O SUCH as say, thy Love I overprize,
And do not stick to term my praises, folly;
Against these folks, that think themselves so wise,
I thus oppose my reason's forces wholly.
Though I give more than well affords my state,
In which expense, the most suppose me vain
(Which yields them nothing, at the easiest rate),
Yet, at this price, returns me treble gain.
They value not, unskilful how to use;
And I give much, because I gain thereby:
I that thus take, or they that thus refuse;
Whether are these deceived then, or I?
In everything, I hold this maxim still,
The circumstance doth make it good or ill.
HEN conquering Love did first my Heart assail;
Unto mine aid I summoned every Sense:
Doubting, if that proud tyrant should prevail,
My Heart should suffer for mine eyes' offence.
But he with beauty first corrupted Sight,
My Hearing bribed with her tongue's harmony,
My Taste by her sweet lips drawn with delight,
My Smelling won with her breath's spicery,
But when my Touching came to play his part
(The King of Senses, greater than the rest),
He yields LOVE up the keys unto my Heart;
And tells the others, how they should be blest.
And thus by those, of whom I hoped for aid;
To cruel Love, my soul was first betrayed.
HOSE priests which first the Vestal Fire began,
Which might be borrowed from no earthly flame,
Devised a vessel to receive the sun,
Being stedfastly opposed to the same:
Where, with sweet wood, laid curiously by Art, On which the sun might by reflection beat; Receiving strength for every secret part,
The fuel kindled with celestial heat.
Thy blessed Eyes, the sun which lights this fire!
My holy Thoughts, they be the Vestal Flame!
The precious odours be my chaste Desires!
My Breast's the vessel which includes the same!
Thou art my VESTA! Thou, my goddess art!
Thy hallowed temple only is my Heart!
ETHINKS, I see some crooked Mimic jeer,
And tax my Muse with this fantastic grace;
Turning my papers, asks, “What have we here?"
Making withal some filthy antic face.
I fear no censure, nor what thou canst say!
Nor shall my spirit, one jot of vigour lose!
Think'st thou, my Wit shall keep the packhorse way,
That every dudgen low Invention goes ?
Since Sonnets thus in bundles are imprest,
And every drudge doth dull our satiate ear;
Think'st thou, my Love shall in those rags be drest,
That every dowdy, every trull doth wear?
Up to my pitch, no common judgement flies!
I scorn all earthly dung-bred scarabies!
UR floods' Queen, Thames, for ships and swans is
crowned;
And stately Severn, for her shore is praised.
The crystal Trent, for fords and fish renowned;
And Avon's fame, to Albion's cliffs is raised,
Carlegion Chester vaunts her holy Dee.
York, many wonders, of her Ouse can tell.
The Peak, her Dove, whose banks so fertile be:
And Kent will say, her Medway doth excel.
Cotswold commends her Isis to the Tame.
Our northern borders boast of Tweed's fair flood.
Our western parts extol their Wilis' fame;
And the old Lea brags of the Danish blood.
Arden's sweet Ankor, let thy glory be,
That fair IDEA only lives by thee!
HILST yet mine Eyes do surfeit with delight,
My woful Heart (imprisoned in my breast)
Wisheth to be transformèd to my sight,
That it, like those, by looking, might be blest.
But whilst mine Eyes thus greedily do gaze,
Finding their objects over-soon depart;
These now the other's happiness do praise,
Wishing themselves, that they had been my Heart.
That Eyes were Heart, or that the Heart were Eyes,
As covetous the other's use to have.
But finding Nature, their request denies,
This to each other mutually they crave.
That since the one cannot the other be,
That Eyes could think of that my Heart could see.
ARVEL not, LOVE! though I thy power admire!
Ravished a world beyond the farthest thought,
And knowing more, than ever hath been taught,
That I am only starved in my Desire:
Marvel not, Love! though I thy power admire !
Aiming at things exceeding all perfection;
To Wisdom's self to minister direction,
That I am only starved in my Desire:
Marvel not, LoVE! though I thy power admire!
Though my Conceit I further seem to bend
Than possibly Invention can extend ;
And yet am only starved in my Desire:
If thou wilt wonder! here's the wonder, LOVE!
That this to me doth yet no wonder prove.
OME misbelieving and profane in Love,
When I do speak of miracles by thee,
May say, that thou art flattered by me;
Who only write, my skill in Verse to prove.
See miracles! ye Unbelieving, see!
A dumb-born Muse made to express 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 seen of thine;
And mine ears deaf, by thy fame healed be:
My vices cured by virtues sprung from thee;
My hopes revived, which long in grave had lien.
All unclean thoughts (foul spirits) cast out in me,
Only by virtue that proceeds from thee.
Hou purblind Boy! since thou hast been so slack
To wound her heart, whose eyes have wounded me;
And suffered her to glory in my wrack:
Thus to my aid, I lastly conjure thee!
By hellish Styx (by which the Thunderer swears)!
By thy fair Mother's unavoided power!
By HECATE'S names! by PROSERPINE's sad tears,
When she was rapt to the infernal bower!
By thine own lovèd PSYCHE'S! by the fires
Spent on thine altars, flaming up to heaven!
By all true lovers' sighs, vows, and desires!
By all the wounds that ever thou hast given !
I conjure thee, by all that I have named,
To make her love! or, CUPID, be thou damned !
EAR! why should you command me to my rest,
When now the night doth summon all to sleep?
Methinks, this time becometh lovers best!
Night was ordained, together friends to keep.
How happy are all other living things,
Which, through the day, disjoined by several flight,
The quiet evening yet together brings,
And each returns unto his Love at night!
O thou that art so courteous else to all,
Why shouldst thou, Night! abuse me only thus!
That every creature to his kind dost call,
And yet 'tis thou dost only sever us?
Well could I wish, it would be ever day;
If, when night comes, you bid me go away!
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