XXIX. SONNET.

In vain I haunt the cold and silver springs,
To quench the fever burning in my veins,
In vain (love's pilgrim) mountains, dales and plains
I over-run, vain help long absence brings.
In vain, my friends, your counsel me constrains
To fly, and place my thoughts on other things;
Ah, like the bird that fir'd hath her wings,
The more I move the greater are my pains.
Desire, (alas) desire a Zeuxis new,

From th' orient borrowing gold, from western skies
Heavenly cinnabar sets before my eyes

In every place, her hair, sweet look and hue:
That fly, run, rest I, all doth prove but vain,
My life lies in those eyes which have me slain.

XXXIII. SONNET.,

DEAR chorister, who from those shadows sends,
Ere that the blushing morn dare show her light,
Such sad lamenting strains, that night attends
(Become all ear), stars stay to hear thy plight;
If one whose grief even reach of thought transcends,
Who ne'er (not in a dream) did taste delight,
May thee importune who like case pretends,
And seems to joy in woe, in woe's despite;
Tell me (so may thou fortune milder try,

And long long sing!) for what thou thus complains,
Since winter's gone, and Sun in dappled sky
Enamour'd smiles on woods and flow'ry plains?
The bird, as if my questions did her move,
With trembling wings sigh'd forth, "I love, I love."

XXX. SONNET.

SLIDE Soft, fair Forth, and make a crystal plain,
Cut your white locks, and on your foamy face
Let not a wrinkle be, when you embrace
The boat that Earth's perfections doth contain.
Winds wonder, and through wond'ring hold your
Or if that ye your hearts cannot restrain [pace;
From sending sighs, feeling a lover's case,
Sigh, and in her fair hair yourselves enchain.
Or take these sighs which absence makes arise
From my oppressed breast, and fill the sails,
Or some sweet breath new brought from paradise:
The floods do smile, love o'er the winds prevails,
And yet huge waves arise; the cause is this,
The ocean strives with Forth the boat to kiss.

XXXIV. SONNET.

O CRUEL beauty, sweetness inhumane,
That night and day contends with my desire,
And seeks my hope to kill, not quench my fire,
By death, not balm, to ease my pleasant pain!
Though ye my thoughts tread down which would
And bound my bliss, do not, alas! disdain [aspire,
That I your matchless worth and grace adinire,
And for their cause these torments sharp sustain.
Let great Empedocles vaunt of his death
Found in the midst of those Sicilian flames,
And Phaeton that Heaven him reft of breath,
And Dædal's son who nam'd the Samian streams:
Their haps I not envy; my praise shall be,
That the most fair that lives mov'd me to die.

XXXI. SONNET.

TRUST not, sweet soul, those curled waves of gold
With gentle tides that on your temples flow,
Nor temples spread with flakes of virgin snow,
Nor snow of cheeks with Tyrian grain enroll'd;
Trust not those shining lights which wrought my woe,
When first I did their azure rays behold,
Nor voice, whose sounds more strange effects do show
Than of the Thracian harper have been told:
Look to this dying lily, fading rose,

Dark hyacinth, of late whose blushing beams
Made all the neighbouring herbs and grass rejoice,
And think how little is 'twixt life's extremes;
The cruel tyrant that did kill those flow'rs
Shall once, ah me! not spare that spring of yours.

XXXV. SONNET.

THE Hyperborean hills, Ceraunus' snow,
Or Arimaspus (cruel) first thee bred;
The Caspian tigers with their milk thee fed,
And Fauns did human blood on thee bestow.
Fierce Orithyas' lover in thy bed

Thee lull'd asleep, where he enrag'd doth blow;
Thou didst not drink the floods which here do flow,
But tears, or those by icy Tanais' head.
Sith thou disdains my love, neglects my grief,
Laughs at my groans, and still affects my death:
Of thee nor Heaven l'le seek no more relief,
Nor longer entertain this loathsome breath;
But yield unto my stars, that thou may'st prove
What loss thou hast in losing such a love.

