,
Lost onely, or made lesse by perfect knowing.

Which faire Vsurper runnes a Rebels way,
For though elect of Sense, Wit and Desire,
Yet rules she none, but such as will obey,
And to that end becomes what they aspire;
Making that torment, which before was play,
Those dewes to kindle, which did quench the fire:
Now Honours image, now againe like lust,
But earthly still, and end repenting must.

While man, who Satyr-like, then knowes the flame,
When kissing of her faire appearing light,
Hee feeles a scorching power hid in the same,
Which cannot be reuealed to the sight,

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Yet doth by ouer heat so shrinke this frame,
Of fiery apparitions in delight;
That as in Orbes, where many passions raigne,
What one Affection ioyes, the rest complaine.

In which confused sphere Man being plac'd
With equall prospect ouer good or ill;
The one unknowne, the other in distaste,
Flesh, with her many moulds of Change and Will,
So his affections carries on, and casts
In declination to the errour still;
As by the truth he gets no other light,
But to see Vice, a restlesse infinite.

By which true mappe of his Mortality,
Mans many Idols are at once defaced,
And all hypocrisies of fraile humanity,
Either exiled, waued, or disgraced;
Falne nature by the streames of vanity,
Forc'd vp to call for grace aboue her placed:
Whence from the depth of fatall desolation,
Springs vp the height of his Regeneration.

Which light of life doth all those shadowes warre
Of woe and lust, that dazell and inthrall,
Whereby mans ioyes with goodnesse bounded are,
And to remorse his feares transformed all;
His sixe dayes labour past, and that cleere starre,
Figure of Sabboths rest, rais'd by this fall;
For God comes not till man be ouerthrowne;
Peace is the seed of grace, in dead flesh sowne.

Flesh but the Top, which onely Whips make goe,
The Steele whose rust is by afflictions worne,
The Dust which good men from their feet must throw,
A liuing-dead thing, till it be new borne,
A Phenix-life, that from selfe-ruine growes,
Or Viper rather through her parents torne,
A boat, to which the world it selfe is Sea,
Wherein the minde sayles on her fatall way.

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Sonnet XCVII

[Eternall Truth, almighty, infinite]

Eternall Truth, almighty, infinite,
Onely exiled from mans fleshly heart,
Where ignorance and disobedience fight,
In hell and sinne, which shall haue greatest part:
When thy sweet mercy opens forth the light,
Of Grace which giueth eyes vnto the blind,
And with the Law euen plowest vp our sprite
To faith, wherein flesh may saluation finde;
Thou bidst vs pray, and wee doe pray to thee,
But as to power and God without vs plac'd,
Thinking a wish may weare out vanity,
Or habits be by miracles defac'd.
One thought to God wee giue, the rest to sinne,
Quickely vnbent is all desire of good,
True words passe out, but haue no being within,
Wee pray to Christ, yet helpe to shed his blood;
For while wee say Believe, and feele it not,
Promise amends, and yet despaire in it,
Heare Sodom iudg'd, and goe not out with Lot,
Make Law and Gospell riddles of the wit:
We with the Iewes euen Christ still crucifie,
As not yet come to our impiety.

Sonnet XCVIII

[Wrapt vp, O Lord, in mans degeneration]

Wrapt vp, O Lord, in mans degeneration;
The glories of thy truth, thy ioyes eternall,
Reflect vpon my soule darke desolation,
And vgly prospects o're the sprites infernall.
Lord, I haue sinn'd, and mine iniquity,
Deserues this hell; yet Lord deliuer me.

Thy power and mercy neuer comprehended,
Rest lively imag'd in my Conscience wounded;
Mercy to grace, and power to feare extended,
Both infinite, and I in both confounded;
Lord, I haue sinn'd, and mine iniquity,
Deserues this hell, yet Lord deliver me.

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If from this depth of sinne, this hellish graue,
And fatall absence from my Sauiours glory,
I could implore his mercy, who can saue,
And for my sinnes, not paines of sinne, be sorry:
Lord, from this horror of iniquity,
And hellish graue, thou wouldst deliuer me.

Sonnet XCIX

[Downe in the depth of mine iniquity]

Downe in the depth of mine iniquity,
That vgly center of infernall spirits;
Where each sinne feeles her owne deformity,
In these peculiar torments she inherits,
Depriu'd of humane graces, and diuine,
Euen there appeares this sauing God of mine.

