University of Virginia Library

Sundry sweet Sonnets and Passionated Poems.

A farewell to the world and the pleasures thereof.

Sonet I.

Now for the last farewell I meane to make,
To all the troubles, of my tiréd thought:
This leaue at last, and this last leaue I take,
Of some and all that haue my sorrowe sought.
First youth farewell the fore Runner of wit,
A time more staide, hath taught me better stages,
Then where repentance doth with sorrowe sit,
To shew the ruines of vnbridled Ages.
Next farewell Beautie, thou bewitching glasse,
That blind'st the eye, of all unseason'd seeing:
Mine eye now sees, wherein my blindnesse was,
I could not see my blindnesse in thy being.
Friendship farewell, where faith doth finde no trust,
For men are Monsters, and then what are women?
Experience now prooues Iudgement was vniust,
Where wit was folly, that made slaues of free-men.
And loue farewell, the Laborinthe of time,
Which killes the spirits with continuall care,
I now haue found the Snaile out by his slime,
And will not come, where such slye creepers are.
And power farewell, the perill of conceite,
Where pride is hellish in impatience:
Strong is my weakenes, that now bids me waite,
But on the blessing of obedience.
And hope farewell, the weakest holde of wit,
That euer help't, the heart to happinesse:
For wisdome's care, that well hath sounded it,
Findes it a flatterer but of idlenes.
And farewell fortune, the moste idle fiction,
That euer fancy laide her labour on:
Truth, against whome there is no contradiction,
Showes one of force, but fortune there is none.
And arte farewell, the onely woe of wit,
That beates the Anuile of a busy braine,
With simple skill I now had rather sit
Then work for grace, and other get the gaine.
And farewell time, that neuer giuest rest,
Vnto the body or the spirits paine:
Eternall blisse, hath so my spirite blest,
I will not harken vnto time againe.
And farewell all that may be bid farewell,
Within this world of wretchednes and woe:
My spirit seekes but only there to dwell,
Where puer truth doth no corruption knowe.
A Gowne of Veluet and a chaine of pearle,
Shall now bewitche mine eyes with folly gazes
When vnderneath, an idle headed girle,
May feede the minde, but with dishonor's mazes.
The seate of power too neere the Sin of pride,
Shall with Ambition, not infect my minde:
A ioyfull peace, within my soule hath tride,
The sweetest life is in the meane to finde.
The filéd tongue of fayning eloquence:
Shall now no more abuse my simple trust:
In yea and nay, I finde that excellence,
Where perfect iudgements cannot prooue vniust.
The sound of warre shal not inchaunt mine ear
With honour's musicke, to abuse my heart:
The blesséd peace, that patient spirits beare,
In heauenly consortes haue no bloudy parte.
The long delaying studdie of the lawe,
Shall beate no hammers in my wearie braine,
Nor loose my Corne in striuing for a strawe,
But keepe my right, & hate a wrongfull gaine.
The greedie labours, of the grumbling Chuffe,
I will not followe, for a rusty wealth:
But in discretion thinke that worke enough,
That cloathes the flesh, and keepes the soule in health.
And I wil leaue Court, Cittie, towne and fielde,
Warres, Lawe and traffique, pollycie and paine:
And see what life the country loue will yeelde,
Where Shepheards keepe the flockes vpon the plaine.
There will I sit and in the sacred sence,
Of heauenly vertues high instructions:
Learne in Aglaias nature's excellence,
Of Loue's conceites, to make the best constructions.
Where God alone shall in my soule be loued,
And faithe's affection in true fancy proued.

