University of Virginia Library

IDEA. IN SIXTIE THREE SONNETS. BY Michael Drayton, ESQVIRE.

TO THE READER OF THESE SONNETS.

Into these Loves, who but for Passion lookes,
At this first sight, here let him lay them by,
And seeke else-where, in turning other Bookes,
Which better may his labour satisfie.
No farre-fetch'd Sigh shall ever wound my Brest,
Love from mine Eye a Teare shall never wring,
Nor in Ah-mees my whyning Sonnets drest,
(A Libertine) fantastickly I sing:
My Verse is the true image of my Mind,
Ever in motion, still desiring change;
And as thus to Varietie inclin'd,
So in all Humors sportively I range:
My Muse is rightly of the English straine,
That cannot long one Fashion intertaine.

1

[Like an adventurous Sea-farer am I]

Like an adventurous Sea-farer am I,
Who hath some long and dang'rous Voyage beene,
And call'd to tell of his Discoverie,
How farre he sayl'd, what Countries he had seene,
Proceeding from the Port whence he put forth,
Shewes by his Compasse, how his Course he steer'd,
When East, when West, when South, and when by North,
As how the Pole to ev'ry place was rear'd,
What Capes he doubled, of what Continent,
The Gulphes and Straits, that strangely he had past,
Where most becalm'd, where with foule Weather spent,
And on what Rocks in perill to be cast?
Thus in my Love, Time calls me to relate
My tedious Travels, and oft-varying Fate.

2

[My heart was slaine, and none but you and I]

My heart was slaine, and none but you and I:
Who should I thinke the Murther should commit?
Since, but your selfe, there was no Creature by,
But onely I, guiltlesse of murth'ring it.
It slew it selfe; the Verdict on the view
Doe quit the dead, and me not accessarie:
Well, well, I feare it will be prov'd by you,
Th'evidence so great a proofe doth carrie.
But O, see, see, we need inquire no further,
Upon your Lips the scarlet drops are found,
And in your Eye, the Boy that did the Murther,
Your Cheekes yet pale, since first he gave the Wound.
By this I see, how-ever things be past,
Yet Heav'n will still have Murther out at last.

3

[Taking my Penne, with Words to cast my Woe]

Taking my Penne, with Words to cast my Woe,
Duely to count the summe of all my cares,
I finde, my Griefes innumerable growe,
The reck'nings rise to millions of Despaires,
And thus dividing of my fatall Houres,
The paiments of my Love, I read, and crosse,
Substracting, set my Sweets unto my Sowres,
My Joyes arrerage leades me to my losse;
And thus mine Eies a debtor to thine Eye,
Which by Extortion gaineth all their lookes,
My heart hath paid such grievous Usurie,
That all their Wealth lies in thy beauties Bookes,
And all is Thine which hath been due to Me,
And I a Bankrupt, quite undone by Thee.

4

[Bright starre of Beauty, on whose eye-lids sit]

Bright starre of Beauty, on whose eye-lids sit
A thousand Nimph-like and inamor'd Graces,
The Goddesses of Memory and Wit,
Which there in order take their severall places,
In whose deare Bosome, sweet delicious Love
Layes downe his Quiver, which he once did beare:
Since he that blessed Paradise did prove,
And leaves his Mothers lap to sport him there,
Let others strive to entertaine with Words,
My Soule is of a braver Mettle made,
I hold that vile, which Vulgar wit affords;
In Me's that Faith which Time cannot invade.
Let what I praise, be still made good by you:
Be you most worthy, whilst I am most true.

5

[Nothing but No and I, and I and No]

Nothing but No and I, and I and No,
How fals it out so strangely you reply?
I tell yee (Faire) ile not be answered so,
With this affirming No, denying I.
I say, I Love, you sleightly answere I:
I say, You Love, you peule me out a No:
I say, I Die, you Eccho me with I:
Save mee I Crie, you sigh me out a No;
Must Woe and I, have naught but No and I?
No I, am I, if I no more can have;
Answere no more, with Silence make reply,
And let me take my selfe what I doe crave,
Let No and I, with I and you be so:
Then answere No and I, and I and No.

6

[How many paltry, foolish, painted things]

How many paltry, foolish, painted things,
That now in Coaches trouble ev'ry Street,
Shall be forgotten, whom no Poet sings,
Ere they be well wrap'd in their winding Sheet?
Where I to thee Eternitie shall give,
When nothing else remayneth of these dayes,
And Queenes hereafter shall be glad to live
Upon the Almes of thy superfluous prayse;
Virgins and Matrons reading these my Rimes,
Shall be so much delighted with thy story,
That they shall grieve, they liv'd not in these Times,
To have seene thee, their Sexes onely glory:
So shalt thou flye above the vulgar Throng,
Still to survive in my immortall Song.

7

[Love, in a Humor, play'd the Prodigall]

Love, in a Humor, play'd the Prodigall,
And bad my Senses to a solemne Feast;
Yet more to grace the Company withall,
Invites my Heart to be the chiefest Ghest:
No other Drinke would serve this Gluttons turne,
But precious Teares distilling from mine Eyne,
Which with my Sighes this Epicure doth burne,
Quaffing Carowses in this costly Wine;
Where, in his Cups o'rcome with foule Excesse,
Straightwayes he play's a swagg'ring Ruffins part,
And at the Banquet, in his Drunkennesse,
Slew his deare Friend, my kind and truest Heart:
A gentle warning (Friends) thus may you see,
What 'tis to keepe a Drunkard companie.

