The Poems and Sonnets of Henry Constable

VENUS FAIRE DID RIDE.
SILVER DOVES THEY DREW HER,
BY THE PLEASANT LAWNDS,
ERE THE SUNNE DID RISE;
VESTA'S BEAUTIE RICH
OPEN'D WIDE TO VIEW HER;
PHILOMEL RECORDS
PLEASING HARMONIES.

Every bird of spring
Cheerefully did sing;
Paphos' goddesse they salute;
Now Love's Queene so faire
Had of mirth no care,
For her sonne had made her mute.
In her breast so tender
He a shaft did enter,
When her eyes beheld a boy;
Adonis was he named,
By his mother shamed;
Yet he now is Venus' joy.
Him alone she met
Ready bound for hunting;
Him she kindly greetes,
And his journey stayes;
Him she seekes to kisse,
No devises wanting;
Him her eyes still wooe;
Him her tongue still prayes.
He with blushing red
Hangeth downe the head;
Not a kisse can he afford;
His face is turn'd away;
Silence sayd her nay;
Still she woo'd him for a word.
Speake, she said, thou fairest;
Beautie thou impairest,
See me, I am pale and wan;
Lovers all adore mee,
I for love implore thee.
Christall teares with that downe ran.

Him heere-with shee forc'd
To come sit downe by her;
Shee his neck embrac'd,
Gazing in his face;
Hee, like one transform'd,
Stir'd no looke to eye her;
Every hearbe did wooe him
Growing in that place,
Each bird with a dittie
Prayed him for pitty
In behalfe of Beautie's Queene.
Water's gentle murmour
Craved him to love her,
Yet no liking could be seene.
Boy, she sayd, looke on mee,
Still I gaze upon thee;
Speake, I pray thee, my delight!
Coldly hee replyed,
And in breefe denyed
To bestow on her a sight:
I am now too young
To be wunne by beauty;
Tender are my yeeres,
I am yet a bud.
Fayre thou art, shee said;
Then it is thy dutie,
Wert thou but a blossome,
To effect my good.
Every beauteous flower
Boasteth in my power;
Byrds and beasts my lawes effect;
Mirrha, thy faire mother,
Most of any other

Did my lovely hests respect.
Be with me delighted,
Thou shalt be requited:
Every Nimph on thee shall tend,
All the Gods shall love thee,
Man shall not reprove thee,
Love himselfe shall be thy freend.
Wend thee from mee, Venus;
I am not disposed;
Thou wringst mee too hard;
Pre-thee let me goe.
Fie! what a paine it is
Thus to be enclosed!
If love begin with labour
It will end in woe.
Kiss me, I will leave.
Heere a kisse receive:
A short kisse I doe it find;
Wilt thou leave me so?
Yet thou shalt not goe.
Breathe once more thy balmie wind;
It smelleth of the mirh-tree
That to the world did bring thee,
Never was perfume so sweet.
When she thus had spoken
Shee gave him a token,
And theyr naked bosoms meet.
Now, hee sayd, let's goe;
Harke, the hounds are crying,
Grieslie Boare is up,
Hunts-men follow fast.
At the name of Boare
Venus seemed dying,

vii

Deadly coloured pale,
Roses over-cast.
Speake, sayd shee, no more
Of following the Boare,
Thou unfit for such a chase;
Course the fearefull Hare,
Venson do not spare,
If thou wilt yeeld Venus grace.
Shun the Boare, I pray thee;
Else I still will stay thee.
Herein he vowed to please her minde.
Then her armes enlarged;
Loth shee him discharged;
Forth he went as swift as winde.
Thetis Phœbus' steedes
In the west retained,
Hunting sport was past;
Love her love did seeke.
Sight of him too soone,
Gentle Queene, shee gained.
On the ground he lay;
Blood had left his cheeke;
For an orped swine
Smit him in the groyne;
Deadly wound his death did bring.
Which when Venus found,
She fell in a swound;
And awakt, her hands did wring.
Nimphs and Satires skipping,
Came together tripping;
Eccho every cry exprest.

viii

Venus, by her power,
Turn'd him to a flower,
Which shee weareth in her creast.

THE END

DAMELUS' SONG TO HIS DIAPHENIA.

Diaphenia, like the Daffadowndillie,
White as the sunne, faire as the lillie,
Heigh hoe, how I doo love thee!
I doo love thee as my lambs
Are beloved of their Dams;
How blest were I if thou would'st proove me!

Diaphenia, like the spreading Roses,
That in thy sweetes all sweetes incloses,
Faire sweete, how I doo love thee!
I doo love thee as each flower
Loves the sunne's life-giving power;
For dead, thy breath to life might moove me.

Diaphenia, like to all things blessed,
When all thy praises are expressed,
Deare Joy, how I doo love thee!
As the Birds doo love the spring,
Or the Bees their carefull King;
Then in requite, sweet Virgin, love me.

A PASTORALL SONG BETWEENE PHILLIS AND AMARILLIS, TWO NIMPHES, EACH AUNSWERING OTHER LINE FOR LINE.

Fie on the sleights that men devise,
Heigh hoe, sillie sleights!
When simple Maydes they would entice;
Maides are yong men's chiefe delights.
Nay, women they witch with their eyes,
Eyes like beames of burning sunne;
And men once caught they soone despise;
So are Sheepheards oft undone.

If any young man win a maide,
Happy man is he;
By trusting him she is betraide;
Fie upon such treacherie.
If Maides win young men with their guiles,
Heigh hoe, guilefull greefe!
They deale like weeping Crocodiles,
That murther men without releefe.

I know a simple country Hinde,
Heigh hoe, sillie swaine!
To whom faire Daphne prooved kinde,
Was he not kinde to her againe?
He vowed by Pan with many an oath,
Heigh hoe, Sheepheards' God is he!

Yet since hath chang'd, and broke his troath,
Troth-plight broke will plagued be.

She had deceaved many a swaine,
Fie on false deceite!
And plighted troath to them in vaine,
There can be no greefe more great.
Her measure was with measure paide,
Heigh hoe, heigh hoe, equall meede!
She was beguil'd that had betraide,
So shall all deceavers speede.

If every Maide were like to me,
Heigh hoe, hard of hart!
Both love and lovers scorn'd should be,
Scorners shall be sure of smart.
If every Maide were of my minde,
Heigh hoe, heigh hoe, lovely sweete!
They to their lovers should proove kinde,
Kindnes is for maydens meete.

Me thinks love is an idle toy,
Heigh hoe, busie paine!
Both wit and sence it dooth annoy,
Both sence and wit thereby we gaine.
Tush, Phillis! cease, be not so coy;
Heigh hoe, heigh hoe, coy disdaine!
I know you love a Sheepheard's boy,
Fie, that Maydens so should faine!

Well, Amarillis, now I yeeld;
Sheepheards, pipe aloude!
Love conquers both in towne and field,

xii

Like a tirant fierce and proude.
The evening starre is up, ye see;
Vesper shines; we must away.
Would every Lover might agree,
So we end our Roundelay.

xiii

TO HIS FLOCKS.

Feede on, my Flocks, securely,
Your Sheepheard watcheth surely.
Runne about, my little Lambs,
Skip and wanton with your Dammes,
Your loving Heard with care will tend ye.
Sport on, faire flocks, at pleasure,
Nip Vesta's flowring treasure;
I my self will duely harke,
When my watchfull dogge dooth barke,
From Woolfe and Foxe I will defend ye.

xiv

TO HIS MISTRISSE.

[Grace full of grace, though in these verses heere]

Grace full of grace, though in these verses heere
My love complaynes of others then of thee,
Yet thee alone I lov'd, & they by mee
(Thow yet unknowne) only mistaken were.

Like him which feeles a heate, now heere, now there,
Blames now this cause, now that, untill he see
The fire indeed from whence they caused bee;
Which fire I now doe knowe is you, my deare!

Thus diverse loves, dispersed in my verse,
In thee alone for ever I unite.
But follie unto thee more to rehearse:
To him I flye for grace that rules above,
That by my grace I may live in delight,
Or by his grace I never more may love.

xvi

[Resolv'd to love, unworthy to obtaine]

Resolv'd to love, unworthy to obtaine,
I doe no favour crave; but humble wise
To thee my sighes in verse I sacrifise,
Onely some pitty and no helpe to gaine.

Heare then; and as my hart shall aye remaine
A patient object to thy lightning eyes,
A patient eare bring thou to thundring cryes;
Fear not the cracke, when I the blow sustaine.

