AUTHOR William Shakespeare

TITLE A Lover's Complaint

RHYME a b a b b c c

From off a hill whose concave womb reworded
A plaintful story from a sistering vale,
My spirits to attend this double voice accorded,
And down I laid to list the sad-tuned tale;
Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale, 
Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain,
Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain.

RHYME a b a b b c c

Upon her head a platted hive of straw,
Which fortified her visage from the sun,
Whereon the thought might think sometime it saw 
The carcass of beauty spent and done:
Time had not scythed all that youth begun,
Nor youth all quit; but, spite of heaven's fell rage,
Some beauty peep'd through lattice of sear'd age.

RHYME a b a b b c c

Oft did she heave her napkin to her eyne, 
Which on it had conceited characters,
Laundering the silken figures in the brine
That season'd woe had pelleted in tears,
And often reading what contents it bears;
As often shrieking undistinguish'd woe, 
In clamours of all size, both high and low.

RHYME a b a b b c c

Sometimes her levell'd eyes their carriage ride,
As they did battery to the spheres intend;
Sometime diverted their poor balls are tied
To the orbed earth; sometimes they do extend 
Their view right on; anon their gazes lend
To every place at once, and, nowhere fix'd,
The mind and sight distractedly commix'd.

RHYME a b a b b c c

Her hair, nor loose nor tied in formal plat,
Proclaim'd in her a careless hand of pride 
For some, untuck'd, descended her sheaved hat,
Hanging her pale and pined cheek beside;
Some in her threaden fillet still did bide,
And true to bondage would not break from thence,
Though slackly braided in loose negligence. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

A thousand favours from a maund she drew
Of amber, crystal, and of beaded jet,
Which one by one she in a river threw,
Upon whose weeping margent she was set;
Like usury, applying wet to wet, 
Or monarch's hands that let not bounty fall
Where want cries some, but where excess begs all.

RHYME a b a b b c c

Of folded schedules had she many a one,
Which she perused, sigh'd, tore, and gave the flood;
Crack'd many a ring of posied gold and bone 
Bidding them find their sepulchres in mud;
Found yet moe letters sadly penn'd in blood,
With sleided silk feat and affectedly
Enswathed, and seal'd to curious secrecy.

RHYME a b a b b c c

These often bathed she in her fluxive eyes, 
And often kiss'd, and often 'gan to tear:
Cried 'O false blood, thou register of lies,
What unapproved witness dost thou bear!
Ink would have seem'd more black and damned here!'
This said, in top of rage the lines she rents, 
Big discontent so breaking their contents.

RHYME a b a b b c c

A reverend man that grazed his cattle nigh--
Sometime a blusterer, that the ruffle knew
Of court, of city, and had let go by
The swiftest hours, observed as they flew-- 
Towards this afflicted fancy fastly drew,
And, privileged by age, desires to know
In brief the grounds and motives of her woe.

RHYME a b a b b c c

So slides he down upon his grained bat,
And comely-distant sits he by her side; 
When he again desires her, being sat,
Her grievance with his hearing to divide:
If that from him there may be aught applied
Which may her suffering ecstasy assuage,
'Tis promised in the charity of age. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Father,' she says, 'though in me you behold
The injury of many a blasting hour,
Let it not tell your judgment I am old;
Not age, but sorrow, over me hath power:
I might as yet have been a spreading flower, 
Fresh to myself, If I had self-applied
Love to myself and to no love beside.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'But, woe is me! too early I attended
A youthful suit--it was to gain my grace--
Of one by nature's outwards so commended, 
That maidens' eyes stuck over all his face:
Love lack'd a dwelling, and made him her place;
And when in his fair parts she did abide,
She was new lodged and newly deified.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'His browny locks did hang in crooked curls; 
And every light occasion of the wind
Upon his lips their silken parcels hurls.
What's sweet to do, to do will aptly find:
Each eye that saw him did enchant the mind,
For on his visage was in little drawn 
What largeness thinks in Paradise was sawn.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Small show of man was yet upon his chin;
His phoenix down began but to appear
Like unshorn velvet on that termless skin
Whose bare out-bragg'd the web it seem'd to wear: 
Yet show'd his visage by that cost more dear;
And nice affections wavering stood in doubt
If best were as it was, or best without.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'His qualities were beauteous as his form,
For maiden-tongued he was, and thereof free; 
Yet, if men moved him, was he such a storm
As oft 'twixt May and April is to see,
When winds breathe sweet, untidy though they be.
His rudeness so with his authorized youth
Did livery falseness in a pride of truth. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Well could he ride, and often men would say
'That horse his mettle from his rider takes:
Proud of subjection, noble by the sway,
What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop he makes!' 
And controversy hence a question takes,
Whether the horse by him became his deed,
Or he his manage by the well-doing steed.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'But quickly on this side the verdict went:
His real habitude gave life and grace 
To appertainings and to ornament,
Accomplish'd in himself, not in his case:
All aids, themselves made fairer by their place,
Came for additions; yet their purposed trim
Pieced not his grace, but were all graced by him. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

