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MINE eyes would euer on thy beauties gaze,
Mine eares are euer greedie of thy fame,
My heart is euer musing on the same,
My tongue would still be busied with thy praise:
I would mine eyes were blind and could not see,
I would mine eares were deafe and would not heare;
I would my heart would neuer hold thee deare,
I would my tongue all such reports would flee:
Th' eyes in their circles do thy picture hold,
Th'eares' conducts keepe still ecchoes of thy worth,
The heart can neuer barre sweet fancies forth,
The tongue that which I thinke must still vnfold:
Thy beauties then from which I would rebell,
Th' eyes see, th' eares heare, th' heart thinks, and
tongue must tell.


WHILE as th' undanted squadrons of my mind,
On mountaines of deserts rear'd high desires,
And my proud heart, that euermore aspires,
To scale the Heauen of beautie had design'd:
The faire-fac'd goddesse of that stately frame
Look'd on my haughtie thoughts with scorne a space;
Then thundred all that prond gigantike race,
And from her lightning lights throw'd many a flame.
Then quite for to confound my loftie cares,
Euen at the first encounter as it chanc'd,
Th' ore-daring heart that to th' assault aduanc'd,
Was cou'red with a weight of huge dispaires,
Beneath the which the wretch doth still remaine,
Casting forth flames of furie and disdaine.


FAIRE tygresse, tell, contents it not thy sight,
To see me die each day a thousand times?
O how could I commit such monstrous crimes,
As merit to this martirdome by night?
Not only hath thy wrath adiudg'd to paine,
This earthly prison that thy picture keepes,
But doth the soule while as the bodie sleepes,
With many fearefull dreames from rest restraine.
Lo, thus I waste to worke a tyrant's will,
My dayes in torment, and my nights in terrour,
And here confin'd within an endlesse errour,
Without repentance do perseuer still:
That it is hard to iudge though both be lost,
Whose constancie or crueltie is most.


LOOKE to a tyrant what it is to yeeld,
Who printing still to publish my disgrace,
-The storie of my orethrow in my face,

Erects pale trophees in that bloudlesse field:
The world that views this strange triumphall arke,
Reades in my lookes as lines thy beautie's deeds,
Which in each mind so great amazement breeds,
That I am made of many eyes the marke:
But what auailes this tygresse triumph, O
And could'st thou not be cruell if not knowne,
But in this meagre map it must be showne,
That thou insultst to see thy subiects so?
And my disgrace it grieues me not so much,
As that it should be said that thou art such.


LET others of the world's decaying tell,
I enuy not those of the golden age,
That did their carelesse thoughts for nought engage,
But cloy'd with all delights, liu'd long and well:
And as for me, I mind t' applaud my fate;
Though I was long in comming to the light,
Yet may I mount to fortune's highest height,
So great a good could neuer come too late;
I'm glad that it was not my chance to line,
Till as that heauenly creature first was borne,
Who as an angell doth the Earth adorne,
And buried vertue in the tombe reuiue:
For vice ouerflowes the world with such a flood,
That in it all, saue she, there is no good.


WHILST Curiously I gaz'd on beautie's skies,
My soule in litle liquid ruslets runne,

Like snowie mountaines melted with the Sunne,
Was liquified through force of two faire eyes,
Thence sprang pure springs and neuer-tainted
In which a nymph her image did behold, [streames,
And cruell she (ah, that it should be told)
Whiles daign'd to grace them with some chearfull
Till once beholding that her shadow so, [beames,
Made those poore waters partners of her praise,
She by abstracting of her beautie's rayes,
With griefe congeal'd the source from whence they
But through the yce of that vniust disdaine, [flow:
Yet still transpares her picture and my paine.