And in this fatall mirrour of transgression,
Shewes man as fruit of his degeneration,
The errours ugly infinite impression,
Which beares the faithlesse downe to desperation;
Depriu'd of humane graces and diuine,
Euen there appeares this sauing God of mine.

In power and truth, Almighty and eternall,
Which on the sinne reflects strange desolation,
With glory scourging all the Sprites infernall,
And vncreated hell with vnpriuation;
Depriu'd of humane graces, not diuine,
Euen there appeares this sauing God of mine.

For on this sp'rituall Crosse condemned lying,
To paines infernall by eternall doome,
I see my Sauiour for the same sinnes dying,
And from that hell I fear'd, to free me, come;
Depriu'd of humane graces, not diuine,
Thus hath his death rais'd up this soule of mine.

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Sonnet C

[In Night when colours all to blacke are cast]

In Night when colours all to blacke are cast,
Distinction lost, or gone downe with the light;
The eye a watch to inward senses plac'd,
Not seeing, yet still hauing power of sight,

Giues vaine Alarums to the inward sense,
Where feare stirr'd vp with witty tyranny,
Confounds all powers, and thorough selfe-offence,
Doth forge and raise impossibility:

Such as in thicke depriuing darkenesses,
Proper reflections of the errour be,
And images of selfe-confusednesses,
Which hurt imaginations onely see;
And from this nothing seene, tels newes of devils,
Which but expressions be of inward euils.

Sonnet CI

[Mans Youth it is a field of large desires]

Mans Youth it is a field of large desires,
Which pleas'd within, doth all without them please,
For in this loue of men liue those sweet fires,
That kindle worth and kindnesse vnto praise,
And where selfe-loue most from her selfenesse giues,
Man greatest in himselfe, and others liues.

Old Age againe which deemes this pleasure vaine,
Dull'd with experience of vnthankefulnesse,
Scornefull of fame, as but effects of paine,
Folds up that freedome in her narrownesse,
And for it onely loues her owne dreames best,
Scorn'd and contemned is of all the rest.

Such working Youth there is againe in state,
Which at the first with Iustice, Piety,
Fame, and Reward, true Instruments of fate,
Striue to improue this fraile humanity:
By which as Kings enlarge true worth in us,
So Crownes againe are well inlarged thus.

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But States grow old, when Princes turne away
From Honour, to take pleasure for their ends;
For that a large is, this a narrow way,
That winnes a world, and this a few darke friends;
The one improuing worthinesse spreads farre,
Vnder the other good things prisoners are.

Thus Scepters shadow-like, grow short or long,
As worthy, or vnworthy Princes reigne,
And must contract, cannot be large or strong,
If mans weake humours reall powers restraine,
So that when Power and Nature doe oppose,
All but the worst men are assur'd to lose.

For when Respect, which is the strength of States,
Growes to decline by Kings descent within
That Powers babie-creatures dare set rates
Of Scorne upon Worth, Honour upon Sinne;
Then though Kings, Player-like, act Glories part,
Yet all within them is but Feare and Art.

Sonnet CII

[The Serpent, Sinne, by shewing humane lust]

The Serpent, Sinne, by shewing humane lust
Visions and dreames inticed man to doe
Follies, in which exceed his God he must,
And know more than hee was created to,
A charme which made the ugly sinne seeme good.
And is by falne Spirits onely vnderstood.

Now man no sooner from his meane creation,
Trode this excesse of vncreated sinne,
But straight he chang'd his being to priuation,
Horrour and death at this gate passing in;
Whereby immortall life, made for mans good,
Is since become the hell of flesh and blood.

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But grant that there were no eternity,
That life were all, and Pleasure life of it,
In sinnes excesse there yet confusions be,
Which spoyle his peace, and passionate his wit,
Making his Nature lesse, his Reason thrall,
To tyranny of vice vnnaturall.

And as Hell fires, not wanting heat, want light;
So these strange witchcrafts, which like Pleasure be,
Not wanting faire inticements, want delight,
Inward being nothing but deformity;
And doe at open doores let fraile powers in
To that straight building, Little-ease of sinne.

Yet is there ought more wonderfull than this?
That Man, euen in the state of his perfection,
All things vncurst, nothing yet done amisse,
And so in him no base of his defection;
Should fall from God, and breake his Makers will,
Which could haue no end, but to know the Ill.