So, as thine eye bred mine ambitious thought,
So shall thine eare make proud my voyce for joy;
Lo (Deere) what wonders great by thee are wrought,
When I but little favours doe enjoy;
The voyce is made the eare for to rejoyce,
And your eare giveth pleasure to my voyce.

xvii

[Fly low, deere Love, thy Sunne doost thou not see?]

Fly low, deere Love, thy Sunne doost thou not see?
Take heede; do not so neare his rayes aspyre,
Least (for thy pride, inflam'd with wreakful ire)
It burne thy wings, as it hath burned me.

Thou (haply) saist thy wings immortall bee,
And so cannot consumed be with fire;
The one is Hope, the other is Desire,
And that the heavens bestow'd them both on thee.

A Muse's words made thee with Hope to flye,
An Angel's face Desire hath begot,
Thy selfe engendred of a Goddesse' eye:
Yet for all this, immortall thou are not.
Of heavenly eye though thou begotten art,
Yet art thou borne but of a mortall hart.

xviii

[Thine eye, the glasse where I behold my hart]

Thine eye, the glasse where I behold my hart;
Mine eye, the window through the which thine eye
May see my hart, & there thy selfe espy
In bloody cullours how thou painted art;

Thine eye the pyle is of a murdring dart,
Mine eye the sight thou tak'st thy levell by
To hit my hart, and never shootes awry;
Mine eye thus helpes thine eye to worke my smart;

Thine eye a fire is, both in heate and lighte;
Mine eye of teares a river doth become.
Oh, that the water of mine eye had might
To quench the flames that from thine eye doth come;
Or that the fire kindled by thine eye
The flowing streames of mine eyes could make drie.

xix

[Delight in youre bright eyes my death did breede]

Delight in youre bright eyes my death did breede,
As light and glittering weapons babes allure
To play with fire and sworde, and so procure
Them to be burnt and hurt ere they take heed.

Thy beautie so hath made me burne and bleed;
Yet shall my ashes and my bloud assure
Thy beauty's fame for ever to endure;
For thy fame's life from my death doth proceed;

Because my hearte, to ashes burned, giveth
Life to thy fame, thou right a phœnix art;
And like a pellican thy beautie liveth
By sucking bloud oute of my breast and hearte.
Loe! why with wonder we may thee compare
Unto the pelican and phœnix rare.

[When youre perfections to my thoughts appeare]

When youre perfections to my thoughts appeare,
They say among themselves: O happy wee
Which ever shall so rare an object see!
But happy hart, if thoughts lesse happy were.

For their delights have cost my hart full dere,
In whom of love a thousand causes be,
And each cause breeds a thousand loves in me,
And each love more then thousand harts can beare.

How can my hart so many loves then hold,
Which yet (by heapes) increase from day to day?
But, like a shyp that's overcharg'd with gold,
Must either sinke, or hurle the gold away.
But hurle out love; thou canst not, feeble hart!
In thine owne blood thou therefore drowned art.

xxi

[It may be Love my death doth not pretend]

It may be Love my death doth not pretend,
Although he shoots at mee; but thinks it fit
Thus to bewitch thee for my benefit.
Causing thy will to my wish condiscend.

For witches which some murther doe intend
Doe make a picture and doe shoote at it;
And in that part where they the picture hit
The party's selfe doth languish to his end.

So Love, too weake by force thy hart to taint,
Within my hart thy heavenly shape doth paint,
Suffring therein his arrowes to abide;
Onely to th' end he might, by witches' arte,
Within my hart pierce through thy picture's side,
And through thy picture's side might wound thy hart.

xxii

[Blame not my hart for flying up too hie]

Blame not my hart for flying up too hie,
Sith thou art cause that it this flight begunne;
For earthly vapours, drawne up by the Sunne,
Comets begun, and night sunnes, in the skie.

Mine humble hart, so with thy heavenly eie
Drawne up aloft, all low desires doth shunne;
Raise then me up, as thou my hart hast done;
So, during night, in heaven remaine may I.

I say againe: Blame not my high desire;
Sith of us both the cause thereof depends;
In thee doth shine, in mee doth burne, a fire.
Fire drawes up other and it selfe ascends:
Thine eye a fire, and so drawes up my love;
My love a fire, and so ascends above.

xxiii

[Eyes curiouse to behold what nature can create]

Eyes curiouse to behold what nature can create,
Come see, come see, and write what wonder yow doe see.
Causing by true reporte our nexte posteritye
Curse Fortune for that they were borne so late.

Come then and come ye all; come soone, least that
The tyme should be to shorte and men to few should be:
For all be few to write her least part's historie,
Though they should ever write, and never write but that.

Millions looke on her eyes, millions thinke on her witte,
Millions speake of her, millions write of her hand,
The whole eye or the lip I doe not understand,
Millions to few to prayse but some one part of it.
As eyther of her eye or lip or hand to write,
The light or blacke, the tast or red, the soft or white.

xxiv

[Ladie! in beautie and in favour rare]

Ladie! in beautie and in favour rare,
Of favour (not of due) I favour crave;
Nature to thee beauty and favour gave;
Faire then thou art, and favour thou maist spare;

Nor when on mee bestow'd your favours are,
Lesse favour in your face you shall not have;
If favour then a wounded soule may save,
Of murther's guilt (deare Lady) then beware.

My losse of life a million fold were lesse
Than the least losse should unto you befall;
Yet graunt this gyft; which gift when I possesse,
Both I have life, and you no losse at all.
For by your favour onely I doe live;
And favour you may well both keepe and give.

xxv

[Ladie of ladies, the delight alone]

Ladie of ladies, the delight alone
For which to heaven earth doth no envie beare;
Seeing and hearing thee we see and heare
Such voice, such light, as never sunge nor shone.

The want of heaven, I grant, yet we may moane,
Not for the pleasure of the angells there,
As though in face or voyce they like thee were,
But that they many bee and thow but one.

The basest notes which from thy voyce proceed
The treble of the angells doe exceed.
So that I feare theyre quire to beautifie,
Lest thow to some in heaven shall singe & shine;
Loe! when I heare thee singe, the reason why
Sighes of my breast keepe tyme with notes of thine.

xxvi

[Not that thy hand is soft, is sweete, is white]

Not that thy hand is soft, is sweete, is white,
Thy lippes sweet roses, breast sweet lylye is,
That love esteemes these three the chiefest blisse
Which nature ever made for lipps' delight;

But when these three, to shew theyre heavenlye might,
Such wonders doe, devotion then for this
Commandeth us with humble zeale to kisse
Such thinges as worke miracles in oure sight.

A lute of senselesse woode, by nature dumbe,
Toucht by her hand doth speak devinelye well;
And from thy lips and breast sweet tunes doe come
To my dead hearte, the which new life doe give.
Of greater wonders heard we never tell
Then for the dumbe to speak, the dead to live.

xxvii

[Sweete Soveraigne! sith so many minds remaine]

Sweete Soveraigne! sith so many minds remaine
Obedient subjects at thy beauty's call,
So many harts bound in thy haires as thrall,
So many eyes die with one look's disdaine;

Goe seeke the honour that doth thee pertaine,
That the fift Monarchie may thee befall;
Thou hast such meanes to conquer men withall,
As all the world must yeeld or els be slaine.

To fight thou need'st no weapons but thine eyes;
Thine haire hath gold enough to pay thy men;
And for their foode thy beauty will suffise,
For men and armour (Lady) care have none;
For one will sooner yeeld unto thee then
When he shall meete thee naked all alone.

xxviii

[When beautie to the world vouchsafes this blisse]

When beautie to the world vouchsafes this blisse,
To shew the one whose other there is not,
The whitest skinnes red blushing shame doth blot,
And in the reddest cheekes pale envie is.

The fayre and fowle come thus alike by this;
For when the sun hath oure horizon gott,
Venus her selfe doth shine no more (God wot)
Then the least starre that take the light from his.

The poore in beautie thus content remayne
To see theyre jealouse cause reveng'd in thee,
And theyre fayre foes afflicted with the payne;
Loe, the cleare proofe of thy devinitye!
For unto God is only dew this prayse:
The highest to pluck downe, the low to rayse.

xxix

[Falsly doth envie of your praises blame]

Falsly doth envie of your praises blame
My tongue, my pen, my hart, of flattery;
Because I said there was no sunne but thee,
It call'd my tongue the partiall trumpe of Fame;

And saith my pen hath flattered thy name,
Because my pen did to my tongue agree;
And that my hart must needs a flattrer bee,
Which taught both tongue and pen to say the same.

