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If thy soul check thee that I come so near,
Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy will,
And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there;
Thus far for love, my love-suit, sweet, fulfil.
Will will fulfil the treasure of thy love,
Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one.
In things of great receipt with ease we prove;
Among a number one is reckon'd none.
Then in the number let me pass untold,
Though in thy stores' account I one must be;
For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold
That nothing me, a something sweet to thee:
Make but iny name thy love, and love that still,
And then thou lov'st me,- for my name is Will.

Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press
My tongue-ty'd patience with too much disdain;
Lest sorrow lend me words, and words express
The manner of my pity-wanting pain.
If I might teach thee wit, better it were,
Though not to love, yet, love, to tell me so ;
(As testy sick men, when their death be near,
No news but health from their physicians know :)
For, if I should despair, I should grow mad,
And in my madness might speak ill of thee:.
Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad,
Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be
That I may not be so, nor thou bely'd, [wide.
Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go


SONNET CXLI. Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes, In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes, That they behold, and see not what they see? For they in thee a thousand errours note; They know what beauty is, see where it lies, But 't is my heart that loves what they despise, Yet what the best is, take the worst to be.

Who in despite of view is pleas'd to dote. If eyes, corrupt by over-partial looks,

Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune delighted; Be anchor'd in the bay where all men ride, Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone, Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged hooks, Nor taste nor smell, desire to be invited Whereto the judgment of my heart is ty’d? To any sensual feast with thee alone: Why should my heart think that a several plot, But my five wits, nor my five senses can Which my heart knows the wide world's common Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee, Or mine eyes seeing this, say this is not, [place? Who leaves unsway'd the likeness of a man, To put fair truth upon so foul a face?

Thy proud heart's slave and vassal wretch to be : In things right true my heart and eyes have err'd, Only my plague thus far I count my gain, And to this false plague are they now transferr'd. That she that makes me sin, awards me pain.

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When my love swears that she is made of truth,
I do believe ber, though I know she lies;
That she might think me some untutor’d youth,
Unlearned in the world's false subtilties.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although she knows my days are past the best,
Simply 1 credit her false-speaking tongue;
On both sides thus is simple truth suppress'd.
But wherefore says she not, she is unjust?
And wherefore say not I, that I am old ?
O love's best habit is in seeming trust.
And age in love loves not to have years told :
Therefore I lie with her, and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be.

Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue bate,
Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving:
O but with mine compare thou thine own state,
And thou shalt find it merits not reproving;
Or if it do, not from those lips of thine,
That have profan'd their scarlet ornaments,
And seal'd false bonds of love as oft as mine;
Robb'd others' beds revenues of their rents.
Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lov'st those
Whom thine eyes woo as mine impòrtune thee:
Root pity in thy heart, that when it grows,
Thy pity may deserve to pity'd be.
If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide,
By self-example may'st thou be deny'd !


SONNET CXLIII. O CALL not me to justify the wrong,

Lo, as a careful housewife runs to catch That thy unkindness lays upon my heart; One of her feather'd creatures broke away, Wound me not with thine eye, but with thy tongue; Sets down her babe, and makes all swift dispatch Use power with power, and slay me not by art. In pursuit of the thing she would have stay; Tell me thou lov'st elsewhere; but in my sight, Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase, Dear beart, forbear to glance thine eye aside. [might Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent What need'st thou wound with cunning, when thy To follow that which flies before her face, Is more than my o'erpress'd defence can 'bide? Not prizing her poor infant's discontent; Let me excuse thee: ah! my love well knows So run'st thou after that wbich flies from thee, Her pretty looks have been mine enemies;

Whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind; And therefore from my face she turns my foes, But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me, That they elsewhere might dart their injuries: And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind: Yet do not so; but since I am near slain,

So will I pray that thou may'st have thy Will, Kill me outright with looks, and rid my pain. If thou turn back, and my loud crying still.