'So on the tip of his subduing tongue
All kinds of arguments and question deep,
All replication prompt, and reason strong,
For his advantage still did wake and sleep:
To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep, 
He had the dialect and different skill,
Catching all passions in his craft of will:

RHYME a b a b b c c

'That he did in the general bosom reign
Of young, of old; and sexes both enchanted,
To dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain 
In personal duty, following where he haunted:
Consents bewitch'd, ere he desire, have granted;
And dialogued for him what he would say,
Ask'd their own wills, and made their wills obey.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Many there were that did his picture get, 
To serve their eyes, and in it put their mind;
Like fools that in th' imagination set
The goodly objects which abroad they find
Of lands and mansions, theirs in thought assign'd;
And labouring in moe pleasures to bestow them 
Than the true gouty landlord which doth owe them:

RHYME a b a b b c c

'So many have, that never touch'd his hand,
Sweetly supposed them mistress of his heart.
My woeful self, that did in freedom stand,
And was my own fee-simple, not in part, 
What with his art in youth, and youth in art,
Threw my affections in his charmed power,
Reserved the stalk and gave him all my flower.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Yet did I not, as some my equals did,
Demand of him, nor being desired yielded; 
Finding myself in honour so forbid,
With safest distance I mine honour shielded:
Experience for me many bulwarks builded
Of proofs new-bleeding, which remain'd the foil
Of this false jewel, and his amorous spoil. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

'But, ah, who ever shunn'd by precedent
The destined ill she must herself assay?
Or forced examples, 'gainst her own content,
To put the by-past perils in her way?
Counsel may stop awhile what will not stay; 
For when we rage, advice is often seen
By blunting us to make our wits more keen.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood,
That we must curb it upon others' proof;
To be forbod the sweets that seem so good, 
For fear of harms that preach in our behoof.
O appetite, from judgment stand aloof!
The one a palate hath that needs will taste,
Though Reason weep, and cry, 'It is thy last.'