No, no, I flatter not, when thee I call
The sunne, sith that the sunne was never such;
But when the sunne thee I compar'd withall
Doubtles the sunne I flattered too much.
Witnes mine eyes, I say the trueth in this:
They have seene thee, and know that so it is.

xxx

[My Lady's presence makes the Roses red]

My Lady's presence makes the Roses red,
Because to see her lips they blush for shame;
The Lyllies' leaves (for envy) pale became,
And her white hands in them this envie bred.

The Marigold the leaves abroad doth spred,
Because the sunne's and her power is the same;
The Violet of purple cullour came,
Di'd in the blood shee made my hart to shed.

In briefe, all flowers from her their vertue take;
From her sweet breath their sweet smels do proceede;
The living heate which her eye beames doth make
Warmeth the grounde, & quickeneth the seede.
The raine wherewith shee watereth the flowers
Falls from mine eyes, which she dissolves in showers.

xxxi

[Sweet hand! the sweet but cruell bowe thou art]

Sweet hand! the sweet but cruell bowe thou art,
From whence at mee five yvorie arrowes flie;
So with five woundes at once I wounded lie,
Bearing my brest the print of every dart.

Saint Fraunces had the like, yet felt no smart,
Where I in living torments never die;
His woundes were in his hands and feete, where I
All these five helplesse wounds feele in my hart.

Now (as Saint Fraunces) if a Saint am I,
The bowe that shot these shafts a relique is;
I meane the hand; which is the reason why
So many for devotion thee would kisse;
And some thy glove kisse, as a thing divine:
This arrowes' quiver, and this relique's shrine.

xxxii

[The Fouler hides, (as closely as he may)]

The Fouler hides, (as closely as he may)
The net where caught the sillie bird should be;
Least he the threatning pryson should but see,
And so for feare be forc'd to flye away.

My Ladye so, the while shee doth assay
In curled knots fast to entangle me,
Puts on her vaile, to th' end I should not flee
The golden net wherein I am a pray.

Alas (most sweet!) what neede is of a net
To catch a byrd that is already tame?
Sith with your hand alone you may it get,
For it desires to flie into the same;
What needes such arte, my thoughts then to intrap,
When of themselves they flye into your lap?

xxxiii

TO HIS MISTRISSE UPON THE OCCASION OF A PETRARCH HE GAVE HER.

Miracle of the world! I never will denye
That former poets prayse the beautie of theyre dayes;
But all those beauties were but figures of thy prayse,
And all those poets did of thee but prophecye.

Thy coming to the world hath taught us to descrie
What Petrarch's Laura meant, for truth the lips bewrayes,
Loe! why th' Italians, yet which never saw thy rayes,
To finde oute Petrarch's sence such forged glosses trye.

The beauties which he in a vayle enclos'd beheld
But revelations were within his secreat heart,
By which in parables thy coming he foretold;
His songes were hymnes of thee, which only now before
Thy image should be sunge; for thou that goddesse art
Which onlye we withoute idolatrye adore.

xxxiv

[A friend of mine, pittying my hopelesse love]

A friend of mine, pittying my hopelesse love,
Hoping (by killing hope) my love to slay,
Let not (quoth he) thy hope thy hart betray,
Impossible it is her hart to move.

But, sith resolved love cannot remove
As long as thy divine perfections stay,
Thy Godhead then he sought to take away.
Deere! seeke revenge, and him a lyar prove;

Gods onely doe impossibilities.
Impossible (saith he) thy grace to gaine.
Show then the power of thy divinities
By graunting me thy favour to obtaine;
So shall thy foe give to himselfe the lie,
A Goddesse thou shalt prove, and happy I.

xxxv

[Faire Sunne! if you would have me praise your light]

Faire Sunne! if you would have me praise your light,
When night approcheth, wherefore doe you flie?
Time is so short, beauties so many be,
That I have neede to see them day and night;

That by continuall view my verses might
Tell all the beames of your divinitie;
Which praise to you, and joy should be to mee:
You living by my verse, I by your sight.

I by your sight, but not you by my verse;
Neede mortall skill immortall praise rehearse?
No, no; though eyes were blinde, & verse were dumb,
Your beautie should be seene, & your fame known;
For by the winde which from my sighes doe come
Your praises round about the world be blowne.

xxxvi

[The sunne, his journey ending in the West]

The sunne, his journey ending in the West,
Taking his lodging up in Thetis' bed,
Though from our eyes his beames he banished,
Yet with his light th' antipodes be blest.

Now when the sun-time brings my sunne to rest,
(Which mee too oft of rest hath hindered)
And whiter skinne with white sheetes covered,
And softer cheeke doth on soft pillow rest;

Then I (oh sunne of sunnes, and light of lights!)
Wish mee with those Antipodes to be,
Which see and feele thy beames and heate by nights,
Well though the night both cold and darksome is;
Yet halfe the day's delight the night graunts mee:
I feele my sunne's heate though his light I misse.

xxxvii

TO OVRE Q. AND THE K. OF SCOTS.

xxxviii

TO THE Q.: AFTER HIS RETURNE OUTE OF ITALYE.

Not longe agoe, in Poland traveiling,
Changing my tongue, my nation and my weede,
Mayne wordes I heard from forreyne mouth proceed,
Theyre wonder and thy glorie witnessing;

How from thy wisdome did those conquests spring
Which ruin'd them thy ruine which decreed.
But such as envyed thee in this agreed:
Thy iland's seate did thee most succoure bring;

So, if the sea by miracle were drye,
Easie thy foes thy kingdome might invade.
Fooles, which knowe not the power of thyne eye!
Thine eye hath made a thousand eyes to weepe,
And every eye a thousand seas hath made,
And each sea shall thyne ile in safetie keepe.

xxxix

TO THE QUEENE: TOUCHING THE CRUELL EFFECTS OF HER PERFECTIONS.

Most sacred Prince! why should I thee thus prayse
Which both of sin and sorrowe cawse has beene:
Proude hast thow made thy land of such a Queene;
Thy neighboures enviouse of thy happie dayes.

Whoe never saw the sunshine of thy rayes,
An everlasting night his life doth ween;
And he whose eyes thy eyes but once have seene
A thousand signes of burning thoughts bewrayes.

Thus sin thow caus'd, (envye, I meane, & pride)
Thus sin and darknesse doe proceed from thee;
The very paynes which men in hell abide.
Oh no; not hell, but purgatorie this,
Whose sowles some say by angells punish'd be,
For thou art shee from whome this torment is.

TO THE Q.: UPON OCCASION OF A BOOKE HE WROTE, IN AN ANSWER TO CERTAYNE OBJECTIONS AGAINST HER PROCEEDINGS IN THE LOW-COUNTRYES.

The love wherewith youre vertues chayne my sprite
Envyes the hate I beare unto your foe;
Since hatefull pen had meanes his hate to showe,
And love like means had not of love to wryte;

I meane, write that your vertues doe endite,
From which spring all my conceyts doe flow,
And of my pen my sword doth enviouse growe,
That pen before my sword youre foes should smite.

And to my inke my bloud doth envie beare,
That in youre cause more inke then bloud I shed;
Which envie, though it be a vice, yet heere
'Tis vertue, sith youre vertues have it bred.
Thus powerfull youre sacred vertues be,
Which vice it selfe a vertue makes in me.

xli

TO THE K. OF SCOTS, WHOME AS YET HE HAD NOT SEENE.

Bloome of the rose! I hope those hands to kisse
Which yonge a scepter, which olde wisdome bore;
And offer up joy-sacrifice before
Thy altar-throne for that receaved blisse.

Yet, prince of hope! suppose not for all this
That I thy place and not thy guifts adore;
Thy scepter, no, thy pen, I honoure more;
More deare to me then crowne thy garland is;

That laurell garland which, if hope say true,
To thee for deeds of prowesse shall belong,
And now allreadie unto thee is due,
As to a David for a kinglie throne.
The pen wherewith thou dost so heavenly singe
Made of a quill pluckt from an angell's winge.

xlii

TO THE K. OF SCOTS, TOUCHING THE SUBJECT OF HIS POEMS DEDICATED WHOLIE TO HEAVENLY MATTERS.

Where others hooded with blind love doe flie
Low on the ground with buzzard Cupid's wings,
A heavenlie love, from love of love thee brings,
And makes thy Muse to mount above the skie;

Young Muses be not wont to flie too hie,
Age taught by Time such sober ditties sings;
But thy youth flies from love of youthfull things,
And so the wings of Time doth overflie.

