WITH how sad steps, O Moon! thou climb'st the skies, How silently, and with how wan a face! What may it be, that even in heavenly place That busy Archer his sharp arrows tries? SONNET. Sure, if that long with love acquainted eyes Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case; I read it in thy looks, thy languish'd grace To me that feel the like thy state descries. Then, even of fellowship, O Moon, tell me, Is constant love deem'd there but want of wit? Are beauties there as proud as here they be? (Do they above love to be lov'd, and yet Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess?) Do they call virtue there ungratefulness? ŞIR PHILIP SIDNEY. SONG. HAVE I caught my heav'nly jewel, Since sweet sleep her eyes hath charm'd, Now will I, with that boy, prove SONG. Her tongue, waking, still refuseth, Now will I attempt to know, What no her tongue, sleeping, useth. See the hand which, waking, guardeth, Now will I invade the fort; But, O fool! think of the danger Yet those lips, so sweetly swelling, Now will I but venture this, Who will read, must first learn spelling. O! sweet kiss! but ah! she's waking; Now will I away hence flee : Fool! more fool! for no more taking. SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. SAMELA. LIKE to Diana in her summer weed, Girt with a crimson robe of brightest dye, Goes fair Samela ; Whiter than be the flocks that straggling feed, As fair Aurora in her morning grey, Like lovely Thetis on a calmèd day, Her tresses gold, her eyes like glassy streams, Her cheeks, like rose and lily yield forth gleams, Thus fair Samela Passeth fair Venus in her bravest hue, For she's Samela : Pallas in wit, all three, if you will view, For beauty, wit, and matchless dignity CONTENT-A SONNET. SWEET are the thoughts that savour of content : Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent : The homely house that harbours quiet rest, ROBERT GREENE. |