Who me captiving, ftraight with rigorous wrong
Have ever since kept me in cruci bands:
So, Lady, now to you I do complain
Against your eyes, that justice I may gain.

SONNET XIII.

In that proud port which her fo goodly graceth,
Whiles her fair face the rears up to the sky,
And to the ground her eye-lids low embraceth,
Moft goodly temperature ye may defery,
Mild humblefs, mixt with aweful majeity;
For looking on the earth, whence she was born,
Her mind remembreth her mortality;
What-fo is faireft fhall to earth return.
But that fame lofty countenance feems to fcorn
Bafe thing, and think how the to heaven may clime,
Treading down earth as loathsome and forlorn,
That hinders heavenly thoughts with droffy flime;
Yet lowly fill vouchfafe to look on me,
Such lowlinefs fhall make you lofty be.

SONNET XIV.

RETURN again, my forces, late dismaid,
Unto the fiege by you abandon'd quite ;
Great fhame it is to leave, like one afraid,
So fair a piece for one repulfe fo light,
'Gainst fuch strong caftles needeth greater might
Than those small forces ye were wont belay;
Such haughty minds, enur'd to hardy fight,
Difdain to yield unto the first afsay.
Bring, therefore, all the forces that ye may,
And lay inceffant battry to her heart;
Plaints, prayers, vows, ruth, forrow, and dismay,
Thofe engins can the proudest love convert;
And if thofe fail, fall down and die before her,
So dying live, and living do adore her.

SONNET XV.

YE tradeful Merchants! that with weary toil
Do feek most precious things to make your gain,
And both the Indias of their treasure spoil,
What needeth you to feek so far in vain ?
For, lo! my love doth in her felf contain
All this world's riches that may far be found;
If faphyrs, lo! her eyes be faphyrs plain;
If rubies, lo! her lips be rubies found;
If pearls, her teeth be pearls, both pure and round;
If ivory, her forehead ivory ween;

If gold, her locks are finest gold on ground;
If filver, her fair hands are filver fheen:
But that which faireft is, but few behold,
Her mind, adorn'd with vertues manifold.

SONNET XVI.

ONE day as I unwarïly did gaze

On thofe fair eyes, my love's immortal light,

The whiles my stonish'd heart flood in amaze,
Through fweet illufion of her look's delight,
I mote perceive how in her glancing fight
Legions of Loves with little wings did fly,
Darting their deadly arrows fiery bright
At every rafh beholder paffing by:
One of those archers closely I did spy
Aiming his arrow at my very heart,
When fuddenly, with twinkle of her eye,
The damfel broke his mifintended dart :
Had the not fo done fure I had been flain,
Yet as it was I hardly fcap'd with pain.

THE glorious pourtract of that angel's face,
Made to amaze weak mens confused skil!,
And this world's worthless glory to embrace,
What
pen, what penfil, can exprefs her fill?
For though he colours could devife at will,
And eke his learned hand at pleasure guide,
Left trembling it his workmanship should spill,
Yet many wondrous things there are befide:
The fweet eye-glances, that like arrows glide,
The charming fmiles that rob fenfe from the
heart;

The lovely pleafance, and the lofty pride,
Cannot expreffed be by any art:

A greater craftsman's hand thereto doth need,
That can exprefs the life of things indeed.

SONNET XVII.

THE rolling wheel, that runneth often round,
The hardest fteel in tract of time doth tear;
And drizling drops, that often do redound,
The firmest flint doth in continuance wear:
Yet cannot I, with many a dropping tear,
And long intreaty, foften her hard heart,
That she will once vouchfafe my plaint to hear,
Or look with pity on my painful fmart :
But when I plead, the bids me play my part;
And when I weep, fhe fays tears are but water;
And when I figh, the fays I know the art;
And when I wail, fhe turns her felf to laughter:
So do I weep and wail, and plead in vain,
Whiles the as steel and flint doth still remain.

SONNET XXIII.

But the his precept proudly difobeys,
And doth his idle meffage fet at nought;
Therefore, O Love! unless fhe turn to thee
E'er cuckow end, let her a rebel be.