SONET C. AVRORA, now haue I not cause to rage, Since all thy fishing but a frog hath catch'd? May I not mourne to see the morning match'd, With one that 's in the euening of his age? Should hoary lockes, sad messengers of death, Sport with thy golden haires in beautie's inne? And should that furrow'd face foyle thy smooth


And bath it selfe in th' ambrosie of thy breath?
More then mine owne I lament thy mishaps;
Must be who, iealous through his owne defects,
Thy beautie's vnstain'd treasure still suspects,
Sleepe on the snow-swolne pillowes of thy paps,
While as a lothed burthen in thine armes,
Doth make thee out of time waile curelesse harmes.


ALL that behold me on thy beautie's shelfe,
To cast my selfe away toss'd with conceit,
Since thou wilt haue no pitie of my state,
Would that I tooke some pitie of my selfe:
"For what," say they, "though she disdaine to bow,
And takes a pleasure for to see thee sad,

Yet there be many a one that would be glad,
To bost themselves of such a one as thou."
But, ah, their counsell of small knowledge sauours,
For O, poore fooles, they see not what I see,
Thy frownes are sweeter then their smiles can be,
The worst of thy disdaines worth all their fauours:
I rather (deare) of thine one looke to haue,
Then of another all that I would craue.

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WHEN as that louely tent of beautie dies,
And that thou as thine enemie fleest thy glasse,
And doest with griefe remember what it was,
That to betray my heart allur'd mine eyes:
Then hauing bought experience with great paines,
Thou shalt (although too late) thine errour find,
Whilst thou reuolu'st in a digested mind,
My faithfull loue, and thy vnkind disdaines:
And if that former times might be recal'd,
While as thou sadly sitst retir'd alone,
Then thou wouldst satisfie for all that 's gone,
And I in thy heart's throne would be instal'd:
Deare, if I know thee of this mind at last,
I'le thinke my selfe aueng'd of all that 's past.


IN silent horrours here, where neuer mirth remaines, I do retire my selfe apart, as rage and griefe constraines :

So may I sigh vnknowne, whilst other comfort failes, An infranchised citizen of solitarie vales; [please, Her priuiledge to plain, since nought but plaints can My sad conceptions I disclose, diseased at my ease. No barren pitie here my passions doth increase, Nor no detracter here resorts, deriding my distresse: But wandring through the world, a vagabonding guest, [rest. Acquiring most contentment then when I am reft of Against those froward fates, that did my blisse controule, [my soule. I thunder forth a thousand threats in th' anguish of And lo, lunaticke-like do dash on euery shelfe, And conuocate a court of cares for to condemne my selfe:

My fancies, which in end time doth fantasticke try,
I figure forth essentially in all the obiects by:
In euery corner where iny recklesse eye repaires,
I reade great volumes of mishaps, memorials of
despaires :


All things that I behold vpbraid me my estate, And oft I blush within my brest, asham'd of my [winds, Those branches broken downe with mercie-wanting Obiect me my deiected state, that greater fury finds: Their winter-beaten weed disperst vpon the plaine, Are like to my renounced hopes, all scattred with disdaine.

Lo, wondring at my state, the strongest torrent stayes, And turning and returning oft, would scorne my crooked wayes.

In end I find my fate ouer all before my face, Enregistred eternally in th' annales of disgrace. Those crosses out of count might make the rockes to riue, [striue: That this small remanent of life for to extinguish And yet my rockie heart so hardned with mishaps, Now by no meanes can be commou'd, not with loue's thunder claps :

But in huge woes innoln'd with intricating art, Surcharg'd with sorrowes I succomb and senslesly do smart ;

And in this labyrinth exil'd from all repose, I consecrate this cursed corpes a sacrifice to woes: Whilst many a furious plaint my smoaking breast shall breath, Ecclips'd with many a cloudie thought, aggrieu'd vnto the death:

With th' eccho plac'd beside some solitary sourse, Disastrous accidents shall be the ground of our dis


