University of Virginia Library

OF THE WEEK

Seven Sonnets

DEDICATION

There is among my thoughts the joyous plan
To fashion a bright-jewelled carcanet,
Which I upon such worthy brows would set,
To say, it suits them fairly as it can.
And now I have newly found a gentleman,
Of courtesies and birth commensurate,
Who better would become the imperial state
Than fits the gem within the signet's span.
Carlo di Messer Guerra Cavicciuoli,
Of him I speak,—brave, wise, of just award
And generous service, let who list command:
And lithelier limbed than ounce or lëopard.
He holds not money-bags, as children, holy;
For Lombard Esté hath no freer hand.

MONDAY

The Day of Songs and Love

Now with the moon the day-star Lucifer
Departs, and night is gone at last, and day
Brings, making all men's spirits strong and gay,
A gentle wind to gladden the new air.
Lo! this is Monday, the week's harbinger;
Let music breathe her softest matin-lay,
And let the loving damsels sing to-day,
And the sun wound with heat at noontide here.
And thou, young lord, arise and do not sleep,
For now the amorous day inviteth thee
The harvest of thy lady's youth to reap.
Let coursers round the door, and palfreys, be,
With squires and pages clad delightfully;
And Love's commandments have thou heed to keep.

TUESDAY

The Day of Battles

To a new world on Tuesday shifts my song,
Where beat of drum is heard, and trumpet-blast;
Where footmen armed and horsemen armed go past,
And bells say ding to bells that answer dong;
Where he the first and after him the throng,
Armed all of them with coats and hoods of steel,
Shall see their foes and make their foes to feel,
And so in wrack and rout drive them along.
Then hither, thither, dragging on the field
His master, empty-seated goes the horse,
'Mid entrails strown abroad of soldiers kill'd;
Till blow to camp those trumpeters of yours
Who noise awhile your triumph and are still'd,
And to your tents you come back conquerors.

WEDNESDAY

The Day of Feasts

And every Wednesday, as the swift days move,
Pheasant and peacock-shooting out of doors
You'll have, and multitude of hares to course,
And after you come home, good cheer enough;
And sweetest ladies at the board above,
Children of kings and counts and senators;
And comely-favoured youthful bachelors
To serve them, bearing garlands, for true love.
And still let cups of gold and silver ware,
Runlets of vernage-wine and wine of Greece,
Comfits and cakes be found at bidding there;
And let your gifts of birds and game increase:
And let all those who in your banquet share
Sit with bright faces perfectly at ease.

THURSDAY

The Day of Jousts and Tournaments

For Thursday be the tournament prepar'd,
And gentlemen in lordly jousts compete:
First man with man, together let them meet,—
By fifties and by hundreds afterward.
Let arms with housings each be fitly pair'd,
And fitly hold your battle to its heat
From the third hour to vespers, after meat;
Till the best-winded be at last declared.
Then back unto your beauties, as ye came:
Where upon sovereign beds, with wise control
Of leaches, shall your hurts be swathed in bands.
The ladies shall assist with their own hands,
And each be so well paid in seeing them
That on the morrow he be sound and whole.

FRIDAY

The Day of Hunting

Let Friday be your highest hunting-tide,—
No hound nor brach nor mastiff absent thence,—
Through a low wood, by many miles of dens,
All covert, where the cunning beasts abide:
Which now driven forth, at first you scatter wide,—
Then close on them, and rip out blood and breath:
Till all your huntsmen's horns wind at the death,
And you count up how many beasts have died.
Then, men and dogs together brought, you'll say:
Go fairly greet from us this friend and that,
Bid each make haste to blithest wassailings.
Might not one vow that the whole pack had wings?
What! hither, Beauty, Dian, Dragon, what!
I think we held a royal hunt to-day.

SATURDAY

The Day of Hawking

I've jolliest merriment for Saturday:—
The very choicest of all hawks to fly
That crane or heron could be stricken by,
As up and down you course the steep highway.
So shall the wild geese, in your deadly play,
Lose at each stroke a wing, a tail, a thigh;
And man with man and horse with horse shall vie,
Till you all shout for glory and holiday.
Then going home, you'll closely charge the cook:
“All this is for to-morrow's roast and stew.
Skin, lop, and truss: hang pots on every hook.
And we must have fine wine and white bread too,
Because this time we mean to feast: so look
We do not think your kitchens lost on you.”

SUNDAY

The Day of Balls and Deeds of Arms in Florence

And on the morrow, at first peep o'the day
Which follows, and which men as Sunday spell,—
Whom most him liketh, dame or damozel,
Your chief shall choose out of the sweet array.
So in the palace painted and made gay
Shall he converse with her whom he loves best;
And what he wishes, his desire express'd
Shall bring to presence there, without gainsay.
And youths shall dance, and men do feats of arms,
And Florence be sought out on every side
From orchards and from vineyards and from farms:
That they who fill her streets from far and wide
In your fine temper may discern such charms
As shall from day to day be magnified.