RHYME a b a b b c c

'For further I could say 'This man's untrue,' 
And knew the patterns of his foul beguiling;
Heard where his plants in others' orchards grew,
Saw how deceits were gilded in his smiling;
Knew vows were ever brokers to defiling;
Thought characters and words merely but art, 
And bastards of his foul adulterate heart.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'And long upon these terms I held my city,
Till thus he gan besiege me: 'Gentle maid,
Have of my suffering youth some feeling pity,
And be not of my holy vows afraid: 
That's to ye sworn to none was ever said;
For feasts of love I have been call'd unto,
Till now did ne'er invite, nor never woo.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'All my offences that abroad you see
Are errors of the blood, none of the mind; 
Love made them not: with acture they may be,
Where neither party is nor true nor kind:
They sought their shame that so their shame did find;
And so much less of shame in me remains,
By how much of me their reproach contains. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Among the many that mine eyes have seen,
Not one whose flame my heart so much as warm'd,
Or my affection put to the smallest teen,
Or any of my leisures ever charm'd:
Harm have I done to them, but ne'er was harm'd; 
Kept hearts in liveries, but mine own was free,
And reign'd, commanding in his monarchy.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Look here, what tributes wounded fancies sent me,
Of paled pearls and rubies red as blood;
Figuring that they their passions likewise lent me 
Of grief and blushes, aptly understood
In bloodless white and the encrimson'd mood;
Effects of terror and dear modesty,
Encamp'd in hearts, but fighting outwardly.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'And, lo, behold these talents of their hair, 
With twisted metal amorously impleach'd,
I have received from many a several fair,
Their kind acceptance weepingly beseech'd,
With the annexions of fair gems enrich'd,
And deep-brain'd sonnets that did amplify 
Each stone's dear nature, worth, and quality.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'The diamond,--why, 'twas beautiful and hard,
Whereto his invised properties did tend;
The deep-green emerald, in whose fresh regard
Weak sights their sickly radiance do amend; 
The heaven-hued sapphire and the opal blend
With objects manifold: each several stone,
With wit well blazon'd, smiled or made some moan.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Lo, all these trophies of affections hot,
Of pensived and subdued desires the tender, 
Nature hath charged me that I hoard them not,
But yield them up where I myself must render,
That is, to you, my origin and ender;
For these, of force, must your oblations be,
Since I their altar, you enpatron me. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

'O, then, advance of yours that phraseless hand,
Whose white weighs down the airy scale of praise;
Take all these similes to your own command,
Hallow'd with sighs that burning lungs did raise;
What me your minister, for you obeys, 
Works under you; and to your audit comes
Their distract parcels in combined sums.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Lo, this device was sent me from a nun,
Or sister sanctified, of holiest note;
Which late her noble suit in court did shun, 
Whose rarest havings made the blossoms dote;
For she was sought by spirits of richest coat,
But kept cold distance, and did thence remove,
To spend her living in eternal love.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'But, O my sweet, what labour is't to leave 
The thing we have not, mastering what not strives,
Playing the place which did no form receive,
Playing patient sports in unconstrained gyves?
She that her fame so to herself contrives,
The scars of battle 'scapeth by the flight, 
And makes her absence valiant, not her might.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'O, pardon me, in that my boast is true:
The accident which brought me to her eye
Upon the moment did her force subdue,
And now she would the caged cloister fly: 
Religious love put out Religion's eye:
Not to be tempted, would she be immured,
And now, to tempt, all liberty procured.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'How mighty then you are, O, hear me tell!
The broken bosoms that to me belong 
Have emptied all their fountains in my well,
And mine I pour your ocean all among:
I strong o'er them, and you o'er me being strong,
Must for your victory us all congest,
As compound love to physic your cold breast. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

'My parts had power to charm a sacred nun,
Who, disciplined, ay, dieted in grace,
Believed her eyes when they to assail begun,
All vows and consecrations giving place:
O most potential love! vow, bond, nor space, 
In thee hath neither sting, knot, nor confine,
For thou art all, and all things else are thine.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'When thou impressest, what are precepts worth
Of stale example? When thou wilt inflame,
How coldly those impediments stand forth 
Of wealth, of filial fear, law, kindred, fame!
Love's arms are peace, 'gainst rule, 'gainst sense, 'gainst shame,
And sweetens, in the suffering pangs it bears,
The aloes of all forces, shocks, and fears. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Now all these hearts that do on mine depend,
Feeling it break, with bleeding groans they pine;
And supplicant their sighs to you extend,
To leave the battery that you make 'gainst mine,
Lending soft audience to my sweet design, 
And credent soul to that strong-bonded oath
That shall prefer and undertake my troth.'