Her maimed words shal show how my hurt heart half dies,

Consum'd with corrosiues of care, caractred in mine

My Muse shall now no more, transported with re-
Exalt that euill deseruing one as fancie still directs:
Nor yet no partiall pen shall spot her spotlesse fame,
Vnhonestly dishonoring an honorable name.
But I shall sadly sing, too tragickly inclin'd, [mind.
Some subiect sympathizing with my melancholious
Nor will I more describe my dayly deadly strife,
My publike wrongs, my priuate woes, mislucks in
loue and life:
That would but vexe the world for to extend my
In painting forth particularly my many formes of

No, none in speciall I purpose to bewray, [ay. But one as all, and all as one, I mind to mourne for For being iustly weigh'd, the least that I lament, Deserues indeed to be bewail'd, til th' vse of th' eyes be spent;

And since I should the least perpetually deplore, The most again though maruellous, can be bemon'd

no more.


To veeld to those I cannot but disdaine,
Whose face doth but entangle foolish hearts;
It is the beautie of the better parts,

With which I mind my fancies for to chaine.
Those that haue nought wherewith men's minds to
But onely curled lockes and wanton lookes, [gaine,
Are but like fleeting baites that haue no hookes,
Which may well take, but cannot well retaine:
He that began to yeeld to th' outward grace,
And then the treasures of the mind doth proue:
He, who as 't were was with the maske in loue,
What doth he thinke when as he sees the face?
No doubt being lim'd by th' outward colours so,
That inward worth would neuer let him go.

LONG time I did thy cruelties detest,
And blaz'd thy rigour in a thousand lines:
But now through my complaints thy vertue shines,
That was but working all things for the best:
Thou of my rash affections held'st the raines,
And spying dangerous sparkes come from my fires,
Didst wisely temper ny enflam'd desires,
With some chast fauours, mixt with sweet disdaines:
And when thou saw'st I did all hope despise,

And look'd like one that wrestled with despaire,
Then of my safetie thy exceeding care,
Show'd that I kept thine heart, thou but thine eyes:
For whilst thy reason did thy fancies tame,
I saw the smoke, although thou hidst the flame.

SONET CV. SHOULD I the treasure of my life betake, [marre, To thought-toss'd breath whose babling might it Words with affection wing'd might flee too farre, And once sent forth can neuer be brought backe:

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AWAKE, my Muse, and leaue to dreame of loues,
Shake off soft fancie's chaines, I must be free,
I'le perch no more, vpon the mirtle tree,
Nor glide through th'aire with beautie's sacred doues;
But with loue's stately bird I'le leaue my nest,
And trie my sight against Apolloe's raies:
Then if that ought my ventrous course dismaies,
Vpon the oliue's boughes l'le light and rest:
I'le tune my accents to a trumpet now,
And seeke the laurell in another field,
Thus I that once, as beautie meanes did yeeld,
Did diuers garments on my thoughts bestow:
Like Icarus I feare, vnwisely bold,
Am purpos'd others' passions now t' vnfold.


FAREWELL Sweet fancies, and ouce deare delights,

The treasures of my life, which made me proue That vnaccomplish'd ioy that charm'd the sprights,

And whilst by it I onely seem'd to moue, Did hold my rauish'd soule, big with desire, That tasting those, to greater did aspire.

While as I led a solitary life,
Yet neuer lesse alone, whilst arm'd for all,

My thoughts were busied with an endlesse strife:

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For then not hauing bound my selfe to any,
I being bound to none, was bound to many.


Great god, that tam'st the gods' old-witted child,
Whose temples brests, whose altars are men's
From my heart's fort thy legions are exil'd, [hearts,

And Hymen's torch hath burn'd out all thy darts:
Since I in end haue bound my selfe to one,
That by this meanes I may be bound to none.

Thou daintie goddesse with the soft white skinne,
To whom so many offrings dayly smoke,
Were beautie's processe yet for to begin,

That sentence I would labour to reuoke:
Which on mount Ida as thy smiles did charme,
The Phrigian shepheard gaue to his owne harme.