SONNET XX.

In vain I feek and fue to her for grace,
And do mine humble heart before her pour,
The whiles her foot she in my neck doth place,
And tread my life down in the lowly flour:
And yet the lion, that is lord of power,
And reigneth over every beaft in field,
In his moft pride difdeigneth to devour
The filly lamb that to his might doth yield:
But fhe, more cruel and more falvage wild
Than either lion or the lionefs,
Shames not to be with guiltless blood defil'd,
But taketh glory in her cruelness.
Fairer than faireft, let none ever say
That ye were blooded in a yielded prey.

SONNET XXI.

WAS it the work of Nature or of Art,
Which tempred fo the features of her face,
That pride and meekness, mixt by equal part,
Do both appear t' adorn her beauty's grace?
For with mild pleasance, which doth pride dif-
place.

She to her love doth lookers' eyes allure,

And with ftern count'nance back again doth chace

Their loofer looks, that stir up lufts impure.
With fuch ftrange trains her eyes fhe doth inure,
That with one look fhe doth my life dismay,
And with another doth it straight recure :
Her fmile me draws, her frown me drives away.
Thus doth fhe train and teach me with her
looks;

Such art of eyes I never read in books.

SONNET XXII.

THIS holy feafon, fit to faft and pray,
Men to devotion ought to be inclin'd,
Therefore I likewife on fo holy day,
For my fweet faint fome fervice fit will find.
Her temple fair is built within my mind,
In which her glorious image placed is,
On which my thoughts do day and night at-
tend,

Like facred priests, that never think amifs;
There I to her, as th' author of my blifs,
Will build an altar to appeafe her ire,
And on the fame my heart will facrifice,
Burning in flames of pure and chafte defire;
The which vouchfafe, O Goddess! to accept,
Amongst thy deareft relicks to be kept.

PENELOPE, for her Ulyffes' fake,
Deviz'd a web her wooers to deceive,

In which the work that the all day did make,
The fame at night she did again unreave:
Such fubtil craft my damfel doth conceive,
Th' importunate fute of my defire to shun,
For all that I in many days do weave,
In one fhort hour I find by her undun.
So when I think to end that I begun,
I muft begin and never bring to end;

Forth with one look fhe fpills that long I fpun, And with one word my whole year's work doth rend.

Such labour like the fpider's web I find,
Whofe fruitlefs work is broken with leaft wind.

SONNET XXIV.

WHEN I behold that beauty's wonderment,
And rare perfection of each goodly part,
Of Nature's skill the only complement,
I honour and admire the Maker's art;
But when I feel the bitter baleful fmart
Which her fair eyes unwares do work in me,
That death out of their fhiny beams do dart,
I think that I a new Pandora fee,
Whom all the gods in counsel did agree
Into this finful world from heaven to fend
That the to wicked men a fcourge should be
For all their faults with which they did offend.
But fince ye are my fcourge, I will intreat,
That for my faults ye will me gently beat.

SONNET XXV.

How long fhall this like dying life endure,
And know no end of its own mifery,
But waste and wear away in terms unfure,
"Twixt fear and hope depending doubtfully?
Yet better were attonce to let me die,
And fhew the laft enfample of your pride,
Then to torment me thus with cruelty,
To prove your pow'r, which I too well have tride.
But yet if in your harden'd breast you hide
A clofe intent at last to fhew me grace,
Then all the woes and wrecks which I abide,
As means of bliss I gladly will embrace,
And wish that more and greater they might be,
That greater meed at last may turn to me.

SONNET XXVI.

SWEET is the rofe, but grows upon a brere;
Sweet is the juniper, but sharp his bough;
Sweet is the eglantine, but pricketh near;
Sweet is the firbloom, but his branches rough;
Sweet is the cypress, but his rind is tough ;
Sweet is the nut, but bitter is his pill;
Sweet is the broom-flowre, but yet four enough;

SONNET XXX.

