Woe to mine eyes, the organs of mine ill;Hate to my heart, for not concealing joy;A double curse upon my tongue be still,Whose babbling lost what else I might enjoy!When first mine eyes did with thy beauty joy,They to my heart thy wondrous virtues told;Who, fearing lest thy beams should him destroy,Whate'er he knew, did to my tongue unfold.My tell-tale tongue, in talking over bold,What they in private council did declare,To thee, in plain and public terms unrolled;And so by that made thee more coyer far.What in thy praise he spoke, that didst thou trust;And yet my sorrows thou dost hold unjust.
Woe to mine eyes, the organs of mine ill;Hate to my heart, for not concealing joy;A double curse upon my tongue be still,Whose babbling lost what else I might enjoy!When first mine eyes did with thy beauty joy,They to my heart thy wondrous virtues told;Who, fearing lest thy beams should him destroy,Whate'er he knew, did to my tongue unfold.My tell-tale tongue, in talking over bold,What they in private council did declare,To thee, in plain and public terms unrolled;And so by that made thee more coyer far.What in thy praise he spoke, that didst thou trust;And yet my sorrows thou dost hold unjust.
Of an Athenian young man have I read,Who on blind fortune's picture doated so,That when he could not buy it to his bed,On it he gazing died for very woe.My fortune's picture art thou, flinty dame,That settest golden apples to my sight;But wilt by no means let me taste the same.To drown in sight of land is double spite.Of fortune as thou learn'dst to be unkind,So learn to be unconstant to disdain.The wittiest women are to sport inclined.Honour is pride, and pride is nought but pain.Let others boast of choosing for the best;'Tis substances not names must make us blest.
Of an Athenian young man have I read,Who on blind fortune's picture doated so,That when he could not buy it to his bed,On it he gazing died for very woe.My fortune's picture art thou, flinty dame,That settest golden apples to my sight;But wilt by no means let me taste the same.To drown in sight of land is double spite.Of fortune as thou learn'dst to be unkind,So learn to be unconstant to disdain.The wittiest women are to sport inclined.Honour is pride, and pride is nought but pain.Let others boast of choosing for the best;'Tis substances not names must make us blest.
Of the end and death of his love
Needs must I leave and yet needs must I love;In vain my wit doth tell in verse my woe;Despair in me, disdain in thee, doth showHow by my wit I do my folly prove.All this my heart from love can never move.Love is not in my heart. No, Lady, no,My heart is love itself. Till I foregoMy heart I never can my love remove.How can I then leave love? I do intendNot to crave grace, but yet to wish it still;Not to praise thee, but beauty to commend;And so, by beauty's praise, praise thee I will;For as my heart is love, love not in me,So beauty thou, beauty is not in thee.
Needs must I leave and yet needs must I love;In vain my wit doth tell in verse my woe;Despair in me, disdain in thee, doth showHow by my wit I do my folly prove.All this my heart from love can never move.Love is not in my heart. No, Lady, no,My heart is love itself. Till I foregoMy heart I never can my love remove.How can I then leave love? I do intendNot to crave grace, but yet to wish it still;Not to praise thee, but beauty to commend;And so, by beauty's praise, praise thee I will;For as my heart is love, love not in me,So beauty thou, beauty is not in thee.
Of the prowess of his lady
Sweet sovereign, since so many minds remainObedient subjects at thy beauty's call,So many hearts bound in thy hairs as thrall,So many eyes die with one look's disdain,Go, seek the honour that doth thee pertain,That the Fifth Monarchy may thee befall!Thou hast such means to conquer men withal,As all the world must yield or else be slain.To fight, thou need'st no weapons but thine eyes,Thine hair hath gold enough to pay thy men,And for their food thy beauty will suffice;For men and armour, Lady, care have none;For one will sooner yield unto thee thenWhen he shall meet thee naked all alone.
Sweet sovereign, since so many minds remainObedient subjects at thy beauty's call,So many hearts bound in thy hairs as thrall,So many eyes die with one look's disdain,Go, seek the honour that doth thee pertain,That the Fifth Monarchy may thee befall!Thou hast such means to conquer men withal,As all the world must yield or else be slain.To fight, thou need'st no weapons but thine eyes,Thine hair hath gold enough to pay thy men,And for their food thy beauty will suffice;For men and armour, Lady, care have none;For one will sooner yield unto thee thenWhen he shall meet thee naked all alone.
Of the discouragement he had to proceed in love, through the multitude of his lady's perfections and his own lowness
When your perfections to my thoughts appear,They say among themselves, "O happy we,Whichever shall so rare an object see!"But happy heart, if thoughts less happy were!For their delights have cost my heart full dear,In whom of love a thousand causes be,And each cause breeds a thousand loves in me,And each love more than thousand hearts can bear.How can my heart so many loves then hold,Which yet by heaps increase from day to day?But like a ship that's o'ercharged with gold,Must either sink or hurl the gold away.But hurl not love; thou canst not, feeble heart;In thine own blood, thou therefore drownèd art!
When your perfections to my thoughts appear,They say among themselves, "O happy we,Whichever shall so rare an object see!"But happy heart, if thoughts less happy were!For their delights have cost my heart full dear,In whom of love a thousand causes be,And each cause breeds a thousand loves in me,And each love more than thousand hearts can bear.How can my heart so many loves then hold,Which yet by heaps increase from day to day?But like a ship that's o'ercharged with gold,Must either sink or hurl the gold away.But hurl not love; thou canst not, feeble heart;In thine own blood, thou therefore drownèd art!