And if the question were refer'd to mee,

On whom I would bestow the ball of gold,
I feare me Venus should be last of three,

For with the thunderer's sister I would hold,
Whose honest flames pent in a lawfull bounds,
No feare disturbs, or yet no shame confounds.

I mind to speake no more of beautie's doue,

The peacocke is the bird whose fame I'le raise;
Not that I Argos need to watch my loue,

But so his mistris Iuno for to praise:
And if I wish his eyes, then it shall be,
That I with many eyes my loue may see.

Farewell free thraldome, freedome that was thrall, But I am well content to be orecome,

Then farewell crossing ioyes, and ioyfull crosses,

Most bitter sweets, and yet most sugred sowers, Most hurtfull gaines, yet most commodious losses,


LIKE Sophocles (the bearers in a trance)
With crimson Cothurne, on a stately stage, [glance)
If thou march forth (where all with pomp doth
To mone the monarchs of the world's first age:
Or if like Phoebus thou thy selfe advance; [badge,
All bright with sacred flames, known by Heaven's
To make a day, of dayes which scornes the rage:
Whilst, when they end, it, what should come, doth


That made my yeares to flee away like howers, And spent the spring-time of mine age in vaine, Which now my summer must redeeme againe.

O welcome easie yoke, sweet bondage come,

I seeke not from thy toiles for to be shielded,


Since that I must commaund when I haue yeelded:
Then here I quit both Cupid and his mother,
And do resigne my selfe t' obtaine another.



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GOD by his workes demonstratively prov'd;
His providence (impugning Atheisme) urg'd;
The divels from Heaven, from Eden man remov'd;
Of guilty guests the world by water purg'd;
Who never sinn'd to dye for sinne behov'd;
Those who him scourg'd in God's great wrath are
Some temporall plagues and fearefull judgements

Are cited here as figures of the last.

Though every where discern'd, no where confin'd,
O thou, whose feet the clouds (as dust) afford,
Whose voyce the thunder, and whose breath the
Whose foot-stoole th' Earth, seate Heaven, works of
[thy word.
Guards, hosts of angels moving by thy minde,
Whose weapons, famine, tempest, pest, and sword;
My cloudy knowledge by thy wisdome cleare,
And by my weakenesse make thy power appeare.

Loe, ravish'd (Lord) with pleasure of thy love,
I feele my soule enflam'd with sacred fires,
Thy judgements, and thy mercies, whil'st I move,
To celebrate, my Muse with zeale aspires;
Lord, by thy helpe this enterprise approve,
That successe so may second my desires,
Make Sathan's race to tremble at my lines,
And thine rejoyce while as thy glory shines.

Ye blinded soules, who even in frailty trust,
By moment's pleasures earning endlesse paine,
Whil'st charg'd with heavy chaines, vile slaves to lust,
Of earth, and earthly, till en-earth'd againe;
Heare, hold, and weigh my words, for once ye must
The strange effects of what I tell sustaine :
I goe to sing (or thunder) in your eares,
A Heaven of comfort, or a Hell of feares.

But yet what I admir'd, not strange doth seeme,
When as I heare (O Heavens should such have

That there be men (if men we may esteeme
Trunkes that are void of soules, soules void of faith,)
Who all this world the worke of fortune deeme,
Not hoping mercy, nor yet fearing wrath,
There is no God, fooles in their hearts doe say,
Yet make their hearts their gods, and them obey.

THOU, of whose power(not reach'd by reason's height) Like influence below, like course above,

The sea a drop, we th' earth a mote may call:
And for whose trophees, stately to the sight,
The azure arke was rear'd (although too small)
And from the lampe of whose most glorious light
The Sun (a sparke) weake, for weake eyes did fall,
Breath thou a heavenly fury in my brest:
I sing the sabbath of eternall rest.