8

[There's nothing grieves me, but that Age should haste]

There's nothing grieves me, but that Age should haste,
That in my dayes I may not see thee old,
That where those two cleare sparkling Eyes are plac'd,
Onely two Loope-holes, then I might behold.
That lovely, arched, yvorie, pollish'd Brow,
Defac'd with Wrinkles, that I might but see;
Thy daintie Hayre, so curl'd, and crisped now,
Like grizzled Mosse upon some aged Tree;
Thy Cheeke, now flush with Roses, sunke, and leane,
Thy Lips, with age, as any Wafer thinne,
Thy Pearly Teeth out of thy Head so cleane,
That when thou feed'st, thy Nose shall touch thy Chinne:
These Lines that now thou scorn'st, which should delight thee,
Then would I make thee read, but to despight thee.

9

[As other Men, so I my selfe doe Muse]

As other Men, so I my selfe doe Muse,
Why in this sort I wrest Invention so,
And why these giddy Metaphors I use,
Leaving the Path the greater part doe goe;
I will resolve you; I am Lunaticke,
And ever this in Mad-men you shall finde,
What they last thought of, when the Braine grew sicke,
In most distraction they keepe that in Minde.
Thus talking idly in this Bedlam fit,
Reason and I (you must conceive) are twaine,
Tis nine yeeres now since first I lost my Wit,
Beare with Me then, though troubled be my Braine;
With Diet and Correction, Men distraught,
(Not too farre past) may to their Wits be brought.

10

[To nothing fitter can I Thee compare]

To nothing fitter can I Thee compare,
Then to the Sonne of some rich Penny-father,
Who having now brought on his end with Care,
Leaves to his Sonne all he had heap'd together;
This new rich Novice, lavish of his chest,
To one Man gives, doth on another spend,
Then heere he riots, yet amongst the rest,
Haps to lend some to one true honest Friend.
Thy Gifts thou in Obscuritie doest waste,
False Friends thy kindnesse, borne but to deceive Thee;
Thy Love, that is on the unworthy plac'd,
Time hath thy Beautie, which with Age will leave thee;
Onely that little which to Me was lent,
I give Thee backe, when all the rest is spent.

11

[You not alone, when You are still alone]

You not alone, when You are still alone,
O God from You, that I could private be,
Since You one were, I never since was one,
Since You in Me, my selfe since out of Me,
Transported from my Selfe, into Your being,
Though either distant, present yet to either,
Senselesse with too much Joy, each other each other seeing,
And onely absent, when Wee are together.
Give Me my Selfe, and take your Selfe againe,
Devise some meanes, but how I may forsake You,
So much is Mine, that doth with You remaine,
That taking what is Mine, with Me I take You;
You doe bewitch Me, O that I could flie,
From my Selfe You, or from your owne Selfe I.

12

[That learned Father, which so firmely proves]

That learned Father, which so firmely proves
The Soule of Man immortall and divine,
And doth the sev'rall Offices define:

Anima

Gives her that Name, as she the Body moves,

Amor

Then is she Love, imbracing Charitie,

Animus

Moving a Will in us, it is the Mind,

Mens

Retayning Knowledge, still the same in kind;

Memoria

As intellectuall, it is Memorie,

Ratio

In judging, Reason onely is her Name,

Sensus

In speedie apprehension, it is Sense,

Conscientia

In Right or Wrong, they call her Conscience,

Spiritus

The Spirit, when it to God-ward doth inflame:
These of the Soule the sev'rall Functions bee,
Which my Heart, lightned by thy Love, doth see.

13

[Letters and Lines we see are soone defaced]

Letters and Lines we see are soone defaced,

To the Shadow.

Metals doe waste, and fret with Cankers Rust,
The Diamond shall once consume to Dust,
And freshest Colours with foule staynes disgraced:
Paper and Inke can paint but naked Words,
To write with Bloud, of force offends the Sight;
And if with Teares I find them all too light,
And Sighes and Signes a silly Hope affords,
O sweetest Shadow, how thou serv'st my turne!
Which still shalt be, as long as there is Sunne;
Nor whilst the World is, never shall be done,
Whilst Moone shall shine, or any Fire shall burne:
That ev'ry thing whence Shadow doth proceed,
May in his Shadow my Loves storie read.

14

[If he, from Heav'n that filch'd that living Fire]

If he, from Heav'n that filch'd that living Fire,
Condemn'd by Jove to endlesse Torment bee,
I greatly marvell, how you still goe free,
That farre beyond Prometheus did aspire:
The Fire he stole, although of Heav'nly kind,
Which from above he craftily did take,
Of livelesse Clods, us living Men to make,
He did bestow in temper of the Mind.
But you broke into Heav'ns immortall store,
Where Vertue, Honour, Wit, and Beautie lay;
Which taking thence, you have escap'd away,
Yet stand as free as ere you did before:
Yet old Prometheus punish'd for his Rape.
Thus poore Theeves suffer, when the greater scape.

15

[Since to obtaine thee, nothing me will sted]

Since to obtaine thee, nothing me will sted,
I have a Med'cine that shall cure my Love,
The powder of her Heart dry'd, when she is dead,
That Gold nor Honour ne'r had pow'r to move;
Mix'd with her Teares, that ne'r her true-Love crost,
Nor at Fifteene ne'r long'd to be a Bride,
Boyl'd with her Sighes, in giving up the Ghost,
That for her late deceased Husband dy'd;
Into the same then let a Woman breathe,
That being chid, did never word replie,
With one thrice-marry'd's Pray'rs, that did bequeath
A Legacie to stale Virginitie.
If this Receit have not the pow'r to winne me,
Little Ile say, but thinke the Devill's in me.