RHYME a b a b b c c

'This said, his watery eyes he did dismount,
Whose sights till then were levell'd on my face;
Each cheek a river running from a fount 
With brinish current downward flow'd apace:
O, how the channel to the stream gave grace!
Who glazed with crystal gate the glowing roses
That flame through water which their hue encloses.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies 
In the small orb of one particular tear!
But with the inundation of the eyes
What rocky heart to water will not wear?
What breast so cold that is not warmed here?
O cleft effect! cold modesty, hot wrath, 
Both fire from hence and chill extincture hath.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'For, lo, his passion, but an art of craft,
Even there resolved my reason into tears;
There my white stole of chastity I daff'd,
Shook off my sober guards and civil fears; 
Appear to him, as he to me appears,
All melting; though our drops this difference bore,
His poison'd me, and mine did him restore.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'In him a plenitude of subtle matter,
Applied to cautels, all strange forms receives, 
Of burning blushes, or of weeping water,
Or swooning paleness; and he takes and leaves,
In either's aptness, as it best deceives,
To blush at speeches rank to weep at woes,
Or to turn white and swoon at tragic shows. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

'That not a heart which in his level came
Could 'scape the hail of his all-hurting aim,
Showing fair nature is both kind and tame;
And, veil'd in them, did win whom he would maim:
Against the thing he sought he would exclaim; 
When he most burn'd in heart-wish'd luxury,
He preach'd pure maid, and praised cold chastity.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Thus merely with the garment of a Grace
The naked and concealed fiend he cover'd;
That th' unexperient gave the tempter place, 
Which like a cherubin above them hover'd.
Who, young and simple, would not be so lover'd?
Ay me! I fell; and yet do question make
What I should do again for such a sake.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'O, that infected moisture of his eye, 
O, that false fire which in his cheek so glow'd,
O, that forced thunder from his heart did fly,
O, that sad breath his spongy lungs bestow'd,
O, all that borrow'd motion seeming owed,
Would yet again betray the fore-betray'd, 
And new pervert a reconciled maid!'

TITLE The Passionate Pilgrim, I

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

When my love swears that she is made of truth,	
I do believe her, though I know she lies,	
That she might think me some untutor'd youth,	
Unskilful in the world's false forgeries.	
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,	
Although I know my years be past the best,	
I smiling credit her false-speaking tongue,	
Outfacing faults in love with love's ill rest.	
But wherefore says my love that she is young?	
And wherefore say not I that I am old? 	
O, love's best habit is a soothing tongue,	
And age, in love, loves not to have years told.	
Therefore I'll lie with love, and love with me,	
Since that our faults in love thus smother'd be.

TITLE The Passionate Pilgrim, II

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

Two loves I have, of comfort and despair, 
That like two spirits do suggest me still;
My better angel is a man right fair,
My worser spirit a woman colour'd ill.
To win me soon to hell, my female evil
Tempteth my better angel from my side, 
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil,
Wooing his purity with her fair pride.
And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend,
Suspect I may, yet not directly tell:
For being both to me, both to each friend, 
I guess one angel in another's hell;
The truth I shall not know, but live in doubt,
Till my bad angel fire my good one out.

TITLE The Passionate Pilgrim, III

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

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?

TITLE The Passionate Pilgrim, IV

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

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 showed him favors 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 refused to take her figured 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!

TITLE The Passionate Pilgrim, V

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love?
O never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow'd:
Though 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 makes 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 thunder,
Which, not to anger bent, is music and sweet fire.
Celestial as thou art, O do not love that wrong, 
To sing heaven's praise with such an earthly tongue.

TITLE The Passionate Pilgrim, VI

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

Scarce had the sun dried up 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 used to cool his spleen:
Hot was the day; she hotter that did look
For his approach, that often there had been.
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, bounced in, whereas he stood:
'O Jove,' quoth she, 'why was not I a flood!' 

TITLE The Passionate Pilgrim, VII

RHYME a b a b c c

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.

RHYME a b a b c c

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.

RHYME a b a b c c

She burn'd with love, as straw with fire flameth;
She burn'd out love, as soon as straw outburneth;
She framed 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 lecher whether?
Bad in the best, though excellent in neither.