All my transported thoughts at randome flye,
And where to fixe, no solid ground can finde,
Whil'st silent wondring makes a setled eye,
What huge amazement hath o'rewhelm'd my minde?
How some dare scorne (as if a fabulous lye)
That they should rise whom death to dust doth binde,
And like to beasts, a beastly life they leade,
Who nought attend save death when they are dead.

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What glorious lights through christall lanternes glance,

(As alwaies burning with their Maker's love) Spheares keepe one musicke, they one measure [dance,

And all by order led, not drawne by chance,
With majestie (as still in triumph) move.
And (liberall of their store) seeme shouting thus;
"Looke up all soules, and gaze on God through us."

This pond'rous masse (though oft deform'd) still faire,
Great in our sight, yet then a starre more small,
Is ballanc'd (as a mote) amid'st the ayre;
None knowes what way, yet to no side doth fall,
And yearely springs, growes ripe, fades, falles, rich,

Men's mother first, still mistresse, yet their thrall.
It centers Heavens, Heavens compasse it, both be
Bookes where God's pow'r the ignorant may see.

What ebbes, flowes, swels, and sinks, who firme doth

Whil'st flouds from th' earth burst in abundance out,
As she her brood did wash, or for them weepe:
Who (having life) what dead things prove,dare doubt;
Who first did found the dungeons of the deepe?
But one in all, ore all, above, about:

The flouds for our delight, first calme were set,'
But storme and roare, since men did God forget.

Who parts the swelling spouts that sift the raine?
Who reines the winds, the waters doth empale ?
Who frownes in stormes, then smiles in calmes againe,
And doth dispense the treasures of the haile?
Whose bow doth bended in the clouds remaine?
Whose darts (dread thunder-bolts) make men look

Even thus these things to show his power aspire,
As shadowes doe the Sunne, as smoke doth fire.

God visibly invisible who raignes,
Soule of all soules, whose light each light directs,
The greatest rules, the meanest not neglects;
All first did freely make, and still maintaines,
Fore-knowes the end of all that he ordaines,
His will each cause, each cause breeds fit effects,
None could make all, but who was never made.
Who did make all, all thus could onely leade,

Vile dogge, who wouldst the ground of truth orethrow,

Thy selfe to marke thy darkened judgement leade.
For (if thy selfe) thou must thy Maker know,
Who all thy members providently made,
Thy feet tread th' earth (to be contemn'd) laid low,
To looke on Heaven exalted was thy head.
That therethou might'st the stately mansion see, [be.
From whence thou art, where thou should'st seeke to

The world in soules, God's image cleare may see,
Though mirrours brus'd when falne, sparks dim'd
far flowne,

They in strict bounds, strict bonds, kept captive be,
Yet walke ore all this all, and know not known;
Yea soare to Heaven, as from their burden free,
And there see things which cannot well be showne.
None can conceive, all must admire his might,
Of whom each atome gives so great a light.

When troubled conscience reads accusing scroules,
Which witness'd are even by the breast's own brood;
O what a terrour wounds remording soules,
Who poyson finde what seem'd a pleasant food!
A secret pow'r their wand'ring thoughts controules,
And (damning evil!) an author proves of good.
Thus here some mindes a map of Hell doe lend,
To show what horrours damned soules attend.

To grant a God, the Divel may make men wise,
Whose apparitions atheists must upbraid,
Who borrowing bodies, doth himselfe disguise,
Lest some his uglinesse might make afraid :
Yet oft in monstrous formes doth roaring rise,
Till even (as charm'd) the charmer stands dismaid.
He bellowing forth abhominable lyes,
Bloud in his mouth, and terrour in his eyes.

Who saves the world lest that it ruin'd be
By him whose thoughts (as arrowes) ayme at ill,
Save one that rules the world by his decree;
Who makes his power not equall with his will?
Of which (not left to plague at pleasure free)
He (forc'd) affords a testimony still,
From every thing thus springs to God some praise,
Men, angels, divels, all must his glory raise.