16

['Mongst all the Creatures in this spacious Round]

'Mongst all the Creatures in this spacious Round,
Of the Birds kind, the Phœnix is alone,
Which best by you, of living Things, is knowne;
None like to that, none like to you is found:
Your Beautie is the hot and splend'rous Sunne,
The precious Spices be your chaste Desire,
Which being kindled by that heav'nly fire,
Your Life so like the Phœnix's begun;
Your selfe thus burned in that sacred flame,
With so rare sweetnesse all the Heav'ns perfuming,
Againe increasing, as you are consuming,
Onely by dying, borne the very same:
And wing'd by Fame, you to the Starres ascend,
So you of Time shall live beyond the End.

17

[Stay, speedy Time, behold, before thou passe]

Stay, speedy Time, behold, before thou passe,

To Time.

From Age to Age, what thou hast sought to see,
One, in whom all the Excellencies be,
In whom, Heav'n lookes it selfe as in a Glasse:
Time, looke thou too, in this Tralucent Glasse,
And thy Youth past, in this pure Mirrour see,
As the World's Beautie in his Infancie,
What it was then, and thou before it was;
Passe on, and to Posteritie tell this,
Yet see thou tell, but truly, what hath beene:
Say to our Nephewes, that thou once hast seene,
In perfect humane shape, all heav'nly Blisse;
And bid them mourne, nay more, despaire with thee,
That she is gone, her like againe to see.

18

[To this our World, to Learning, and to Heaven]

To this our World, to Learning, and to Heaven,

To the Celestiall Numbers.

Three Nines there are, to every one a Nine,
One number of the Earth, the other both Divine,
One Woman now, makes three odde Numbers even;
Nine orders first of Angels be in Heaven,
Nine Muses doe with Learning still frequent,
These with the Gods are ever resident;
Nine worthie Women to the World were given:
My worthy, One to these Nine Worthies addeth,
And my faire Muse, one Muse unto the Nine,
And my good Angell (in my Soule divine)
With one more Order, these nine Orders gladdeth:
My Muse, my Worthy, and my Angel then,
Makes every One of these three Nines a Ten.

19

[You cannot love, my prettie Heart, and why?]

You cannot love, my prettie Heart, and why?
There was a time, You told Me that you would,
But now againe You will the same denie,
If it might please You, would to God You could;
What, will You hate? nay that You will not neither,
Nor Love, nor Hate, how then? what will You doe?
What will You keepe a meane then betwixt either?
Or will You love Me, and yet hate Me too?
Yet serves not This: what next, what other Shift?
You Will, and Will not, what a coyle is here?
I see Your craft, now I perceive Your drift,
And all this while, I was mistaken there:
Your Love and Hate is this, I now doe prove You,
You love in Hate, by Hate to make Me love You.

20

[An evill spirit your beautie haunts Me still]

An evill spirit your beautie haunts Me still,
Where with (alas) I have beene long possest,
Which ceaseth not to tempt Me to each Ill,
Nor gives Me once, but one poore minutes rest:
In Me it speakes, whether I Sleepe or Wake,
And when by Meanes, to drive it out I try,
With greater Torments, then it Me doth take,
And tortures Me in most extremity;
Before my Face, it layes downe my Despaires,
And hastes Me on unto a sudden Death;
Now tempting Me, to drowne my Selfe in teares,
And then in sighing, to give up my breath;
Thus am I still provok'd, to every Evill,
By this good wicked Spirit, sweet Angell Devill.

21

[A witlesse Gallant, a young Wench that woo'd]

A witlesse Gallant, a young Wench that woo'd,
(Yet his dull Spirit her not one jot could move)
Intreated me, as e'r I wish'd his good,
To write him but one Sonnet to his Love:
When I, as fast as e'r my Penne could trot,
Powr'd out what first from quicke Invention came;
Nor never stood one word thereof to blot,
Much like his Wit, that was to use the same:
But with my Verses he his Mistres wonne,
Who doted on the Dolt beyond all measure.
But see, for you to Heav'n for Phraze I runne,
And ransacke all Apollo's golden Treasure;
Yet by my Froth, this Foole his Love obtaines,
And I lose you, for all my Wit and Paines.

22

[With Fooles and Children good Discretion beares]

With Fooles and Children good Discretion beares;

To Folly.

Then honest People, beare with Love and Me,
Nor older yet, nor wiser made by yeeres,
Amongst the rest of Fooles and Children be:
Love still a Baby, playes with Gawdes and Toyes,
And like a Wanton, sports with ev'ry Fether;
And Ideots still are running after Boyes,
Then Fooles and Children fitt'st to goe together:
He still as young as when he first was borne,
No wiser I, then when as young as he.
You that behold us, laugh us not to scorne,
Give Nature thankes, you are not such as we:
Yet Fooles and Children sometimes tell in play,
Some wise in shew, more Fooles indeed then they.

23

[Love banish'd Heav'n, in Earth was held in scorne]

Love banish'd Heav'n, in Earth was held in scorne,
Wand'ring abroad in Need and Beggerie;
And wanting Friends, though of a Goddesse borne,
Yet crav'd the Almes of such as passed by:
I, like a Man devout, and charitable,
Clothed the Naked, lodg'd this wand'ring Ghest,
With Sighes and Teares still furnishing his Table,
With what might make the Miserable blest.
But this ungratefull, for my good desert,
Intic'd my Thoughts, against me to conspire,
Who gave consent to steale away my Heart,
And set my Brest, his Lodging, on a fire.
Well, well, my Friends, when Beggers grow thus bold,
No marvell then though Charitie grow cold.

