Poems (1872) :: :: University of Virginia Library

Oft did I heare, our Eyes the passage were
By which Loue entred to auaile our hearts;
Therefore I guarded them, and voyd of feare
Neglected the defence of other parts.
Loue knowing this, the vsuall way forsooke,
And seeking, found a by-way by mine Eare:
At which hee entring, my Hart pris'ner tooke,
And vnto thee sweet Philomel did beare.
Yet let my hart thy hart to pittie moue,
Whose paine is great, although smal fault appeare:
First it lies bound in fettering-chaines of Loue,
Then each day it is rackt with hope and feare.
And with Loue's flame 'tis euermore consumed,
Only because to loue thee it presumed.

Sonnet II.

O why did Fame my Hart to Loue betray,
By telling my Deare's vertue and perfection?

150

Why did my Traytor Eares to it conuay
That Syren-song, cause of my Hart's infection?
Had I bene deafe, or Fame her gifts concealed,
Then had my Hart been free from hopeles loue:
Or were my state likewise by it reuealed,
Well might it Philomel to pitty moue.
Then shold she kno how loue doth make me lāguish,
Distracting mee twixt hope and dreadful feare:
Then shold she kno my care, my pla[i]nts and anguish;
All which for her deere sake I meekely beare.
Yea I could quietly Death's paynes abide,
So that shee knew that for her sake I dide.

Sonnet III. Of his owne and his Mistris' sicknes at one time.

Sickenes entending my Loue to betray
Before I should sight of my Deare obtaine,
Did his pale collours in my face display,
Lest that my Fauour might her fauour gaine.
Yet not content hërewith, like meanes it wrought
My Philomel's bright beauty to deface:
And Nature's glory to disgrace it sought,
That my conceiuèd Loue it might displace.
But my firme Loue could this assault well beare,
Which Vertue had, not beauty, for his ground:
And yet bright beames of beauty did appeare,
Throgh sicknes' vail, which made my loue aboūd.

151

If sicke, thought I, her beauty so excell,
How matchlesse would it bee if shee were well?

Sonnet IV. Another of her Sicknes and Recouery.

Pale Death himselfe did loue my Philomel,
When hee her Vertues and rare beutie saw:
Therefore hee Sicknesse sent, which should expell
His riuall, Life, and my Deere to him draw.
But her bright beauty dazeled so his Eyes,
That his dart Life did misse, though her it hitt:
Yet not therewith content, new meanes hee tries
To bring her vnto Death, and make Life flitt.
But Nature soone perceiuing, that hee meant
To spoyle her only Phœnix, her chiefe pride,
Assembled all her force, and did preuent
The greatest mischiefe that could her betide.
So both our liues and loues Nature defended,
For had shee dide, my loue and life had ended.

Sonnet V. Allusion to Theseus' Voyage to Crete against the Minotaure.

My Loue is sayl'd, against Dislike to fight,
Which, like vild monster, threatens his decay;
The ship is Hope, which by Desire's great might,
Is swiftly borne towards the wishèd Bay:

152

The company which with my Loue doth fare,
Though met in one, is a dissenting crew;
They are Ioy, Greefe, and neuer-sleeping Care,
And Doubt, which ne'r beleeues good news for true.
Black feare the Flag is which my ship doth beare,
Which, Deere, take downe, if my Loue victor be,
And let white Comfort in his place appeare,
When Loue victoriously returnes to mee,
Lest I from rocke Despayre come tumbling downe,
And in a Sea of Teares bee forc't to drowne.

Sonnet VI. Vpon her looking secretly out of a window as hee passed by.

Once did my Philomel reflect on mee
Her christall-pointed Eyes as I passt by,
Thinking not to be seene, yet would mee see;
But soone my hungry Eyes their foode did spie.
Alas, my Deere, couldst thou suppose that face,
Which needs not enuy Phœbus' cheefest pride,
Could secret bee, although in secret place,
And that transparant glas such beams could hide?
But if I had beene blinde, yet Loue's hot flame
Kindled in my poore heart by thy bright Eye,
Did plainely shew when it so neere thee came,
By more then vsuall heate, the cause was mee:
So, though thou hidden wert, my hart and eye
Did turne to thee by mutuall Sympathy.