Fools be they that inveigh 'gainst Mahomet,Who's but a moral of love's monarchy.But a dull adamant, as straw by jet,He in an iron chest was drawn on high.In midst of Mecca's temple roof, some say,He now hangs without touch or stay at all.That Mahomet is she to whom I pray;May ne'er man pray so ineffectual!Mine eyes, love's strange exhaling adamants,Un'wares, to my heart's temple's height have wroughtThe iron idol that compassion wants,Who my oft tears and travails sets at nought.Iron hath been transformed to gold by art;Her face, limbs, flesh and all, gold; save her heart.
Fools be they that inveigh 'gainst Mahomet,Who's but a moral of love's monarchy.But a dull adamant, as straw by jet,He in an iron chest was drawn on high.In midst of Mecca's temple roof, some say,He now hangs without touch or stay at all.That Mahomet is she to whom I pray;May ne'er man pray so ineffectual!Mine eyes, love's strange exhaling adamants,Un'wares, to my heart's temple's height have wroughtThe iron idol that compassion wants,Who my oft tears and travails sets at nought.Iron hath been transformed to gold by art;Her face, limbs, flesh and all, gold; save her heart.
Ready to seek out death in my disgrace,My mistress 'gan to smooth her gathered brows,Whereby I am reprievèd for a space.O hope and fear! who half your torments knows?It is some mercy in a black-mouthed judgeTo haste his prisoner's end, if he must die.Dear, if all other favour you shall grudge,Do speedy execution with your eye;With one sole look you leave in me no soul!Count it a loss to lose a faithful slave.Would God, that I might hear my last bell toll,So in your bosom I might dig a grave!Doubtful delay is worse than any fever,Or help me soon, or cast me off for ever!
Ready to seek out death in my disgrace,My mistress 'gan to smooth her gathered brows,Whereby I am reprievèd for a space.O hope and fear! who half your torments knows?It is some mercy in a black-mouthed judgeTo haste his prisoner's end, if he must die.Dear, if all other favour you shall grudge,Do speedy execution with your eye;With one sole look you leave in me no soul!Count it a loss to lose a faithful slave.Would God, that I might hear my last bell toll,So in your bosom I might dig a grave!Doubtful delay is worse than any fever,Or help me soon, or cast me off for ever!
Of the end and death of his love
Each day, new proofs of new despair I find,That is, new deaths. No marvel then, though IMake exile my last help; to th'end mine eyeShould not behold the death to me assigned.Not that from death absence might save my mind,But that it might take death more patiently;Like him, the which by judge condemned to die,To suffer with more ease, his eyes doth blind.Your lips in scarlet clad, my judges be,Pronouncing sentence of eternal "No!"Despair, the hangman that tormenteth me;The death I suffer is the life I have.For only life doth make me die in woe,And only death I for my pardon crave.
Each day, new proofs of new despair I find,That is, new deaths. No marvel then, though IMake exile my last help; to th'end mine eyeShould not behold the death to me assigned.Not that from death absence might save my mind,But that it might take death more patiently;Like him, the which by judge condemned to die,To suffer with more ease, his eyes doth blind.Your lips in scarlet clad, my judges be,Pronouncing sentence of eternal "No!"Despair, the hangman that tormenteth me;The death I suffer is the life I have.For only life doth make me die in woe,And only death I for my pardon crave.
The richest relic Rome did ever viewWas' Cæsar's tomb; on which, with cunning hand,Jove's triple honours, the three fair Graces, stand,Telling his virtues in their virtues true.This Rome admired; but dearest dear, in youDwelleth the wonder of the happiest land,And all the world to Neptune's furthest strand,For what Rome shaped hath living life in you.Thy naked beauty, bounteously displayed,Enricheth monarchies of hearts with love;Thine eyes to hear complaints are open laid;Thine eyes' kind looks requite all pains I prove;That of my death I dare not thee accuse;But pride in me that baser chance refuse.
The richest relic Rome did ever viewWas' Cæsar's tomb; on which, with cunning hand,Jove's triple honours, the three fair Graces, stand,Telling his virtues in their virtues true.This Rome admired; but dearest dear, in youDwelleth the wonder of the happiest land,And all the world to Neptune's furthest strand,For what Rome shaped hath living life in you.Thy naked beauty, bounteously displayed,Enricheth monarchies of hearts with love;Thine eyes to hear complaints are open laid;Thine eyes' kind looks requite all pains I prove;That of my death I dare not thee accuse;But pride in me that baser chance refuse.
Why thus unjustly, say, my cruel fate,Dost thou adjudge my luckless eyes and heart,The one to live exiled from that sweet smart,Where th' other pines, imprisoned without date?My luckless eyes must never more debateOf those bright beams that eased my love apart;And yet my heart, bound to them with love's dart,Must there dwell ever to bemoan my state.O had mine eyes been suffered there to rest,Often they had my heart's unquiet eased;Or had my heart with banishment been blest,Mine eye with beauty never had been pleased!But since these cross effects hath fortune wrought,Dwell, heart, with her; eyes, view her in my thought!