TITLE The Passionate Pilgrim, VIII

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

If music and sweet poetry agree,
As they must needs, the sister and the brother, 
Then must the love be great 'twixt thee and me,
Because thou lovest the one, and I the other.
Dowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch
Upon the lute doth ravish human sense;
Spenser to me, whose deep conceit is such 
As, passing all conceit, needs no defence.
Thou lovest to hear the sweet melodious sound
That Phoebus' lute, the queen of music, makes;
And I in deep delight am chiefly drown'd
When as himself to singing he betakes. 
One god is god of both, as poets feign;
One knight loves both, and both in thee remain.

TITLE The Passionate Pilgrim, IX

RHYME a b a b c c

Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluck'd, soon vaded,
Pluck'd in the bud, and vaded in the spring!
Bright orient pearl, alack, too timely shaded!
Fair creature, kill'd too soon by death's sharp sting! 
Like a green plum that hangs upon a tree,
And falls, through wind, before the fall should be.

RHYME a b a b c c

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:
O yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee,
Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me.

TITLE The Passionate Pilgrim, X

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

Venus, with young Adonis sitting by her
Under a myrtle shade, began to woo him: 
She told the youngling how god Mars did try her,
And as he fell to her, so fell she to him.
'Even thus,' quoth she, 'the warlike god embraced me,'
And then she clipp'd Adonis in her arms;
'Even thus,' quoth she, 'the warlike god unlaced me,' 
As if the boy should use like loving charms;
'Even thus,' quoth she, 'he seized on my lips,'
And with her lips on his did act the seizure:
And as she fetched breath, away he skips,
And would not take her meaning nor her pleasure. 
Ah, that I had my lady at this bay,
To kiss and clip me till I run away!

TITLE The Passionate Pilgrim, XI

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f 

Crabbed age and youth cannot live together:
Youth is full of pleasance, age is full of care;
Youth like summer morn, age like winter weather; 
Youth like summer brave, age like winter bare.
Youth is full of sport, age's breath is short;
Youth is nimble, age is lame;
Youth is hot and bold, age is weak and cold;
Youth is wild, and age is tame. 
Age, I do abhor thee; youth, I do adore thee;
O, my love, my love is young!
Age, I do defy thee: O, sweet shepherd, hie thee,
For methinks thou stay'st too long,

TITLE The Passionate Pilgrim, XII

RHYME a b a b c c

Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good; 
A shining gloss that vadeth suddenly;
A flower that dies when first it gins to bud;
A brittle glass that's broken presently:
A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower,
Lost, vaded, broken, dead within an hour. 

RHYME a b a b c c

And as goods lost are seld or never found,
As vaded gloss no rubbing will refresh,
As flowers dead lie wither'd on the ground,
As broken glass no cement can redress,
So beauty blemish'd once's for ever lost, 
In spite of physic, painting, pain and cost.

TITLE The Passionate Pilgrim, XIII

RHYME a b a b c c

Good night, good rest. Ah, neither be my share:
She bade good night that kept my rest away;
And daff'd me to a cabin hang'd with care,
To descant on the doubts of my decay. 
'Farewell,' quoth she, 'and come again tomorrow:'
Fare well I could not, for I supp'd with sorrow.

Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile,
In scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether:
'T may be, she joy'd to jest at my exile, 
'T may be, again to make me wander thither:
'Wander,' a word for shadows like myself,
As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf.

TITLE The Passionate Pilgrim, XIV

RHYME a b a b c c

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 rest.
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;

RHYME a b a b c c

For she doth welcome daylight with her ditty, 
And drives away dark dismal-dreaming night:
The night so pack'd, I post unto my pretty;
Heart hath his hope, and eyes their wished sight;
Sorrow changed to solace, solace mix'd with sorrow;
For why, she sigh'd and bade me come tomorrow. 

RHYME a b a b c c

Were I with her, the night would post too soon;
But now are minutes added to the hours;
To spite me now, each minute seems a moon;
Yet not for me, shine sun to succor flowers!
Pack night, peep day; good day, of night now borrow: 
Short, night, to-night, and length thyself tomorrow.