153

Sonnet VII.

When time nor place would let me often view
Nature's chiefe Mirror and my sole delight;
Her liuely Picture in my hart I drew,
That I might it behold both day and night.
But shee, like Phillip's Son, scorning that I
Should portray her wanting Apelles' art,
Commaunded Loue, who nought dare hir deny,
To burne the Picture which was in my Hart.
The more Loue burn'd, the more her picture shin'd;
The more it shin'de, the more my hart did burne;
So, what to hurt her picture was assign'd,
To my Hart's ruine and decay did turne.
Loue could not burne the Saint—it was diuine;
And therefore fir'd my hart, the Saint's poore shrine.

Sonnet VIII.

When as the Sun eclipsèd is, some say
It thunder, lightning, raine and wind portendeth:
And not vnlike but such things happen may,
Sith like effects my Sun eclipsèd sendeth.
Witnes my throat made hoars with thundring cries,
And hart with Loue's hot-flashing lightnings fired:
Witnes the showers which stil fal from mine eies,
And brest with sighs like stormy winds neare riued.

154

Shine out, then, once againe, sweete Sun, on mee,
And with thy beames dissolue clouds of dispaire,
Whereof these raging Meteors framèd bee,
In my poore hart by absence of my faire.
So shalt thou proue thy Beames, thy heate, thy light,
To match the Sun in glory, grace, and might.

Sonnet IX. Vpon sending her a Gold Ring with this Posie ‘Pure and Endlesse.’

If you would knowe the loue which you I beare,
Compare it with the Ring, which your faire hand
Shall make more pretious when you shal it weare;
So my loue's Nature you shal vnderstand.
Is it of mettal pure? so you shall proue
My loue, which ne're disloyal thought did stain.
Hath it no end? so endles is my loue,
Vnlesse you it destroy with your disdaine.
Doth it the purer waxe the more 'tis tride?
So doth my loue: yet herein they dissent,
That whereas Gold the more 'tis purifi'd,
By waxing lesse, doth shew some part is spent,
My loue doth wax more pure by your more trying,
And yet encreaseth in the purifying.

155

Sonnet X.

My Cruell Deere hauing captiu'de my hart,
And bound it fast in Chaynes of restles Loue,
Requires it out of bondage to depart;
Yet is shee sure from her it cannot moue.
Draw back, sayd shee, your hopelesse loue from me,
Your work requireth a more worthy place;
Vnto your sute though I cannot agree,
Full many will it louingly embrace.
It may bee so, my Deere; but as the Sun
When it appeares doth make the stars to vanish,
So when your selfe into my thoughts do run,
All others quite out of my Hart you bannish.
The beames of your Perfections shine so bright,
That straightway they dispell all others' light.

Melophilus.

157

ON A FLEA ON HIS MISTRESS' BOSOM.

Madam, that flea which crept between your brest
I envyde that there he should make his rest;
The little creature's fortune was soe good
That angells' feed not on so precious food.

158

How it did sucke, how eagerly sucke you!—
Madam, shall fleas before me tickle you?—
Oh, I not hould can; pardon if I kill yt!
Sweet blood, to you I aske this, that which fill'd it
Runne from my ladie's brest. Come, happie flea,
That dyde for suckinge of that milky-sea.
Oh, now againe I cold e'en wish thee there,
About her hart, about her any where:
I would vowe, deare flea, thou sholdst not dye,
If [that] thou couldst suck from her her crueltie.

238

ODE.

[Absence, heere this my protestatyon]

Absence, heere this my protestatyon
Against thy strength,
Distance, and length.
Doe what thou canst for alteration,
For hearts of truest mettle
Absence doth joyne, and tyme doth settle.

239

Who loues a mistris of such quallity,
His mynd hath fownd
Affection's grownd
Beyond tyme, place and mortallitie.
To harts that cannot varie
Absence is present, Tyme doth tary.

My senses want their outward motyon,
Which now within
Reason doth wynn,
Redubled by her secret motion,
Like rich that take pleasure
In hyding more than handling treasure.