SONNET CXLVIII. Two loves I have of comfort and despair,

O me! what eyes hath love put in my head, Which like two spirits do suggest me still; Which have no correspondence with true sight? The better angel is a man rigot fair,

Or, if they have, where is my judgment fled, The worser spirit a woman, colour'd ill.

That censures falsely what they see aright? To wio me soon to Hell, my female evil

If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote, Tempteth my better angel from my side,

What means the world to say it is not so? And would corrupt my saint to be a devil,

If it be not, then love doth well denote Wooing his purity with her foul pride.

Love's eye is not so true as all men's: no, And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend, How can it? O how can Love's eye be true, Suspect I may, yet not directly tell;

That is so vex'd with watching and with tears? But being both from me, both to each friend, No marvel then though I mistake my view; I guess one angel in another's Hell.

The Sun itself sees not, till Heaven clears. Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt, O cunning Love! with tears thou keep'st me blind, Til my bad angel fire my good one out.

Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find.

THOSE lips that Love's own hand did make,
Breath'd forth the sound that said, “I hate,"
To me that languish'd for her sake;
But when she saw my woeful state,
Straight in her heart did mercy come,
Chiding that tongue, that ever sweet
Was us'd in giving gentle doom;
And taught it thus a-new to greet:
I hate she alter'd with an end,
That follow'd it as gentle day
Doth follow night, who like a fiend
From Heaven to Hell is flown away.
I hate from hate away she threw,
And sav'd my life, saying—"not you."

Canst thou, O cruel ! say I love thee not,
When I, against myself, with thee partake?
Do I not think on thee, when I forgot
Am of myself, all tyrant, for thy sake?
Who bateth thee that I do call my friend?
On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon ?
Nay if thou lowrist on me, do I not spend
Revenge upon myself with present moan?
What merit do I in myself respect,
That is so proud thy service to despise,
When all my best doth worship thy defect,
Commanded by the motion of thine eyes?
But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind;
Those that can see thou lov'st, and I am blind.


SONNET CL. Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,

O FROM what power bast thou this powerful might, Fool'd by those rebel powers that thee array, With insufficiency my heart to sway? Why dost thou pine within, aud suffer dearth, To make me give the lie to my true sight, Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? And swear that brightness doth not grace the day? Why so large cost, having so short a lease, Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill, Dost thou opon thy fading mansion spend? That in the very refuse of thy deeds Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,

There is such strength and warrantise of skill, Eat up thy charge? Is this thy body's end? That in my mind, thy worst all best exceeds ? Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, Who taught thee how to make me love thee more, And let that pine to aggravate thy store;

The more I hear and see just cause of bate? Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross ; O, though I love what others do abhor, Within be fed, without be rich no more:

With others thou should'st not abhor my state; So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men, If thy unworthiness rais'd love in me, And, Death once dead, there's no more dying then. More worthy I to be belov'd of thee.



SONNET CLI. My love is like a fever, longing still

Love is too young to know what conscience is; For that which longer nurseth the disease; Yet who knows not, conscience is born of love Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss, The uncertain sickly appetite to please.

Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove." My reason, the physician to my love,

For thou betraying me, I do betray Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,

My nobler part to my gross body's treason; Hath left me, and I desperate now approve, My soul doth tell my body that he may Desire his death, which physic did except. Triumph in love; flesh stays no further reason; Past cure I am, now reason is past care,

But rising at thy name, doth point out thee And frantic-mad with ever-more unrest;

As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride, My thoughts and my discourse as mad men's are, He is contented thy poor drudge to be, At random from the truth vainly express'd; To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side. For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, No want of conscience hold it that I call Who art as black as Hell, as dark as night. Her love, for whose dear love I rise and fall.



t In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn, But thou art twice forsworn, to me love swearing; Sweet Cytherea, sitting by a brook, In act thy bed-vow broke, and new faith torn, With youug Adonis, lovely, fresh, and greeri, In vowing new hate after new love bearing. Did court the lad with many a lovely look, But why of two oaths' breach do I accuse thee, Such looks as none could look but beauty's queen. When I break twenty? I am perjur'd most; She told bim stories to delight his ear; for all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee, She show'd him favours to allure his eye; And all my honest faith in thee is lost :

To win his heart she touch'd bim here and there: For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness, Touches so soft still conquer chastity. Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy; But whether unripe years did want conceit, And, to enlighten thee, gave eyes to blindness, Or be refus'd to take her figur'd proffer, Or made them swear against the thing they see; The tender nibbler would not touch the bait, For I have sworn thee fair: more perjur'd I, Rut smile and jest at every gentle offer: To swear, against the truth, so foul a lie!