Thus thou disdainst all worldlie things as slow;
Because thy Muse, with Angel's wings, doth leave
Time's wings behind, and Cupid's wings below;
But take thou heed, least Fame's wings thee deceave.
With all thy speede from Fame thou canst not flee,
But more thou flees, the more it followes thee.

xliii

TO THE K. OF SCOTS, UPON OCCASION OF A SONNET THE K. WROTE IN COMPLAINT OF A CONTRARIE WIND WHICH HINDRED THE ARRIVALL OF THE QUEENE OUTE OF DENMARK. MDLXXXIX.

If I durst sigh still as I had begun,
Or durst shed teares in such abundant store,
You should have need to blame the sea no more,
Nor call upon the wind as you have done;

For from myne eyes an ocean-sea should run
Which the desired ships should carrie o'r,
And my sighes blowe such winde from northern shore
As soone you should behold youre wished sun.

But with those sighes my deare displeased is,
Which should both hast your joye and slake my payne;
Yet for my good will, O kinge! grant me this:
When to the winds yow sacrifice agayne,
Sith I desir'd my sighes should blow for thee,
Desire thou the winds to sigh for me.

xliv

TO THE K. OF SCOTS UPON OCCASION OF HIS LONGE STAY IN DENMARKE BY REASON OF THE COLDNESSE OF THE WINTER AND FREEZING OF THE SEA.

If I durst love as heertofore I have,
Or that my heart durst flame as it doth burne,
The ice should not so longe stay youre returne,
My heart should easely thaw the frozen wave;

But when my payne makes me for pittie crave,
The blindest see with what just cause I mourne;
So least my torment to his blame should turne.
My hearte is forc'd to hide the fire she gave.

But what doth neede the sea my heart at all?
Thow and the spouse be suns; in beautye shee,
In wisdome thow; the sun we Phœbus call,
And Phœbus for thy wisdome we call thee;
Now if the sun can thaw the sea alone,
Cannot two suns supplie the want of one?

xlv

TO PARTICULAR LADIES WHOME HE MOST HONOURED.

xlvi

TO THE PRINCESS OF ORANGE.

If nature for her workes proud ever were,
It was for this: that she created yow;
Youre sacred head, which wisdome doth indue,
Is only fitte a diademe to weare.

Your lilie hand, which fayrer doth appeare
Then ever eye beheld in shape and hue,
Vnto no other use by right is due
Except it be a scepter for to beare.

Your cherrie lips by Nature framed be
Hearts to commaund; youre eye is only fitte
With his wise lookes kingdomes to oversee;
O happie land, whose soveraigne thou hadst beene!
But God on earth full blisse will not permitte,
And this is only cause: yow are no Queene.

xlvii

TO THE COUNTESSE OF SHREWSBURYE.

Playnlie I write because I will write true;
If ever Marie but the Virgin were
Meete in the realme of heaven a crowne to beare,
I, as my creed, believe that it is you!

And for the world this Ile and age shall rue
The bloud and fire was shed and kindled heere,
When woemen of youre name the crowne did beare,
And youre high worth not crownd with honoure due.

But God, which meant for rebell fayth and sin
His foes to punish, and his owne to trye,
Would not youre sacred name imploy therein;
For good and bad he would should you adore,
Which never any burnt but with youre eye,
And maketh them you punish love you more.

xlviii

TO THE COUNTESSES OF CUMBERLAND AND WARWICK, SISTERS.

You sister Muses! doe not ye repine
That I two sisters doe with nyne compare;
For eyther of these sacred two more rare
In vertue is then all the heavenly nyne.

But if ye aske which one is more devine,
I say: like to theyre owne twin-eyes they are.
Where eyther is as cleere as clearest starre,
Yet neyther doth more cleare then other shine.

Sisters of spotlesse fame! of whome alone
Malitiouse tongues take pleasure to speake well;
How should I yow commend, when eyther one
All things in heaven and earth so far excell?
The highest prayse that I can give is this:
That one of you like to the other is.

xlix

TO MY LADIE ARBELLA.

That worthie Marquesse, pride of Italie!
Whoe for all worth, and for her wit & phrase,
Both best deserv'd, and best desert could prayse,
Immortall Ladie! is reviv'd in thee.

But thinke not strange that thy divinitie
I by some goddesse' title doe not blaze,
But through a woeman's name thy glorie rayse;
For things unlike of unlike prayses be.

When we prayse men, we call them gods; but when
We speake of gods we liken them to men;
Not them to prayse, but only them to knowe.
Not able thee to prayse, my drift was this:
Some earthlye shadowe of thy worth to showe,
Whose heavenly selfe above world's reason is.

TO THE LADY ARBELLA.

Only hope of oure age! that vertues dead
By youre sweet breath should be reviv'd againe;
Learning, discourag'd longe by rude disdaine,
By youre white hands is only cherished.

Thus others' worth by yow is honoured;
But whoe shall honoure youres; poore wits! in vayne
We seeke to paye the debts which you pertayne,
Till from youre selfe some wealth be borrowed.

Lend some youre tongues, that every nation may
In his owne heare youre vertuous prayses blaz'd;
Lend them youre wit, youre judgment, memorye,
Least they themselves should not knowe what to say;
And, that thow mayst be lov'd as much as prays'd,
My hearte thow mayst lend them, which I gave thee.

TO MY LADIE RICH.

O that my songe like to a ship might be,
To beare aboute the world my Lady's fame;
That, charged with the riches of her name,
The Indians might oure country's treasure see!

No treasure, they would say, is rich but she;
Of all theyre golden parts they would have shame,
And hap'lye, that they might but see the same,
To give theyre gold for nought they would agree.

This wished voyage, though it I begin,
Withoute youre beauty's helpe cannot prevayle;
For as a ship doth beare the men therein,
And yet the men doe make the ship to sayle,
Your beauties so, which in my verse apeare,
Doe move my verse and it your beauties beare.

lii

TO THE LADIE RICH.

Heraulds at armes doe three perfections quote,
To wit: most faire, most ritch, most glittering;
So, when those three concurre within one thing,
Needes must that thing of honor be a note.

Lately I did behold a ritch, faire coate,
Which wished Fortune to mine eyes did bring,
A lordly coate, yet worthy of a King,
In which one might all these perfections note:

A field of lyllies roses proper bare,
Two starres in chiefe; the Crest was waves of gold.
How glittring 'twas might by the starres appeare,
The lillies made it faire for to behold;
And ritch it was, as by the gold appeareth.
But happy he that in his armes it weareth.

liii

TO SEVERALL PERSONS UPON SUNDRYE OCCASIONS.

liv

TO THE PRINCESSE OF ORANGE, UPON OCCASION OF THE MURTHER OF HER FATHER AND HUSBAND.

When murdring hands, to quench the thirst of tyrannie,
The world's most worthye i' thy spouse & father slew,
Wounding thy heart through theyres, a double well they drew,
A well of bloud from them, a well of teares from thee.

So in thyne eyes at once we fire and water see;
Fire doth of beautie spring, water of griefe ensue;
Whoe fire and water yet together ever knew,
And neyther water dry'd, nor fire quencht to be?

But wonder it is not thy water and thy fyre
Vnlike to others' be; thy water fire hath bred,
And thy fire water makes, for thyne eyes' fire hath shed
Teares from a thousand hearts melted with love's desire;
And griefe to see such eyes bathed in teares of woes,
A fire of revenge inflames against thy foes.

To the COUNTESSE of SHREWSBURYE, UPON OCCASION OF HIS DEARE MISTRESSE, WHO LIV'D UNDER HER GOVERNMENT.

True, worthie Dame! if I thee chieftayne call
Of Venus' host, let others think no ill;
I graunt that they be fayre, but what prince will
Chuse onlie by the force a generall?

Beauties be but the forces wherewithall
Ladies the hearts of private persons kill;
But these fayre forces to conduct with skill
Venus chose yow the chiefest of them all.

To yow then, yow, the fayrest of the wise,
And wisest of the fayre, I doe appeale.
A warrioure of youre campe by force of eyes
Mee pris'ner tooke, and will with rigor deale,
Except yow pity in youre heart will place;
At whose white hands I only seeke for grace.

lvi

TO THE COUNTESSE OF PEMBROKE.

Ladie! whome by reportes I only knowe,
Yet know so well, as I must thee adore;
To honoure thee what neede I seeke for more?
Thou art his Sister whom I honour'd so.

Yet million tongues' reporte doth further showe
Of thy perfections, both such worth and store,
As wante of seeing thee paynes me sore,
As sight of others hath procur'd my woe.

All parts of beautie, meeting in one place,
Doe dazle eye, feed love, and ravish witte;
Thy perfect shape envies thy princely grace,
Thy minde all say like to thy Brother is.
What neede I then say more to honoure it?
For I have praysed thyne by praysing his.

lvii

TO THE COUNTESSE of ESSEX, UPON OCCASION OF THE DEATH OF HER FIRST HUSBAND, SIR PHILIP SYDNEY.