By absence this good means I gaine,
That I can catch her
Where none can match her
In some close corner of my brayne.
There I imbrace, and there kisse her,
And soe enioye her and none mysse her.

241

THE TOKEN.

Send me some tokens, that my hope may live,
Or that my easeless thoughts may sleep and rest;
Send me some hony, to make sweet my hive,
That in my passions I may hope the best.
I beg nor ribbon wrought with thy own hands,
To knit our loves in the fantastic strain
Of new-touch'd youth; nor ring to show the stands
Of our affection, that, as that's round and plain,
So should our loves meet in simplicity;
No, nor the corals which thy wrist infold,
Laced up together in congruity,
To show our thoughts should rest in the same hold;

242

No, nor thy picture, though most gracious,
And most desired, 'cause 'tis like the best;
Nor witty lines, which are most copious,
Within the writings which thou hast addrest.
Send me nor this, nor that, t' increase my score;
But swear thou think'st I love thee, and no more.

[[SELF-LOVE.]]

He that cannot chuse but love,
And strives against it still,
Never shall my fancy move;
For he loves against his will.
Nor he which is all his own,
And cannot pleasure chuse;
When I am caught, he can be gone,
And, when he list, refuse.
Nor he that loves none but fair,
For such by all are sought;
Nor he that can for foul ones care,
For his judgment then is naught.
Nor he that hath wit, for he will
Make me his jest or slave;
Nor a fool, for when others [OMITTED]
He can neither [OMITTED]

243

Nor he that still his mistress prays,
For she is thrall'd therefore;
Nor he that payes not, for he says
Within she's worth no more.
Is there then no kind of men,
Whom I may freely prove?
I will venture that humor then
In this mine own self-love.

THE LADY AND HER VIOL.

Why dost thou, deare, affect thy viol so,
And let thy loue forlorne, wth anguish go?
Thou't kindly set him on thy lap, imbrace
And almost kis, while I must voide ye place.
Thou't string him truly, tune him sweetly, when
Thou't wrest me out of tune and crack me then:
Thou't stop his frets, but set no date to mine;
Thou't giue what ere he wants, but let me pine.
Thou knowest him hollow-harted, yet wilt heare
Him throughout wth an attentiue eare.

244

And sing him such a pleasing lullaby,
Would charme hel's churlish porter's watchfull eye;
Keping true time wth him as true may be,
But finde no time to kepe ye true to me.
Deare as ye instrument woulde I were thine,
That thou mightst play on me, or thou wert mine.

246

SLEEP.

Care-charming Sleep, thou easer of all woes,
Brother of Death! sweetly thy selfe dispose
On this afflicted Wight; fall like a cloud
In gentle showrs; give nothing yt is lowd,
Or painfull, to his slumbers: easy, sweet,
And like a purling wind, thou sonn of Night!
Passe by his troubled senses; sing his paine
Like hollow murmuringe windes, or silver raine:
Into his senses gently, O gently, slide,
And kisse him into slumber, like a Bride.

247

A PARADOX.

Who soe termes Loue a fire, may like a poet
Ffaine what hee will, for certaine cannot showe it;
Ffor ffire nere burnes but when the fuell's neare,
But Loue doth at most distance most appeare:
Yet out of fire water did neuer goe,
But teares from Loue abundantly doe flowe;
Ffire still mounts vpward, but Loue oft descendeth;
Ffire leaues the midst, Loue to the center tendeth;
Ffire dryes & hardens, Loue doth mollifie;
Ffire doth consume, but Loue doth fructifie.

The powerfull Queen of Loue (faire Venus) came
Descended from the Sea, not from the flame;
Whence passions ebbe & flowe, & from the braine
Run to the hart, like streames, and back againe;
Yea Loue oft fills men's breasts wth melting snowe,
Drowning their loue-sick minds in flouds of woe.
What, is Loue water, then? it may be soe:
But hee saith truest yt saith hee doth not knowe.

248

DR. DONNE'S FAREWELL TO Ye WORLD.