Why thus unjustly, say, my cruel fate,Dost thou adjudge my luckless eyes and heart,The one to live exiled from that sweet smart,Where th' other pines, imprisoned without date?My luckless eyes must never more debateOf those bright beams that eased my love apart;And yet my heart, bound to them with love's dart,Must there dwell ever to bemoan my state.O had mine eyes been suffered there to rest,Often they had my heart's unquiet eased;Or had my heart with banishment been blest,Mine eye with beauty never had been pleased!But since these cross effects hath fortune wrought,Dwell, heart, with her; eyes, view her in my thought!
[The Sonnet numbered IX is by Sidney, and is found in theCertaine Sonetsprinted in the 1598 edition of theArcadia.]
Hope, like the hyaena, coming to be old,Alters his shape, is turned into despair.Pity my hoary hopes, Maid of clear mould!Think not that frowns can ever make thee fair.What harm is it to kiss, to laugh, to play?Beauty's no blossom, if it be not used.Sweet dalliance keeps the wrinkles long away;Repentance follows them that have refused.To bring you to the knowledge of your good,I seek, I sue. O try and then believe!Each image can be chaste that's carved of wood.You show you live, when men you do relieve.Iron with wearing shines; rust wasteth treasure.On earth but love there is no other pleasure.
Hope, like the hyaena, coming to be old,Alters his shape, is turned into despair.Pity my hoary hopes, Maid of clear mould!Think not that frowns can ever make thee fair.What harm is it to kiss, to laugh, to play?Beauty's no blossom, if it be not used.Sweet dalliance keeps the wrinkles long away;Repentance follows them that have refused.To bring you to the knowledge of your good,I seek, I sue. O try and then believe!Each image can be chaste that's carved of wood.You show you live, when men you do relieve.Iron with wearing shines; rust wasteth treasure.On earth but love there is no other pleasure.
Ay me, poor wretch, my prayer is turned to sin!I say, "I love!" My mistress says "'Tis lust!"Thus most we lose where most we seek to win.Wit will make wicked what is ne'er so just.And yet I can supplant her false surmise.Lust is a fire that for an hour or twainGiveth a scorching blaze and then he dies;Love a continual furnace doth maintain.A furnace! Well, this a furnace may be called;For it burns inward, yields a smothering flame,Sighs which, like boiled lead's smoking vapour, scald.I sigh apace at echo of sighs' name.Long have I served; no short blaze is my love.Hid joys there are that maids scorn till they prove.
Ay me, poor wretch, my prayer is turned to sin!I say, "I love!" My mistress says "'Tis lust!"Thus most we lose where most we seek to win.Wit will make wicked what is ne'er so just.And yet I can supplant her false surmise.Lust is a fire that for an hour or twainGiveth a scorching blaze and then he dies;Love a continual furnace doth maintain.A furnace! Well, this a furnace may be called;For it burns inward, yields a smothering flame,Sighs which, like boiled lead's smoking vapour, scald.I sigh apace at echo of sighs' name.Long have I served; no short blaze is my love.Hid joys there are that maids scorn till they prove.
I do not now complain of my disgrace,O cruel fair one! fair with cruel crost;Nor of the hour, season, time, nor place;Nor of my foil, for any freedom lost;Nor of my courage, by misfortune daunted;Nor of my wit, by overweening struck;Nor of my sense, by any sound enchanted;Nor of the force of fiery-pointed hook;Nor of the steel that sticks within my wound;Nor of my thoughts, by worser thoughts defaced;Nor of the life I labour to confound.But I complain, that being thus disgraced,Fired, feared, frantic, fettered, shot through, slain,My death is such as I may not complain.
I do not now complain of my disgrace,O cruel fair one! fair with cruel crost;Nor of the hour, season, time, nor place;Nor of my foil, for any freedom lost;Nor of my courage, by misfortune daunted;Nor of my wit, by overweening struck;Nor of my sense, by any sound enchanted;Nor of the force of fiery-pointed hook;Nor of the steel that sticks within my wound;Nor of my thoughts, by worser thoughts defaced;Nor of the life I labour to confound.But I complain, that being thus disgraced,Fired, feared, frantic, fettered, shot through, slain,My death is such as I may not complain.
If ever sorrow spoke from soul that loves,As speaks a spirit in a man possest,In me her spirit speaks. My soul it moves,Whose sigh-swoll'n words breed whirlwinds in my breast;Or like the echo of a passing bell,Which sounding on the water seems to howl;So rings my heart a fearful heavy knell,And keeps all night in consort with the owl.My cheeks with a thin ice of tears are clad,Mine eyes like morning stars are bleared and red.What resteth then but I be raging mad,To see that she, my cares' chief conduit-head,When all streams else help quench my burning heart,Shuts up her springs and will no grace impart.
If ever sorrow spoke from soul that loves,As speaks a spirit in a man possest,In me her spirit speaks. My soul it moves,Whose sigh-swoll'n words breed whirlwinds in my breast;Or like the echo of a passing bell,Which sounding on the water seems to howl;So rings my heart a fearful heavy knell,And keeps all night in consort with the owl.My cheeks with a thin ice of tears are clad,Mine eyes like morning stars are bleared and red.What resteth then but I be raging mad,To see that she, my cares' chief conduit-head,When all streams else help quench my burning heart,Shuts up her springs and will no grace impart.