Sweetest of ladies! if thy pleasure be
To murther hearts, stay not in England still;
Revenge on Spaine thy husband's death, & kill
His foes, not them that love both him and thee.

O sound revenge, that I desire to see;
If they be fooles which wish with theyre owne will
Hurt to theyre foes; then what be they that will,
With theyre owne hurte, wish good to enemye?

And thus doe I; and thus ambitiouse Spaine
Vnsatisfied the new-found world to gayne,
Two better worlds should have; I mean thyne eyes.
And we oure worlde, oure worlde his sun should misse,
Oure sun his heaven, thyne eye oure want supplies,
Oure worlde, oure sun, oure heaven, oure all it is.

lviii

TO THE LADIE CLINTON.

Since onlye I, sweet Ladie! ye beheld,
Yet then such love I in youre looke did finde,
And such sweet gesses of youre gratiouse mynd
As never a shorte tyme more happie held.

Forewarning vision which even then foretold
Th' eternall cheynes which since my heart did binde,
Even there where first youre beames into me shin'd,
The fatall prison where my heart I held.

And how came this? It was thy lovely looke
Which doth perfume each place it sees with love,
As though from yow, my Deare, this sweetnesse tooke,
Because where I saw her I yow had seen;
Yet every where, if any sight me move,
I knowe it is some place where yow have been.

lix

A CALCULATION UPON THE BIRTH OF AN HONOURABLE LADY'S DAUGHTER, BORNE IN THE YEERE MDLXXXVIII, AND ON A FRIDAY.

Fayre by inheritance, whom borne wee see
Both in the wondrous yeere, and on the day
Wherein the fairest Planet beareth sway,
The heavens to thee this fortune doe decree:

Thou of a world of harts in time shalt be
A Monarch great, and with one beauty's ray
So many hoasts of harts thy face shall slay
As all the rest (for love) shall yeeld to thee.

But even as Alexander (when he knewe
His Father's conquests) wept least he should leave
No Kingdome unto him for to subdue,
So shall thy mother thee of praise bereave;
So many harts already shee hath slaine
As few behind to conquer shall remaine.

TO MR. HILLIARD, UPON OCCASION OF A PICTURE HE MADE OF MY LADIE RICH.

If Michaell the archpainter now did live,
Because that Michaell he an angell hight,
As partiall for his fellow-angells, might
To Raphaell's skill much prayse and honoure give.

But if in secreat I his judgment shrive,
It would confesse that no man knew aright
To give to stones and pearles true die and light,
Till first youre art with orient nature strive.

But thinke not yet yow did that art devise;
Nay, thank my Ladie that such skil you have;
For often sprinckling her black sparckling eyes,
Her lips and breast, taught you the [OMITTED]
To diamonds, rubies, pearles, the worth of which
Doth make the jewell which you paynt seeme Rich.

lxi

COMPLAYNTS OF MISFORTUNES IN LOVE.

lxii

[Now, now I love indeed, and suffer more]

Now, now I love indeed, and suffer more
In one day now then I did in a yeare;
Great flames they be which but small sparkles were,
And wounded now, I was but prickt before.

No mervayle then, though more then heretofore
I weepe and sigh: how can great wounds be there
Where moysture runs not oute? and ever where
The fire is great of smoke there must be store.

My heart was hetherto but like green wood,
Which must be dry'd before it will burn bright;
My former love served but my heart to drye;
Now Cupid for his fire doth find it good;
For now it burneth cleare, and shall give light
For all the worlde youre beautie to espie.

lxiii

[Wonder it is, and pittie is't that shee]

Wonder it is, and pittie is't that shee
In whom all beauty's treasure we may finde
That may enritch the body and the mind,
Towards the poore should use no charitie.

My love is gone a begging unto thee;
And if that Beauty had not beene more kind
Then pittie, long ere this he had beene pinde;
But Beautie is content his foode to bee.

Oh, pittie have, when such poore Orphans beg:
Love (naked boy) hath nothing on his backe,
And though he wanteth neither arme or leg,
Yet maim'd he is, sith he his sight doth lacke;
And yet (though blinde) he beautie can behold;
And yet (though nak'd) he feeles more heate than cold.

lxiv

[Pitty refusing my poore Love to feede]

Pitty refusing my poore Love to feede,
A beggar starv'd for want of helpe he lies,
And at your mouth (the doore of Beauty) cries;
That thence some almes of sweete grants might proceede.

But as he waiteth for some almes-deede
A cherrie tree before the doore he spies.
Oh deare (quoth he) two cherries may suffise,
Two only may save life in this my neede.

But beggars, can they naught but cherries eate?
Pardon my Love, he is a Goddesse' sonne,
And never feedeth but on daintie meate,
Els neede he not to pine as hee hath done;
For onely the sweet fruite of this sweete tree
Can give food to my Love, and life to mee.

lxv

[If that one care had oure two hearts possest]

If that one care had oure two hearts possest,
Or you once [OMITTED] what I long suffered,
Then should thy heart accuse in my heart's stead
The rigor of it selfe for myne unrest;

Then should thyne arme upon my shoulder rest,
And weight of griefe sway downe thy troubled head;
Then should thy teares upon my sheet be shed,
And then thy heart should pant upon my breast.

But when that other cares thy heart doe seaze,
Alas! what succoure gayne I then by this,
But double griefe for thine and myne unease?
Yet when thow seest thy hurts to wound my heart,
And so art taught by me what pitye is,
Perhaps thy heart will learne to feele my smart.

lxvi

[Vncivill sickness! hast thou no regard]

Vncivill sickness! hast thou no regard,
But doost presume my deerest to molest?
And, without leave, dar'st enter in that brest
Whereto sweet Love approch yet never dar'd?

Spare thou her health, which my life hath not spar'd;
Too bitter such revenge of my unrest,
Although with wrongs my thought shee hath opprest,
My wrongs seeke not revenge; they crave reward.

Cease Sicknesse, cease in her then to remaine,
And come and welcome, harbour thou in me,
Whom Love long since hath taught to suffer paine;
So shee which hath so oft my paine increast,
(O God, that I might so revenged be!)
By my poore paine might have her paine releast.

lxvii

[Deare! though from me youre gratiouse lookes depart]

Deare! though from me youre gratiouse lookes depart,
And of that comfort doe my selfe bereave,
Which both I did deserve and did receave;
Triumph not overmuch in this my smarte.

Nay, rather they which now enjoy thy heart
For feare just cause of mourning should conceave,
Least thow inconstant shouldst theyre trust deceave
Which like unto the weather changing art.

For in foule weather byrds sing often will
In hope of fayre, and in fayre tyme will cease,
For feare fayre tyme should not continue still;
So they may mourne which have thy heart possest
For feare of change, and hope of change may ease
Theyre hearts whome griefe of change doth now molest.

lxviii

[If ever any justlye might complayne]

If ever any justlye might complayne
Of unrequited service, it is I;
Change is the thanks I have for loyaltye,
And onlye her rewarde is her disdayne.

So as just spight did almost me constrayne,
Through torment, her due prayses to denye;
For he which vexed is with injurye
By speaking ill doth ease his heart of payne.

But what, shall tortor make me wrong her name?
No, no, a pris'ner constant thinkes it shame,
Though he be rackt, his first truth to gaynsay.
Her true given prayse my first confession is.
Though her disdayn doe rack me night and day,
This I confest, and will denye in this.

lxix

OF THE END AND DEATH OF HIS LOVE.

lxx

[Much sorrow in it selfe my love doth move]

Much sorrow in it selfe my love doth move;
More my dispaire, to love a hopelesse blisse;
My folly most, to love whom sure to misse.
Oh, helpe me but this last greefe to remove;

All paines, if you commaund, it joy shall prove,
And wisedome to seeke joye; then say but this:
Because my pleasure in thy torment is,
I doe commaund thee without hope to love.

So when this thought my sorrow shall augment,
That mine owne folly did procure my paine,
Then shall I say, to give my selfe content:
Obedience onely made me love in vaine;
It was your will, and not my want of wit;
I have the paine; beare you the blame of it.

lxxi

[Needes must I leave, and yet needes must I love]

Needes must I leave, and yet needes must I love,
In vaine my wit doth tell in verse my woe;
Dispaire in me, Disdaine in thee dooth shoe
How by my wit I doe my folly prove.

All this my hart from love can never move;
Love is not in my hart; no, Lady, no;
My hart is love it selfe; till I foregoe
My hart, I never can my love remove.