Then fell she on her back, fair queen, and toward;

He rose and ran away; ah, fool, too froward !
Cupid lay'd by his brand, and fell asleep;
A maid of Dian's this advantage found,

If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love? And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep

O never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow'd: In a cold valley-fountain of that ground;

Though to myself forsworn, to thee I 'll constant Which borrow'd from this holy fire of love


[bow'd. A dateless lively heat, still to endure,

Those thoughts to me like oaks, to thee like osiers

Study his bias leaves, and makes his book tbine eyes, And drew a seething bath which yet men prove,

Where all those pleasures live, that art can compreAgainst strange maladies a sovereign cure.

hend. But at my mistress' eye Love's brand new-lir'd, The boy for trial needs would touch my breast;

If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall sufice;

Well learned is that tongue that well can thee comI sick withal, the help of bath desir'd, And bither hied, a sad distemper'd guest,

mend; But found no cure; the bath for my help lies

All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder; Where Cupid got new fire; my mistress' eyes.

Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire:
Thine eye Jove's lightning seems, thy voice his

dreadful thunder,

Which (not to anger bent) is music and suvet fire.

Celestial as thou art, O do not love that wrong, The little love-god lying once asleep, Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand,

To sing the Heavens' praise with such an earthly Whilst many nymphs that row'd chaste life to keep,

tongue. Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand

The fairest votary took up that fire
Which many legions of true hearts diad warm'd; Scarce had the Sun dried up the dewy morn,
And so the general of hot desire

And scarce the herd gone to the hedge for shade, Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarm’d.

When Cytherea, all in love forlorn, This brand she qnenched in a cool well by, A longing tarriance for Adonis made, Which from love's fire took heat perpetual, Under an osier growing by a brook, Growing a bath and healthful remedy

A brook, wbere Adon us'd to cool his spleen.
For men diseas'd; but I, my mistress' thrall, Hot was the day; she hotter that did look
Came there for cure, and this by that I prove, For his approach, that often there had been.
Love's fire heats water, water cools not love. 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 ;

Ob, Jove," quoth she, “why was I not a flood >> 1.

Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye,
'Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument, Fair is iny love, but not so fair as fickle,
Persuade my heart to this false perjury?

Mild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty ; Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment. Brighter than glass, and yet, as glass is, brittle, A woman I forswore; but I will prove,

Sofier than wax, and yet, as iron, rusty : Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee:

A little pale, with damask dye to grace her, My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love; None fair, nor none falser to deface her. Thy grace being gain'd, cures all disgrace in me. My vow was breath, and breath a vapour is : Her lips to mine how often hath she join'd, Then thou fair Sun, which on my earth dost shine, Between each kiss her oath of true love swearing i Exhal'st this vapour now ; in thee it is :

How many tales to please me hath she coin', If broken, then it is no fault of mine.

Dreading my love, the loss whereof still fearing! If by me broke, what fool is not so wise

Yet in the midst of all her true protestings, To break an oath, to win a paradise ?

Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were jestings.



She burnt with love, as straw with fire fameth,
She burnt out love, as soon as straw out burneth ;

She fram'd the love, and yet she foil'd the framing,

Crabbed age and youth She bad love last, and yet she fell a turning.

Cannot live together; Was this a lover, or a lecher whether?

Youth is full of pleasance, Bad in the best, though excellent in neither.