You secret vales, you solitary fields,You shores forsaken and you sounding rocks!If ever groaning heart hath made you yield,Or words half spoke that sense in prison locks,Then 'mongst night shadows whisper out my death.That when myself hath sealed my lips from speaking,Each tell-tale echo with a weeping breath,May both record my truth and true love's breaking.You pretty flowers that smile for summer's sake,Pull in your heads before my wat'ry eyesDo turn the meadows to a standing lake,By whose untimely floods your glory dies!For lo, mine heart, resolved to moistening air,Feedeth mine eyes which double tear for tear.
You secret vales, you solitary fields,You shores forsaken and you sounding rocks!If ever groaning heart hath made you yield,Or words half spoke that sense in prison locks,Then 'mongst night shadows whisper out my death.That when myself hath sealed my lips from speaking,Each tell-tale echo with a weeping breath,May both record my truth and true love's breaking.You pretty flowers that smile for summer's sake,Pull in your heads before my wat'ry eyesDo turn the meadows to a standing lake,By whose untimely floods your glory dies!For lo, mine heart, resolved to moistening air,Feedeth mine eyes which double tear for tear.
His shadow to Narcissus well presented,How fair he was by such attractive love!So if thou would'st thyself thy beauty prove,Vulgar breath-mirrors might have well contented,And to their prayers eternally consented,Oaths, vows and sighs, if they believe might move;But more thou forc'st, making my pen approveThy praise to all, least any had dissented.When this hath wrought, thou which before wert knownBut unto some, of all art now required,And thine eyes' wonders wronged, because not shownThe world, with daily orisons desired.Thy chaste fair gifts, with learning's breath is blown,And thus my pen hath made thy sweets admired.
His shadow to Narcissus well presented,How fair he was by such attractive love!So if thou would'st thyself thy beauty prove,Vulgar breath-mirrors might have well contented,And to their prayers eternally consented,Oaths, vows and sighs, if they believe might move;But more thou forc'st, making my pen approveThy praise to all, least any had dissented.When this hath wrought, thou which before wert knownBut unto some, of all art now required,And thine eyes' wonders wronged, because not shownThe world, with daily orisons desired.Thy chaste fair gifts, with learning's breath is blown,And thus my pen hath made thy sweets admired.
I am no model figure, or sign of care,But his eternal heart's-consuming essence,In whom grief's commentaries written are,Drawing gross passion into pure quintessence,Not thine eye's fire, but fire of thine eye's disdain,Fed by neglect of my continual grieving,Attracts the true life's spirit of my pain,And gives it thee, which gives me no relieving.Within thine arms sad elegies I sing;Unto thine eyes a true heart love-torn lay I:Thou smell'st from me the savours sorrows bring;My tears to taste my truth to touch display I.Lo thus each sense, dear fair one, I importune;But being care, thou flyest me as ill fortune.
I am no model figure, or sign of care,But his eternal heart's-consuming essence,In whom grief's commentaries written are,Drawing gross passion into pure quintessence,Not thine eye's fire, but fire of thine eye's disdain,Fed by neglect of my continual grieving,Attracts the true life's spirit of my pain,And gives it thee, which gives me no relieving.Within thine arms sad elegies I sing;Unto thine eyes a true heart love-torn lay I:Thou smell'st from me the savours sorrows bring;My tears to taste my truth to touch display I.Lo thus each sense, dear fair one, I importune;But being care, thou flyest me as ill fortune.
But being care, thou flyest me as ill fortune;—Care the consuming canker of the mind!The discord that disorders sweet hearts' tune!Th' abortive bastard of a coward mind!The lightfoot lackey that runs post by death,Bearing the letters which contain our end!The busy advocate that sells his breath,Denouncing worst to him, is most his friend!O dear, this care no interest holds in me;But holy care, the guardian of thy fair,Thine honour's champion, and thy virtue's fee,The zeal which thee from barbarous times shall bear,This care am I; this care my life hath taken.Dear to my soul, then leave me not forsaken!
But being care, thou flyest me as ill fortune;—Care the consuming canker of the mind!The discord that disorders sweet hearts' tune!Th' abortive bastard of a coward mind!The lightfoot lackey that runs post by death,Bearing the letters which contain our end!The busy advocate that sells his breath,Denouncing worst to him, is most his friend!O dear, this care no interest holds in me;But holy care, the guardian of thy fair,Thine honour's champion, and thy virtue's fee,The zeal which thee from barbarous times shall bear,This care am I; this care my life hath taken.Dear to my soul, then leave me not forsaken!
Dear to my soul, then, leave, me not forsaken!Fly not! My heart within thy bosom sleepeth;Even from myself and sense I have betakenMe unto thee for whom my spirit weepeth,And on the shore of that salt teary sea,Couched in a bed of unseen seeming pleasure,Where in imaginary thoughts thy fair self lay;But being waked, robbed of my life's best treasure,I call the heavens, air, earth, and seas to hearMy love, my truth, and black disdained estate,Beating the rocks with bellowings of despair,Which still with plaints my words reverberate,Sighing, "Alas, what shall become of me?"Whilst echo cries, "What shall become of me?"