XXXII. SONNET.

IN mind's pure glass when I myself behold,
And lively see how my best days are spent,
What clouds of care above my head are roll'd,
What coming ill, which I cannot prevent;
My course begun I wearied do repent,
And would embrace what reason oft hath told,
But scarce thus think I, when love hath controll'd
All the best reasons reason could invent.
Though sure I know my labour's end is grief,
The more I strive that I the more shall pine,
That only death shall be my last relief:
Yet when I think upon that face divine,
Like one with arrow shot, in laughter's place,
Maugre my heart, I joy in my disgrace.

PHOBUS, arise,

XXXVI. SONG.

And paint the sable skies
With azure, white, and red:

Rouse Memnon's mother from her Tython's bed,
That she thy career may with roses spread,
The nightingales thy coming each where sing,
Make an eternal spring.

Give life to this dark world which lieth dead.
Spread forth thy golden hair

In larger locks than thou wast wont before,
And emperor-like decore

With diadem of pearl thy temples fair:
Chase hence the ugly night,

Which serves but to make dear thy glorious light.

This is that happy morn, That day, long-wished day,

Of all my life so dark,

(If cruel stars have not my ruin sworn, And fates my hopes betray)

Which (purely white) deserves

An everlasting diamond should it mark.

This is the morn should bring unto this grove
My love, to hear, and recompense my love.
Fair king, who all preserves,

But show thy blushing beams,
And thou two sweeter eyes

Shalt see than those which by Peneus' streams,
Did once thy heart surprise:

Nay, suns which shine as clear

As thou when two thou didst to Rome appear.
Now, Flora, deck thyself in fairest guise.
If that ye winds would hear

A voice surpassing far Amphion's lyre,
Your furious chiding stay,
Let Zephyr only breathe,
And with her tresses play,

Hissing sometimes those purple ports of death.
The winds all silent are,
And Phoebus in his chair
Ensaffroning sea and air,
Makes vanish every star:
Night like a drunkard reels

Beyond the hills, to shun his flaming wheels.
The fields with flow'rs are deck'd in every hue,
The clouds with orient gold spangle their blue:
Here is the pleasant place,

And nothing wanting is, save she, alas!

WHO hath not seen into her saffron bed
The morning's goddess mildly her repose,
Or her of whose pure blood first sprang the rose
Lull'd in a slumber by a myrtle shade?
Who hath not seen that sleeping white and red
Makes Phoebe look so pale, which she did close
In that Ionian hill to ease her woes,
Which only lives by her dear kisses fed?
Come but and see my lady sweetly sleep,
'The sighing rubies of those heavenly lips,
The Cupids which breasts golden apples keep,
Those eyes which shine in midst of their eclipse:
And he them all shall see, perhaps and prove
She waking but persuades, now forceth love.

XXXIX. SONNET.

THE Sun is fair when he with crimson crown,
And flaming rubies, leaves his eastern bed;
Fair is Thaumantias in her crystal gown,
When clouds engemm'd show azure, green, and red.
To western worlds when wearied day goes down,
And from Heaven's windows each star shows her head,
Earth's silent daughter, Night, is fair though brown;
Fair is the Moon, though in Love's livery clad.
The spring is fair when it doth paint April,
Fair are the meads, the woods, the floods are fair;
Fair looketh Ceres with her yellow hair,

And apple's-queen when rose-cheek'd she doth smile.
That Heaven, and earth, and seas are fair, is true,
Yet true, that all not please so much as you.

XL. MADRIGAL.

LIKE the Idalian queen

Her hair about her eyne,

And neck, on breasts ripe apples to be seen,
At first glance of the morn

In Cyprus' gardens gathering those fair flowers
Which of her blood were born,

I saw, but fainting saw my paramours.
The Graces naked danc'd about the place,
The winds and trees amaz'd

With silence on her gaz'd,

The flowers did smile like those upon her face; And as their aspin stalks those singers bind, That she might read my case,

I wish'd to be a hyacinth in her hand.