Farewell, you guilded follyes, pleasing troubles!
Farewell, you honnered rages, you cristall bubbles!
Fame's but a hollow eccho; gould pure clay;
Honour is but ye darling of one day;
Beauty, the 'eyes' idoll, but a damaske skinne;
State but a goulden prison to keep in
And torture freeborne mindes; embroiderèd traines
But goodly pajants, proudly-swelling veines;
Fame, riches, honour, state, traines, beautyes, birth,
Are but ye fading blessings of ye earth.
I would bee great, but see ye sunne doth still
Levill his beames against ye rising hill;
I would bee rich, but see men too unkind
Dippe in ye bowels of ye richest minds;
I would bee faire, but see ye champian proud
The world's faire eye off-setting in a cloud;
I would bee wise, but yt ye fox I see
Suspected guilty when ye asse is free;
I would bee poore, but see ye humble grasse
Is trampl'd on by each unworthy asse.
Rich hated, wise suspected, scorn'd if poore;
Great fear'd, faire tempted, & high envyed more:

249

Would ye world now adopt mee for his heire;
Would Beautye's Queene entitle mee ye faire;
Fame speake mee Honour's mineon; could I vey
The blisse of angells; wth a speaking eye
Command bare-heads, bow'd-knees, strike Justice domb
As well as blind & lame; & give a tongue
To stones by epitaphes; bee callèd Master
In ye loose lines of every Poetaster;
Could I bee more then any man yt lives
Rich, wise, great, faire, all in superlatives;
I count one minute of my holy leasure
Beyond to much of all this empty pleasure.
Welcome, pure thoughts! welcome, yee carelesse groanes!
These are my guests, this is yt courtage tones:
Ye wingèd people of ye skeyes shall sing
Mine anthems; bee my sellar, gentle spring;
Here dwells noe hopelesse loves, noe palsy feares,
Noe short joyes purchas'd wth eternall teares;
Here will I sit, & sigh my hot youth's folly,
And learne to 'affect a holy malancholy;
And if contentment bee a stranger, then
Ile never looke for't but in Heaven againe;
And when I dye Ile turne my cave
Even from a chamber to a silent grave:
The falling spring upon the rocke shall weare
Mine epitaph, & cause a breine teare
From him who askes who in this tomb doth lye:
The dolefull Eccho answeres: It is I.

251

IF SHE DERYDE ME.

Great and good, if she deryde mee,
Let me walke, I'le not despaire;
Ere to morrow I'le provide mee

252

One as great, lesse prowd, more faire:
Thay that seeke loue to constraine
Haue their labour for their paine.

They that strongly can impórtune,
And will never yeild nor tyre,
Gayne the pay in spight of Fortune;
But such gaine I'le not desyre:
Where they prize is shame or sinn:
Wynners loose, and loosers wynn.

Looke vpon the faithfull louer:
Grief stands painted in his face;
Groanes and teares and sighs discouer
That they are his only grace:
Hee must weepe as childrenn doe,
That will in ye fashion wooe.

I, whoe flie these idle fancies
Which my dearest rest betraye,
Warn'd by others' harmfull chances,
Vse my freedome as I may.
When all the world says what it cann,
'Tis but—Fie, vnconstant mann!

253

SUN, BEGONE.

Wherefore peepst thou, envyous Day?
Wee can kisse without thee;
Louers hate that golden raye
Which thou bearst about thee.

Goe and give them light that sorrowe,
Or the saylor flyinge:
Our imbraces need noe morrowe,
Nor our kisses eyinge.

We shall curse thy envyous eye
For thy soone betrayinge;
Or condemne thee for a spye,
If thou findst vs playinge.

Gett thee gone, and lend thy flashes
Where there's need of lendinge:
Our affections are not ashes,
Nor our pleasures endinge.

Were we cold or wyther'd heere,
We would stay thee by vs;
Or but one another's sphære,
Then thou shouldst not flye vs.

254

We are younge, thou spoilst our pleasure;
Goe to sea and slumber;
Darknes only lends vs leasure
Our stolne joyes to number.

MY HEART.

Thou sent'st to me a hart was sound,
I tooke it to be thine;
But when I saw it had a wound,
I knew that hart was myne.

A bountie of a stronge conceit,
To send myne owne to mee,
And send it in a worse estate
Then when it came to thee.