Age is full of care:

Youth like summer morn,

Age like winter weather;
If music and sweet poetry agree,

Youth like summer brave, As tbey must needs, the sister and the brother,

Age like winter bare. Then must the love be great 'twixt thee and me, Youth is full of sport, Because thou lor'st the one, and I the other.

Age's breath is short, Dowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch

Youth is nimble, age is lame: Upon the late doth ravish human sense;

Youth is hot and bold, Spenser to me, whose deep conceit is such,

Age is weak and cold; As passing all conceit, needs no defence.

Youth is wild, and age is tame. Thou lor'st to hear the sweet melodious sound

Age, I do abhor thee, That Phæbus' lute, the queen of music, makes ; Youth, I do adore thee; And I in deep delight am chiefly drown'd,

O, my love, my love is young: Whenas himself to singing he betakes.

Age, I do defy thee; One god is god of both, as poets feign;

O, sweet shepherd, bic thee,
One knight loves both, and vorb in thee remain.

For methinks thou stay'st too long.

Fair was the morn when the fair queen of love, Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good,
* * * *


A shining gloss that fadeth suddenly; Paler fór sorrow than her milk-white dove, A flower that dies, when first it 'gins to bud; For Adon's sakę, a youngster proud and wild; A brittle glass, that 's broken presently : Her stand' she takes upon a steep-up hill:

A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower,
Anon Adonis comes with born and hounds;

Lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour.
She, silly queen, with more than love's good will,
Forbade the boy he should not pass those grounds; And as goods lost are seld or never found,

Once," quoth she, “ did I see a fair sweet youth As faded gloss no rubbing will refresh,
Here in these brakes deep-wounded with a boar,

As flowers dead, lie wither'd on the ground,
Deep in the thigh, a spectacle of ruth!

As broken glass no cement can redress,
See in my thigh," quoth she, “here was the sore:" So beauty blemish'd once, for ever 's lost,
She showed hers; he saw more wounds than one, In spite of physic, painting, pain, and cost.
and blushing fled, and left her all alone.


Good night, good rest. Ah! neither be my share;
Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluck'd, soon faded, She bade good night, that kept my rest away;
Pluck'd in the bud, and faded in the spring ! And daft me to a cabin hang'd with care,
Bright orient pearl, alack ! too timely shaded ! To descant on the doubts of my decay. [row ;"
Pair creature, kill'd too soon by Death's sharp sting! * Farewell,” quoth she, " and come again to mor-
Like a green plumb that hangs upon a tree,

Farewell I could not, for I supp'd with sorrow. And falls, through wind, before the fall should be.

Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile, I weep for thee, and yet no cause I have,

In scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether : For why? thou left'st me nothing in thy will.

May be, she joy'd to jest at my exile, And yet thou left'st me more than I did crave;

May be, again to make me wander thither : For why? I craved nothing of thee still:

Wander, a word for shadows like myself,
O yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee;

As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf.
Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me.

Fair Venus with Adonis sitting by her,

Lord how mine eyes throw gazes to the east! Under a myrtle shade, began to woo him:

My heart doth charge the watch; the morning rise She told the youngling how god Mars did try her, Doth cite each moving sense from idle rest. And as he felt to her, she felt to him. [me;" Not daring trust the office of mine eyes, "Even thus,"quoth she, “the warlike god embrac'd While Philomela sits and sings, I sit and mark, And then she clip'd Adonis in her arms : [me,” | And wish her lays were tuned like the lark. " Even thus," quoth shè, “ the warlike god unlac'd As if the boy should use like loving charms. For she doth welcome day-light with her ditty, "Even thus,” quoth she," he seized on my lips, " And drives away dark dismal-dreaming night: And with her lips on his did act the seizure; The night so pack’d, I post unto my pretty; And as she fetched breath, away he skips, Heart hath his hope, and eyes their wished sight; And would not take ber meaning nor her pleasure. Sorrow chang’d to solace, solace mix'd with sorAh! that I had my lady at this bay, To kiss and clip ne till I run away!

For why ? she sigh'd, and bade me come to morrow.