How can I then leave love? I doe intend
Not to crave grace, but yet to wish it still;
Not to prayse thee, but beauty to commend;
And so by beauty's praise, praise thee I will.
For as my hart is love, love not in mee;
So beauty thou, beauty is not in thee.

lxxii

[My Reason, absent, did mine eyes require]

My Reason, absent, did mine eyes require
To watch and ward, and such foes to descrie
As they should, neere my hart approaching, spie.
But traitor eyes my hart's death did conspire;

(Corrupted with Hope's gyfts) let in Desire
To burne my hart, and sought no remedy,
Though store of water were in eyther eye
Which, well imployde, might wel have quencht the fire.

Reason returned, Love and Fortune made
Judges, to judge mine eyes to punishment:
Fortune, sith they by sight my hart betraid,
From wished sight adjudg'd them banishment;
Love, sith by fire murdred my hart was found,
Adjudged them in teares for to be drownd.

lxxiii

[Each day new proofes of newe dispaire I finde]

Each day new proofes of newe dispaire I finde,
That is, newe deathes; no marvell then though I
Make exile my last helpe, to th' end mine eye
Should not behold the death to me assignd.

Not that from death absence might save my minde,
But that it might take death more patiently;
Like him the which, by Judge condemnd to die,
To suffer with more ease his eyes doth blind.

Your lippes (in scarlet clad) my Judges be,
Pronouncing sentence of eternall No;
Dispaire, the hangman that tormenteth me;
The death I suffer is the life I have;
For onely life doth make me die in woe,
And onely death I for my pardon crave.

lxxiv

[Mine eye with all the deadly sinnes is fraught]

Mine eye with all the deadly sinnes is fraught:

I.

First proud, sith it presum'd to looke so hie,
A watchman being made, stoode gazing by;

II.

And idle, tooke no heede till I was caught;

III.

And envious, beares envie that by thought
Should in his absence be to her so nie.
To kill my hart, mine eye let in her eye,

IV.

And so consent gave to a murther wrought;

V.

And covetous, it never would remove
From her faire haire, gold so doth please his sight;

VI.

Vnchast, a baude betweene my hart and love;

VII.

A glutton eye, with teares drunke every night.
These sinnes procured have a Goddesse' ire,
Wherfore my hart is damnd in Love's sweet fire.

lxxv

[If true love might true love's reward obtaine]

If true love might true love's reward obtaine,
Dumbe wonder onely might speake of my joy;
But too much worth hath made thee too much coy,
And told me long agoe I sigh'd in vaine.

Not then vaine hope of undeserved gaine
Hath made me paint in verses mine annoy,
But for thy pleasure, that thou might'st enjoy
Thy beauty's praise, in glasses of my paine.

See then thy selfe (though me thou wilt not heare),
By looking on my verse: for paine in verse,
Love doth in paine, beautie in love, appeare.
So, if thou wouldst my verses' meaning see,
Expound them thus, when I my love rehearse:
None loves like him; that is, None faire like mee.

lxxvi

[Somtimes in verse I praisd, somtime I sigh'd]

Somtimes in verse I praisd, somtime I sigh'd,
No more shal pen with love and beauty mell,
But to my hart alone my hart shall tell
How unseene flames doe burne it day and night;

Lest flames give light, light bring my love to sight,
And my love prove my follie to excell.
Wherefore my love burnes like the fire of hell,
Wherein is fire, and yet there is no light.

For if one never lov'd like mee, then why
Skillesse blames hee the thing hee doth not know?
And hee that so hath lov'd should favour show,
For hee hath been a foole as well as I;
Thus shall hence-forth more pain more folly have,
And folly past may justly pardon crave.

lxxvii

FOURE SONNETS TO SIR PHILLIP SIDNEY'S SOULE.

lxxviii

[Give pardon (blessed soule) to my bold cryes]

Give pardon (blessed soule) to my bold cryes
If they (importun'd) interrupt thy song,
Which nowe with joyfull notes thou sing'st, among
The angel-quiristers of heav'nly skyes.

Give pardon eake (sweet soule) to my slow eyes,
That since I saw thee now it is so long,
And yet the teares that unto thee belong
To thee as yet they did not sacrifice.

I did not know that thou wert dead before,
I did not feel the griefe I did susteine;
The greater stroke astonisheth the more,
Astonishment takes from us sence of paine;
I stood amaz'd when others' teares begun,
And now begin to weepe, when they have doone.

lxxix

[Sweet soule! which now with heav'nly songs doost tel]

Sweet soule! which now with heav'nly songs doost tel
Thy deare Redeemer's glory, and his prayse,
No mervaile though thy skilfull Muse assayes
The songs of other soules there to excell;

For thou didst learne to sing divinely well,
Long time before thy fayre and glittering rayes
Encreas'd the light of heav'n, for even thy layes
Most heavenly were, when thou on earth didst dwel.

When thou didst on the earth sing Poet-wise,
Angels in heav'n pray'd for thy company;
And now thou sing'st with Angels in the skies,
Shall not all Poets praise thy memory?
And to thy name shall not their works give fame
When as their works be sweetned by thy name?

lxxx

[Even as when great men's heires cannot agree]

Even as when great men's heires cannot agree,
So ev'ry vertue now for part of thee doth sue;
Courage prooves by thy death thy hart to be his due,
Eloquence claimes thy tongue, and so doth courtesy;

Invention knowledge sues, judgment sues memory,
Each saith thy head is his, and what end shall ensue
Of this strife know I not; but this I know for true,
That whosoever gaines the sute, the losse have wee;

Wee (I meane all the world); the losse to all pertaineth;
Yea they which gaine doe loose, and onely thy soule gaineth;
For loosing of one life, two lives are gained then.
Honor thy courage mov'd, courage thy death did give;
Death, courage, honor, makes thy soule to live,
Thy soule to live in Heav'n, thy name in tongues of men.

lxxxi

[Great Alexander then did well declare]

Great Alexander then did well declare
How great was his united Kingdom's might,
When ev'ry Captaine of his Army might
After his death with mighty Kings compare;

So now we see after thy death, how far
Thou dost in worth surpasse each other Knight,
When we admire him as no mortall wight
In whom the least of all thy vertues are;

One did of Macedon the King become,
Another sat in the Egiptian throne,
But onely Alexander's selfe had all.
So curteous some, and some be liberall,
Some witty, wise, valiaunt, and learned some,
But King of all the vertues thou alone.

lxxxii

TO THE DIVINE PROTECTION OF THE LADIE ARBELLA, THE AUTHOR COMMENDETH BOTH HIS GRACE'S HONOURE AND HIS MVSE'S ÆTERNITIE.

My Mistrisse' worth gave wings unto my Muse,
And my Muse wings did give unto her name;
So, like twin byrds, my Muse bred with her fame,
Together now doe learne theyre wings to use.

And in this booke, which heere you may peruse,
Abroad they flye, resolv'd to try the same
Adventure in theyre flight; and thee, sweet dame!
Both she and I for oure protectoure chuse;

I by my vow, and she by farther right,
Vnder youre Phœnix [OMITTED] presume to flye;
That from all carrion beakes in saftie might
By one same wing be shrouded, she and I.
O happie if I might but flitter there,
Where yow and shee and I should be so neare!

lxxxiii

OF THE DEATH OF MY LADIE RICH'S DAUGHTER. SHEWING THE REASON OF HER UNTIMELY DEATH HINDRED HER EFFECTING THOSE THINGS WHICH BY THE FORMER CALCULATION OF HER NATIVITYE HE FORETOLD.

He that by skill of stars doth fates foretell,
If reason give the verdit of his side,
Though by mischance things otherwise betyde
Then he foretold, yet doth he calcule well.

A Phœnix, if she live, must needs excell;
And this, by reason's lawes, should not have dy'd;
But thus it chanct: nature cannot abyde
More than one Phœnix in the world to dwell.

Now as the mother Phœnix death should slay,
Her beauty's light did dazle so his eye,
As, while he blindfold let his arrowe flye,
He slew the yonge one which stood in the way.
Thus did the mother scape; and thus did I,
By good ill hap, fayle of my prophecie.

lxxxiv

SPIRITUALL SONNETTES TO THE HONOUR OF GOD & HYS SAYNTES. BY H. C.

lxxxv

TO GOD THE FATHER.

Greate God, within whose symple essence wee
Nothyng but that which ys thy selfe can fynde,
When on thy self thou dydd'st reflect thy mynde,
Thy thought was God, which tooke the forme of thee;

And when this God, thus borne, thou lov'st, and hee
Lov'd thee agayne, with passion of lyke kynde,
(As lovers' syghes, which meete become one wynde),
Both breath'd one spryght of æquall Deitye.