Dear to my soul, then, leave, me not forsaken!Fly not! My heart within thy bosom sleepeth;Even from myself and sense I have betakenMe unto thee for whom my spirit weepeth,And on the shore of that salt teary sea,Couched in a bed of unseen seeming pleasure,Where in imaginary thoughts thy fair self lay;But being waked, robbed of my life's best treasure,I call the heavens, air, earth, and seas to hearMy love, my truth, and black disdained estate,Beating the rocks with bellowings of despair,Which still with plaints my words reverberate,Sighing, "Alas, what shall become of me?"Whilst echo cries, "What shall become of me?"
Whilst echo cries, "What shall become of me?"And desolate, my desolations pity,Thou in thy beauty's carack sitt'st to seeMy tragic downfall, and my funeral ditty.No timbrel, but my heart thou play'st upon,Whose strings are stretched unto the highest key;The diapason, love; love is the unison;In love my life and labours waste away.Only regardless to the world thou leav'st me,Whilst slain hopes, turning from the feast of sorrow,Unto despair, their king, which ne'er deceives me,Captives my heart, whose black night hates the morrow,And he in truth of my distressed cryPlants me a weeping star within mine eye.
Whilst echo cries, "What shall become of me?"And desolate, my desolations pity,Thou in thy beauty's carack sitt'st to seeMy tragic downfall, and my funeral ditty.No timbrel, but my heart thou play'st upon,Whose strings are stretched unto the highest key;The diapason, love; love is the unison;In love my life and labours waste away.Only regardless to the world thou leav'st me,Whilst slain hopes, turning from the feast of sorrow,Unto despair, their king, which ne'er deceives me,Captives my heart, whose black night hates the morrow,And he in truth of my distressed cryPlants me a weeping star within mine eye.
Prometheus for stealing living fireFrom heaven's king, was judged eternal death;In self-same flame with unrelenting ireBound fast to Caucasus' low foot beneath.So I, for stealing living beauty's fireInto my verse that it may always live,And change his forms to shapes of my desire,Thou beauty's queen, self sentence like dost give.Bound to thy feet in chains of life I lie;For to thine eyes I never dare aspire;And in thy beauty's brightness do I fry,As poor Prometheus in the scalding fire;Which tears maintain as oil the lamp revives;Only my succour in thy favour lies.
Prometheus for stealing living fireFrom heaven's king, was judged eternal death;In self-same flame with unrelenting ireBound fast to Caucasus' low foot beneath.So I, for stealing living beauty's fireInto my verse that it may always live,And change his forms to shapes of my desire,Thou beauty's queen, self sentence like dost give.Bound to thy feet in chains of life I lie;For to thine eyes I never dare aspire;And in thy beauty's brightness do I fry,As poor Prometheus in the scalding fire;Which tears maintain as oil the lamp revives;Only my succour in thy favour lies.
One sun unto my life's day gives true light.One moon dissolves my stormy night of woes.One star my fate and happy fortune shows.One saint I serve, one shrine with vows I dight.One sun transfix'd hath burnt my heart outright,One moon opposed my love in darkness throws.One star hath bid my thoughts my wrongs disclose.Saints scorn poor swains, shrines do my vows no right.Yet if my love be found a holy fire,Pure, unstained, without idolatry,And she nathless in hate of my desire,Lives to repose her in my misery,My sun, my moon, my star, my saint, my shrine,Mine be the torment but the guilt be thine!
One sun unto my life's day gives true light.One moon dissolves my stormy night of woes.One star my fate and happy fortune shows.One saint I serve, one shrine with vows I dight.One sun transfix'd hath burnt my heart outright,One moon opposed my love in darkness throws.One star hath bid my thoughts my wrongs disclose.Saints scorn poor swains, shrines do my vows no right.Yet if my love be found a holy fire,Pure, unstained, without idolatry,And she nathless in hate of my desire,Lives to repose her in my misery,My sun, my moon, my star, my saint, my shrine,Mine be the torment but the guilt be thine!
To live in hell, and heaven to behold;To welcome life, and die a living death;To sweat with heat, and yet be freezing cold;To grasp at stars, and lie the earth beneath;To treat a maze that never shall have end;To burn in sighs, and starve in daily tears;To climb a hill, and never to descend;Giants to kill, and quake at childish fears;To pine for food, and watch th' Hesperian tree;To thirst for drink, and nectar still to draw;To live accurs'd whom men hold blest to be,And weep those wrongs which never creature saw:If this be love, if love in these be founded,My heart is love, for these in it are grounded.
To live in hell, and heaven to behold;To welcome life, and die a living death;To sweat with heat, and yet be freezing cold;To grasp at stars, and lie the earth beneath;To treat a maze that never shall have end;To burn in sighs, and starve in daily tears;To climb a hill, and never to descend;Giants to kill, and quake at childish fears;To pine for food, and watch th' Hesperian tree;To thirst for drink, and nectar still to draw;To live accurs'd whom men hold blest to be,And weep those wrongs which never creature saw:If this be love, if love in these be founded,My heart is love, for these in it are grounded.
A carver, having loved too long in vain,Hewed out the portraiture of Venus' sonIn marble rock, upon the which did rainSmall drizzling drops, that from a fount did run:Imagining the drops would either wearHis fury out, or quench his living flame;But when he saw it bootless did appear,He swore the water did augment the same.So I, that seek in verse to carve thee out,Hoping thy beauty will my flame allay,Viewing my verse and poems all throughout,Find my will rather to my love obey,That with the carver I my work do blame,Finding it still th' augmenter of my flame.