24

[I heare some say, this Man is not in love]

I heare some say, this Man is not in love:
Who? can he love? a likely thing, they say;
Reade but his Verse, and it will eas'ly prove.
O, judge not rashly (gentle Sir) I pray,
Because I loosely trifle in this sort,
As one that faine his Sorrowes would beguile:
You now suppose me all this time in sport,
And please your selfe with this Conceit the while;
Yee shallow Censures, sometime see yee not,
In greatest Perils some Men pleasant be,
Where Fame by Death is onely to be got,
They resolute? so stands the case with me;
Where other Men in depth of Passion crie,
I laugh at Fortune, as in jest to die.

25

[O, why should Nature niggardly restraine!]

O, why should Nature niggardly restraine!
That Foraine Nations rellish not our Tongue,
Else should my Lines glide on the Waves of Rhene,
And crowne the Piren's with my living Song:
But bounded thus, to Scotland get you forth,
Thence take you Wing unto the Orcades,
There let my Verse get glory in the North,
Making my Sighes to thaw the Frozen Seas;
And let the Bards within that Irish Ile,
To whom my Muse with fierie Wings shall passe,
Call backe the stiffe-neck'd Rebels from Exile,
And mollifie the slaught'ring Galliglasse;
And when my flowing Numbers they rehearse,
Let Wolves and Beares be charmed with my Verse.

26

[I ever love, where never Hope appeares]

I ever love, where never Hope appeares,

To Despaire.

Yet Hope drawes on my never-hoping Care,
And my Lives Hope would die, but for Despaire.
My never-certaine Joy breeds ever-certaine Feares,
Uncertaine Dread gives Wings unto my Hope;
Yet my Hopes Wings are laden so with Feare,
As they cannot ascend to my Hope's Sphere;
Though Feare gives them more then a Heav'nly Scope,
Yet this large Roome is bounded with Despaire,
So my Love is still fett'red with vaine Hope,
And Liberty deprives him of his Scope,
And thus am I imprison'd in the Aire:
Then, sweet Despaire, awhile hold up thy head,
Or all my Hope for Sorrow will be dead.

27

[Is not Love here, as 'tis in other Clymes]

Is not Love here, as 'tis in other Clymes,
And diff'reth it, as doe the sev'rall Nations?
Or hath it lost the Vertue, with the Times,
Or in this Iland alt'reth with the Fashions?
Or have our Passions lesser pow'r then theirs,
Who had lesse Art them lively to expresse?
Is Nature growne lesse pow'rfull in their Heires,
Or in our Fathers did she more transgresse?
I am sure my Sighes come from a Heart as true,
As any Mans, that Memory can boast,
And my Respects and Services to you
Equall with his, that loves his Mistres most:
Or Nature must be partiall in my Cause,
Or onely you doe violate her Lawes.

28

[To such as say, Thy Love I over-prize]

To such as say, Thy Love I over-prize,
And doe not sticke to terme my Prayses folly;
Against these Folkes, that thinke themselves so wise,
I thus oppose my Reasons forces wholly:
Though I give more then well affords my state,
In which expence, the most suppose me vaine,
Which yeelds them nothing, at the easiest rate,
Yet at this price returnes me treble gaine.
They value not, unskilfull how to use,
And I give much, because I gaine thereby:
I that thus take, or they that thus refuse,
Whether are these deceived then, or I?
In ev'ry thing I hold this Maxim still,
The Circumstance doth make it good, or ill.

29

[When conqu'ring Love did first my Heart assayle]

When conqu'ring Love did first my Heart assayle,

To the Senses.

Unto mine aid I summon'd ev'ry Sense,
Doubting, if that proud Tyrant should prevayle,
My Heart should suffer for mine Eyes Offence;
But he with Beautie first corrupted Sight,
My Hearing brib'd with her Tongues Harmonie,
My Taste by her sweet Lips drawne with Delight,
My Smelling wonne with her Breath's Spicerie:
But when my Touching came to play his part,
(The King of Senses, greater then the rest)
He yeelds Love up the Keyes unto my Heart,
And tells the other, how they should be blest.
And thus by those of whom I hop'd for ayd,
To cruell Love my Soule was first betray'd.

30

[Those Priests which first the Vestall Fire begun]

Those Priests which first the Vestall Fire begun,

To the Vestals.

Which might be borrow'd from no Earthly flame,
Devis'd a Vessell to receive the Sunne,
Being stedfastly opposed to the same:
Where, with sweet Wood, layd curiously by Art,
On which the Sunne might by reflection beat,
Receiving strength from ev'ry secret part,
The Fuell kindled with Celestiall Heat.
Thy blessed Eyes, the Sunne which lights this Fire,
My holy Thoughts, they be the Vestall flame,
The precious Odors be my chaste Desire,
My Brest's the Vessell, which includes the same:
Thou art my Vesta, thou my Goddesse art,
Thy hallow'd Temple onely is my Heart.

31

[Me thinkes I see some crooked Mimicke jeere]

Me thinkes I see some crooked Mimicke jeere,
And taxe my Muse with this fantasticke Grace,
Turning my Papers, askes, What have we heere?
Making withall some filthy Antike Face.
I feare no censure, nor what thou canst say,
Nor shall my Spirit one jot of vigour lose.
Think'st thou, my Wit shall keepe the pack-Horse Way,
That ev'ry Dudgen low Invention goes?
Since Sonnets thus in Bundles are imprest,
And ev'ry Drudge doth dull our satiate Eare;
Think'st thou my Love shall in those Ragges be drest,
That ev'ry Dowdy, ev'ry Trull doth weare?
Up, to my Pitch, no common Judgement flyes,
I scorne all Earthly Dung-bred Scarabies.