And fweet is moly, but his root is ill:
So every fweet with four is tempred still.
That maketh it be coveted the more;
For eafy things, that may be got at will,
Moft forts of men do fet but little store.
Why then fhould I account of little pain,
That endless pleasure shall unto me gain?

SONNET XXVII.

FAIR Proud! now tell me why fhould fair be proud,

Sith all the world's glory is but grofs unclean?
And in the fhade of death itself fhould fhroud,
However now thereof ye little ween.
That goodly idol, now fo gay befeen,
Shall doff her fleshes borrow'd fair attire,
And be forgot as it had never been,
That many now much worship and admire :
Ne any then fhall after it inquire,
Ne any mention fhall thereof remain,
But what this verse, that never shall expire,
Shall to your purchase with her thankless pain.
Fair! be no longer proud of that shall perish,
But that which fhall you make immortal cherish.

SONNET XXVIII.

THE laurel leaf, which you this day do wear,
Gives me great hope of your relenting mind,
For fince it is the badge which I do bear,
Ye bearing it do feem to me inclin'd:
The power thereof, which oft in me I find,
Let it likewife your gentle breast inspire
With sweet infufion, and put you in mind

Of that proud maid whom now thofe leaves attire.
Proud Daphne, fcorning Phœbus' lovely fire,
On the Theffalian fhore from him did flie,
For which the gods, in their revengeful ire,
Did her transform unto a laurel-tree.

Then fly no more, fair Love! from Phoebus'

chace,

But in your breaft his leaf and love embrace.

SONNET XXIX.

SEE how the ftubborn damsel doth deprave
My fimple meaning with difdainful fcorn,
And by the bay which I unto her gave,
Accounts my felf her captive quite forlorn.
The bay, quoth fhe, is of the victor born,
Yielded them by the vanquisht as their meeds,
And they therewith do poets' heads adorn,
To fing the glory of their famous deeds;
But fith the will the conqueft challenge needs,
Let her accept me as her faithfull thrall,
That her great triumph, which my fkill exceeds,
I may in trump of Fame biaze over all;
Then would I deck her head with glorious bays,
And fill the world with her victorious praise.

My love is like to ice, and I to firc:
How comes it, then, that this her cold so great
Is not diffolv'd through my fo hot defire,
But harder grows the more I her intreat?
Or how comes it that my exceeding heat
Is not delaid by her heart-frozen cold,
But that I burn much more in boiling fweat,
And feel my flames augmented manifold?
What more miraculous thing may be told,
That fire, which all things melts, fhould harden
ice,

And ice which is congeal'd with fenfeless cold,
Should kindle fire by wonderful device?
Such is the power of love in gentle mind,
That it can alter all the course of kind.

SONNET XXXI.

Au! why hath Nature to fo hard a heart
Given fo goodly gifts of beauty's grace,
Whofe pride depraves each other better part,
And all thofe precious ornaments deface?
Sith to all other beafts of bloody race
A dreadful countenance fhe given hath,
That with their terrour all the reft may chace,
And warn to fhun the danger of their wrath:
But my proud one doth work the greater fcath
Through fweet allurement of her lovely hue,
That the the better may in bloody bath

Of such poor thrall her cruel hands embrew;
But did the know how ill thefe two accord,
Such cruelty fhe would have foon abhorr'd.

SONNET XXXII.

THE painful fmith, with force of fervent heat,
The hardest iron foon doth mollific,
That with his heavy fledge he can it beat,
And fafaion to what he it lift apply;

Yet cannot all these flames in which I fry
Her heart, more hard than iron, foft awhit,
Ne all the plaints and prayers with which I
Do beat on th' anvile of her ftubborn wit;
But ftill the more the fervent fees my fit,
The more the frizeth in her wilful pride,
And harder grows the harder fhe is fmit,
With all the plaints which to her be applide:
What then remains but I to ashes burn,
And she to stones at length all frozen turn?

SONNET XXXIII.

GREAT Wrong I do, I can it not deny,
To that most facred emprefs, my dear dread,
Not finishing her Queen of Faery,
That mote enlarge her living praises dead.
But, Lodwick, this of grace to me aread;
Do ye not think th' accomplishment of it
Sufficient work for one man's fimple head,
All were it, as the reft, but rudely writ?