10

Which done, my heart shall lie vpon my brest,
That truth shall shewe the secret of my thought:
Where patience prooues the spirit onely blest,
That lookes at heauen and sets the world at nought.
Thus will I sit, and set my pipe in tune,
And plaie as merry as the day is long:
And as in Aprill, so againe in Iune,
Fit both my spring, and haruest with a song.
My Pipe shall bee but of a dainty reede,
That growes within the Riuer of delight:
Where euerie stop shall stand my heart in steed,
To guide the spirrit of my musicke right.
And for my ditties, they shall be diuine:
When time shall onely on Aglaia rest,
While fancy so shall euerie note refine,
That euerie passion shall be well exprest.
And when the Musicke of my pipe is done,
Then what is needefull to my flocke goe see:
And from the plant that prospers in the Sunne,
Cut of the succors least they spoyle the tree.
And then goe looke vnto the worme and flie,
That may annoy my Lambkins, or their Dambes,
And to each griefe such presente helpe apply,
As may preserue the smallest of my Lambes.
And if I see the Wolfe, the Brocke, the Foxe,
Or any varmin stealing downe a furrowe:
To make a praye among my prettie flocke,
Send out my Dog, and beate him to his borough.
And when I heare the Nightingale recorde,
The Musicke, wherein Nature pleaseth Arte:
To trie how loue can with her tune accorde,
To sound the passions of a painting hearte:
And when that shee her warbling Tunnes doth ease,
And shades her selfe from parching sommer's heate,
Then learne of her, how I may holde my peace,
While lesser Birdes, the idle ayre doe beate:
And when I sit vpon that sweetest mountaine,
Where growes the grasse, that feedes my fairest flockes,
And there beholde, that Christall cleerest fountaine,
That sendes her streames distilling through the Rockes.
And seeing there the heartes-ease growing by it,
The onely flower of fancie's best affection:
And thinke how Nature in her pride doth die it:
To put downe painting in her Arte's prefection.
Then lift mine eye vnto that hande on high,
That worketh all thinges by his holy will:
And giue all glory to this Maiestie:
Whose onely wisdome shewes all wonder skill.
Then on the earth fall humbly on my face,
And pray to him that made both day and night:
First to inspire me with his holy grace,
And then to blesse me in Aglaia's light.
And when I see the Trees beginne to Bud,
And euerye grasse, put foorth his fairest greene,
And euerie kidde begin to chew the Cudde,
And Flora haunt it like a Medowe Queene.
And all the Muses, dresse vp all their bowers,
And set their Consorts in so high a Key:
As if they met in Musicke's sweetest powers,
To play and sing some Princely Roundelay.
Then still againe vnto my God on high,
Giue all due prayse, who in his grace hath prooued,
Aglaia blesséd in his gratious eye:
That so doth liue of Creatures all beloued.

The description and praise of his fairest Loue.

Sonet. 2.

Vp on the Hill of happinesse,
In beautie's Gratious blessednes:
Bonerto's fairest Shepheardesse,
In wisdome's honors worthinesse:
Aglaia liues, long may shee liue,
The worth that doth this wonder giue.
An Eye in which faire beautie's light,
Hath none of Phœbus' killing sight:
But of a farre more heauenly Grace,
To warme the heart, not burne the face:
A fore-head that faire fronte of blisse,
That shewes where beautie gracéd is.
A Haire that holdes the heart's affections,
Euen by the eye of lawe's directions:
Which wauing finely in the ayre,
Describes the pride of Beauties faire,
While loue beholdes with vertue's eye,
There doth not lye a hayre awrie.
A cheeke the chaine of loue's best chaunce,
That pleaseth passion in his Traunce:
A lippe to loue, more kindely sweete,
Then Hiues where Hony-Bees do meete.
A breath that so the ayre perfumes,
As all corruptious sence consumes.
And for her teeth, no Granam studdes,
Nor like the Knagges of Blacke-thorne buddes:
But where conceites, are kindely met,
Like Orient Pearles, in Rubies set.
And for a Toung in reason's sence,
The Trumpet of true eloquence.
And for a wit in wisdome's will,
So gouernéd with gracious skill:
That Admiration best can tell,
Where excellence doth truely dwell.
And for a spirite to that wit:
The world too weake to iudge of it.

