'Look here, what tributes wounded fancies sent me,

Of paled pearls and rubies red as blood;

"O pardon me, in that my boast is true;
The accident which brought me to her eye
Upon the moment did her force subdue,
And now she would the caged cloister fly;
Religious love put out religion's eye:

Not to be tempted, would she be immur'd,
And now, to tempt, all liberty procur'd.

"How mighty then you are, O! hear me tell: The broken bosoms that to me belong

me

Of grief and blushes, aptly understood

In bloodless white and the encrimson'd mood;
Effects of terror and dear modesty,
Encamp'd in hearts, but fighting outwardly.

"And, lo! behold these talents of their hair, With twisted metal amorously impleach'd, I have receiv'd from many a several fair, Their kind acceptance weepingly beseech'd, With the annexions of fair gems enrich'd, And deep-brain'd sonnets, that did amplify Each stone's dear nature, worth, and quality.

"The diamond; why, 'twas beautiful and hard, Whereto his invis'd properties did tend; The deep-green emerald, in whose fresh regard Weak sighits their sickly radiance do amend; The heaven-hued sapphire and the opal blend With objects manifold: each several stone, With wit well blazon'd, smil'd or made some

moan.

"Lo! all these trophies of affections hot,
Of pensiv'd and subdued desires the tender,
Nature hath charg'd me that I hoard them not,
But yield them up where I myself must render,
That is, to you, my origin and ender;

For these, of force, must your oblations be,
Since I their altar, you enpatron me.

"O! then, advance of yours that phraseless hand,

Whose white weighs down the airy scale of praise;

Take all these similes to your own command, Hallow'd with sighs that burning lungs did

raise ;

And mine I pour your ocean all among :

I strong o'er them, and you o'er me being strong,
Must for your victory us all congest,

As compound love to physic your cold breast.
"My parts had power to charm a sacred nun,
Who, disciplin'd, ay, dieted in grace,
Believ'd her eyes when they to assail begun,
All vows and consecrations giving place.
O most potential love! vow, bond, nor space,
In thee hath neither sting, knot, nor confine,
For thou art all, and all things else are thine.

"When thou impressest, what are precepts

worth

Of stale example? When thou wilt inflame,
How coldly those impediments stand forth
Of wealth, of filial fear, law, kindred, fame!
Love's arms are peace, 'gainst rule, 'gainst sense,
'gainst shame,

And sweetens, in the suffering pangs it bears,
The aloes of all forces, shocks, and fears.

O father! what a hell of witchcraft lies In the small orb of one particular tear, But with the inundation of the eyes What rocky heart to water will not wear? What breast so cold that is not warmed here? O cleft effect! cold modesty, hot wrath, Both fire from hence and chill extincture hath.

'For, lo his passion, but an art of craft,
Even there resolv'd my reason into tears;
There my white stole of chastity I daff'd,
Shook off my sober guards and civil fears;
Appear to him, as he to me appears,

All melting; though our drops this difference bore,

His poison'd me, and mine did him restore.

'In him a plenitude of subtle matter,
Applied to cautels, all strange forms receives,
Of burning blushes, or of weeping water,
Or swounding paleness; and he takes and leaves,
In either's aptness, as it best deceives,
To blush at speeches rank, to weep at woes,
Or to turn white and swoon at tragic shows:

That not a heart which in his level came Could 'scape the hail of his all-hurting aim, Showing fair nature is both kind and tame; And, veil'd in them, did win whom he would maim:

Against the thing he sought he would exclaim;
When he most burn'd in heart-wish'd luxury,
He preach'd pure maid, and prais'd cold chastity.

'Thus merely with the garment of a Grace
The naked and concealed fiend he cover'd;
That the unexperient gave the tempter place,
Which like a cherubin above them hover'd.
Who, young and simple, would not be so lover'd?
Ay me! I fell; and yet do question make
What I should do again for such a sake.

'O! that infected moisture of his eye,
O! that false fire which in his cheek so glow'd,
O! that forc'd thunder from his heart did fly,
O! that sad breath his spongy lungs bestow'd,
O! all that borrow'd motion seeming ow'd,
Would yet again betray the fore-betray'd,
And new pervert a reconciled maid.'

THE

I.

WHEN my love swears that she is made of truth,
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutor'd

youth,
Unskilful in the world's false forgeries.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although I know my years be past the best,
I smiling credit her false-speaking tongue,
Outfacing faults in love with love's ill rest.
But wherefore says my love that she is young?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O! love's best habit is a soothing tongue,
And age, in love, loves not to have years told.
Therefore I'll lie with love, and love with

For being both to me, both to each friend,
I guess one angel in another's hell.

The truth I shall not know, but live in doubt,
Till my bad angel fire my good one out.

III.

Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye, 'Gainst whom the world could not hold argu

ment,

Persuade my heart to this false perjury?
Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment.
A woman I forswore; but I will prove,
Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee:
My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love;
Thy grace being gain'd cures all disgrace in me.
My vow was breath, and breath a vapour is;
Then thou, fair son, that on this earth dost
shine,

Exhale this vapour vow; in thee it is:
If broken, then it is no fault of mine.