XLI. SONNET.

THEN is she gone? O fool and coward I!
O good occasion lost, ne'er to be found!
What fatal chains have my dull senses bound,
When best they might, that did not fortune try?
Here is the fainting grass where she did lie,
With roses here she stellified the ground;
She fix'd her eyes on this yet smiling pond,
Nor time, nor place seem'd aught for to deny.
Too long, too long, Respect, I do embrace
Your counsel full of threats and sharp disdain.
Disdain in her sweet heart can have no place,
And though come there, must straight retire again:
Henceforth, Respect, farewel! I've heard it told,
Who lives in love can never be too bold.

XXXVIII. SONNET.

SEE Cytherea's birds, that milk-white pair
On yonder leafy myrtle-tree which groan,
And waken with their kisses in the air
Th' enamour'd zephyrs murmuring one by one;
If thou but sense hadst like Pygmalion's stone,
Or hadst not seen Medusa's snaky hair, [fair,
Love's lessons thou might'st learn; and learn, sweet
To summer's heat ere that thy spring be grown.
And if those kissing lovers seem but cold,
Look how that elm this ivy doth embrace,
And binds and clasps with many a wanton fold,
And, courting sleep, o'ershadows all the place;
Nay, seems to say, dear tree, we shall not part,
In sign whereof, lo, in each leaf a heart!

XLII. SONNET.

WHAT cruel star into this world me brought?
What gloomy day did dawn to give me light?
What unkind hand to nurse me (orphan) sought,
And would not leave me in eternal night?
What thing so dear as I hath essence bought?
The elements dry, humid, heavy, light,
The smallest living things which Nature wrought
Be freed of woe if they have small delight.
Ah only I abandon'd to despair,

Nail'd to my torments in pale Horrour's shade,
Like wand'ring clouds see all my comforts fled,
And ill on ill with hours my life impair:
The Heavens and Fortune, which were wont to turn,
Stay in one mansion fix'd to cause me mourn.

XLIII. SONNET.

DEAR eye, which deign'st on this sad monument,
The sable scroll of my mishaps to view,
Though it with mourning Muses' tears be spent,
And darkly drawn, which is not feign'd, but true;
If thou not dazzled with a heavenly hue,
And comely feature, didst not yet lament,
But happy lives unto thyself content,
O let not Love thee to his laws subdue;
Look on the woeful shipwreck of my youth,
And let my ruins thee for beacon serve,
To shun this rock Capharean of untruth,
And serve no God which doth his churchmen starve:
His kingdom's but of plaints, his guerdon tears;
What he gives more is jealousies and fears.

XLVIII. MADRIGAL.

On this cold world of ours,

Flow'r of the seasons, season of the flow'rs,
Sun of the Sun, sweet Spring,

Such hot and burning days why dost thou bring?
Is it because those high eternal pow'rs

Flash down that fire, this world environing?
Or that now Phoebus keeps his sister's sphere?
Or doth some Phaeton

Inflame the sea and air?

Or, rather, is 't not usher of the year,
Or that last day among the flow'rs alone
Unmask'd thou saw'st my fair?

And whilst thou on her gaz'd she did thee burn,
And to thy brother Summer doth thee turn.

And happy in these floating bowers abide,
Where trembling roofs of trees from Sun you hide,
Which make Idæan woods in every crook ;
Whether ye garlands for your locks provide,
Or pearly letters seek in sandy book,

Or count your loves when Thetis was a bride,
Lift up your golden heads and on me look.
Read in mine eyes my agonizing cares,
And what ye read, recount to her again:

Fair nymphs, say all these streams are but my tears;
And, if she ask you how they sweet remain,
Tell, that the bitt'rest tears which eyes can pour,
When shed for her, can be no longer sour.

XLVI. SONNET.

SHE whose fair flowers no autumn makes decay, Whose hue cœlestial, earthly hues doth stain, Into a pleasant odoriferous plain

Did walk alone to brave the pride of May.

XLIX. SONNET.

DEAR wood, and you sweet solitary place,
Where I estranged from the vulgar live,
Than if I had what Thetis doth embrace:
Contented more with what your shades me give,
What snaky eye, grown jealous of my pace,
Now from your silent horrours would me drive,
When Sun advancing in his glorious race
Beyond the Twins, doth near our pole arrive?
What sweet delight a quiet life affords,
And what it is to be from bondage free,
Far from the madding worldling's hoarse discords,
Sweet flow'ry place, I first did learn of thee.
Ah! if I were mine own, your dear resorts

I would not change with princes' stateliest courts.

