ODE I.

HIS LADY TO BE CONDEMNED OF IGNORANCE

OR CRUELTY.

As she is fair, so faithful I ;

My service she, her grace I merit ;

Her beauty doth my love inherit,
But grace she doth deny.

Oh, knows she not how much I love?
Or doth knowledge in her move

No small remorse?

For the guilt thereof must lie
Upon one of these of force,

Her ignorance, or cruelty.

As she is fair, so cruel she:

I sow true love, but reap disdaining;
Her pleasure springeth from my paining,
Which Pity's source should be.
Too well she knows how much I love,
Yet doth knowledge in her move
No small remorse.

Then the guilt thereof must lie >

Upon this alone of force,

Her undeserved cruelty.

As she is fair, so were she kind,
Or being cruel, could I waver,

Soon should I either win her favour,
Or a new mistress find.

But neither out, alas, may be,

Scorn in her, and love in me,

So fixed are.

Yet in whom most blame doth lie,
Judge she may, if she compare

My love unto her cruelty.

SONNET V.

CONTENTION OF LOVE AND REASON FOR HIS HEART.

REASON and Love lately at strife contended,
Whose right it was to have my mind's protection.
Reason on his side, Nature's will pretended;
Love's title was, my Mistress' rare perfection.
Of power to end this strife, each makes election:

Reason's pretence discoursive thoughts defended;
But Love soon brought those thoughts into subjection
By Beauty's troops, which on my saint depended.
Yet since to rule the mind was Reason's duty,
On this condition it by Love was render'd;
That endless praise by Reason should be tender'd,
As a due tribute to her conquering beauty.
Reason was pleas'd withal, and to Love's royalty
He pledg'd my heart, as hostage for his loyalty.

SONNET VI.

THAT SHE HATH GREATER POWER OVER HIS HAP

PINESS AND LIFE, THAN EITHER FORTUNE,

FATE, OR STARS.

LET Fate, my Fortune, and my Stars conspire,
Jointly to pour on me their worst disgrace;
So I be gracious in your heavenly face,

I weigh not Fates, nor Stars, nor Fortune's ire. "Tis not the influence of heaven's fire

Hath power to make me blessed in my race; Nor in my happiness hath Fortune place, Nor yet can Fate my poor life's date expire. "Tis your fair eyes, my Stars, all bliss do give; 'Tis your disdain, my Fate, hath power to kill; 'Tis you, my Fortune, make me happy live, Though Fortune, Fate, and Stars conspire mine ill. Then, blessed Saint, into your favour take me; Fortune, nor Fate, nor Stars can wretched make me.

SONNET VII.

OF HIS LADY'S WEEPING.

WHAT need I say how it doth wound my breast,

By fate to be thus ravish'd from thine eyes,
Since your own tears with me do sympathize,
Pleading with slow departure there to rest?

z banish'd.-edit. 1608.

For when with floods of tears they were opprest,
Over those ivory banks they did not rise,

Till others, envying their felicities,

Did press them forth, that they might there be blest." Some of which tears, press'd forth by violence, Your lips with greedy kissing straight did drink: And other some, unwilling to part thence, Enamour'd on your cheeks in them did sink; And some which from face were forc'd away, In sign of love, did on your garments stay.

your

SONNET VIII.

HE POINTS OUT HIS TORMENT.

SWEET, to my cursed life some favour show,
Or let me not, accurs'd, in life remain:
Let not my senses, sense of life retain,
Since sense doth only yield me sense of woe.
For now mine eyes only your frowns do know ;
Mine ears hear nothing else but your disdain ;
My lips taste nought but tears; and smell is pain;
Banish'd your lips, where Indian odours grow.

And my devoted heart, your beauty's slave,

Feels nought but scorn, oppressions, and distress; Made e'en of wretchedness the wretched cave, Nay, too, too wretched for vile wretchedness. For even sad sighs, as loathing there to rest, Struggle for passage from my grief-swoln breast.

a there bear rest.-edit. 1608.

ODE II.

A DIALOGUE BETWEEN HIM AND HIS HEART.

AT her fair hands how have I

grace

entreated,

With prayers oft repeated,

Yet still my love is thwarted:

Heart, let her go, for she 'll not be converted.

Say, shall she go?

Oh! no, no, no, no, no;

She is most fair, though she be marble-hearted.

How often have my sighs declar'd mine anguish,
Wherein is daily anguish?

Heart, let her go, for I cannot endure it.

She

Say, shall she go?

Oh! no, no, no, no, no;

gave the wound, and she alone must cure it.

The trickling tears that down my cheeks have flowed,

My love have often showed;

Yet still unkind I prove her :

Heart, let her go, for nought I do can move her.

Say, shall she go?

Oh! no, no, no, no, no;

Though me she hates, I cannot choose but love her.

b life.edit. 1611.