SONNET.w ONLY, Sweet Love, afford me but thy heart, Though I have kist them oft with sweet content, I assent. If thy sweet Will will bar me, Let me not touch thy hand, but through thy glove, Nor let it be the pledge of kindness more: Keep all thy beauties to thyself, sweet Love! I ask not such bold favours as before. I beg but this, afford me but thy heart; SONNET. BEST pleas'd she is, when Love is most exprest, And sometime says, that Love should be requited; Yet is she griev'd my love should now be righted, When that my faith hath prov'd what I protest. Am I belov'd whose heart is thus opprest? Or dear to her, and not in her delighted? I live to see the sun, yet still benighted. ww For her heart.. only 3d and 4th. She still denies, yet still her heart consenteth, O foolish Love, by reason of thy blindness, SONNET. WHEN a weak child is sick and out of quiet, And for his tenderness can not sustain And through my weakness dead; if I but take But, ah! fair God of Physic, it may be; But physic to my nurse would me recover: SONNET. By J. S.* WERE I as base as is the lowly plain, And you, my Love, as high as heav'n above, And look upon you with ten thousand eyes, Till heav'n wax'd blind, and till the world were done. Wheresoe'er I am, below, or else above you, Wheresoe'er you are, my heart shall truly love you. SONNET. By the same. THE Poets fain that when the world began, Both sexes in one body did remain; Till Jove (offended with this double man) * Omitted 4th. In this division he the heart did sever, But cunningly he did indent the heart, Each part might know which was his counterpart. See then, dear Love, th' indenture of my heart, And read the cov'nants writ with holy fire: See if your heart be not the counterpart Of my true heart's indented chaste desire. And if it be, so may it ever be, Two hearts in one, 'twixt you my Love and me. A HYMN IN PRAISE OF NEPTUNE.** By Thomas Campion. OF And every sea-god pays a gem To deck great Neptune's diadem. ** This Hymn was sung by Amphytrite, Thamesis, and other Sea Nymphs, in Gray's-Inn Masque, at the Court, 1594. The Trytons dancing in a ring, Like the great thunder sounding: The Sea-Nymphs chaunt their accents shrill, And the Syrens taught to kill With their sweet voice, Make ev'ry echoing rock reply, AND OF HIS MISTRESS' FACE. By the same. AND would you see my Mistress' face? It is a flow'ry garden place: Where knots of beauty have such grace, That all is work and no where space. It is a sweet delicious morn, It is the heaven's bright reflex, Weak to dazzle and to vex: It is th' Idæa of her sex, Envy of whom doth world perplex. |