11

I speake not of inferiour partes,
Nor of their prayses due desartes:
I rather loue my thoughts to raise,
To blesséd spirits and their prayse.
And where the best is set before:
But name Aglaia and no more.
But if I had the painter's Arte,
To set a glasse on euery parte,
Her necke should seeme a piller fit,
For to vpholde the state of wit.
Whose smoothnesse would amase his sight:
When he should sit to paint the white.
Her Brestes should be those Balles of blisse,
That loue and beautie neuer misse,
But if a stroke doe chaunce to fall:
The heart should answere for the ball.
While honor's eye should iudge the set,
What loue may loose, and vertue get.
Her armes should be those Angell bowes,
That blesséd wisdome onely knowes:
Her fingers, shaftes; that where they light,
Doe kill the eyes of idle sight:
While honor so guides Nature's eye:
There can no feather flye awry.
Her belly should that mountaine be,
That may put downe Parnassus hill:
Where Pallas might reioyce to see,
The subiects of her sweetest skill,
While all her Muses might deuise,
To judge of Nature's paradise.
But for that Marke of Modesty,
That sweares the silence of conceite:
While that descretion's carefull eye,
Is caried but to honor's height.
A Moone Eclipséd should descrie,
The daunger of a wickéd Eye.
Now for the nexte adioyning Limmes,
Where strength and straightnes both agree,
To showe how nature sweetely trimmes,
All partes wherein her prayses be:
Should Sampson's pillers figure plaine,
How all Philistians should be slaine.
Now for her legges, her knees and feete,
Which so euen carry euerie parte:
That beautie, loue, and honor meete.
To show the pride of Nature's arte:
I would but as I saide before,
But make her picture and no more.
But painting is too poore a skill,
Where colours can but shadowe showe
The Poet's wit too weake for will:
To speake of that he doth not knowe,
While onely Admiration
Must make her declaration.
And how shall I then silly swaine,
Once looke at such a pure aspect?
As but vertues gratious vaine,
My rudenes neuer would respect,
But rather leaue the lonely spring,
Then stay to heare the Shepheard sing.
Alas I know not, this is all,
I hope but from a hill of grace:
When heauenly fates will fauour fall,
A gratious heart, a gathering place.
Where I some little crum shall finde.
That may refresh a woeful minde.
Till when, and then, and euermore,
I will be but her Shepheard swaine;
And for my seruice seeke no more:
But on Petharé's Mountaine plaine,
I may one leaue my flocke to keepe,
And folde my Lambes, and feede my sheepe.
At Shearing time she shall commaund,
The finest fleece of all my wooll:
And if her pleasure but demaund,
The fattest from the leane to cull.
She shall be mistresse of my store:
Let mee alone to worke for more.
My cloake shall lie vpon the ground,
From wet and dust to keepe her feete:
My pipe with his best measure's sound,
Shall welcome her with musicke sweete.
And in my skrippe, some cates at least:
Shall bid her to a Shepheard's feast.
My staffe shall stay her, in her walke,
My dog shall at her heeles attend her:
And I will holde her with such talke,
As I doe hope shall not offend her,
My Eawes shall bleate, my Lambes shall play,
To shew her all the sport they may.
Why I will tell her twentie thinges,
That I haue heard my mother tell:
Of plucking of the Buzzard's winges,
For killing of her Cockerell,
And hunting Rainard to his denne,
For frighting of her sitting Hen.
How shee would say, when shee was young,
That Louers were ashamde to lie:
And truth was so on euerie tongue,
That Loue ment naught but honestie.
And Sirra (quoth shee) then to me
Let euer this thy lesson be.
Looke when thou louest, loue but one,
And let her worthy be thy loue:
Then loue her in thy heart alone,
And let her in thy passions prooue,
Aglaia all that in thy minde,
Within thy heart her loue shali finde.

12

And as shee bad, I haue obeyed,
I loue in heart but one alone:
Whose worthines my wits dismaid,
In finding such a worthy one.
As in Aglaia all doth prooue,
All under heauen my only loue.
And in that loue to liue and die,
And die, but in that loue to liue:
And loue that cannot liue to lie,
Shall for my truth this warrant giue:
My life or death, to saue or lose,
Shall in her loue be to dispose.
Her eyes shall be my Sunne to guide me,
Her hand shall holde me by the hearte,
Her censure onely shall decide me:
What I protest in euerie parte.
In heart to serue and loue her so,
As vnder heauen to loue no moe.
And if all this will not suffice,
To make her knowe an honest care,
Then shall shee see before her eyes,
Of what true forces passions are.
When silence discontent shall prooue,
How death shall make an ende of loue.
And yet before that finall houre,
Where passions play their latest parte,
When sweetes are seuer'd, from their sower,
While onely life is in the heart:
The last effect of loue to trie,
I will but make my will and die.
And I will tell her such fine tales,
As for the nonce, I will deuise:
Of Lapwinges and of Nightingales:
And how the Swallow feedes on flies.
And of the Hare, the Fox, the Hound,
The Pastor and the Medow ground.
And of the springes, and of the wood,
And of the Forrestes and the Deere,
And of the riuers and the floods,
And of the mirth and merrie cheere,
And of the lookes and of the glaunces,
Of Maides and young men in their daunces:
Of clapping handes, and drawing gloues,
And of the tokens of loue's truth,
And of the pretty Turtle Doues,
That teach the billinge trickes of youth.
And how they kindely ought to wooe,
Before the tother thing they doe.