How then fhould I, without another wit,
Think ever to endure fo tedious toil?
Sith that this one is toft with troublous fit
Of a proud love that doth my spirit spoil.
Cease then till fhe vouchsafe to grant me rest,
Or lend you me another living breast.

SONNET XXXIV.

LIKE as a fhip that through the ocean wide, By conduct of fome star, doth make her way, When as a storm hath dim'd her trusty guide, Out of her courfe doth wander far astray; 30 I, whose star, that wont with her bright ray Me to direct, with clouds is overcast, Jo wander now in darkness and difmay, Through hidden perils round about me plac'd; fet hope I will that when this storm is past My Helice, the loadftar of my life, Vill shine again, and look on me at last With lovely light, to clear my cloudy grief: ill then I wander careful, comfortless, a fecret forrow and fad pensiveness.

SONNET XXXV.

Ay hungry eyes, through greedy covetise
till to behold the object of their pain,
Vith no contentment can themselves fuffice,
But having pine, and having not complain :
or lacking it they cannot life fuftain,
And having it they gaze on it the more;
a their amazement like Narciffus vain,

Whofe eyes him ftarv'd; fo plenty makes me poor.

fet are mine eyes fo filled with the store

of that fair fight, that nothing else they brook,
But loath the things which they did like before,
And can no more endure on them to look,
All this world's glory feemeth vain to mc,
And all their fhows but shadows, faving she.

SONNET XXXVI.

TELL me, when shall these weary woes have end?
Or fhall their ruthless torment never cease;
But all my days in pining languor fpend,
Without hope of affwagement or release.
Is there no means for me to purchase peace?
Or make agreement with her thrilling eyes,
But that their cruelty doth still increase,
And daily more augment my miferies.
But when ye have fhew'd all extremities,
Then think how little glory ye have gain'd
By flaying him, whofe life though ye despise,
Mote have your life in honour long maintain'd;
But by his death, which fome perhaps will mone,
ye fhall condemned be of many a one.

VOL. U.

ESONNET XXXVII.

WHAT guile is this, that those her golden treffes.
She doth attire under a net of gold,

And with fly fkill fo cunningly them dreffes,
That which is gold or hair may fcarce be told?
Is it that mens frail eyes, which gaze too bold,
She may entangle in that golden fnare,
And being caught, may craftily enfold
Their weaker hearts, which are not well aware?
Take heed, therefore, mine Eyes! how ye do ftare
Henceforth too rafhly on that guileful net,

In which, if ever ye entrapped are,
Out of her bands ye by no means fhall get.
Fondness it were for any, being free,
To covet fetters, though they golden be.

SONNET XXXVIII.

ARION, when through tempeft's cruel wrack
He forth was thrown into the greedy feas,
Through the fweet mufic which his harp did
make,

Allur'd a dolphin him from death to ease;
But my rude mufick, which was wont to please
Some dainty ears, cannot with any skill
The dreadful tempeft of her wrath appease,
Nor move the dolphin from her stubborn will,
But in her pride the doth perfevere still,
All careless how my life for her decays,
Yet with one word fhe can it fave or spill;
To fpill were pity, but to fave were praise.
Chufe rather to be prais'd for doing good,
Than to be blam'd for spilling guiltless blood.

SONNET XXXIX.

SWEET Smile, the daughter of the Queen of Love
Expreffing all thy mother's powerful art,
With which fhe wonts to temper angry Jove,
When all the gods he threats with thundring dart,
Sweet is thy vertue, as thy felf sweet art ;
For when on me thou fhinedft late in fadness,
A melting pleafance ran through every part,
And me revived with heart-robbing gladness.
Whilft rapt with joy refembling heavenly madness,
My foul was ravisht quite as in a trance,
And feeling thence no more her forrow's fadnefs,
Fed on the fulness of that chearful glance;
More sweet than nectar or ambrofial meat
Seem'd every bit which thenceforth 1 did eat.

