« VorigeDoorgaan »
I weep for thee, and yet no cause I have ;
For why? thou left'st me nothing in thy will ;
And yet thou left'st me more than I did crave :
For why? I craved nothing of thee still :
yes (dear friend) I pardon crave of thee, Thy discontent thou did'st bequeath to me.
Full many a glorious morning have I seen
Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye,
Kissing with golden face the meadows green ;
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchymy ;
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride,
With ugly rack' on his celestial face,
And from the forlorn world his visage hide,
Stealing unseen to west with his disgrace.
Even so my sun one early morn did shine,
With all triumphant splendour on my brow;
But out, alack ! he was but one hour mine,
The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now.
Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth ;,
Suns of the world may stain, when heaven's sun staineth. Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day, And make me travel forth without my cloak, To let base clouds o'ertake me in the way, Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoak ? 'Tis not enough that thro' the cloud thou break, To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face ; For no man well of such a salve can speak, That heals the wound, and cures not the disgrace : Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief ; Tho thou repent, yet I have still the cross ; Th' offender's sorrow lends but weak relief To him, that beareth strong offence's cross.
Ah! but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds,
And they are rich, and ransom all ill deeds.
No more be griev'd at that which thou hast done,
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud ;
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.
 Rack is the fleeting motion of the clouds.
All men make faults, and even I in this,
Authorizing thy trespass with compare,
Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss,
Excusing their sins more than their sins are :
For to my sensual fault I bring incense ;
Thy adverse party is thy advocate ;
And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence,
Such civil war is in my love and hate,
That I an accessary needs must be
To that sweet thief which sorely robs from me.
UNANIMITY. Let me confess, that we two must be twain, Altho' our undivided loves are one : So shall those blots, that do with me remain, Without thy help, by me be borne alone. in our two loves there is but one respect, Tho' in our lives a separable spite ; Which tho'it alter not love's sole effect, Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight. I may not evermore acknowledge thee, Lest my be wailed guilt should do thee shane ; Nor thou with public kindness honour me, Unless thou take that honour from thy name.
But do not so ; I love thee in such sort,
As thou being mine, mine is thy good report.
As a decrepit father takes delight
To see his active child do deeds of youth ;
So 1, made lame by fortune's dearest spite,
Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth.
For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit,
Or any of these all, or all, or more,
Intitled in their part, do crowned sit, a
I make my love ingrafted to this store :
So then I am not lame, poor, nor despis'd,
Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give,
That I in thy abundance am suffic’d,
And by a part of all thy glory live :
Look what is best, that best I wish in thee ;
This wish I have, then times happy me.
Good night, good rest ; ah! neither be my share ;
She bade good night, that kept my rest away ;
And daft me to a cabin hang'd with care,
To descant on the doubts of my decay.
Farewell (quoth she) and come again to-morrow ;
Farewell I could not, for I supt with sorrow.
Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile,
In scorn, or friendship, nill I construe whether :
It may be, she joy'd to jest at my exile ;
It may be, again to make me wander thither.
Wander (a word) for shadows like myself,
And take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf.
Lord ! how mine eyes throw gazes to the east !
My heart doth charge the watch ; the morning rise
Doth cite each moving sense from idle resi,
Not daring trust the office of mine eyes.
While Philomela sits and sings, I sit and mark,
And wish her lays were tuned like the'lark,
For she doth welcome day-light with her ditty,
And drives away dark dreaming night ;
The night so packt, I post unto my pretty ;
Heart hath his hope, and eyes their wished sight ;
Sorrow chang'd to solace, and solace mixt with sorrow;
For why? she sigh'd, and bade me come to-morrow.
Were I with her, the night would post too soon,
But now are minutes added to the ours :
To spite me now, each minute seems an hour ;
Yet not for me, shine sun to succour flowers.
Pack night, peep day, good day of night now borrow, Short night, to-night, and length thyself to-morrow.
Mine eye hath play'd the painter, and hath steel'd
Thy beauty's form in table of my heart :
My body is the same wherein 'tis held, 3
And perspective it is best painter's art.
For thro' the painter must you see his skill,
To find where your true image pictur'd lies,
Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still,
That bath his windows-glazed with thine eyes.
Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done ;
Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me
Are windows to my breast, where thro' the sun
Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee.
Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art,
They draw but what they see, know not the heart.
HAPPINESS IN CONTENT.
Let those who are in favour with their stars,
Of public honour and proud titles boast :
Whilst. I, whom fortune of such triumph bars,
Unlook'd for joy in that I honour most.
Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread,
But as the marigold at the sun's eye ;
And in themselves their pride lies buried,
For at a frown they in their glory die.
The painful warrior famoused for worth,
After a thousand victories, once foil'd,
Is from the book of honour razed quite,
And all the rest forgot, for which he toil'd.
Then happy I, that love and am beloved,
Where I may not remove, nor be removed.
Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage,
Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit ;
To thee I send this written embassage,
To witness duty, not to shew my wit.
Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine
May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it.;
But that I hope some good conceit of thine
In my soul's thought (all naked) will bestow it;
Till whatsoever star, that guides my moving,
Points on me graciously with fair aspect,
And puts apparel on my tatter'd loving,
To shew me worthy of their sweet respect.
Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee ;
Till then, not show my head where thou may'st prove
GO AND COME QUICKLY.
How heavy do I journey on the way,
When that I seek (my weary travel's end)
Doth teach that ease and that repose to say,
Thus far the miles are measur'd from thy friend :
The beast that bears me, tired with my woe,
Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me ;
As if by some instinct the wretch did know
His rider lov'd not speed being made from thee.
The bloody spur cannot provoke him on,
That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide ;
Which heavily he answers with a groan,
More sharp to me, than spurring to his side ;
For that same groan doth put this in my minů,
My grief lies onward, and my joy behind.
Thus can my love excuse the slow offence
Of my dull bearer, when from thee I speed :
From where thou art, why should I haste me thence?
Till I return, of posting is no need.
0! what excuse will my poor beast then find,
When swift extremity can seem but slow?
Then should I spur tho' mounted on the wind ;
In winged speed no motion shall I know.
Then can no horse with my desire keep pace,
Therefore desire (of perfect love being made)
Shall neigh no dull flesh in his fiery race,
But love for love thus shall excuse iny jade.
Since from thee going, he went wilful slow,
Towards thee I'll run, and give him leave to go..
Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war,
How to divide the conquest of thy sight;
My eye, my heart their pictures' sight should bar;
My heart, my eye the freedom of that right :
My heart doth plead, that thou in him dost lie ;
(A closet rever pierc'd with crystal eyes)
But the defendant doth that plea deny,
And says, in him their fair appearance lies.
To 'cide this title is impannelled
A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart ;
And by their verdict is determined
The clear eye's moiety, and the dear heart's part,