 | Poems (1872) |  |
51
IV. CŒLUM NON SOLUM.
If care or skill could conquer vaine desire,
Or Reason's raignes, my strong affection stay:
Their should my sighes, to quiet brest retire,
And shun such sighes as secret thoughts bewray.
Uncomely Loue, which now lurks in my brest,
Should cease my griefe, though Wisdome's power opprest.
Or Reason's raignes, my strong affection stay:
Their should my sighes, to quiet brest retire,
And shun such sighes as secret thoughts bewray.
Uncomely Loue, which now lurks in my brest,
Should cease my griefe, though Wisdome's power opprest.
But who can leaue to looke on Venus face,
Or yeeldeth not to Juno's high estate?
What wit so wise, as giues not Pallas place?
These vertues rare, ech Gods, did yeelde a mate.
Saue her alone, who yet on earth dooth raigne,
Whose beautie's string, no God can well destraine.
Or yeeldeth not to Juno's high estate?
What wit so wise, as giues not Pallas place?
These vertues rare, ech Gods, did yeelde a mate.
Saue her alone, who yet on earth dooth raigne,
Whose beautie's string, no God can well destraine.
What worldly wight, can hope for heauenly hire,
When onelie sighes must make his secret mone?
A silent sute, doth seeld to grace aspire.
My haplesse hap, dooth roule the restlesse stone.
yet Phæbe faire, dirdainde the heauens aboue,
To ioye on earth, her poore Endimion's loue.
When onelie sighes must make his secret mone?
A silent sute, doth seeld to grace aspire.
My haplesse hap, dooth roule the restlesse stone.
52
To ioye on earth, her poore Endimion's loue.
Rare is reward, where none can iustlie craue,
For chaunce is choyce, where Reason makes no claime,
Yet luck sometimes, disparing soules dooth saue,
A happie starre made Giges ioy attaine.
A slauish Smith, of rude and rascall race,
Found meanes in time to gaine a Goddesse' grace.
For chaunce is choyce, where Reason makes no claime,
Yet luck sometimes, disparing soules dooth saue,
A happie starre made Giges ioy attaine.
A slauish Smith, of rude and rascall race,
Found meanes in time to gaine a Goddesse' grace.
Then loftie Loue thy sacred sailes aduance,
My sighing seas shall flow with streams of teares:
Amidst disdains, driue foorth thy dolefull chaunce,
A valiant minde no deadly danger feares.
Who loues aloft, and sets his harte on hie,
Deserues no paine, though he do pine and die.
My sighing seas shall flow with streams of teares:
Amidst disdains, driue foorth thy dolefull chaunce,
A valiant minde no deadly danger feares.
Who loues aloft, and sets his harte on hie,
Deserues no paine, though he do pine and die.
| Poems (1872) | |