And, if dumb things be so witty,
Shall a heavenly grace want pity?"

There, his hands, in their speech, fain
Would have made tongue's language plain;
But her hands, his hands repelling,
Gave repulse all grace excelling.
Then she spake; her speech was such
As not ears but heart did touch;
While in suchwise she love denied
As yet love she signified.

"Astrophel! (said she) my love,
Cease in these effects to prove.
Now be still; yet, still believe me,
Thy grief more than death doth grieve me.
If that any thought in me

• Can taste comfort, but of thee;
Let me feed with hellish anguish,
And joyless, helpless, endless languish!"
If those eyes you praised, be
Half so dear, as you to me,
Let me home return stark-blinded
Of those eyes, and blinder minded!
If to secret of my heart,
I do any wish impart,
Where thou art not foremost placed,
Be both wish and I defaced.

If more may be said, I say
All my life on thee I lay:
If thou love-my love content thee;
For, all love, all faith is meant thee.
Trust me, while I thee deny,
In myself the smart I try.
Tyrant honour thus doth use thee,
Stella's self might not refuse thee.
Therefore, dear, this no more move,
Lest, (though I leave not thy love,
Which too deep in me is framed)
I should blush when thou art named."

1

Therewithal, away she went;

Leaving him by passion rent

With what she had done and spoken,
That therewith my song is broken.

SONG.

"

WHO is it that this dark night,

Underneath my window plaineth?"

It is one, who from thy sight,

Being (ah!) exil'd, disdaineth

Every other vulgar light.

"Why, alas! and are you he?

Are not yet these fancies changed?"
Dear, when you find change in me,
Though from me you be estranged,
Let my change to ruin be.
"What if you new beauties see?
Will not they stir new affection?"
I will think they pictures be
(Image-like of saint perfection)
Poorly counterfeiting thee.

"Peace! I think that some give ear.
Come, no more, lest I get anger."
Bliss! I will my bliss forbear,
Fearing, sweet, you to endanger;
But my soul shall harbour there.
"Well, begone; begone, I say,
Lest that Argus' eyes perceive you."
O! unjust is Fortune's sway,
Which can make me thus to leave you,
And from louts to run away!

SONNETS.

LOCK up, fair lids! the treasure of my heart,

Preserve those beams, this age's only light; To her sweet sense, sweet sleep! some ease impart, Her sense too weak to bear her spirit's might. And while, O Sleep! thou closest up her sightHer sight, where Love did forge his fairest dart,

O harbour all her parts in easeful plight: Let no strange dream make her fair body start. But yet, O Dream! if thou wilt not depart, In this rare subject, from thy common right, But wilt thy self in such a seat delight; Then take my shape, and play a lover's part: Kiss her from me; and say, unto her sprite, Till her eyes shine, I live in darkest night!

O Happy Thames, that didst my Stella bear !

I saw thee, with full many a smiling line,

Upon thy cheerful face joy's livery wear; While those fair planets on thy streams did shine. The boat, for joy, could not to dance forbear; While wanton winds, with beauties so divine, Ravish'd, staid not till in her golden hair They did themselves (O sweetest prison!) twine; And fain those Æol's youth there would their stay Have made; but forc'd by nature still to fly, First did with puffing kiss those locks display. She, so dishevell'd, blush'd: from window I, With sight thereof, cried out-O fair disgrace, Let honour's self to thee grant highest place!

+

SONNET.

BE
E your words made, good Sir! of Indian ware,
That you allow me them by so small rate?
Or do you courted Spartans imitate?

Or do you mean my tender ears to spare,
That to my questions you so total are?
When I demand of Phœnix-Stella's state,
You say, forsooth, you left her well of late:
O God! think you, that satisfies my care?
I would know, whether she do sit or walk?
How cloth'd? How waited on? Sigh'd she, or smil'd?
Whereof? with whom? how often did she talk ?
With what pastime, time's journey she beguil'd?
If her lips deign'd to sweeten my poor name?
Say all, and all well said, still say the same.

MICHAEL DRAYTON.

SONNETS.

I OVE, banish'd Heaven, on earth was held in scorn,

Wand'ring abroad in need and beggary; And wanting friends, though of a goddess born, Yet crav'd the alms of such as passed by: I, like a man devout and charitable, Clothed the naked, lodg'd this wand'ring Guest; With sighs and tears still furnishing his table, With what might make the miserable blest. But this Ungrateful, for my good desert, Intic'd my thoughts against me to conspire, Who gave consent to steal away my heart; And set my breast, his lodging, on a fire. Well, well my friends! when beggars grow thus bold, No marvel, then, though charity grow cold!

DEAR! why should you command me to my rest,

now the Night doth summon all to sleep?

Methinks, this time becometh lovers best;
Night was ordain'd together friends to keep.
How happy are all other living things,
Which, though the day disjoin by several flight,
The quiet evening yet together brings;
And each returns unto his Love at night!
O, thou that art so courteous else to all,
Why shouldst thou, Night! abuse me only thus;
That ev'ry creature to his kind do'st call,
And yet 'tis thou dost only sever us?
Well could I wish it would be ever day,
If, when night comes, you bid me go away.