University of Virginia Library



THE FIRST SONET OR MADRIGALL. No sooner doe I gaze vpon that face

No sooner doe I gaze vpon that face,
But rauisht with the beautie of thy cheeke,
Would thinke it were a Paradise to place,
Those vernant comforts, which each day ith weeke,
Are now renewd by singing Alcmons happe,
Vnder the Sunshine of thy vestall lappe.
Whole weeks seeme minutes when I am with thee,
And yeares as howers doe vanish from my sight,
There is no pleasant note, no melodie,
That makes a lustre equall to that light,
Thy sparkling eies reflect more faire by farre,
Then radiant Phæbus in his Iuory carre.
Those burnisht lockes, like Damons flocks appeare
Before the temple of refined loue,
And as the heards which shepheards vse to sheare,
Or like the smoth plumes of the turtle Doue.
Neer'st to a Doue thou art, and I will call
Thine heart, a Turtles heart that hath no gall.


That albone skinne more pure, more polished,
Then the faire tombe, wherein Prince Ninus lay,
Whose structure (faire) was neere demolished,
Deare, thou my mansion art, my life, my stay.
Therefore like Ziscoes skinnne, I will prepare
To sound Alarum in Antenors chaire.
If those same nimble fingers, which thou hast,
That tune the warbling Lute so pretily,
Be but engript about thy tender waste,
O what a beautie shewes there presently?
Wilt thou beleeue me? there's no creature borne,
Whose beauteous outside, better gifts adorne.
I am no Merchant that will sell my breath,
Good wine needs not a bush to set it forth,
Yet I will praise thee euer, till pale death
Cut off the Poet of thy flowry youth,
I will enshrine thee in an hearse of time,
Which being made shall glad this heart of mine.
I cannot sing, for I haue lost my voice,
With telling tales of loue, and Venus groue,
But yet drone-like ile buzze and make a noise
Of Cupids arrowes, Hyppodamias loue.
For I can keepe a measure with my teares,
And sighing still make sad the grauest eares.


Atlas three daughters, were beyond compare,
For Ægle was as faire, as faire could be,
And Arethusa was for beautie rare
Hesperitusa full as faire as she.
Yet these three daughters, if mine eye be true,
Seeme but as shadowes in respect of you.
These three faire daughters kept a Garden sweete,
Wherein a serpent slept continually,
Which with a trembling fell before their feete,
As rauisht with their beauties Maiesty.
Thou keptst a garden (loue) more faire then they
Which for Alcydes were a worthy pray.
There be sweete fruits so mellow and so rare,
That dropping downe vpon their render twigs,
Oft times amongst the vallies they repaire
To decke with spangled dew their budding sprigs.
Beleeue me deare, that fruit which growes of thee,
Is interlaid with full varietie.
VVell were that Gardiner that enhedgde were,
VVithin the beds of that same rosarie,
No raggie bugbeares he should need to feare.
But were enthronde with pompe and maiestie.
And in a precious carknet of pure gold
Like to a chaine, might all his ioyes enfold.


Those pretie Daysies that spring on those bankes,
With little stalkes relisht with fragrant smels,
Giue to the Gods aboue continuall thanks,
That such a Gardnesse in their borders dwels.
For they are well assurde and oft haue said,
Whil'st thou lookst ore them, they can neuer fade.
I could not talke of late, when thou appearde,
Yet glad I would haue beene to speake my minde,
And standing still, enclosde twixt hope and feare,
Within those lookes of thine I was confinde.
Yet willingly confinde, I must confesse
For all my throbbing senses shewd no lesse.
Well you may take it rudenesse in me then,
In that I could not couer, as others did,
But you must make a difference twixt such men,
As neuer were in loue, but wholy rid
Of all distempered passions, and of such
As cannot court by louing ouermuch.
Neere could I see a perfect loue endure
To cogge, to flatter in his masters sight,
Loue is refinde, and is so passing pure,
That with a monster it will dare to fight.
It hates vaine complements, nor can agree
To glosing congies, or a bended knee.


I would not be a Pandor to my loue,
Least I should leese the fruits I oft haue sought,
I will not praise too much, lest I approue,
Mine owne vndoer, and to ruine brought,
Lament too late, that I should her commend,
Who by her praise, brought me to timelesse end.
Therefore will I heere fixe my staffe and stay,
Least like Candaules while I praise my wife,
I shew a Gygas her, and he betray
My best lou'd loue, depriuing me of life.
I cannot laine, and yet I will not praise
That sacred shrine which consecrates my daies.
FINIS.