SONNET XL.

MARK when the fmiles with amiable chear,
And tell me whereto can ye liken it,
When on each eye-lid fweetly do appear
An hundred graces, as in fhade to fit:
Likeft it feemeth, in my fimple wit,
Unto the fair funfhine in fummer's-day,
That when a dreadful storm away is flit,

If nature, then she may it mend with skill;
If will, then the at will may will forgoe;
But if her nature and her will be fo,
That she will plague the man that loves her most,
And take delight t'encrease a wretch's woe,
Then all her nature's goodly gifts are loft,
And that fame glorious beauty's idle boast
Is but a bait fuch wretches to beguile,
As being long in her love's tempeft toft,
She means at laft to make her piteous fpoil.
O fairest Fair! let never it be nam'd,
That so fair beauty was fo foully sham'd!

SONNET XLII.

THE love which me fo cruelly tormenteth,
So pleafing is in my extreameft pain,
That all the more my forrow it augmenteth,
The more I love and do embrace my bane;
Ne do I wish (for wishing were but vain)
To be acquit fro my continual smart,
But joy her thrall for ever to remain,
And yield for pledge my poor captived heart,
The which, that it from her may never start,
Let her, if please her, bind with adamant chain,
And from all wandring loves which mote pervart,
In fafe affurance ftrongly it reftrain;
Only let her abftain from cruelty,

And dome me not before my time to die.

SONNET XLIII.

SHALL I then filent be, or fhall I speak?
And if I fpeak, her wrath renew I fhall;
And if I filent be my heart will break,
Or choked be with overflowing gall.
What tyranny is this my heart to thrall,
And eke my tongue with proud restraint to tie,
That neither I may speak nor think at all,
But like a ftupid ftock in filence die?
Yet I my heart with filence fecretly
Will teach to speak, and my just cause to plead,
And eke mine eyes with meek humility,
Love-learned letters to her eyes to read,

Which her deep wit, that true heart's thought can fpell,

Will foon conceive, and learn to conftrue well.

SONNET XLIV.

WHEN thofe renowned noble peers of Greece, Through ftubborn pride among themselves did jar,

Forgetful of the famous Golden Fleece,

Then Orpheus with his harp their ftrife did bar :
But this continual, cruel, civil war,

The which my felf against my felf do make,
Whilft my weak powers of paflions warreid are,
No fkill can ftint, nor reafon can aflake :
But when in hand my tunelefs harp I take,
Then do I more augment my foes defpight,
And grief renew, and paffions do awake
To battail, fresh against my self to fight;
'Mongft whom the more I feek to settle peace,
The more I find their malice to increase.

SONNET XLV.

LEAVE, Lady! in your glass of crystal clean
Your goodly felf for ever more to view,
And in my felf, my inward felf I mean,
Moft lively like behold your semblant true.
Within my heart, though hardly it can fhew
Thing fo divine to view of earthly eye,
The fair idea of your celestial hue,
And every part, remains immortally;
And were it not that through your cruelty,
With forrow dimmed and deform'd it were,
The goodly image of your vifnomy,
Clearer than crystal would therein appear;
But if your felf in me ye plain will fee,
Remove the canfe by which your fair beams
darkned be.

SONNET XLVI.

WHEN my abode's prefixed time is spent,
My cruel fair ftraight bids me wend away;

But then from heaven most hideous ftorms are

fent,

As willing me against her will to stay.

Whom then fhall I, or heaven or her obey?
The heavens know best what is the best for me;
But as the will, whofe will my life doth fway,
My lower heaven, fo it perforce must be :
But ye, high Heavens, that all this forrow fee,
Sith all your tempefts cannot me hold back,
Affwage your ftorms, or elfe both you and she
Will both together me too forely wrack,
Enough it is for one man to fuftain,
The forms which the alone on me doth rain,

SONNET XLVII.

TRUST not the treafon of those fmiling looks,
Until ye have their guileful trains well tride,
For they are like but unto golden hooks,
That from the foolish fish their bates do hide;