I aske the rather since in Paradise,
Eternity was obiect to his passion,
And hee in goodnesse like his Maker wise,
As from his spirit taking life and fashion;
What greater power there was to master this,
Or how a lesse could worke, my question is?

For who made all, 'tis sure yet could not make,
Any aboue himselfe, as Princes can,
So as, against his will no power could take,
A Creature from him; nor corrupt a man;
And yet who thinks he marr'd, that made vs good,
As well may think God lesse than flesh and blood.

Where did our being then seeke out priuation?
Aboue, within, without us all was pure,
Onely the Angels from their discreation,
By smart declar'd no being was secure,
But that transcendent Goodnesse which subsists,
By forming and reforming what it lists.

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So as within the Man there was no more,
But possibility to worke upon,
And in these spirits, which were falne before,
An abstract curst eternity alone;
Refined by their high places in creation,
To adde more craft and malice to temptation.

Now with what force upon these middle spheares,
Of Probable, and Possibility,
Which no one constant demonstration beares,
And so can neither binde, nor bounded be;
What those could work, that hauing lost their God,
Aspire to be our Tempters and our Rod,

Too well is witness'd by this fall of ours,
For wee not knowing yet that there was ill,
Gaue easie credit to deceiuing powers,
Who wrought upon us onely by our will;
Perswading, like it, all was to it free,
Since where no sinne was, there no law could be.

And as all finite things seeke infinite,
From thence deriuing what beyond them is;
So man was led by charmes of this darke sp'rit,
Which hee could not know till hee did amisse;
To trust those Serpents, who learn'd since they fell,
Knew more than we did; euen their own made hell.

Which crafty oddes made us those clouds imbrace,
Where sinne in ambush lay to overthrow
Nature, (that would presume to fadome Grace)
Or could beleeue what God said was not so:
Sin, then we knew thee not, and could not hate,
And now we know thee, now it is too late.

Sonnet CIII

[O false and treacherous Probability]

O false and treacherous Probability,
Enemy of truth, and friend to wickednesse;
With whose bleare eyes opinion learnes to see
Truths feeble party here, and barrennesse.

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When thou hast thus misled Humanity,
And lost obedience in the pride of wit,
With reason dar'st thou iudge the Deity,
And in thy flesh make bold to fashion it.

Vaine thought, the word of Power a riddle is,
And till the vayles be rent, the flesh newborne,
Reveales no wonders of that inward blisse,
Which but where faith is, euery where findes scorne;
“Who therfore censures God with fleshly sprite,
“As well in time may wrap vp infinite.

Sonnet CIV

[Two sects there be in this earth opposite]

Two sects there be in this earth opposite,
The one make Mahomet a Deity,
A tyrant Tartar rais'd by Warre and Sleight,
Ambitious waies of infidelity:
The World their heauen is, the World is great,
And racketh those hearts, where it hath receit.

The other Sect of cloystered people is,
Lesse to the world, with which they seeme to warre,
And so in lesse things drawne to doe amisse,
As all lusts, lesse than lust of conquest are:
Now if of God, both these haue but the name,
What mortall Idoll then, can equall Fame?

Sonnet CV

[Three things there be in Mans opinion deare]

Three things there be in Mans opinion deare,
Fame, many Friends, and Fortunes dignities:
False visions all, which in our sense appeare,
To sanctifie desire's Idolatries.

For what is Fortune, but a wat'ry glasse?
Whose chrystall forehead wants a steely backe,
Where raine and stormes beare all away that was,
Whose shape alike both depths and shallowes wracke.

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Fame againe, which from blinding power takes light,
Both Cæsars shadow is, and Cato's friend,
The child of humour, not allyed to right,
Liuing by oft exchange of winged end.

And many Friends, false strength of feeble mind,
Betraying equals, as true slaues to might;
Like Ecchoes still send voyces down the wind,
But neuer in aduersity finde right.

Then Man, though vertue of extremities,
The middle be, and so hath two to one,
By Place and Nature constant enemies,
And against both these no strength but her owne,
Yet quit thou for her, Friends, Fame, Fortunes throne;
Diuels, there many be, and Gods but one.

Sonnet CVI

[How fals it out, the sincere Magistrate]

How fals it out, the sincere Magistrate,
(Who keepes the course of Iustice sacredly)
Reapes from the people reuerence, and hate,
But not the loue which followes liberty?