L. SONNET.

That proudly smil'd her sight to entertain,
Lo, unawares where Love did hid remain

She spied, and sought to make of him her prey:
For which of golden locks a fairest hair
To bind the boy she took, but he, afraid,
At her approach sprang swiftly in the air,
And, mounting far from reach, look'd back and said,
"Why shouldst thou (sweet) me seek in chains to
Sith in thy eyes I daily am confin'd ?"

[bind

His harden'd heart? For me, alas, too well
I know their force, and how they do excel:
Now through desire I burn, and now I freeze;
I die (dear life) unless to me be given
As many kisses as the spring hath flow'rs,
Or there be silver drops in Iris' show'rs,
Or stars there be in all-embracing Heaven;
And if displeas'd ye of the match complain,
Ye shall have leave to take them back again.

Is 't not enough (ah me!) me thus to see
Like some Heaven-banish'd ghost still wailing go,
A shadow which your rays do only show;
To vex me more, unless ye bid me die,
What could ye worse allot unto your foe?
But die will I, so ye will not deny

That grace to me which mortal foes ev'n try,
To choose what sort of death shall end my woe.
Once did I find, that whiles you did me kiss,
Ye gave my panting soul so sweet a touch,
That half I swoon'd in midst of all my bliss;
I do but crave my death's wound may be such :
For though by grief I die not and annoy,
Is 't not enough to die through too much joy?

While she here gaz'd on thee, rich Tagus' treasure
Thou neededst not envy, nor yet the fountain,
In which that hunter saw the naked Moon;
Absence hath robb'd thee of thy wealth and pleasure,
And I remain, like marigold, of Sun

Depriv'd, that dies by shadow of some mountain.

Nymphs of the forests, nymphs who on this mountain

Are wont to dance, showing your beauty's treasure
To goat-feet sylvans, and the wond'ring Sun,
When as you gather flow'rs about this fountain,
Bid her farewel who placed here her pleasure,
And sing her praises to the stars and Moon.

Among the lesser lights as is the Moon, [tain;
Blushing through muffling clouds on Latmos' moun-
Or when she views her silver locks for pleasure
In Thetis' streams, proud of so gay a treasure:
Such was my fair, when she sate by this fountain
With other nymphs, to shun the amorous Sun.

As is our Earth in absence of the Sun,
Or when of Sun deprived is the Moon;
As is without a verdant shade a fountain,
Or, wanting grass, a mead, a vale, a mountain;
Such is my state, bereft of my dear treasure,
To know whose only worth, was all my pleasure.

Ne'er think of pleasure, heart; eyes, shun the Sun;
Tears be your treasure, which the wand'ring Moon
Shall see you shed by mountain, tale and fountain.

WITH grief in heart, and tears in swelling eyes,
When I to her had given a sad farewel,
Close sealed with a kiss, and dew which fell
On my else moisten'd face from beauty's skies;
So strange amazement did my mind surprise,
That at each pace I fainting turn'd again,
Like one whom a torpedo stupefies,
Not feeling honour's bit, nor reason's rein:
But when fierce stars to part me did constrain,
With back-cast looks, I both envy'd and bless'd
The happy walls and place did her contain,
Until my eyes that flying object miss'd:
So wailing parted Ganymede the fair,
When eagle's talons bore him through the air.

LV. SONNET.

WINDOW, Some time which served for a sphere
To that dear planet of my heart, whose light
Made often blush the glorious queen of night,
While she in thee more beauteous did appear;
What mourning weeds, alas, dost thou now wear?
How loathsome to my eyes is thy sad sight!
How poorly look'st thou, with what heavy cheer,
Since sets that Sun which made thee shine so bright?
Unhappy now thee close; for, as of late
To wond'ring eyes thou wert a paradise,
Bereft of her who made thee fortunate,
A gulf thou art, whence clouds of sighs arise:
But unto none so noisome as to me,
Who hourly sees my murder'd joys in thee.