If by me broke, what fool is not so wise
To break an oath, to win a paradise?

IV.

Sweet Cytherea, sitting by a brook
With young Adonis, lovely, fresh, and green,
Did court the lad with many a lovely look,
Such looks as none could look but beauty's

queen.

Because thou lov'st the one, and I the other.
Dowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch
Upon the lute doth ravish human sense;
Spenser to me, whose deep conceit is such
As, passing all conceit, needs no defence.

Thou lov'st to hear the sweet melodious sound

That Phoebus' lute, the queen of music, makes; And I in deep delight am chiefly drown'd Whenas himself to singing he betakes.

One god is god of both, as poets feign; One knight loves both, and both in thee remain.

IX.

tongue.

VI.

Scarce had the sun dried up the dewy morn, And scarce the herd gone to the hedge for shade,

When Cytherea, all in love forlorn,
A longing tarriance for Adonis made
Under an osier growing by a brook,

A brook where Adon us'd to cool his spleen:
Hot was the day; she hotter that did look
For his approach, that often there had been.
Anon he comes, and throws his mantle by,
And stood stark naked on the brook's green
brim :

The sun look'd on the world with glorious eye,
Yet not so wistly as this queen on him:

He, spying her, bounc'd in, whereas he stood: 'O Jove,' quoth she, 'why was not I a flood!'

VII.

Fair is my love, but not so fair as fickle;
Mild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty;
Brighter than glass, and yet, as glass is, brittle;
Softer than wax, and yet, as iron, rusty:

A lily pale, with damask dye to grace her,
re fairer, nor none falser to deface her.

For Adon's sake, a youngster proud and wild ;
Her stand she takes upon a steep-up hill:
Anon Adonis comes with horn and hounds;
She, silly queen, with more than love's good will,
Forbade the boy he should not pass those
grounds:

'Once,' quoth she, 'did I see a fair sweet youth
Here in these brakes deep-wounded with a boar,
Deep in the thigh, a spectacle of ruth!
See, in my thigh,' quoth she, 'here was the sore.'
She showed hers; he saw more wounds than

one,

And blushing fled, and left her all alone.

X.

Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluck'd, soon vaded,

Pluck'd in the bud, and vaded in the spring! Bright orient pearl, alack! too timely shaded; Fair creature, kill'd too soon by death's sharp sting!

Like a green plum that hangs upon a tree, And falls, through wind, before the fall should be.

I weep for thee, and yet no cause I have;
For why thou left'st me nothing in thy will:

And yet thou left'st me more than I did crave; For why I craved nothing of thee still:

O yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee, Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me.

XI.

Venus, with young Adonis sitting by her
Under a myrtle shade, began to woo him:
She told the youngling how god Mars did try
her,

And as he fell to her, so fell she to him.
Even thus,' quoth she, the war-like god
embrac'd me,'

And then she clipp'd Adonis in her arms;
'Even thus,' quoth she, the war-like god un-
lac'd me,'

As if the boy should use like loving charms.
"Even thus,' quoth she, 'he seized on my lips,'
And with her lips on his did act the seizure;
And as she fetched breath, away he skips,
And would not take her meaning nor her pleasure.
Ah! that I had my lady at this bay,
To kiss and clip me till I ran away.

XII.

Crabbed age and youth cannot live together: Youth is full of pleasance, age is full of care; Youth like summer morn, age like winter weather:

Youth like summer brave, age like winter bare. Youth is full of sport, age's breath is short; Youth is nimble, age is lame;

Youth is hot and bold, age is weak and cold; Youth is wild, and age is tame.

Age, I do abhor thee; youth, I do adore thee; O! my love, my love is young :

Age, I do defy thee: O! sweet shepherd, hie thee,

For methinks thou stay'st too long.

XIII.

Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good;
A shining gloss that vadeth suddenly;
A flower that dies when first it 'gins to bud;
A brittle glass that's broken presently:

A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower,
Lost, vaded, broken, dead within an hour.

And as goods lost are seld or never found,
As vaded gloss no rubbing will refresh,
As flowers dead lie wither'd on the ground,
As broken glass no cement can redress,

So beauty blemish'd once 's for ever lost, In spite of physic, painting, pain, and cost.

XIV.

Good night, good rest. Ah! neither be my share:
She bade good night that kept my rest away;
And daff'd me to a cabin hang'd with care,
To descant on the doubts of my decay.

'Farewell,' quoth she, 'and come again to

morrow:

Fare well I could not, for I supp'd with sorrow.

Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile, In scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether: 'T may be, she joy'd to jest at my exile, "T may be, again to make me wander thither: 'Wander,' a word for shadows like thyself, As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf.

Lord! how mine eyes throw gazes to the east ; My heart doth charge the watch; the morning rise

Doth cite each moving sense from idle rest.
Not daring trust the office of mine eyes,
While Philomela sits and sings, I sit and mark,
And wish her lays were tuned like the lark;

For she doth welcome daylight with her ditty,
And drives away dark dismal-dreaming night:
The night so pack'd, I post unto my pretty;
Heart hath his hope, and eyes their wished
sight;

Sorrow chang'd to solace, solace mix'd with