32

[Our Flouds-Queen Thames, for Ships & Swans is crowned]

Our Flouds-Queen Thames, for Ships & Swans is crowned,
And stately Severne for her Shoare is praysed,
The Crystall Trent, for Foords and Fish renowned,
And Avons Fame, to Albions Cliffes is raysed,
Carlegion Chester vaunts her holy Dee,
Yorke many Wonders of her Owse can tell,
The Peake her Dove, whose Bankes so fertile be,
And Kent will say, her Medway doth excell,
Cotswold commends her Isis to the Tame,
Our Northerne Borders boast of Tweeds faire Floud,
Our Westerne Parts extoll their Wilis Fame,
And the old Lea brags of the Danish Bloud;
Ardens sweet Ankor, let thy glory bee,
That faire Idea onely lives by thee.

33

[Whilst yet mine Eyes doe surfet with Delight]

Whilst yet mine Eyes doe surfet with Delight,

To Imagination.

My wofull Heart, imprison'd in my Brest,
Wisheth to be transformed to my Sight,
That it, like those, by looking might be blest:
But whilst mine Eyes thus greedily doe gaze,
Finding their Objects over-soone depart,
These now the others Happinesse doe prayse,
Wishing themselves, that they had beene my Heart;
That Eyes were Heart, or that the Heart were Eyes,
As covetous the others use to have:
But finding Nature their request denyes,
This to each other mutually they crave;
That since the one cannot the other bee,
That Eyes could thinke of that my Heart could see.

34

[Marvell not, Love, though I thy pow'r admire]

Marvell not, Love, though I thy pow'r admire,

To Admiration.

Ravish'd a World beyond the farthest Thought,
And knowing more then ever hath beene taught,
That I am onely starv'd in my desire;
Marvell not, Love, though I thy pow'r admire,
Ayming at things exceeding all perfection,
To Wisedome's selfe to minister direction,
That I am onely starv'd in my desire;
Marvell not, Love, though I thy pow'r admire,
Though my Conceit I further seeme to bend,
Then possibly Invention can extend,
And yet am onely starv'd in my desire:
If thou wilt wonder, here's the wonder, Love,
That this to me doth yet no wonder prove.

35

[Some misbeleeving, and prophane in Love]

Some misbeleeving, and prophane in Love,
When I doe speake of Miracles by thee,
May say, that thou art flattered by mee,
Who onely write, my skill in Verse to prove;
See Miracles, ye unbeleeving, see,
A dumbe-borne Muse made to expresse the Mind,
A cripple Hand to write, yet lame by Kind,
One by thy Name, the other touching thee;
Blind were mine Eyes, till they were seene of thine,
And mine Eares deafe, by thy Fame healed bee,
My Vices cur'd, by Vertues sprung from thee,
My Hopes reviv'd, which long in Grave had lyne:
All uncleane Thoughts, foule Spirits cast out in mee,
Onely by Vertue that proceeds from thee.

36

[Thou purblind Boy, since thou hast beene so slacke]

Thou purblind Boy, since thou hast beene so slacke,
To wound her Heart, whose Eyes have wounded me,
And suff'red her to glory in my Wracke,
Thus to my aid, I lastly conjure thee;
By Hellish Styx (by which the Thund'rer sweares)
By thy faire Mothers unavoided Power,
By Hecat's Names, by Proserpine's sad Teares,
When she was rapt to the infernall Bower;
By thine owne loved Psyches, by the Fires
Spent on thine Altars, flaming up to Heav'n;
By all true Lovers Sighes, Vowes, and Desires,
By all the Wounds that ever thou hast giv'n;
I conjure thee by all that I have nam'd,
To make her love, or Cupid be thou damn'd.

37

[Deare, why should you command me to my Rest]

Deare, why should you command me to my Rest,
When now the Night doth summon all to sleepe?
Me thinkes this Time becommeth Lovers best;
Night was ordayn'd, together Friends to keepe:
How happy are all other living Things,
Which though the Day dis-joyne by sev'rall flight,
The quiet Ev'ning yet together brings,
And each returnes unto his Love at Night?
O, Thou that art so courteous else to all!
Why should'st thou, Night, abuse me onely thus,
That ev'ry Creature to his kind do'st call,
And yet 'tis thou do'st onely sever us?
Well could I wish, it would be ever Day,
If when Night comes, you bid me goe away.

38

[Sitting alone, Love bids me goe and write]

Sitting alone, Love bids me goe and write;
Reason plucks back, commanding me to stay,
Boasting, that she doth still direct the way,
Or else Love were unable to indite:
Love growing angry, vexed at the Spleene,
And scorning Reason's maymed Argument,
Straight taxeth Reason, wanting to invent,
Where she with Love conversing hath not beene;
Reason reproched with this coy Disdaine,
Despiteth Love, and laugheth at her Folly;
And Love contemning Reasons reason wholly,
Thought it in weight too light by many a Graine:
Reason put back, doth out of sight remove,
And Love alone picks reason out of love.

39

[Some, when in Ryme, they of their Loves doe tell]

Some, when in Ryme, they of their Loves doe tell,
With Flames and Lightnings their Exordiums paint,
Some call on Heaven, some invocate on Hell,
And Fates and Furies, with their woes acquaint,
Elizium is too high a seate for Me,
I will not come in Stix or Phlegeton,
The thrice-three Muses but too wanton be,
Like they that Lust, I care not, I will none.
Spightfull Erinnis frights Me with her Lookes,
My man-hood dares not with foule Ate mell,
I quake to looke on Hecat's charming Bookes,
I still feare Bug-beares in Apollo's Cell.
I passe not for Minerva, nor Astrea,
Onely I call on my divine Idea.