LIV. SEXTAIN.

SITH gone is my delight and only pleasure,
The last of all my hopes, the cheerful Sun
That clear'd my life's dark sphere, Nature's sweet
treasure,

More dear to me than all beneath the Moon;
What resteth now, but that upon this mountain
I weep, till Heaven transform me to a fountain?

Fresh, fair, delicious, crystal, pearly fountain,
On whose smooth face to look she oft took pleasure,
Tell me (so may thy streams long cheer this moun-
tain,

So serpent ne'er thee stain, nor scorch thee Sun,
So may with wat'ry beams thee kiss the Moon!)
Dost thou not mourn to want so fair a treasure.

LVI. SONNET.

How many times night's silent queen her face
Hath hid, how oft with stars in silver mask,
In Heaven's great hall, she hath begun her task,
And cheer'd the waking eye in lower place;
How oft the Sun hath made, by Heaven's swift race,
The happy lover to forsake the breast
Of his dear lady, wishing in the west
His golden coach to run had larger space,
I ever count and tell, since I, alas!
Did bid farewel to my heart's dearest guest;
The miles I number, and in mind I chase
The floods and mountains hold me from my rest.
But wo is me, long count and count may 1,
Ere I see her whose absence makes me die

LVII. SONNET.

Of death some tell, some of the cruel pain
Which that bad craftsman in his work did try,
When (a new monster) flames once did constrain
A human corpse to yield a bellowing cry.
Some tell of those in burning beds who lie,
Because they durst in the Phlegrean plain
The mighty ruler of the skies defy,

And siege those crystal tow'rs which all contain.
Another counts of Phlegethon's hot floods,
The souls which drink Ixion's endless smart,
And his who feeds a vulture with his heart.
One tells of spectres in enchanted woods:
Of all those pains th' extremest who would prove,
Let him be absent and but burn in love.

LVIII. SONNET.

HAIR, precious hair, which Midas' hand did strain, Part of the wreath of gold that crowns those brows Which winter's whitest white in whiteness stain, And lily by Eridan's bank that grows:

Hair, (fatal present!) which first caus'd my woes,
When loose ye hang like Danae's golden rain,
Sweet nets which sweetly do all hearts enchain,
Strings, deadly strings, with which Love bends his
bows:

How are ye hither come? Tell me, O hair!
Dear armelet, for what thus were ye given?
I know, a badge of bondage I you wear,
Yet, hair, for you O that I were a Heaven!
Like Berenice's locks, that ye might shine
(But brighter far) about this arm of mine.

LIX. SONNET.

ARE these the flow'ry banks? Is this the mead
Where she was wont to pass the pleasant hours?
Was 't here her eyes exhal'd mine eyes' salt show'rs,
And on her lap did lay my wearied head?
Is this the goodly elm did us o'erspread,
Whose tender rind, cut forth in curious flow'rs
By that white hand, contains those flames of ours?
Is this the murmuring spring us musick made?
Deflourish'd mead, where is your heavenly hue?
And bank, that Arras did you late adorn?
How look'st thou, elm, all wither'd and forlorn
Only, sweet spring, nought alter'd seems in you.
But while here chang'd each other thing appears,
To salt your streams take of mine eyes these tears.

LX. SONNET.

ALEXIS, here she stay'd, among these pines,
Sweet hermitress, she did all alone repair;
Here did she spread the treasure of her hair,
More rich than that brought from the Colchian
mines:

Here sate she by these musked eglantines;
The happy flow'rs seem yet the print to bear;
Her voice did sweeten here thy sugar'd lines,
To which winds, trees, beasts, birds, did lend an ear.

FAME, who with golden wings abroad doth range
Where Phoebus leaves the night or brings the day;
Fame, in one place who restless dost not stay
Till thou hast flow'd from Atlas unto Gange:
Fame, enemy to Time, that still doth change,
And in his changing course would make decay
What here below he findeth in his way,
Even making Virtue to herself look strange:
Daughter of Heaven! now all thy trumpets sound,
Raise up thy head unto the highest sky,
With wonder blaze the gifts in her are found;
And when she from this mortal globe shall fly,
In thy wide mouth keep long, keep long her