Desired food, to it doth make his flight:
Even so my heart, that wont on your fair eye
To feed his fill, flies back unto your sight.
Do you him take, and in your bosom bright,
Gently encage, that he may be your thrall:
Perhaps he there may learn with rare delight,
To sing your name and praises over all.
That it hereafter may you not repent,
Him lodging in your bosom to have lent.
NE day I wrote her name upon the strand1
But came the waves and washed it away :
Again I wrote it with a second hand,
But came the tide, and made my pains his prey.
Vain man, said she, that dost in vain assay
A mortal thing so to immortalise ;
For I myself shall like to this decay
And eke my name be wiped out likewise.
Not so, (quod I) let baser things devise
To die in dust, but you shall live by fame :
My verse your virtues rare shall eternise,
And in the heavens write your glorious name.
Where whenas death shall all the world subdue,
Our love shall live, and later life renew.
"Well I remember how you smiled
To see me write your name upon
The soft sea sand-'O! what a child!
You think you're writing upon stone!'
I have since written what no tide
Shall ever wash away, what men
Unborn shall read o'er ocean wide
And find Ianthe's name again."
`AIR is my Love when her fair golden hairs
With the loose wind ye waving chance to mark ; Fair, when the rose in her red cheeks appears; Or in her eyes the fire of love does spark. Fair, when her breast, like a rich laden bark, With precious merchandize she forth doth lay; Fair, when that cloud of pride, which oft doth dark Her goodly light, with smiles she drives away. But fairest she, when so she doth display The gate, with pearls and rubies richly dight, Through which her words so wise do make their way To bear the message of her gentle spright. The rest be works of nature's wonderment : But this the work of heart's astonishment.
SONNETS FROM "ASTROPHEL AND STELLA":
HEN Nature made her chief work-Stella's eyes;
In colour black, why wrapt she beams so bright?
Would she in beamy black, like painter wise,
Frame daintiest lustre, mixed of shades and light?
Or did she else that sober hue devise,
In object best to knit and strength our sight?
Lest if no veil these brave gleams did disguise,
They sun-like should more dazzle than delight.
Or would she her miraculous power show?
That whereas black seems beauty's contrary;
She, even in black, doth make all beauties flow!
But so and thus, she minding Love should be
Placed ever there, gave him this mourning weed;
To honour all their deaths, which for her bleed.
SIR PHILIP SIDNEY
1 These are sonnets 7, 31, 39, 41, 54, 73.
WITH H how sad steps, O Moon! thou climb'st the
How silently! and with how wan a face!
What! may it be that even in heavenly place
That busy archer his sharp arrows tries?
Sure, if that long with love-acquainted eyes
Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case,
I read it in thy looks. Thy languisht grace
To me, that feel the like, thy state descries.
Then even of fellowship, O Moon! tell me,
Is constant love deemed there, but want of wit?
Are beauties there, as proud as here they be?
Do they above love to be loved; and yet
Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess?
Do they call virtue there, ungratefulness?
OME, Sleep! O Sleep! the certain knot of peace! The baiting place of wit! the balm of woe! The poor man's wealth! the prisoner's release! Th' indifferent judge between the high and low! With shield of proof, shield me from out the press Of those fierce darts, Despair at me doth throw! O make in me those civil wars to cease! I will good tribute pay if thou do so. Take thou of me, smooth pillows, sweetest bed, A chamber deaf to noise and blind to light, A rosy garland, and a weary head : And if these things, as being thine by right, Move not thy heavy grace; thou shalt in me Livelier than elsewhere, Stella's image see.
HAVING this day, my horse, my hand, my lance
Guided so well; that I obtained the prize:
Both by the judgment of the English eyes;
And of some sent by that sweet enemy, France!
Horsemen, my skill in horsemanship advance;
Townsfolk, my strength; a daintier judge applies
His praise to sleight, which from good use doth rise;
Some lucky wits impute it but to chance e;
Others, because, of both sides, I do take
My blood from them who did excel in this;
Think Nature me a man-at-arms did make.
How far they shot awry! The true cause is,
Stella lookt on, and from her heavenly face
Sent forth the beams which made so fair my race.
ECAUSE I breathe not love to every one,
Nor do not use set colours for to wear,
Nor nourish special locks of vowed hair,
Nor give each speech a full point of a groan,
The courtly nymphs, acquainted with the moan
Of them who in their lips, Love's standard bear :
"What he!
say they of me, now I dare swear
He cannot love. No, no, let him alone!
And think so still! so Stella know my mind.
Profess indeed I do not Cupid's art :
But you, fair maids! at length this true shall find,
That his right badge is but worn in the heart.
Dumb swans, not chattering pies, do lovers prove.
They love indeed who quake to say they love.
LOVE still a boy, and oft a wanton is;
Schooled only by his mother's tender eye.
What wonder then, if he his lesson miss ;
When for so soft a rod, dear play he try?
And yet my Star, because a sugared kiss
In sport I suckt, while she asleep did lie:
Doth lower; nay, chide; nay, threat for only this!
"Sweet! It was saucy Love, not humble I."
But no 'scuse serves; she makes her wrath appear
In Beauty's throne.
See now! who dares come near
Those scarlet judges, threat'ning bloody pain?
O heavenly fool! Thy most kiss-worthy face,
Anger invests with such a lovely grace;
That Anger's self I needs must kiss again!
DOUBT you to whom my Muse these notes in
Which now my breast o'ercharged to music lendeth ?
To you! to you! all song of praise is due :
Only in you, my song begins and endeth.
Who hath the eyes which marry State with Pleasure?
Who keeps the key of Nature's chiefest treasure?
Το you ! to you! all song of praise is due:
Only for you, the heaven forgat all measure.
Who hath the lips, where Wit in fairness reigneth?
Who womankind at once both decks and staineth?
To you! to you! all song of praise is due :
Only by you, Cupid his crown maintaineth.
1 The first song from "Astrophel and Stella".
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