40

[My Heart the Anvile, where my Thoughts doe beate]

My Heart the Anvile, where my Thoughts doe beate,
My Words the Hammers, fashioning my desire,
My Brest the Forge, including all the heate,
Love is the Fewell, which maintaines the fire;
My Sighes the Bellowes, which the Flame encreaseth,
Filling mine Eares with Noise, and Nightly groning,
Toyling with Paine, my Labour never ceaseth,
In grievous Passions, my Woes still bemoning:
My Eyes with Teares against the fire striving,
Whose scorching gleed, my heart to Cinders turneth;
But with those Drops, the Flame againe reviving,
Still more and more it to my torment burneth:
With Sisiphus thus doe I role the stone,
And turne the Wheele with damned Ixion.

41

[Why doe I speake of Joy, or write of Love]

Why doe I speake of Joy, or write of Love,

Loves Lunacie.

When my Heart is the very Den of Horror,
And in my Soule the paines of Hell I prove,
With all his Torments and Infernall terror?
What should I say? what yet remaines to doe?
My Braine is drie with weeping all too long,
My Sighes be spent in utt'ring of my Woe,
And I want words, wherewith to tell my Wrong:
But still distracted in Loves Lunacie,
And Bedlam-like, thus raving in my Griefe,
Now raile upon her Haire, then on her Eye;
Now call her Goddesse, then I call her Thiefe;
Now I deny Her, then I doe confesse Her,
Now doe I curse Her, then againe I blesse Her.

42

[Some Men there be, which like my Method well]

Some Men there be, which like my Method well,
And much commend the strangenesse of my Vaine:
Some say, I have a passing pleasing Straine,
Some say, That in my Humor I excell;
Some, who not kindly rellish my Conceit,
They say (As Poets doe) I use to faine,
And in bare words paint out my Passions paine;
Thus sundry Men their sundry Minds repeat:
I passe not, I, how Men affected bee,
Nor who commends, or discommends my Verse;
It pleaseth me, if I my Woes rehearse,
And in my Lines, if she my love may see:
Onely my comfort still consists in this,
Writing her prayse, I cannot write amisse.

43

[Why should your faire Eyes with such sov'raigne grace]

Why should your faire Eyes with such sov'raigne grace
Disperse their Rayes on ev'ry vulgar Spirit,
Whilst I in darkenesse, in the selfe-same place,
Get not one glance, to recompence my Merit?
So doth the Plow-man gaze the wand'ring Starre,
And onely rest contented with the Light,
That never learn'd what Constellations are,
Beyond the bent of his unknowing Sight.
O, why should Beautie (Custome to obey)
To their grosse Sense apply her selfe so ill!
Would God I were as ignorant as they,
When I am made unhappy by my skill;
Onely compell'd on this poore good to boast,
Heav'ns are not kind to them, that know them most.

44

[Whilst thus my Pen strives to eternize thee]

Whilst thus my Pen strives to eternize thee,
Age rules my Lines with Wrinkles in my Face,
Where, in the Map of all my Miserie,
Is model'd out the World of my Disgrace;
Whilst in despite of tyrannizing Times,
Medea-like, I make thee young againe,
Proudly thou scorn'st my World-out-wearing Rimes,
And murther'st Vertue with thy coy disdaine:
And though in youth, my Youth untimely perish,
To keepe Thee from Oblivion and the Grave,
Ensuing Ages yet my Rimes shall cherish,
Where I intomb'd, my better part shall save;
And though this Earthly Body fade and die,
My Name shall mount upon Eternitie.

45

[Muses which sadly sit about my Chayre]

Muses which sadly sit about my Chayre,
Drown'd in the Teares, extorted by my Lines,
With heavie Sighes whilst thus I breake the Ayre,
Painting my Passions in these sad Designes;
Since she disdaines to blesse my happie Verse,
The strong-built Trophies to her living Fame,
Ever henceforth my Bosome be your Hearse,
Wherein the World shall now intombe her Name;
Inclose my Musike, you poore senselesse Walls,
Sith she is deafe, and will not heare my Mones,
Soften your selves with ev'ry Teare that falls,
Whilst I like Orpheus sing to Trees and Stones;
Which with my plaint seeme yet with pittie moved,
Kinder then she whom I so long have loved.

46

[Plaine-path'd Experience, th'unlearneds guide]

Plaine-path'd Experience, th'unlearneds guide,
Her simple Followers evidently shewes
Sometimes what Schoole-men scarcely can decide,
Nor yet wise Reason absolutely knowes:
In making tryall of a Murther wrought,
If the vile actors of the heynous deed
Neere the dead Body happily be brought,
Oft 't'ath been prov'd, the breathlesse Coarse will bleed.
She comming neere, that my poore Heart hath slaine,
Long since departed (to the World no more)
Th'ancient Wounds no longer can containe,
But fall to bleeding, as they did before:
But what of this? Should she to death be led,
It furthers Justice, but helpes not the dead.

47

[In pride of Wit, when high desire of Fame]

In pride of Wit, when high desire of Fame
Gave Life and Courage to my lab'ring Pen,
And first the sound and vertue of my Name
Wonne grace and credit in the Eares of Men;
With those the thronged Theaters that presse,
I in the Circuit for the Lawrell strove:
Where, the full Prayse I freely must confesse,
In heat of Bloud, a modest Mind might move.
With Showts and Claps at ev'ry little pawse,
When the proud Round on ev'ry side hath rung,
Sadly I sit, unmov'd with the Applause,
As though to me it nothing did belong:
No publike Glorie vainely I pursue,
All that I seeke, is to eternize you.

