LET not one spark of filthy lustful fire
Break out, that may her sacred peace molest,
Ne one light glance of sensual desire
Attempt to work her gentle mind's unrest;
But pure affections, bred in spotless brest,
And modest thoughts breath'd from well-temper'd
Go visit her in her chaste bowre of rest, [sprights,
Accompany'd with angel-like delights;
There fill your self with those most joyous sights,
The which my self could never yet attain,
But speak no word to her of these sad plights, Which her too constant stiffness doth constrain; Only behold her rare perfection,
And bless your fortune's fair election.
SONNET LXXXIV.
THE world, that cannot deem of worldly things,
When I do praise her, say I do but flatter;
So doth the cuckow, when the mavis sings,
Begins his witless note apace to chatter.
But they that skill not of so heavenly matter,
All that they know not envy or admire ;
Rather than envy let them wonder at her,
But not to deem of her desert aspire.
Deep in the closet of my parts entire
Her worth is written with a golden quill,
That me with heavenly fury doth inspire,
And my glad mouth with her sweet praises fill,
Which when as Fame in her shrill trump shall thunder,
Let the world chuse to envy or to wonder.
VENEMOUS tongue, tipt with vile adder's sting,
Of that self kind with which the Furies fell
Their snaky heads do comb, from which a spring
Of poisoned words and spightful speeches well,
Let all the plagues and horrid pains of hell
Upon thee fall for thine accursed hire,
That with false forged lyes, which thou didst tell,
In my true love did stir up coals of ire,
The sparks whereof let kindle thine own fire,
And catching hold on thine own wicked head,
Consume thee quite, that didst with guile conspire
In my sweet peace such breaches to have bred.
Shame be thy meed, and mischief thy reward,
Due to thy self, that it for me prepar'd.'
SONNET LXXXVI.
SINCE I did leave the presence of my love,
Many long weary days I have out-worn,
And many nights, that slowly seem'd to move
Their sad protract from evening until morn :
For when as day the heaven doth adorn,
I wish that night the noyous day would end;
And whenas night hath us of light forlorn,
I wish that day would shortly re-ascend.
Thus I the time with expectation spend,
And fain my grief with changes to beguile,
That further seems his term still to extend,
And maketh every minute seem a mile :
So sorrow still doth seem too long to last,
But joyous hours do fly away too fast.
SINCE I have lackt the comfort of that light,
The which was wont to lead my thoughts astray,
I wander as in darkness of the night,
Affraid of every danger's least dismay :
Ne ought I see, though in the clearest day,
When others gaze upon their shadows vain,
But th' only image of that heavenly ray,
Whereof some glance doth in mine eye remain;
Of which beholding the idea plain,
Through contemplation of my purest part,
With light thereof I do my self sustain,
And thereon feed my love-affamisht heart;
But with such brightness whilst I fill my mind,
I starve my body, and mine eyes do blind.
SONNET LXXXVIII.
LIKE as the culver on the bared bough
Sits mourning for the absence of her mate,
And in her songs sends many a wishful vow
For his return, that seems to linger late;
So I alone, now left disconsolate,
Mourn to my self the absence of my love,
And wandering here and there all desolate,
Seek with my plaints to match that mournful dove.
Ne joy of ought that under heaven doth hove
Can comfort me, but her own joyous sight,
Whose sweet aspect both God and man can move,
In her unspotted pleasance to delight:
Dark is my day whiles her fair light I miss,
And dead my life, that wants such lively bliss.
AN ELEGY
Upon the death of the noble and vertuous
DOUGLAS HOWARD,
Daughter and heir of Henry Lord Howard, Viscount Byndon, and wife of Arthur Gorges, Esquire.
To the right honourable and veruous lady,
MARCHIONESS OF NORTHAMPTON.
I HAVE the rather presumed humbly to offer unto your Honour the dedication of this little Poem, for that the noble and vertuous gentlewoman of whom it is written was by match, near allied, and in affection greatly devoted, unto your Ladyship. The occasion why I wrote the same, was as well the great good fame which I heard of her deceased, as the particular good-will which I bear unto her husband Master Arthur Gorges, a lover of learning and vertue, whose house, as your Ladyship by marriage hath honoured, so do I find the name of them, by many notable records, to be of great antiquity in this realm, and such as have ever borne themselves with honourable reputation to the world, and unspotted loyalty to their prince and country: besides, solineally are they descended from the Howards, as that the Lady Ann Howard, eldest daughter to John Duke
of Norfolke was wife to Sir Edmund, mother to Sir Edward, and grand-mother to Sir William and Sir Thomas Gorges, Knights: and therefore I do assure my self that no due honour done to the White Lion, but will be most grateful to your Ladyship, whose husband and children do so nearly participate with the blood of that noble family. So in all duty, I recommend this Pamphlet, and the good acceptance thereof, to your honourable favour and protection.
London, this first of
January, 1591.
Your Honour's humbly ever,
WHAT-E
HAT-EVER man he be whose heavy mind,
With grief of mournful great mishap opprest,
Fit matter for his cares increase would find,
Let read the ruful plaint herein exprest,
Of one, I ween, the woful'st man alive,
Even sad Alcyon, whose empierced brest
Sharp sorrow did in thousand pieces rive.
But whoso else in pleasure findeth sense,
Or in this wretched life doth take delight,
Let him be banish'd far away from hence;
Ne let the Sacred Sisters here be hight,
Though they of sorrow heavily can sing,
For even their heavy song would breed delight; But here no tunes, save sobs and grones, shall ring
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