The cause is plaine, since taxe on Peoples good
Is hardly borne, Sense hauing no foresight,
Hates reasons workes as strange to flesh and blood,
Whence he that striues to keepe mans heart upright

Taxeth his phansies at an higher rate;
And laying lawes vpon his frailty,
Brings all his vices to a bankrupt state,
So much is true worth more refin'd than we:
Againe, who taskes mens wealth, pierce but their skin,
Who roots their vice out, must pierce deeper in.

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Sonnet CVII

[Isis, in whom the Poets feigning wit]

Isis, in whom the Poets feigning wit,
Figures the Goddesse of Authority,
And makes her on an Asse in triumph sit,
As if Powers throne were mans humility;
Inspire this Asse, as well becomming it,
Euen like a Type of wind-blowne vanity:
With pride to beare Powers gilding scorching heat
For no hire, but opinion to be great.

So as this Beast, forgetting what he beares,
Bridled and burdend by the hand of might,
While he beholds the swarmes of hope and feares,
Which wait vpon ambition infinite,
Proud of the glorious furniture hee weares,
Takes all to Isis offer'd, but his right;
Till wearinesse, the spurre, or want of food,
Makes gilded curbs of all beasts understood.

Sonnet CVIII

[What is the cause, why States, that war and win]

What is the cause, why States, that war and win,
Haue honour, and breed men of better fame,
Than States in peace, since war and conquest sin
In blood, wrong liberty, all trades of shame?
Force-framing instruments, which it must vse,
Proud in excesse, and glory to abuse.

The reason is; Peace is a quiet Nurse
Of Idlenesse, and Idlenesse the field,
Where wit and Power change all seedes to the worse,
By narrow self-will upon which they build,
And thence bring forth captiu'd inconstant ends,
Neither to Princes, nor to People friends

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Besides, the sinnes of Peace on Subiects feed,
And thence wound power, which for it all things can,
With wrong to one despaires in many breed,
For while Lawes' oathes, Powers creditors to man,
Make humble Subiects dreame of natiue right,
Mans faith abus'd addes courage to despite.

Where conquest workes by strength, and stirs up Fame,
A glorious Echo, pleasing doome of paine,
Which in the sleepe of death yet keepes a name,
And makes detracting losse speake ill in vaine.

For to Great Actions time so friendly is,
As o'er the meanes (albeit the meanes be ill)
It casts forgetfulnesse; vailes things amisse,
With power and honour to encourage will.

Besides things hard a reputation beare,
To dye resolu'd though guilty wonder breeds,
Yet what strength those be which can blot out feare,
And to selfe-ruine ioyfully proceeds,
Aske them that from the ashes of this fire,
With new liues still to such new flames aspire.

Sonnet CIX

[Syon lyes waste, and thy Ierusalem]

Syon lyes waste, and thy Ierusalem,
O Lord, is falne to vtter desolation,
Against thy Prophets, and thy holy men,
The sinne hath wrought a fatall combination,
Prophan'd thy name, thy worship ouerthrowne,
And made thee liuing Lord, a God vnknowne.

Thy powerfull lawes, thy wonders of creation,
Thy Word incarnate, glorious heauen, darke hell,
Lye shadowed vnder Mans degeneration,
Thy Christ still crucifi'd for doing well,
Impiety, O Lord, sits on thy throne,
Which makes thee liuing Light, A God vnknown.

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Mans superstition hath thy truths entomb'd,
His Atheisme againe her pomps defaceth,
That sensuall vnsatiable vaste wombe
Of thy seene Church, thy vnseene Church disgraceth;
There liues no truth with them that seem thine own,
Which makes thee liuing Lord, a God vnknowne.

Yet vnto thee, Lord, (mirrour of transgression)
Wee, who for earthly Idols, haue forsaken
Thy heauenly Image (sinlesse pure impression)
And so in nets of vanity lye taken,
All desolate implore that to thine owne,
Lord, thou no longer liue a God vnknowne.

Yet Lord let Israels plagues not be eternall,
Nor sinne for euer cloud thy sacred Mountaines,
Nor with false flames spirituall but infernall,
Dry up thy mercies euer springing fountaines,
Rather, sweet Iesus, fill vp time and come,
To yeeld the sinne her euerlasting doome.

FINIS