Sonet. 3.

Foolish loue is onely folly,
Wanton Loue is too vnholly:
Greedy loue is couetous,
Idle loue is friuolous,
But the gratious loue is it:
That doth prooue the worth of wit.
Beautie but deceiues the eye,
Flatterie leades the eare awrye:
Welth doth but inchaunt the wit,
Want the ouerthrowe of it.
While in wisdome's worthy Grace,
Vertue sees the sweetest face.
There hath loue found out his life,
Peace without all thought of strife:
Kindenes in discretion's care,
Truth that clearely doth declare.
Faith doth in true fancy prooue,
Lust the excremente of loue.
Then in faith my fancie see,
How my loue may construéd bee,
How it growes, and what it seekes,
How it liues, and what it likes.
So in highest grace regarde it,
Or in lowest scorne discarde it.

Sonet. 4.

Tell mee, tell mee pretty Muse,
Canst thou neither will nor chuse,
But be busie with my braine,
Still to put my wits to paine?
Shall my heart within my brest,
Neuer haue an hower of Rest?
Idle humor what doth ayle thee?
Not a thought that can auayle thee:
Be thou neere so woe begon thee,
Beautie will not looke vpon thee,
Fortune wholy hath forlorne thee,
And for loue, it hath forsworne thee.
But if vertue haue procurd thee,
And that honour haue coniur'd thee.
In affection's royalty,
To discharge loue's loyaltie,
That the Eye of truth may see,
Then doe what thou wilt for me.
Worke my wit vnto thy will,
Keepe thy hammers working still:
Vse thine arte in euery thought,
With such temper to be wrought,
That Aglaia may aprooue,
Vertue's skill in framing Loue.
But if any labour lacke,
Or if either flawe or cracke
Make the mettall not so fine,
That the worke be not deuine,
And well fit for honour's store,
Neuer come at me no more.

13

Sonet. 5.

I care not what I say nor doe,
My thoughts are spent:
Since no conceite can bring me to
My heart's content:
I cannot speake and if I coulde,
It were in vaine:
And yet if that I could, I would
Reueale my payne.
But since it is to great to showe,
And I must bide it.
I leaue it to remorce to knowe,
How care doth hide it.
And sue but to those inward eyes
That see my heart,
To looke on patience how she dies:
In passion's smart.
And say what in themselues they see,
Where truth excelles:
I know the heart that honours mee
And loues none else.

Sonet. 6.

Fooles cannot know what fancie is,
Where wisdome findes true wit:
And who can euer ayme at blisse,
That hath no thought of it.
A shallow braine can neuer iudge,
The sweet or sower betweene:
For Vulcan was but held a drudge,
While Venus was a Queene.
A muddie spirite dwells in drosse,
While pure affection's fire,
Enflames the heart that feeles no crosse
To compasse his desire.
And sweetly doth conseale his griefe:
Who rather dies then begges reliefe.

Sonet. 7.

Pe tharco, I protest,
I will proclaime thy pride,
And what it is.
By that faire Phœnix nest,
Thy little hill doth hide,
In honor's blisse.
Enuie shall hate the place,
Where thou beholdest alone,
Loue's Paradice:
Vnworthy of the grace,
To see that worthy one,
Of Angelles eyes.
And I will raise againe,
The Poetes that are dead,
To raile on thee:
Because thou doste contriue,
The spirit that hath bred,
This death in me.
My best fancy, flye a franzye
Keepe desiring in admiring,
Beautie's nature in a creature:
Looue and honor looke vpon her,
Bid the graces, in their places,
To her beautie doe their duetie.
Thinke not vainely, but all plainely:
Say and sweare it, who shall heare it,
She is wholy, her selfe soly.
Nature's Iewell, reason's fuell,
Honor's treasure, Grace's pleasure,
Passions spelling, thoughts excelling.