A carver, having loved too long in vain,Hewed out the portraiture of Venus' sonIn marble rock, upon the which did rainSmall drizzling drops, that from a fount did run:Imagining the drops would either wearHis fury out, or quench his living flame;But when he saw it bootless did appear,He swore the water did augment the same.So I, that seek in verse to carve thee out,Hoping thy beauty will my flame allay,Viewing my verse and poems all throughout,Find my will rather to my love obey,That with the carver I my work do blame,Finding it still th' augmenter of my flame.
Astronomers the heavens do divideInto eight houses, where the god remains;All which in thy perfections do abide.For in thy feet, the queen of silence reigns;About thy waist Jove's messenger doth dwell,Inchanting me as I thereat admire;And on thy dugs the queen of love doth tellHer godhead's power in scrolls of my desire;Thy beauty is the world's eternal sun;Thy favours force a coward's heart to dare,And in thy hairs Jove and his riches won.Thy frowns hold Saturn; thine's the fixèd stars.Pardon me then, divine, to love thee well,Since thou art heaven, and I in heaven would dwell!
Astronomers the heavens do divideInto eight houses, where the god remains;All which in thy perfections do abide.For in thy feet, the queen of silence reigns;About thy waist Jove's messenger doth dwell,Inchanting me as I thereat admire;And on thy dugs the queen of love doth tellHer godhead's power in scrolls of my desire;Thy beauty is the world's eternal sun;Thy favours force a coward's heart to dare,And in thy hairs Jove and his riches won.Thy frowns hold Saturn; thine's the fixèd stars.Pardon me then, divine, to love thee well,Since thou art heaven, and I in heaven would dwell!
Weary of love, my thoughts of love complained,Till reason told them there was no such power,And bade me view fair beauty's richest flower,To see if there a naked boy remained.Dear, to thine eyes, eyes that my soul hath pained,Thoughts turned them back in that unhappy hourTo see if love kept there his royal bower,For if not there, then no place him contained.There was he not, nor boy, nor golden bow;Yet as thou turned thy chaste fair eye aside,A flame of fire did from thine eyelids go,Which burnt my heart through my sore wounded side;Then with a sigh, reason made thoughts to cry,"There is no god of love, save that thine eye!"
Weary of love, my thoughts of love complained,Till reason told them there was no such power,And bade me view fair beauty's richest flower,To see if there a naked boy remained.Dear, to thine eyes, eyes that my soul hath pained,Thoughts turned them back in that unhappy hourTo see if love kept there his royal bower,For if not there, then no place him contained.There was he not, nor boy, nor golden bow;Yet as thou turned thy chaste fair eye aside,A flame of fire did from thine eyelids go,Which burnt my heart through my sore wounded side;Then with a sigh, reason made thoughts to cry,"There is no god of love, save that thine eye!"
Forgive me, dear, for thundering on thy name;Sure 'tis thyself that shows my love distrest.For fire exhaled in freezing clouds possessed,Warring for way, makes all the heavens exclaim.Thy beauty so, the brightest living flame,Wrapt in my cloudy heart, by winter prest,Scorning to dwell within so base a nest,Thunders in me thy everlasting flame.O that my heart might still contain that fire!Or that the fire would always light my heart!Then should'st thou not disdain my true desire,Or think I wronged thee to reveal to my smart;For as the fire through freezing clouds doth break,So not myself but thou in me would'st speak.
Forgive me, dear, for thundering on thy name;Sure 'tis thyself that shows my love distrest.For fire exhaled in freezing clouds possessed,Warring for way, makes all the heavens exclaim.Thy beauty so, the brightest living flame,Wrapt in my cloudy heart, by winter prest,Scorning to dwell within so base a nest,Thunders in me thy everlasting flame.O that my heart might still contain that fire!Or that the fire would always light my heart!Then should'st thou not disdain my true desire,Or think I wronged thee to reveal to my smart;For as the fire through freezing clouds doth break,So not myself but thou in me would'st speak.
My heart mine eye accuseth of his death,Saying his wanton sight bred his unrest;Mine eye affirms my heart's unconstant faithHath been his bane, and all his joys repressed.My heart avows mine eye let in the fire,Which burns him with an everliving light.Mine eye replies my greedy heart's desireLet in those floods, which drown him day and night.Thus wars my heart which reason doth maintain,And calls my eye to combat if he dare,The whilst my soul impatient of disdain,Wrings from his bondage unto death more near;Save that my love still holdeth him in hand;A kingdom thus divided cannot stand!
My heart mine eye accuseth of his death,Saying his wanton sight bred his unrest;Mine eye affirms my heart's unconstant faithHath been his bane, and all his joys repressed.My heart avows mine eye let in the fire,Which burns him with an everliving light.Mine eye replies my greedy heart's desireLet in those floods, which drown him day and night.Thus wars my heart which reason doth maintain,And calls my eye to combat if he dare,The whilst my soul impatient of disdain,Wrings from his bondage unto death more near;Save that my love still holdeth him in hand;A kingdom thus divided cannot stand!
Unhappy day, unhappy month and season,When first proud love, my joys away adjourning,Pourèd into mine eye to her eye turningA deadly juice, unto my green thought's reason.Prisoner I am unto the eye I gaze on;Eternally my love's flame is in burning;A mortal shaft still wounds me in my mourning;Thus prisoned, burnt and slain, the spirit, soul and reason.What tides me then since these pains which annoy me,In my despair are evermore increasing?The more I love, less is my pain's releasing;That cursèd be the fortune which destroys me,The hour, the month, the season, and the cause,When love first made me thrall to lovers' laws.
