Willy. (Hey-ho, pinching pain!)
Perigot. Or thrive in wealth, she shall be

Willy.

mine:

But if thou can her obtain. Perigot. And if for graceless grief I die(Hey-ho, graceless grief!) Perigot. Witness, she slew me with her

Willy.

eye.

Willy. Let thy folly be the prief.

Perigot. And you that saw it, simple

Willy.

sheep,

(Hey-ho, the fair flock!)

Perigot. For prief thereof my death shall

Willy.

weep

And moan with many a mock. Perigot. So learned I love on a holy eve, Willy. (Hey-ho, holy day!)

Perigot. That ever since my heart did

Willy.

grieve:

Now endeth our roundelay.

Amoretti

SONNET IV

New year, forth looking out of Janus' gate, Doth seem to promise hope of new de

light:

And bidding the old adieu, his passed date

Bids all old thoughts to die in dumpish spright:

And, calling forth out of sad winter's night Fresh Love, that long hath slept in cheerless bower,

Wills him awake, and soon about him dight

His wanton wings and darts of deadly power.

For lusty Spring now in his timely hour Is ready to come forth, him to receive; And warns the earth with divers-coloured flower

To deck herself, and her fair mantle weave. Then you, fair flower, in whom fresh youth doth reign,

Prepare yourself new love to entertain.

(B 325)

97

H

Rudely thou wrongest my dear heart's desire,

In finding fault with her too portly pride: The thing which I do most in her admire, Is of the world unworthy most envied: For in those lofty looks is close implied Scorn of base things, and 'sdain of foul dishonour,

Threatening rash eyes which gaze on her so wide,

That loosely they ne dare to look upon her. Such pride is praise, such portliness is honour,

That boldened innocence bears in her eyes; And her fair countenance, like a goodly banner,

Spreads in defiance of all enemies.

Was never in this world aught worthy tried,

Without some spark of such self-pleasing pride.

Sonnet X

Unrighteous lord of love, what law is this, That me thou makest thus tormented be, The whiles she lordeth in licentious bliss Of her free will, scorning both thee and me?

See! how the tyranness doth joy to see The huge massacres which her eyes do make;

And humbled hearts brings captive unto thee,

That thou of them mayst mighty vengeance take.

But her proud heart do thou a little shake, And that high look, with which she doth control

All this world's pride, bow to a baser make, And all her faults in thy black book enroll:

That I may laugh at her in equal sort, As she doth laugh at me, and makes my pain her sport.

In that proud port, which her so goodly graceth,

Whiles her fair face she rears up to the

sky,

And to the ground her eyelids low embaseth,

Most goodly temperature ye may descry; Mild humbless, mixed with awful majesty. For, looking on the earth whence she was born,

Her mind remembereth her mortality, Whatso is fairest shall to earth return. But that same lofty countenance seems to

scorn

Base thing, and think how she to heaven may climb;

Treading down earth as loathsome and forlorn,

That hinders heavenly thoughts with drossy slime.

Yet lowly still vouchsafe to look on me; Such lowliness shall make you lofty be.