Declaration, Admiration.

Sonet. 8.

Poets die all: in loue's triall,
Truth hath found yee,
Wonders feeding, on exceeding,
Doth confound yee.
Weake wittes perish, what can cherrish
Heart sicke fancy?
Wisdome seeing, in loue's being,
Reason's franzye
All Intentions, and inuentions
Of witte's wonder:
See the creature, in worthe's nature,
Keepe yee vnder.
To the Phœnix, beautie's Radix,
Would compare her.
Leaue your writing, no enditing,
And declare her.
Muses' silence, to loue's essence,
Doth resigne her,
Loue not daring in comparing
To define her.

Sonet. 9.

Faire faces are eyes' witches,
That but inchaunt the minde:
Fond humors reason's itches,
That but affection blinde.
While loue is but a mockery,
To cheate the world with foolerie.
Youth but a blaze of time,
Whome Age to ashes bringes:
Time but a weary chime,
That death to sorrowe ringes:
While wealth the weight of care doth prooue,
The world hath little what to loue.

14

Beautie is sildome wise,
Nor wit hath fortune friend,
And loue in Argus eyes
Findes Iealouzie a fiend.
While truth doth gaine so little grace,
As makes the world a woefull place.
And vertue is so poore,
Shee liues by pittie most:
While pride doth ope her doore,
But onely vnto cost.
And power is growne so daungerous,
As makes discretion timorous.
And fancie is so fickle,
That faith is in mistrust:
And friendship is so tickle,
That judgments prooues vniust.
While nature's blot in Reason's blame,
Doth shew the world a wicked frame.
Woordes are but blastes of breath,
Thoughts but the witte's illusion:
Deedes but desartes of death,
All but the worlde's confusion.
Where wordes and thoughts, and deedes doe trie,
The worlde wrapt vp in miserie.
What then on earth remaineth
That reason can discouer?
But that the heart disdaineth,
Which is the spirit's louer.
Saue that which wisdome findes in wit,
Is in the worlde but none of it.
For which conceal'd content,
In honor's carefull chest,
Wherein the spirit spent,
Is onely truely blest.
I will subscribe to reason's will,
To liue in purgatory still.
For such the worlde I finde,
A place where eyes may see,
What moste may glad the minde,
Yet neere the better be,
Because the world hath smallest parte,
Of that which moste doth please the hearte.
Then heauen's protest for me,
In spight of worldly spight:
Aglaia all shall be,
Where loue in honour's light,
In iudgements of discretion's eyes:
Doth make the world a Paradice.
For were it not thrise good,
In Nature, wit, and grace:
Where truth hath vnderstood,
The cleerenes of my Case,
My loue on earth should neuer dwell,
But hate the world as halfe a hell.
Then wherein goodnes showes,
The grace of fancie's blisse:
Which no Corruption knowes,
Nor earth come where it is:
Let me this true conclusion prooue,
I hate the world, but for thy loue.

Sonet. 10.

Faire eye spill me not,
Be of a better nature:
Sweet woordes kill me not,
But comforte a poore creature.
But if yee needes will spill me,
Let it bee with loue's blindenesse:
And if yee needes will kill me,
Let it bee with loue's kindnesse.
Then shall your worth be proouéd,
In prayse's high perfection:
And in that prayse belouéd,
In fancie's deere affection.
And looue in honor's residence,
Shall write but of your excellence.

Sonet. 11.

Pretty twinckling starry eyes,
How did Nature first deuise,
Such a sparkling in your sight,
As to giue loue such delight,
As to make him like a flye,
Play with lookes vntill he die?
Sure yee were not made at first,
For such mischiefe to be curst:
As to kill affection's care,
That doth onely truth declare.
Where worthe's wonders neuer wither,
Loue, and Beautie liue together.
Blesséd eyes then giue your blessing,
That in passion's best expressing:
Loue that onely liues to grace yee,
May not suffer pride deface yee.
But in gentle thoughte's directions,
Shew the praise of your perfections.
FINIS.