48

[Cupid, I hate thee, which I'de have thee know]

Cupid, I hate thee, which I'de have thee know,
A naked Starveling ever may'st thou be,
Poore Rogue, goe pawne thy Fascia and thy Bow,
For some few Ragges, wherewith to cover thee;
Or if thou'lt not, thy Archerie forbeare,
To some base Rustick doe thy selfe preferre,
And when Corne's sowne, or growne into the Eare,
Practise thy Quiver, and turne Crow-keeper;
Or being Blind (as fittest for the Trade)
Goe hyre thy selfe some bungling Harpers Boy;
They that are blind, are Minstrels often made,
So may'st thou live, to thy faire Mothers Joy:
That whilst with Mars she holdeth her old Way,
Thou, her blind Sonne, may'st sit by them, and play.

49

[Thou Leaden Braine, which censur'st what I write]

Thou Leaden Braine, which censur'st what I write,
And say'st, my Lines be dull, and doe not move;
I marvell not, thou feel'st not my Delight,
Which never felt'st my fierie touch of Love:
But thou, whose Pen hath like a Packe-Horse serv'd,
Whose Stomack unto Gall hath turn'd thy Food,
Whose Senses, like poore Pris'ners, hunger-starv'd,
Whose Griefe hath parch'd thy Body, dry'd thy Blood;
Thou which hast scorned Life, and hated Death,
And in a moment Mad, Sober, Glad, and Sorrie;
Thou which hast bann'd thy Thoughts, and curst thy Birth,
With thousand Plagues, more then in Purgatorie:
Thou, thus whose Spirit Love in his fire refines,
Come thou and reade, admire, applaud my Lines.

50

[As in some Countries, farre remote from hence]

As in some Countries, farre remote from hence,
The wretched Creature, destined to die,
Having the Judgement due to his Offence,
By Surgeons beg'd, their Art on him to trie,
Which on the Living worke without remorse,
First make incision on each mast'ring Veine,
Then stanch the bleeding, then trans-pierce the Coarse,
And with their Balmes recure the Wounds againe;
Then Poyson, and with Physike him restore:
Not that they feare the hope-lesse Man to kill,
But their Experience to increase the more:
Ev'n so my Mistres workes upon my Ill;
By curing me, and killing me each How'r,
Onely to shew her Beauties Sov'raigne Pow'r.

51

[Calling to minde since first my Love begun]

Calling to minde since first my Love begun,
Th'incertaine Times oft varying in their Course,
How Things still unexpectedly have runne,
As't please the Fates, by their resistlesse force:
Lastly, mine Eyes amazedly have seene
Essex great fall, Tyrone his Peace to gaine,
The quiet end of that Long-living Queene,
This Kings faire Entrance, and our Peace with Spaine,
We and the Dutch at length our Selves to sever;
Thus the World doth, and evermore shall Reele:
Yet to my Goddesse am I constant ever;
How e're blind Fortune turne her giddie Wheele:
Though Heaven and Earth, prove both to me untrue,
Yet am I still inviolate to You.

52

[What do'st thou meane to Cheate me of my Heart]

What do'st thou meane to Cheate me of my Heart
To take all Mine, and give me none againe?
Or have thine Eyes such Magike, or that Art,
That what They get, They ever doe retaine,
Play not the Tyrant, but take some Remorse,
Rebate thy Spleene, if but for Pitties sake;
Or Cruell, if thou can'st not; let us scorse,
And for one piece of Thine, my whole heart take.
But what of Pitty doe I speake to Thee,
Whose Brest is proofe against Complaint or Prayer?
Or can I thinke what my Reward shall be
From that proud Beauty, which was my betrayer?
What talke I of a Heart, when thou hast none?
Or if thou hast, it is a flinty one.

53

[Cleere Ankor, on whose Silver-sanded shore]

Cleere Ankor, on whose Silver-sanded shore,

Another to the River Ankor.

My Soule-shrin'd Saint, my faire Idea lies,
O blessed Brooke, whose milke-white Swans adore,
Thy Cristall streame refined by her Eyes,
Where sweet Myrrh-breathing Zephire in the Spring,
Gently distills his Nectar-dropping showres,
Where Nightingales in Arden sit and sing,
Amongst the daintie Dew-impearled flowres;
Say thus faire Brooke, when thou shalt see thy Queene,
Loe, heere thy Shepheard spent his wandring yeeres;
And in these Shades, deare Nymph, he oft hath beene,
And heere to Thee he sacrific'd his Teares:
Faire Arden, thou my Tempe art alone,
And thou, sweet Ankor, art my Helicon.

54

[Yet reade at last the storie of my Woe]

Yet reade at last the storie of my Woe,
The drerie abstracts of my endlesse Cares,
With my Life's Sorrow interlined so,
Smoak'd with my Sighes, and blotted with my Teares;
The sad Memorialls of my Miseries,
Pen'd in the griefe of mine afflicted Ghost,
My Lives complaint in dolefull Elegies,
With so pure Love, as Time could never boast;
Receive the Incense which I offer here,
By my strong Faith ascending to thy Fame,
My Zeale, my Hope, my Vowes, my Prayse, my Pray'r,
My Soule's Oblations to thy sacred Name:
Which Name my Muse to highest Heav'ns shall rayse,
By chaste Desire, true Love, and vertuous Prayse.

55

[My faire, if thou wilt register my love]

My faire, if thou wilt register my love,
A World of Volumes shall thereof arise:
Preserve my Teares, and thou thy Selfe shalt prove
A second Floud, downe rayning from mine Eyes:
Note but my Sighes, and thine Eyes shall behold
The Sun-beames smothered with immortall Smoke,
And if by Thee my Prayers may be enrol'd
They Heaven and Earth to pitty shall provoke;
Looke Thou into my brest, and Thou shalt see
Chaste holy Vowes for my Soules sacrifice,
That Soule (sweet Maid) which so hath honor'd Thee,
Erecting Trophies to thy Sacred Eyes,
Those Eyes to my Heart shining ever bright,
When Darknesse hath obscur'd each other Light.