The hart I sent thee had no stayne,
It was entyre and sound;
But thou hast sent it back againe
Sicke of a deadly wound.

255

Oh heavens, how woldst thou use a hart
That should rebellyous bee,
Since thou hast slayne myne with a dart
That soe much honorde thee!

FORTUNE NEVER FAILS.

What if I come to my mistris' bedd,
The candles all ecclip'st from shyninge:
Shall I then attempt for her mayden-head,
Or showe my selfe a coward by declyninge?
Oh noe,
Fie, do not soe;
For thus much I knowe by devyninge,
Blynd is Love,
The darke it doth approve
To pray on pleasures pantinge;
What needs light
For Cupid in ye night,
If jealous eyes be wantinge?

Fortune neuer fayles, if she bidd take place,
To shroud all the faire proceedings:
Love and she, though blynd, yet each other embrace
To favor all their servants' meetings.

256

Venture, I say,
To sport and to play,
If in place all be fittinge;
Though she say fie,
Yet doth she not denie,
For fie is but a word of tryall:
Jealosie doth sleepe;
Then doe not weepe
At force of a faynt denyall.

Glorious is my loue, worth tryvmphs in her face;
Then too-too bould were I to ventvr:
Whoe loues, deserues to liue in princes' grace;
Why stand you then affraid to enter?
Lights are all out,
Then make noe doubt,
A louer bouldly may take chusinge.
Bewtie is a baite
For a princely mate.
Fye, why stand you then a musing?
Yow'le repent too late,
If she doe you hate
For love's delight refusinge.

257

THE PORTRAIT.

Painter, while there thou sitst drawing the sight
That her unkind regard hath dyed in grief,
Dip black thy pensill, and forgett the white
That thou bestow'st on lookes that win beliefe;
And when thy worke is done, then lett her see
The humble image of her crueltie.

Or if t'unfold the sence of her disdaine
Exceeds the narrow limitts of thyne art,
Then blott thy table, and forgett thy paine,
Till thou hast learn'd the coulours of her hart;
And lett her then no sight or other show
But that void place where thou hast painted woe.

Tell her that those whome th'Heauens' inuries
Haue kept at sea in wandering disperation
Sitt downe at length, and brag of misseries,
The highest measure of their ostentation.
So hath she tost me till my latest glorie
Is her content, and my affliction's storie.

Tell her that tears and sighs shall never cease
With flowing streames, to sinck her in conceite,
Till at the length shee pitty or release
The gentle hart that on her eyes did waite,
Pure lights imbracing in each other's scope
The strength of faith and weaknesses of hope.

258

Thus doe I breathe forth my unhappines,
And play with rimes, as if my thoughts were free;
Wherein if I had power but to expresse
Her name, the world would with my griefs agree.
But, idle veine! consume thyself in this,
That I have sworn to bury what shee is.

THREE LOVE-SONNETS.

[I.]

[Oh madam, you [only], of all women true]

Oh madam, you [only], of all women true,
Nay, Virtue's selfe, that's more, for only you
Are that wch we imagine to be shee;
You, and but you, make virtue here to bee.
You, who by binding makes us truly free,
Whose only bondman lives in libertie.
You, in wch happie word all things are ment
Excepting wickedness and punishment.
You, that are you, wch I love more than I,
In whome my soule can rest, yett I not dye;
Nay, lives, by beeing those, for that's his place,
I, but a cabinet that keepes your face
Or model in my hart, for all that's I
May in your picture live, in you must dye.

259

II. [Is there no day, madam, for you? is all]

Is there no day, madam, for you? is all
A sullen night? it is not out of choice;
Ffor watchful virtue never did reioice
In darknes, when it subiect was to fall.
But you are ledd by some unluckie hand
That guids yo'r feet into a path obscure,
Yett lookes that you as steadily should stand
As at nooneday, and keep your feet as pure.
Oh, pardon mee; should I bee guided soe
From light, from truth, and from the sight of men,
My guides should to[o] late and [too] clearely know
That darkness was the way to Error's den;
And hee should feele, that bard me from ye light,
The best tyme to revenge my wrongs were night.