Unhappy day, unhappy month and season,When first proud love, my joys away adjourning,Pourèd into mine eye to her eye turningA deadly juice, unto my green thought's reason.Prisoner I am unto the eye I gaze on;Eternally my love's flame is in burning;A mortal shaft still wounds me in my mourning;Thus prisoned, burnt and slain, the spirit, soul and reason.What tides me then since these pains which annoy me,In my despair are evermore increasing?The more I love, less is my pain's releasing;That cursèd be the fortune which destroys me,The hour, the month, the season, and the cause,When love first made me thrall to lovers' laws.
Love hath I followed all too long, nought gaining;And sighed I have in vain to sweet what smarteth,But from his brow a fiery arrow parteth,Thinking that I should him resist not plaining.But cowardly my heart submiss remaining,Yields to receive what shaft thy fair eye darteth.Well do I see thine eye my bale imparteth,And that save death no hope I am detaining.For what is he can alter fortune's sliding?One in his bed consumes his life away,Other in wars, another in the sea;The like effects in me have their abiding;For heavens avowed my fortune should be such,That I should die by loving far too much.
Love hath I followed all too long, nought gaining;And sighed I have in vain to sweet what smarteth,But from his brow a fiery arrow parteth,Thinking that I should him resist not plaining.But cowardly my heart submiss remaining,Yields to receive what shaft thy fair eye darteth.Well do I see thine eye my bale imparteth,And that save death no hope I am detaining.For what is he can alter fortune's sliding?One in his bed consumes his life away,Other in wars, another in the sea;The like effects in me have their abiding;For heavens avowed my fortune should be such,That I should die by loving far too much.
My God, my God, how much I love my goddess,Whose virtues rare, unto the heavens arise!My God, my God, how much I love her eyesOne shining bright, the other full of hardness!My God, my God, how much I love her wisdom,Whose works may ravish heaven's richest maker!Of whose eyes' joys if I might be partakerThen to my soul a holy rest would come.My God, how much I love to hear her speak!Whose hands I kiss and ravished oft rekisseth,When she stands wotless whom so much she blesseth.Say then, what mind this honest love would break;Since her perfections pure, withouten blot,Makes her beloved of thee, she knoweth not?
My God, my God, how much I love my goddess,Whose virtues rare, unto the heavens arise!My God, my God, how much I love her eyesOne shining bright, the other full of hardness!My God, my God, how much I love her wisdom,Whose works may ravish heaven's richest maker!Of whose eyes' joys if I might be partakerThen to my soul a holy rest would come.My God, how much I love to hear her speak!Whose hands I kiss and ravished oft rekisseth,When she stands wotless whom so much she blesseth.Say then, what mind this honest love would break;Since her perfections pure, withouten blot,Makes her beloved of thee, she knoweth not?
The first created held a joyous bower,A flowering field, the world's sole wonderment,High Paradise, from whence a woman's powerEnticed him to fall to endless banishment.This on the banks of Euphrates did stand,Till the first Mover, by his wondrous might,Planted it in thine eyes, thy face, thy hands,From whence the world receives his fairest light.Thy cheeks contain choice flowers; thy eyes, two suns;Thy hands, the fruit that no life blood can stain;And in thy breath, that heavenly music wons,Which, when thou speak'st, angels their voices strain.As from the first thy sex exilèd me,So to this next let me be called by thee!
The first created held a joyous bower,A flowering field, the world's sole wonderment,High Paradise, from whence a woman's powerEnticed him to fall to endless banishment.This on the banks of Euphrates did stand,Till the first Mover, by his wondrous might,Planted it in thine eyes, thy face, thy hands,From whence the world receives his fairest light.Thy cheeks contain choice flowers; thy eyes, two suns;Thy hands, the fruit that no life blood can stain;And in thy breath, that heavenly music wons,Which, when thou speak'st, angels their voices strain.As from the first thy sex exilèd me,So to this next let me be called by thee!
Fair grace of graces, muse of muses all,Thou Paradise, thou only heaven I know!What influence hath bred my hateful woe,That I from thee and them am forced to fall?Thou falled from me, from thee I never shall,Although my fortunes thou hast brought so low;Yet shall my faith and service with thee go,For live I do, on heaven and thee to call.Banish'd all grace, no graces with me dwell;Compelled to muse, my muses from me fly;Excluded heaven, what can remain but hell?Exiled from paradise, in hate I lie,Cursing my stars; albeit I find it true,I lost all these when I lost love and you.
Fair grace of graces, muse of muses all,Thou Paradise, thou only heaven I know!What influence hath bred my hateful woe,That I from thee and them am forced to fall?Thou falled from me, from thee I never shall,Although my fortunes thou hast brought so low;Yet shall my faith and service with thee go,For live I do, on heaven and thee to call.Banish'd all grace, no graces with me dwell;Compelled to muse, my muses from me fly;Excluded heaven, what can remain but hell?Exiled from paradise, in hate I lie,Cursing my stars; albeit I find it true,I lost all these when I lost love and you.
