« VorigeDoorgaan »
Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye,
'Gainst whom the world could not hold argument,
Persuade my heart to this false perjury,
Vows for thee broke, deserve not punishment.
A woman I forswore ; but I will prove,
Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee :
My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love,
Thy grace being gain'd, cures all disgrace in me.
My vow was breath, and breath a vapour is ;
Then thou, fair sun, that on this earth doth shine,
Exhale this vapour vow, in thee it is :
If broken then, it is no fault of mine.
If by me broke, what fool is not so wise
To break an oath, to win a paradise ?
So is it not with me, as with that muse,
Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse,
Who heaven itself for ornament doth use,
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse ;
Making a compliment of proud compare
With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems ;
With April's first-borne flowers, and all things rare,
That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems.
O ! let me, true in love, but truly write,
And then believe me, my love is as fair
As any mother's child, though not so bright,
As those gold candles fix'd in heaven's air.
Let them say more that like of hearsay well :
I will not praise, that purpose not to sell.
as an unperfect actor on the stage,
Who with his fear is put beside his part ;
Or some fierce thing, replete with soo much rage,
Whose strength abundant weakens his own heart :
So I, for fear of trust, forgot to say
The perfect ceremony of love's right,
And in mine own love's strength seem to decay,
O'ercharg'd with burden of mine own love's might.
@ ! let my looks be then the eloquence,
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast ;
Who plead for love, and look for recompence,
More than that tongue that more hath more exprest.
O learn to read what silent love hath writ!
To bear what eyes belong to love's fine wit.
My glass shall not persuade me I am old,
So long as youth and thou art of one date :
But when in thee time's sorrows I behold,
Then look I death my days should expiate.
For all that beauty that doth cover thee,
Is but the seemly raiment of my heart,
Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me
How can I then be elder than thou art ?
O, therefore, love ! be of thyself so weary,
As I, not for myself, but for thee, will,
Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary,
As tender nurse her babe from faring ill.
Presume not on thy heart, when mine is slain ;
Thou gav'st me thine, not to give back again.
Sweet Cytherea sitting by a brook,
With young Adonis, lovely, fresh, and green,
Did court the lad with many a lovely look,
Such looks as none could look but beauty's queen.
She told him stories to delight his ear ;
She show'd him favours to allure his eye ;
To win his heart, she touch'd him here and there ;
Touches so soft, still conquer chastity.
But whether unripe years did want conceit,
Or he refus'd to take her figur'd proffer,
The tender nibbler would not touch the bait,
But smile and jest at every gentle offer :
Then fell she on her back, fair queen, and toward ;
He rose and ran away. Ah, fool, too froward !
If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love !
O! never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow'd ;
Tho' to myself forsworn, to thee I'll constant prove.
Those thoughts to me like oaks, to thee like osiers bow'd.
Study his bias leaves, and make his book thine eyes, Where all those pleasures live,that art can comprehend. If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice :Well learned is that tongue,that well can thee commend; All ignorant that soul, that sees thee without wonder, Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire : Thine eye Jove's lightning seems, thy voice his dreadful
Which (not to anger bent) is music and sweet fire.
Celestial as thou art, 0, do not love that wrong!
To sing heaven's praise with such an earthly tongue.
A woman's face, with nature's own hand painted,
Hast thou, the master, mistress of my passion ;
A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted
With shifting change, as is false women's fashion ;
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling,
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth ;
A man in hue all hue in his controlling, 5
Which steals men's eyes, and women's souls amazeth :
And for a woman wert thou first created,
Till nature, as she wrought thee, fell a doating,
And by addition me of thee defeated ;
By adding one thing, to my purpose nothing.
But since she prick'd thee out for women's pleasure,
Mine be thy love, and thy love's use their treasure.
Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear repose for limbs with travel tired ;
But then begins a journey in my head,
To work my mind, when body's work's expired.
For then my thoughts (far from where I abide)
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keep my drooping eye-lids open wide,
Looking on darkness, which the blind do see.
Save that my soul's imaginary sight
Presents their shadow to my sightless view;
Which, like a jewel, (hung in ghastly night)
Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new.
Lo! thus by day my limbs, by night my mind,
For thee, and for myself no quiet find.
15) Read-all hues, &c. ANON.
How can I then return in happy plight,
That am debarr'd the benefit of rest ;
When day's oppression is not eas'd by night,
But day by night, and night by day opprest ?
And each (tho' enemies to other's reign)
Do in consent shake hands to torture me ;
The one by toil, the other to complain,
How far I toil, still farther off from thee.
I tell the day, to please him, thou art bright,
And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven :
So flatter I the swart-complexion'd night,
When sparkling stars tweer out, 6 thou gild'st the even.
But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer,
And night doth nightly make grief's length seem
When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my out-cast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate :'
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featur'd like him, like him with friends possest;
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least,
Yet in these thoughts, myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark, at break of day arising
From sullen earth, to sing at heaven's gate. *
For thy sweet love remember'd, such wealth brings,
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
Scarce had the sun dry'd ap the dewy morn,
And scarce the herd gone to the hedge for shade;
When Cytherea (all in love forlorn)
A longing tarriance for Adonis made
Under an osier growing by a brook ;
A brook, where Adon us’d to cool his spleen.
Hot was the day, she hotter, that did look
for his approach, that often here had been.
 Read twere, which perhaps may have the same signification as quire. We may read twink for twinkling. STEEVENS.
 These nervous and animated lines, in which such an assemblage of thoughts clothed in the most glowing, expressions, is compressed into the narrow compass of fourteen lines, might, i think, have saved the whole of this collection (i. e. Sonnets) from the general and indiscriminate censure thrown out against them, MALONE
Anon he comes, and throws his mantle by,
And stood stark naked on the brook's green brim :
The sun look'd on the world with glorious eye,
Yet not so wistly, as this queen on him :
He spying her, bounc'd in (whereas he stood)
0, Jove ! (quoth she) why was not 1.a flood !
THE UNCONSTANT LOVER
Fair is my love, but not so fair as fickle ;
Mild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty ;
Brighter than glass, and yet as glass is brittle :
Softer than wax, and yet as iron rusty :
A lily pale with damask dye to grace her ;
None fairer, nor none falser to deface her.
Her lips to mine how often hath she joined,
Between each kiss her oaths of true love swearing?
How many tales, to please me, hath she coined,
Dreading my love, the loss thereof still fearing ?
Yet in the midst of all her pure protestings,
Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were jestings.
She burnt with love, as straw with fire flaming ;
She burnt out love, as soon as straw out burning ;
She fram’d the love, and yet she foil'd the framing ;
She bade love last, and yet she fell a turning.
Was this a lover, or a letcher, whether?
Bad at the best, tho' excellent in neither?
THE BENEFIT OF FRIENDSHIP.
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought,
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste.
Then can I drown an eye (unus'd to flow)
For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night,
And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe,
And moan th' expence of many a vanish'd sight. 8.
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay, as if not paid before.
 Sight for sigh. At present the vulgar prononciation of the word is sighth. "By expense the poet alludes to an old notion that sighing was prej dicial to health. MALONE. 22*