III. [Thou art not faire, for all thy redd and white]

Thou art not faire, for all thy redd and white,
Nor all thy rosy ornaments in thee;
Thou art not sweete, though made of meere delight,
Nor fair nor sweete, unless thou pitty mee.
I will not sooth thy fancyes; thou shalt prove
That beauty is noe beauty without loue.

Yet love not mee, nor seeke thou to allure
My thoughts with beauty, were it more divine;
Thy smiles and kisses I can not indure;
I'le not be wrapt up in those armes of thine.

260

Now show it, if thou be a woman right,
Embrace and kiss and love mee in despight.

A WARNING.

Victorious beauty! though your eyes
Are able to subdue an host,
And therefore are unlike to boast
The taking of a little prize,
Doe not a single heart despise.

It came alone, but yet so armd
With former loue, I durst have sworne
That when a privy coate was worne
With characters of beauty charmd,
Thereby it might have 'scapd unharmed.

But neither steele nor stony breast
Are proofe against those looks of thyne;
Nor can a beauty lesse divine
Of any heart be long possesst
When thou pretend'st an interest.

261

Thy conquest in regard of me,
Alas, is small; but in respect
Of her that did my love protect,
Were it divulged, deserves to bee
Recorded for a victory.

And such a one—as some that view
Her lovely face perhapps may say,
Though you have stolen my heart away—
If all your seruants prove not true,
May steal a heart or two from you.

TO THE YOUNG GENTLEWOMEN AT COURT.

Beware, fair maide, of musky courtiers' oaths;
Take heed what gifts and favours you receive;
Let not the fading glosse of silken cloathes
Dazell thy virtues, or thy fame bereave:
For loose but once the hould thou hast of grace,
Who will respect thy favour or thy face?

Each greedy hand doth catch to spoil the flower,
Where none regards the stalk it grew upon;

262

Each creature loues the fruit still to devoure,
And let the tree to fall or grow alone.
But this advise, faire creature, take from mee:
Let none take fruit, unless he take the tree.

Believe not oathes nor much-protesting men,
Creditt no vowes, nor no bewailing songs;
Let courtiers sweare, forsweare, and sweare agayne,
Their heart doth live two regions from their tongues;
And when with oathes the heart is made to tremble,
Believe them least, for then they most dissemble.

Take heed, lest Cæsar do corrupt thy mind,
And foul ambition sell thy modesty;
Say tho' a king thou euer curteous find,
He cannot pardon thy impurity;
For doe with king, to subject you will fall,
From lord to lackey, and at last to all.

263

BELIEVE YOUR GLASSE.

Beleeve your glasse, and if it tell you, Deare,
Your eyes inshrine
A brighter shine
Then faire Apollo; looke if there appeare
The milkie skye,
The crimson dye
Mixt in your cheeks; and then bid Phœbus sett:
More glory then hee owes appeares. But yet

[OMITTED] Be not deceivèd with fond exultacon: [OMITTED] [OMITTED] [OMITTED]
As Cynthia's globe,
A snow-white robe,
Is soonest spotted; a carnation dye
Fades and discolours, opened but to die.

Make vse of yowth and bewty whilest they flourish:
Tyme never sleepes;
Though it but creeps,
It still gets forward. Do not vainly nourish
Them to selfe-vse,
It is abuse;
The richest grownds lying wast turn boggs and rott,
And soe beinge useles were as good were not.

264

Walke in a meddowe by a river side,
Vpon whose bancks
Growe milk-white ranks
Of full-blowne lyllies in their height of pryde,
Which downward bend,
And nothing tend
Save their owne bewties in the glassie streame:
Looke to your selfe; compare your selfe to them—

To them, in bewtie: marke what followes then;
Sommer must end,
The sunn must bend
His longe-abstracted beames to others: then,
Their Spring being crost
By Wynter's frost,
And snep'd by bytter stormes 'gainst which nought boots,
They bend their prowd topps lower then their roots.

Then none regard them but with heedles feet:
In durt each treads
Their declyn'd heads.
Soe when youth's wasted, Age and you shall meet:
Then I alone
Shall sadly moane
That interviewe; others it will not move;
So light regard we what we little love.