What viewed I, dear, when I thine eyes beheld?Love in his glory? No, him Thyrsis saw,And stood the boy, whilst he his darts did draw,Whose painted pride to baser swains he telled.Saw I two suns? That sight is seen but seld.Yet can their brood that teach the holy lawGaze on their beams, and dread them not a straw,Where princely looks are by their eyes repelled.What saw I then? Doubtless it was Amen,Armed with strong thunder and a lightning's flame,Who bridegroom like with power was riding then,Meaning that none should see him when he came.Yet did I gaze; and thereby caught the woundWhich burns my heart and keeps my body sound.
What viewed I, dear, when I thine eyes beheld?Love in his glory? No, him Thyrsis saw,And stood the boy, whilst he his darts did draw,Whose painted pride to baser swains he telled.Saw I two suns? That sight is seen but seld.Yet can their brood that teach the holy lawGaze on their beams, and dread them not a straw,Where princely looks are by their eyes repelled.What saw I then? Doubtless it was Amen,Armed with strong thunder and a lightning's flame,Who bridegroom like with power was riding then,Meaning that none should see him when he came.Yet did I gaze; and thereby caught the woundWhich burns my heart and keeps my body sound.
When tedious much and over weary long,Cruel disdain reflecting from her brow,Hath been the cause that I endured such wrongAnd rest thus discontent and weary now.Yet when posterity in time to come,Shall find th' uncancelled tenour of her vow,And her disdain be then confessed of some,How much unkind and long, I find it now,O yet even then—though then will be too lateTo comfort me; dead, many a day, ere then—They shall confess I did not force her heart;And time shall make it known to other menThat ne'er had her disdain made me despair,Had she not been so excellently fair.
When tedious much and over weary long,Cruel disdain reflecting from her brow,Hath been the cause that I endured such wrongAnd rest thus discontent and weary now.Yet when posterity in time to come,Shall find th' uncancelled tenour of her vow,And her disdain be then confessed of some,How much unkind and long, I find it now,O yet even then—though then will be too lateTo comfort me; dead, many a day, ere then—They shall confess I did not force her heart;And time shall make it known to other menThat ne'er had her disdain made me despair,Had she not been so excellently fair.
Had she not been so excellently fair,My muse had never mourned in lines of woe;But I did too inestimable weigh her,And that's the cause I now lament me so.Yet not for her contempt do I complain me:Complaints may ease the mind, but that is all;Therefore though she too constantly disdain me,I can but sigh and grieve, and so I shall.Yet grieve I not because I must grieve ever;And yet, alas, waste tears away, in vain;I am resolvèd truly to persèver,Though she persisteth in her old disdain.But that which grieves me most is that I seeThose which most fair, the most unkindest be.
Had she not been so excellently fair,My muse had never mourned in lines of woe;But I did too inestimable weigh her,And that's the cause I now lament me so.Yet not for her contempt do I complain me:Complaints may ease the mind, but that is all;Therefore though she too constantly disdain me,I can but sigh and grieve, and so I shall.Yet grieve I not because I must grieve ever;And yet, alas, waste tears away, in vain;I am resolvèd truly to persèver,Though she persisteth in her old disdain.But that which grieves me most is that I seeThose which most fair, the most unkindest be.
Thus long imposed to everlasting plaining,Divinely constant to the worthiest fair,And movèd by eternally disdaining,Aye to persèver in unkind despair:Because now silence wearily confinedIn tedious dying and a dumb restraint,Breaks forth in tears from mine unable mindTo ease her passion by a poor complaint;O do not therefore to thyself suggestThat I can grieve to have immured so longUpon the matter of mine own unrest;Such grief is not the tenour of my song,That 'bide so zealously so bad a wrong.My grief is this; unless I speak and plain me,Thou wilt persèver ever to disdain me.
Thus long imposed to everlasting plaining,Divinely constant to the worthiest fair,And movèd by eternally disdaining,Aye to persèver in unkind despair:Because now silence wearily confinedIn tedious dying and a dumb restraint,Breaks forth in tears from mine unable mindTo ease her passion by a poor complaint;O do not therefore to thyself suggestThat I can grieve to have immured so longUpon the matter of mine own unrest;Such grief is not the tenour of my song,That 'bide so zealously so bad a wrong.My grief is this; unless I speak and plain me,Thou wilt persèver ever to disdain me.
Thou wilt persèver ever to disdain me;And I shall then die, when thou will repent it.O do not therefore from complaint restrain me,And take my life from me, to me that lent it!For whilst these accents, weepingly exprestIn humble lines of reverentest zeal,Have issue to complaint from mine unrest,They but thy beauty's wonder shall reveal;And though the grieved muse of some other lover,Whose less devotions knew but woes like mine,Would rather seek occasion to discoverHow little pitiful and how much unkind,They other not so worthy beauties find.O, I not so! but seek with humble prayer,Means how to move th' unmercifullest fair.
Thou wilt persèver ever to disdain me;And I shall then die, when thou will repent it.O do not therefore from complaint restrain me,And take my life from me, to me that lent it!For whilst these accents, weepingly exprestIn humble lines of reverentest zeal,Have issue to complaint from mine unrest,They but thy beauty's wonder shall reveal;And though the grieved muse of some other lover,Whose less devotions knew but woes like mine,Would rather seek occasion to discoverHow little pitiful and how much unkind,They other not so worthy beauties find.O, I not so! but seek with humble prayer,Means how to move th' unmercifullest fair.