56

[When like an Eaglet I first found my Love]

When like an Eaglet I first found my Love,
For that the vertue I thereof would know,
Upon the Nest I set it forth, to prove
If it were of that Kingly kind, or no:
But it no sooner saw my Sunne appeare,
But on her Rayes with open Eyes it stood,
To shew, that I had hatch'd it for the Ayre,
And rightly came from that brave mounting Brood;
And when the Plumes were summ'd with sweet desire,
To prove the Pynions, it ascends the Skyes;
Doe what I could, it needsly would aspire
To my Soules Sunne, those two Celestiall Eyes:
Thus from my Brest, where it was bred alone,
It after thee, is like an Eaglet flowne.

57

[You best discern'd of my Minds inward Eyes]

You best discern'd of my Minds inward Eyes,
And yet your Graces outwardly Divine,
Whose deare remembrance in my Bosome lyes,
Too rich a Relique for so poore a Shrine:
You, in whom Nature chose her selfe to view,
When she her owne perfection would admire,
Bestowing all her Excellence on you;
At whose pure Eyes, Love lights his hallow'd Fire,
Ev'n as a Man that in some Trance hath seene
More then his wond'ring utt'rance can unfold,
That rapt in Spirit, in better Worlds hath beene,
So must your prayse distractedly be told;
Most of all short, when I should shew you most,
In your perfections so much am I lost.

58

[In former times, such as had store of Coyne]

In former times, such as had store of Coyne,
In Warres at home, or when for Conquests bound,
For feare that some their Treasure should purloyne,
Gave it to keepe to Spirits within the Ground;
And to attend it, them as strongly ty'd,
Till they return'd: Home when they never came,
Such as by Art to get the same have try'd,
From the strong Spirit by no meanes force the same;
Neerer Men come, That further flyes away,
Striving to hold it strongly in the Deepe:
Ev'n as this Spirit, so you alone doe play
With those rich Beauties Heav'n gives you to keepe:
Pittie so left, to th'coldnesse of your Blood,
Not to availe you, nor doe others good.

59

[As love and I, late harbour'd in one Inne]

As love and I, late harbour'd in one Inne,
With Proverbs thus each other intertaine:
In Love there is no lack, thus I begin,
Faire words make Fooles, replyeth he againe;
Who spares to speake, doth spare to speed (quoth I)
As well (sayth he) too forward, as too slow;
Fortune assists the boldest, I reply,
A hastie Man (quoth he) ne'r wanted Woe;
Labour is light, where Love (quoth I) doth pay,
(Saith he) Light Burthen's heavy, if farre borne;
(Quoth I) The Maine lost, cast the By away;
You have spunne a faire Thred, he replyes in scorne.
And having thus awhile each other thwarted,
Fooles as we met, so Fooles againe we parted.

60

[Define my Weale, and tell the joyes of Heaven]

Define my Weale, and tell the joyes of Heaven,
Expresse my Woes, and shew the paines of Hell,
Declare what Fate unlucky Starres have given,
And aske a World upon my Life to dwell.
Make knowne the Faith, that Fortune could not move,
Compare my Worth with others base Desert,
Let Vertue be the Touch-stone of my Love,
So may the Heavens read wonders in my Heart;
Behold the Clouds which have eclips'd my Sunne,
And view the Crosses which my course doe let,
Tell Me, if ever since the World begunne,
So Faire a rising, had so Foule a set:
And see if Time (if he would strive to prove)
Can shew a Second to so pure a Love.

61

[Since ther's no helpe, Come let us kisse and part]

Since ther's no helpe, Come let us kisse and part,
Nay, I have done: You get no more of Me,
And I am glad, yea glad withall my heart,
That thus so cleanly, I my Selfe can free,
Shake hands for ever, Cancell all our Vowes,
And when We meet at any time againe,
Be it not seene in either of our Browes,
That We one jot of former Love reteyne;
Now at the last gaspe, of Loves latest Breath,
When his Pulse fayling, Passion speechlesse lies,
When Faith is kneeling by his bed of Death,
And Innocence is closing up his Eyes,
Now if thou would'st, when all have given him over,
From Death to Life, thou might'st him yet recover.

62

[When first I Ended, then I first Began]

When first I Ended, then I first Began,
Then more I Traveld, further from my Rest,
Where most I Lost, there most of all I Wan,
Pined with Hunger, rising from a Feast.
Me thinkes I Flie, yet want I legges to Goe,
Wise in Conceit, in Act a very sot,
Ravish'd with Joy amid'st a hell of Woe,
What most I Seeme, that surest am I Not.
I build my Hopes a world above the Skie,
Yet with the Mole I creepe into the Earth,
In Plenty I am starv'd with Penurie,
And yet I Surfet in the greatest Dearth:
I have, I want, Despaire, and yet Desire,
Burn'd in a Sea of yce, and drown'd amidst a fire.

63

[Truce, gentle Love, a Parly now I crave]

Truce, gentle Love, a Parly now I crave,
Me thinkes 'tis long since first these Warres begun,
Nor thou, nor I, the better yet can have:
Bad is the Match, where neither partie wonne.
I offer free Conditions of faire Peace,
My Heart for Hostage that it shall remaine,
Discharge our Forces, here let Malice cease,
So for my Pledge thou give me Pledge againe.
Or if no thing but Death will serve thy turne,
Still thirsting for subversion of my state;
Doe what thou canst, raze, massacre, and burne;
Let the World see the utmost of thy hate:
I send defiance, since if overthrowne,
Thou vanquishing, the Conquest is mine owne.