Æternall Father, whence theis twoe doe come,
And wil'st the tytle of my Father have,
An heavenly knowledge in my minde engrave,
That yt thy Sonne's true Image may become;
And sente my hart with syghes of holy Love,
That yt the temple of the Spright may prove.

lxxxvi

TO GOD THE SONNE.

Greate Prynce of heaven, begotten of that Kyng
Who rules the kyngdome that himself dyd make;
And of that vyrgyn-Queene man's shape did take,
Which from kynge Davyd's royal stock dyd sprynge;

No mervayle though thy byrth mayd angells synge,
And angells' dyttes shepehyrdes' pipes awake;
And kynges lyke shepehyrdes, humbled for thy sake,
Kneele at thy feete, & guyftes of homage brynge.

For heaven & earth, the hyghe & lowe estate,
As partners of thy byrth make æquall clayme:
Angells, because in heaven God the begatt,
Sheepehyrdes & kynges, because thy mother came
From pryncely race, & yet, by povertye,
Mayd glory shyne in her humillitye.

lxxxvii

TO GOD THE HOLY-GHOST.

Eternall Spryght: which art in heaven the Love
With which God and his Sonne ech other kysse;
And who, to shewe who God's beloved ys,
The shape and wynges took'st of a loving dove;

When Chryste, ascendyng, sent the from above
In fyery tongues, thou cam'st downe unto hys,
That skyll in utteryng heavenly mysteryes,
By heate of zeale, both faith & love myght move.

True God of Love, from whom all true love sprynges,
Bestowe upon my love thy wynges & fyre,
My sowle a spyrytt ys, & with thy wynges
May lyke an aungell fly from earth's desyre;
And with thy fyre a hart inflam'd may beare,
And in thy syght a Seraphin appeare.

lxxxviii

TO THE BLESSED SACRAMENT.

When thee (o holy sacrificed Lambe)
In severed sygnes I whyte & liquid see,
As in thy body slayne I thynke on thee,
Which pale by sheddyng of thy bloode became.

And when agayne I doe behold the same
Vayled in whyte to be receav'd of mee,
Thou seemest in thy syndon wrapt to bee
Like to a corse, whose monument I am.

Buryed in mee, unto my soule appeare,
Pryson'd in earth, & bannisht from thy syght,
Lyke our forefathers who in lymbo were,
Cleere thou my thoughtes, as thou did'st gyve them light,
And as thou others freed from purgyng fyre
Quenche in my hart the flames of badd desyre.

lxxxix

TO OUR BLESSED LADY.

In that (O Queene of Queenes) thy byrth was free
From guylt, which others do of grace bereave,
When in theyr mother's wombe they lyfe receave,
God as his sole-borne daughter loved thee.

To matche thee, lyke thy byrth's nobillitye,
He thee hys Spyryt for thy spouse dyd leave,
Of whome thou dydd'st his onely Sonne conceave,
And so wast lynk'd to all the Trinitye.

Cease then, O Queenes who earthly crownes do weare,
To glory in the pompe of worldly thynges;
If men such hyghe respect unto yow beare
Which daughters, wyves, & mothers ar of kynges,
What honour should unto that Queene be donne
Who had your God for father, spouse & sonne!

To ST. MYCHAELL THE ARCHANGEL.

When as the prynce of angells, puff'd with pryde,
Styrr'd his seditious spyrittes to rebell,
God choose for cheife his champion Michaell;
And gave hym charge the hoste of heaven to guyde.

And when the Angells of the rebells' syde
Vanquisht in battayle from theyr glory fell,
The pryde of heaven became the drake of hell,
And in the dungeon of dispayre was tyed.

Thys dragon, synce lett loose, God's Church assail'd,
And shee by helpe of Mychaell's swoarde prevail'd.
Who ever try'd adventures lyke thys knyght;
Which, generall of heaven, hell overthrewe?
For such a lady as God's spouse dyd fyght,
And such a monster as the Dyvell subdue?

xci

TO ST. JHON BAPTIST.

As Anne, longe barren, Mother dyd become
Of hym who last was Judge in Israell,
Thou, last of prophetts borne, lyke Samuell,
Dydd'st from a wombe past hope of issue come.

Hys mother sylent spake; thy father, dombe,
Recoveryng speache, God's wonder dyd foretell;
He after death a prophet was in hell;
And thou unborne within thy mother's wombe.

He dyd annoynte the kynge, whom God dyd take
From charge of sheepe to rule his chosen land;
But that highe Kynge who heaven & earth did make
Receav'd a holyer lyquour from thy hand,
When God his flocke in humayne shape did feede,
As Israell's kynge kept his in sheepehird's weede.

xcii

TO ST. PETER AND ST. PAUL.

He that for feare hys mayster dyd denye,
And at a mayden's voyce amazed stoode,
The myghtyest monarche of the earth withstoode,
And on his mayster's crosse rejoyc'd to dye.

He whose blynde zeale dyd rage with crueltye,
And helpt to shedd the fyrst of martyrs' bloode,
By lyght from heaven hys blyndenesse understoode,
And with the cheife Apostle slayne doth lye.

O three tymes happy twoe; O golden payre!
Who with your bloode dyd lay the church's grounde
Within the fatall towne which twynnes did founde,
And setled there the Hebrew fisher's chayre,
Where fyrst the Latyn sheepehyrd rais'd his throne,
And synce the world & church were rul'd by one.

xciii

TO ST. MARY MAGDALEN.

For fewe nyghtes solace in delitious bedd,
Where heate of luste dyd kyndle flames of hell,
Thou nak'd on naked rocke in desert cell
Lay thirty yeares, and teares of grief dyd shedd.

But for that tyme thy hart there sorrowed,
Thou now in heaven æternally dost dwell;
And for ech teare which from thyne eyes then fell
A sea of pleasure now ys rendered.

If short delyghtes entyce my hart to straye,
Lett me by thy longe pennance learne to knowe
How dear I should for triflyng pleasures paye;
And if I vertue's roughe beginnyng shunne,
Lett thy æternall joyes unto me showe
What hyghe rewarde by lyttle paine ys wonne.

xciv

TO ST. KATHARYNE.

Because thou wast the daughter of a kyng,
Whose beautye dyd all nature's workes exceede,
And wyssdome wonder to the world dyd breede,
A muse myght rayse yt self on Cupid's wynge.

But syth theys graces which from nature sprynge
Were grac'd by those which from grace dyd proceede,
And glory haith deserv'd, my Muse doth neede
An angell's feathers when thy prayse I synge;

For all in thee became angelycall;
An angell's face had angells' puritye;
And thou an angell's tongue did'st speake withall.
Loe why thy sowle, sett free by martyrdome,
Was croun'd by God in angells' company,
And angells' handes thy body dyd intombe.

xcv

TO ST. MARGARETT.

Fayre Amazon of heaven, who took'st in hand
St. Mychaell & St. George to imitate,
And for a tyrant's love transform'd to hate,
Wast for thy lylly faith retayn'd in bande;

Alone on foote, & with thy naked hande
Thou dydd'st lyke Mychaell & his hoste; & that
For which on horse arm'd George we celebrate;
Whylst thou, lyke them, a dragon dydd'st withstand.

Behold my sowle shutt in my body's jayle,
The which the drake of hell gapes to devoure;
Teache me, (o virgyn), how thou dydd'st prevayle.
Virginity, thou saiest, was all thy ayde;
Gyve me then purity in steade of power,
And let my soule, mayd chaste, passe for a Mayde.

xcvi

TO OUR BLESSED LADY.

Sovereigne of Queenes! if vayne ambition move
My hart to seeke an earthly prynce's grace;
Shewe me thy Sonne in his imperiall place,
Whose servants reigne our kynges & queenes above.

And if alluryng passions I doe prove
By pleasyng sighes, shewe me thy lovely face;
Whose beames the angells' beuty do deface,
And even inflame the seraphins with love.

So by ambition I shall humble bee,
When in the presence of the highest kynge
I serve all his, that he may honour mee.
And love my hart to chaste desyres shall brynge,
When fayrest queene lookes on me from her throne,
And, jealous, byddes me love but her alone.

xcvii

TO OUR BLESSED LADY.

Why should I any love, O Queene, but thee?
If favour past a thankfull love should breed,
Thy wombe dyd beare, thy brest my Saviour feede;
And thou dyddest never cease to succour me.

