Then wrong it were that any other twain
Should in love's gentle band combined be
But those whom Heaven did at first ordain,
And made out of one mould the more t' agree;
For all, that like the beauty which they see,
Straight do not love; for love is not so light
As straight to burn at first beholder's sight.
But they, which love indeed, look otherwise,
With pure regard and spotless true intent,
Drawing out of the object of their eyes
A more refined form, which they present
Unto their mind, void of all blemishment;
Which it reducing to her first perfection,
Beholdeth free from flesh's frail infection.
And then conforming it unto the light,
Which in itself it hath remaining still,
Of that first sun, yet sparkling in his sight,
Thereof he fashions in his higher skill
An heavenly beauty to his fancy's will;
And, it embracing in his mind entire,
The mirror of his own thought doth admire.
Which seeing now so inly fair to be,
As outward it appeareth to the eye,
And with his spirit's proportion to agree,
He thereon fixeth all his fantasy,
And fully setteth his felicity;
Counting it fairer than it is indeed,
And yet indeed her fairness doth exceed.
For lovers' eyes more sharply sighted be
Than other men's, and in dear love's delight
See more than any other eyes can see,
Through mutual receipt of beamës bright,
Which carry privy message to the sprite,
And to their eyes that inmost fair display,
As plain as light discovers dawning day.
Therein they see, through amorous eye-glances,
Armies of Loves still flying to and fro,
Which dart at them their little fiery lances;
Whom having wounded, back again they go,
Carrying compassion to their lovely foe;
Who, seeing her fair eyes' so sharp affect,
Cures all their sorrows with one sweet aspect.
1 Perceive. In which how many wonders do they reede1 To their conceit, that others never see!
Now of her smiles, with which their souls they feed,
Like gods with nectar in their banquets free;
Now of her looks, which like to cordials be;
But when her words embassade2 forth she sends,
Lord, how sweet music that unto them lends!
Sometimes upon her forehead they behold
A thousand graces masking in delight;
Sometimes within her eyelids they unfold
Beautiful Ten thousand sweet belgards, which to their sight
Do seem like twinkling stars in frosty night;
But on her lips, like rosy buds in May,
So many millions of chaste Pleasures play.
All those, O Cytherea! and thousands more
Thy handmaids be, which do on thee attend,
To deck thy beauty with their dainties' store,
That may it more to mortal eyes commend,
And make it more admir'd of foe and friend;
That in men's hearts thou mayst thy throne install,
And spread thy lovely kingdom over all.
Then Iö, triumph! O great Beauty's Queen,
Advance the banner of thy conquest high,
That all this world, the which thy vassals been,
May draw to thee, and with due fealty
Adore the power of thy great majesty,
Singing this hymn in honour of thy name,
Compil'd by me, which thy poor liegeman am!
In lieu whereof grant, O great Soverain!
That she, whose conquering beauty doth captíve
My trembling heart in her eternal chain,
One drop of grace at length will to me give,
That I her bounden thrall by her may live,
And this same life, which first from me she reaved,
May owe to her, of whom I it received.
And you, fair Venus' darling, my dear dread!1
Fresh flower of grace, great goddess of my life,
When your fair eyes these fearful lines shall read,
Deign to let fall one drop of due relief,
That may recure my heart's long pining grief,
And shew what wondrous power your beauty hath,
That can restore a damned wight from death.
AN HYMN OF HEAVENLY LOVE.
LOVE, lift me up upon thy golden wings
From this base world unto thy heaven's height,
Where I may see those admirable things
Which there thou workest by thy sovereign might,
Far above feeble reach of earthly sight,
That I thereof an heavenly hymn may sing
Unto the God of Love, high heaven's king.
Many lewd lays (ah! woe is me the more!)
In praise of that mad fit which fools call Love,
I have in th' heat of youth made heretofore,
That in light wits did loose affection move;
But all those follies now I do reprove,
And turned have the tenor of my string,
The heavenly praises of true Love to sing.
And ye that wont with greedy vain desire
To read my fault, and, wond'ring at my flame,
To warm yourselves at my wide sparkling fire,
Sith now that heat is quenched, quench my blame,
And in her ashes shroud my dying shame;
For who my passed follies now pursues,
Begins his own, and my old fault renews.
BEFORE THIS WORLD'S GREAT FRAME, in which all things
Are now contain'd, found any being-place,
Ere flitting Time could wag his eyas1 wings.
About that mighty bound which doth embrace
The rolling spheres, and parts their hours by space,
That High Eternal Power, which now doth move
In all these things, mov'd in itself by love.
It lov'd itself, because itself was fair;
(For fair is lov'd;) and of itself begot
Like to itself his eldest Son and Heir,
Eternal, pure, and void of sinful blot,
The firstling of His joy, in whom no jot
Of love's dislike or pride was to be found,
Whom He therefore with equal honour crown'd.
With Him He reign'd, before all time prescribed,
In endless glory and immortal might,
Together with that Third from them derived,
Most wise, most holy, most almighty Sprite!
Whose kingdom's throne no thoughts of earthly wight
Can comprehend, much less my trembling verse 41
With equal words can hope it to rehearse.
Yet, O most blessed Spirit! pure lamp of light,
Eternal spring of grace and wisdom true,
Vouchsafe to shed into my barren sprite
Some little drop of thy celestial dew,
That may my rhymes with sweet infuse2 embrue,
And give me words equal unto my thought,
To tell the marvels by thy mercy wrought.
Yet being pregnant still with powerful grace,
And full of fruitful love, that loves to get
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