Her frowns the air make dark, the sun to lower,
The marigold to close, my heart to die :
By her the sun, the flower, the air and I,
Shine and darken, spread and close, live and die,
You are the sun, you are the golden Mary,
Passing the sun in brightness, gold in power;
I am the flower whom do make to vary,
Flourish when you smile, droop when you
Oh let this heart of gold, sun, and flower,
Still live, and shine, and spring in your heart's bower.
Look how the pale Queen of the silent night
Doth cause the Ocean to attend upon her,
And he as long as she is in his sight,
With his full tide is ready her to honour:
But when the silver waggon of the Moon
Is mounted up so high he cannot follow,
The sea calls home his chrystal waves to moan,
And with low ebb doth manifest his sorrow.
So you, that are the sovereign of my heart,
Have all my joys attending on your will,
My joys low ebbing when you do depart,
When you return, their tide my heart doth fill.
So as you come, and as you do depart,
Joys ebb and flow within my tender heart.
THREE SONNETS FOR A PROEM TO THE POEMS FOLLOWING.
THAT LOVE ONLY MADE HIM A POET, AND THAT ALL SORTS OF VERSES, BOTH IN RHYME AND MEASURE, AGREE WITH HIS LADY.
SOME men, they say, are poets born by kind,
And suck that science from their mother's breast;
An
easy art that comes with so great rest,
And happy men to so good hap assign'd.'
In some, desire of praise inflames the mind,
To climb with pain Parnassus' double crest:
1 to men so good hap assigned.-edit. 1621.
Some, hope of rich rewards hath so possest,
That gold, in Castell" sands they seek to find.
Me, neither Nature hath a poet made,
Nor love of glory mov'd to learn the trade,
Nor thirst of gold persuaded me to write,
For Nature's graces are too fine for me;
Praise, like the peacock, prides herself to see;
Desire of gain the basest mind's delight.
WHAT mov'd me then? say, Love, for thou canst tell :
Of thee I learn'd this skill, if skill I have.
Thou knowest the Muse, whose help I always crave,
Is none of those that on Parnassus dwell.
My muse is such as doth them all excel;
They all to her alone their cunning gave,
To sing, to dance, to play, to make so brave:
Thrice threefold graces her alone befel.
From her do flow the streams that water me;
Here is the praise, if I a poet be;
Her only look both will and skill doth give.
What marvel then if I those laws refuse,
Which other poets in their making use,
Since by her looks I write, by which I live!
THUS am I free from laws that others bind,
Who divers verse to divers matter frame;
All kind of styles do serve my Lady's name,
What they in all the world, in her I find.
The lofty verse doth shew her noble mind,
By which she quencheth love's enraged flame;
Sweet lyrics sing her heavenly beauty's fame;
The tender elegy speaks her pity kind.
In mournful tragic verse for her I die;
In comic she revives me with her eye:
All serve my Goddess both for mirth and moan;
Each look she casts doth breed both peace and strife;
Each word she speaks doth cause both death and life e;
Out of myself I live in her alone.
WHERE HIS LADY KEEPS HIS HEART.
SWEET Love, mine only treasure,
For service long unfeigned,
Wherein I nought have gained,
Vouchsafe this little pleasure,
To tell me in what part
My Lady keeps my heart.
If in her hair so slender,
Like golden nets entwined,
Which fire and art have fined;
Her thrall my heart I render
For ever to abide
With locks so dainty tied.
If in her eyes she bind it,
Wherein that fire was framed,
By which it is inflamed,
I dare not look to find it;
I only wish it sight,
To see that pleasant light.
But if her breast have deigned
With kindness to receive it,
I am content to leave it,
Though death thereby were gained:
Then, Lady, take your own,
That lives for you alone.
FAIN Would I learn of thee, thou murd'ring eye,
Whether thy glance be fire, or else a dart:
For with thy look in flames thou mak'st me fry,
And with the same thou strik'st me to the heart.
Pierc'd with thy looks I burn in fire,
And yet those looks I still desire.
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