If love doe followe worth and dignitye,
Thou all in thy perfections doest exceede;
If Love be ledd by hope of future meede,
What pleasure more then thee in heaven to see?

An earthly syght doth onely please the eye,
And breedes desyre, but does not satisfye;
Thy sight gyves us possession of all joye,
And with such full delyghtes ech sence shal fyll,
As harte shall wyshe but for to see thee styll,
And ever seyng, ever shall injoye.

xcviii

TO OUR BLESSED LADY.

Sweete Queene, although thy beuty rayse upp mee
From syght of baser beutyes here belowe,
Yett lett me not rest there, but higher goe
To hym, who tooke hys shape from God & thee.

And if thy forme in hym more fayre I see,
What pleasure from his deity shall flowe,
By whose fayre beames his beutye shineth so,
When I shall yt behold æternally.

Then shall my love of pleasure have his fyll,
When beuty self, in whom all pleasure ys,
Shall my enamored sowle embrace & kysse;
And shall newe loves, & newe delyghtes distyll,
Which from my sowle shall gushe into my hart,
And through my body flowe to every part.

xcix

TO ST. MARY MAGDALEN.

Blessed offendour, who thy self haist try'd
How farr a synner dyffers from a Saynt,
Joyne thy wett eyes with teares of my complaint,
While I sighe for that grave for which thou cry'd.

No longer let my synfull sowle abyde
In feaver of thy first desyres faynte;
But lett that love which last thy hart did taynt
With panges of thy repentance pierce my syde.

So shall my sowle no foolysh vyrgyn bee,
With empty lampe; but lyke a Magdalen beere,
For oyntment boxe, a breast with oyle of grace;
And so the zeale which then shall burne in mee
May make my hart lyke to a lampe appere,
And in my spouse's pallace gyve me place.

TO ST. MARY MAGDALEN.

Such as retyr'd from sight of men, lyke thee
By pennance seeke the joyes of heaven to wynne,
In desartes make theyr paradyce begynne,
And even amongst wylde beastes do angells see.

In such a place my sowle doth seeme to bee
When in my body she laments her synne;
And none but brutall passions fyndes therin,
Except they be sent down from heaven to mee.

Yett if those graces God to me impart
Which He inspyr'd thy blessed brest withall,
I may fynde heaven in my retyred hart;
And if thou change the object of my love,
The wyng'd affection which men Cupid call
May gett his syght, & like an angell prove.

TO ST. MARY MAGDALEN.

Sweete Saynt, thow better canst declare to me
What pleasure ys obteyn'd by heavenly love
Then they whych other loves dyd never prove,
Or which in sexe ar differyng from thee.

For lyke a woman spowse my sowle shal bee,
Whom synfull passions once to lust did move,
And synce betrothed to God's sonne above,
Should be enamored with his deitye.

My body ys the garment of my spryght,
Whyle as the day tyme of my lyfe doth last;
When death shall brynge the nyght of my delight,
My soule, uncloth'd, shall rest from labours past;
And, clasped in the armes of God, injoye,
By sweete conjunction, everlastyng joye.

Amen. Amen. Amen.

University of Virginia Library

THE SHEEPHEARD'S SONG OF VENUS & ADONIS

DAMELUS' SONG TO HIS DIAPHENIA.

A PASTORALL SONG BETWEENE PHILLIS AND AMARILLIS, TWO NIMPHES, EACH AUNSWERING OTHER LINE FOR LINE.

TO HIS FLOCKS.

[Grace full of grace, though in these verses heere]

[Resolv'd to love, unworthy to obtaine]

[Fly low, deere Love, thy Sunne doost thou not see?]

[Thine eye, the glasse where I behold my hart]

[Delight in youre bright eyes my death did breede]

[When youre perfections to my thoughts appeare]

[It may be Love my death doth not pretend]

[Blame not my hart for flying up too hie]

[Eyes curiouse to behold what nature can create]

[Ladie! in beautie and in favour rare]

[Ladie of ladies, the delight alone]

[Not that thy hand is soft, is sweete, is white]

[Sweete Soveraigne! sith so many minds remaine]

[When beautie to the world vouchsafes this blisse]

[Falsly doth envie of your praises blame]

[My Lady's presence makes the Roses red]

[Sweet hand! the sweet but cruell bowe thou art]

[The Fouler hides, (as closely as he may)]

TO HIS MISTRISSE UPON THE OCCASION OF A PETRARCH HE GAVE HER.

[A friend of mine, pittying my hopelesse love]

[Faire Sunne! if you would have me praise your light]

[The sunne, his journey ending in the West]

TO THE Q.: AFTER HIS RETURNE OUTE OF ITALYE.

TO THE QUEENE: TOUCHING THE CRUELL EFFECTS OF HER PERFECTIONS.

TO THE Q.: UPON OCCASION OF A BOOKE HE WROTE, IN AN ANSWER TO CERTAYNE OBJECTIONS AGAINST HER PROCEEDINGS IN THE LOW-COUNTRYES.

TO THE K. OF SCOTS, WHOME AS YET HE HAD NOT SEENE.

TO THE K. OF SCOTS, TOUCHING THE SUBJECT OF HIS POEMS DEDICATED WHOLIE TO HEAVENLY MATTERS.

TO THE K. OF SCOTS, UPON OCCASION OF A SONNET THE K. WROTE IN COMPLAINT OF A CONTRARIE WIND WHICH HINDRED THE ARRIVALL OF THE QUEENE OUTE OF DENMARK. MDLXXXIX.

TO THE K. OF SCOTS UPON OCCASION OF HIS LONGE STAY IN DENMARKE BY REASON OF THE COLDNESSE OF THE WINTER AND FREEZING OF THE SEA.

TO THE PRINCESS OF ORANGE.

TO THE COUNTESSE OF SHREWSBURYE.

TO THE COUNTESSES OF CUMBERLAND AND WARWICK, SISTERS.

TO MY LADIE ARBELLA.

TO THE LADY ARBELLA.

TO MY LADIE RICH.

TO THE LADIE RICH.

TO SEVERALL PERSONS UPON SUNDRYE OCCASIONS.

TO THE PRINCESSE OF ORANGE, UPON OCCASION OF THE MURTHER OF HER FATHER AND HUSBAND.

To the COUNTESSE of SHREWSBURYE, UPON OCCASION OF HIS DEARE MISTRESSE, WHO LIV'D UNDER HER GOVERNMENT.

TO THE COUNTESSE OF PEMBROKE.

TO THE COUNTESSE of ESSEX, UPON OCCASION OF THE DEATH OF HER FIRST HUSBAND, SIR PHILIP SYDNEY.

TO THE LADIE CLINTON.

A CALCULATION UPON THE BIRTH OF AN HONOURABLE LADY'S DAUGHTER, BORNE IN THE YEERE MDLXXXVIII, AND ON A FRIDAY.

TO MR. HILLIARD, UPON OCCASION OF A PICTURE HE MADE OF MY LADIE RICH.

COMPLAYNTS OF MISFORTUNES IN LOVE.

[Now, now I love indeed, and suffer more]

[Wonder it is, and pittie is't that shee]

[Pitty refusing my poore Love to feede]

[If that one care had oure two hearts possest]

[Vncivill sickness! hast thou no regard]

[Deare! though from me youre gratiouse lookes depart]

[If ever any justlye might complayne]

OF THE END AND DEATH OF HIS LOVE.

[Much sorrow in it selfe my love doth move]

[Needes must I leave, and yet needes must I love]

[My Reason, absent, did mine eyes require]

[Each day new proofes of newe dispaire I finde]

[Mine eye with all the deadly sinnes is fraught]

I.

II.

III.

IV.

V.

VI.

VII.

[If true love might true love's reward obtaine]

[Somtimes in verse I praisd, somtime I sigh'd]

FOURE SONNETS TO SIR PHILLIP SIDNEY'S SOULE.

[Give pardon (blessed soule) to my bold cryes]

[Sweet soule! which now with heav'nly songs doost tel]

[Even as when great men's heires cannot agree]

[Great Alexander then did well declare]

TO THE DIVINE PROTECTION OF THE LADIE ARBELLA, THE AUTHOR COMMENDETH BOTH HIS GRACE'S HONOURE AND HIS MVSE'S ÆTERNITIE.

OF THE DEATH OF MY LADIE RICH'S DAUGHTER. SHEWING THE REASON OF HER UNTIMELY DEATH HINDRED HER EFFECTING THOSE THINGS WHICH BY THE FORMER CALCULATION OF HER NATIVITYE HE FORETOLD.

SPIRITUALL SONNETTES TO THE HONOUR OF GOD & HYS SAYNTES. BY H. C.