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Were I with her, the night would post too soon;

« In black mourn 1, But now are minutes added to the hours ;

All fears scorn I,
To spite me now, each minute seems an hour; Love hath forlorn me,
Yet not for me, shine, Sun, to succour flowers! [row; Living in thrall:
Pack night, peep day; good day, of night now bor- Heart is bleeding,
Short, Night, to night, and length thyself to morrow. All help needing,

(O cruel speeding!)

Fraughted with gall.
It was a lordling's daughter, the fairest one of three, My shepherd's pipe can sound no deal,
That liked of her master as well as well might be,

My wethers' bell rings dolefull knell;
Till looking on an Englishman, the fairest that eye My curtail dog that wont to have play'd,
Her fancy fell a turning.

(could see, Plays not at all, but seems afraid;
Long was the combat doubtful, that love with love with sighs so deep,
did fight,

[knight: Procures to weep, To leave the master loveless, or kill the gallant

In howling-wise, to see my doleful plight. To put in practice either, alas it was a spite

How sighs resound Unto the silly damsel.

Through heartless ground,

Like a thousand vanquish'd men in bloody fight! But one must be refused, more mickle was the pain, Clear wells spring not, That nothing could be used, to turn them both to Sweet birds sing not, gain,

[disdain: Green plants bring not For of the two the trusty knight was wounded with

Forth; they die:
Alas, she could not help it!

Herds stand weeping,
Thus art with arms contending was victor of the day, Flocks all sleeping,
Which by a gift of learning did bearthe maid away; Nymphs back peeping
Then lullaby, the learned man hath got the lady gay; all our pleasure known to ns poor swains,

For now my song is ended.

All our merry meetings on the plains,

All our evening sport from us is fled,

All our love is lost, for love is dead. On a day (alack the day!)

Farewell, sweet love, Love, whose month was ever May,

Thy like ne'er was Spy'd a blossom passing fair,

Por sweet content, the cause of all my moan: Playing in the wanton air,

Poor Coridon, Through the velvet leaves the wind,

Must live alone, All unseen, 'gan passage find;

Other help for bim I see that there is none." That the lover, sick to death, Wish'd himself the Heaven's breath;

XVII. “ Air," quoth he, “thy cheeks may blow; When as thine eye hath chose the dame, Air, would I might triumph so!

And stall’d the deer that thou should'st strike, But, alas! my hand hath sworn

Let reason rule things worthy blame, Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn :

As well as fancy, partial might: Vow, alack, for youth unmeet,

Take counsel of some wiser head,
Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet.

Neither too young, nor yet unwed.
Do not call it sin in me,
That I am forsworn for thee;

And when thou com'st thy tale to tell,
Thou for whom even Jove would swear

Smooth not thy tongue with filed talk, Juno but an Ethiope were;

Lest she some subtle practice smell; And deny himself for Jove,

(A cripple soon can find a halt :) Turning mortal for thy love.

But plainly say thou lov'st her well,

And set her person forth to sale.

What though her frowning brows be bent, “ My flocks feed not,

Her cloudy looks will calm ere night; My ewes breed not,

And then too late she will repent, My rams speed not,

That thus dissembled her delight; All is amiss :

And twice desire, ere it be day, Love's denying,

That which with scorn she put away. Faith's defying,

What though she strive to try her strength, Heart's renying,

And ban and brawl, and say thee nay, Causer of this.

Her feeble force will yield at length, All my merry jigs are quite forgot,

When craft hath taught her thus to say: All my lady's love is lost, God wot :

“ Had women been so strong as men, Where her faith was firmly fix'd in love,

In faith you had not had it then."
There a nay is plac'd without remove.
One silly cross

And to her will frame all thy ways;
Wrought all my loss ;

Spare not to spend, and chiefly there O frowning Fortune, cursed, fickle dame! Where thy desert may merit praise, For now I see,

By ringing in thy lady's ear: Inconstancy

The strongest castle, tower, and town, More in women than in men remain.

The golden bullet beats it down.

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