Though trusting more, yet some transgresse as much
As those who unto God draw never neare:
For what the first not see, the last not touch,
Th' ones' eyes are blinde, the others' are not cleare:
Their mindes (false mirrours) frame a god, for such
As waters straight things crooked make appeare.
Their faith is never firme, their love not bright,
As ankers without holds, fires without light.

Their judgements fond, by frailty all confinde,
Whose soule (as water) vanity devoures;
Doe faine in God what in themselves they finde,
And by their weaknesse judge the pow'r of pow'rs;
Then (the unbounded bounding by their minde)
Would staine Heaven's garden with terrestriall
"Men still imagine others as they are, [flowres.
And measure all things by corruption's square."

They thinke that God soft pleasure doth affect,
And jocund, lofty, lull'd in ease, as great,
Doth scorne, contemne, or at the least neglect
Man's fickle, abject, and laborious state,
That he disdaines to guerdon, or correct
Man's good or euill, as free from love, or hate.

That when th' Earth is his prospect from the skies,
As men on beasts, on men he casts his eyes.

No, high in Heaven from whence he bindes,and frees,
He in voluptuous ease not wallowing lyes;
What was, what is, what shall be, all he sees,
Weighs every worke, each heart in secret tryes,
Doth all record, then daily by degrees
Gives, or abstracts his grace, cause, end, both spies.
His contemplation farre transcends our reach,
Yet what fits us to know, his word doth teach.
Then to confirme what was affirm'd before,
Who doe blaspheme (say fooles) or who adore,
That no God is, or God doth not regard,
This oft due vengeance wants, and that reward,
Then godly men the wicked prosper more,
Who seeme at freedome, and the others snar'd.
Such (as they thinke)feele paine, and dreame but joy,
Whil'st they what can be wish'd, doe all enjoy.

The Sunne in all like comfort doth infuse,
The raine to all by equall portions parts,
Heaven's treasures all alike both have, and use,
Which God to all (as lov'd alike) imparts;
Each minde's free state like passions doe abuse,
Each burd'nous body by like sicknesse smarts.
Thus all alive alike all fortunes try,
And as the bad, even so the best doe dye.

O men most simple, and yet more then mad,
Whose foolish hearts sinne wholy hath subdu'd,
Whil'st good men now are griev'd, though you be glad,
They weake, (yet pure) you strong, (yet stain'd, and
Huge are the oddes betwixt the best and bad [lew'd)
Which darkely here, hence shall be cleerely view'd.
When of God's wrath the winde sifts soules at last,
They shall abide, you vanish at a blast.

God's benefits though like to both design'd,
Whil'st judgement doth upon weake sight depend,
Yet th' inward eyes a mighty difference finde,
To ballance them whil'st spirituall thoughts ascend,
The gift is one, but not the giver's minde,
The use is one, but not the user's end.
Those take themselves to please, they him to praise.
God so would clogge the one, the other raise,

The godly ill, the wicked good may have,
And both may be whil'st here, pleas'd, or annoy'd:
But as they are, all make what they receive,
Not real of it selfe, but as imploy'd;
Those temporall treasures monuments doe leave,
As by a blessing, or a curse convoy'd.
But this is sure, what ever God doth send,
To good men's good, to evill men's ill doth tend.
God, soules to cure, doth divers balmes apply,
Whil'st his intent the successe still doth crowne;
Some are press'd downe, lest they should swell too
Some are rais'd high, lest that they should sinke
Some must have wealth, their charity to try,
Some poverty, their patience to renowne.
"He who made all, knowes all, and as they neede
Not as they wish, makes things with his succeed."
Since worldly things, God makes both sorts possesse,
Whose use in them a gratefulnesse should move:
Let us seeke greater things (though seeming lesse),
Which for one sort doe onely proper prove,

That heavenly grace, whose power none can expresse,
Whose fruits are vertue, zeale, faith, hope, and love.

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