TITLE The Passionate Pilgrim, XV

RHYME a a a b

It was a lording's daughter, the fairest one of three,
That liked of her master as well as well might be,
Till looking on an Englishman, the fair'st that eye could see,
Her fancy fell a-turning. 

RHYME a a a b

Long was the combat doubtful that love with love did fight,
To leave the master loveless, or kill the gallant knight:
To put in practise either, alas, it was a spite
Unto the silly damsel!

RHYME a a a b

But one must be refused; more mickle was the pain 
That nothing could be used to turn them both to gain,
For of the two the trusty knight was wounded with disdain:
Alas, she could not help it!

RHYME a a a b

Thus art with arms contending was victor of the day,
Which by a gift of learning did bear the maid away: 
Then, lullaby, the learned man hath got the lady gay;
For now my song is ended.

TITLE The Passionate Pilgrim, XVI

RHYME a a *

On a day, alack the day!		
Love, whose month was ever May,		
Spied a blossom passing fair, 	
Playing in the wanton air:		
Through the velvet leaves the wind	
All unseen, gan passage find;		
That the lover, sick to death,		
Wish'd himself the heaven's breath,	
'Air,' quoth he, 'thy cheeks may blow;	
Air, would I might triumph so!		
But, alas! my hand hath sworn		
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn:	
Vow, alack! for youth unmeet: 	
Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet.		
Thou for whom Jove would swear		
Juno but an Ethiope were;		
And deny himself for Jove,		
Turning mortal for thy love.' 	

TITLE The Passionate Pilgrim, XVII

RHYME a b a b c c

When as thine eye hath chose the dame, 
And stall'd the deer that thou shouldst strike,
Let reason rule things worthy blame,
As well as fancy partial might:
Take counsel of some wiser head,
Neither too young nor yet unwed. 

RHYME a b a b c c

What though she strive to try her strength,
And ban and brawl, and say thee nay,
Her feeble force will yield at length, 
When craft hath taught her thus to say,
'Had women been so strong as men,
In faith, you had not had it then.'

RHYME a b a b c c

And to her will frame all thy ways;
Spare not to spend, and chiefly there 
Where thy desert may merit praise,
By ringing in thy lady's ear:
The strongest castle, tower, and town,
The golden bullet beats it down.

RHYME a b a b c c

Serve always with assured trust, 
And in thy suit be humble true;
Unless thy lady prove unjust,
Press never thou to choose anew:
When time shall serve, be thou not slack
To proffer, though she put thee back. 

RHYME a b a b c c

The wiles and guiles that women work,
Dissembled with an outward show,
The tricks and toys that in them lurk,
The cock that treads them shall not know.
Have you not heard it said full oft, 
A woman's nay doth stand for nought?

RHYME a b a b c c

Think women still to strive with men,
To sin and never for to saint:
There is no heaven, by holy then,
When time with age doth them attaint. 
Were kisses all the joys in bed,
One woman would another wed.

RHYME a b a b c c

But, soft! enough, too much, I fear
Lest that my mistress hear my song,
She will not stick to round me i' the ear, 
To teach my tongue to be so long:
Yet will she blush, here be it said,
To hear her secrets so bewray'd.

TITLE The Passionate Pilgrim, XVIII

RHYME a a b b

Live with me, and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove 
That hills and valleys, dales and fields,
And all the craggy mountains yields.

RHYME a a b b

There will we sit upon the rocks,
And see the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, by whose falls 
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

RHYME a a b b

There will I make thee a bed of roses,
With a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle. 

RHYME a a b b

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs;
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Then live with me and be my love.

RHYME a a b b

If that the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee and be thy love.

TITLE The Passionate Pilgrim, XIX

RHYME a a *

As it fell upon a day
In the merry month of May,
Sitting in a pleasant shade
Which a grove of myrtles made,
Beasts did leap, and birds did sing,
Trees did grow, and plants did spring;
Every thing did banish moan,
Save the nightingale alone:
She, poor bird, as all forlorn,
Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn
And there sung the dolefull'st ditty,
That to hear it was great pity:
'Fie, fie, fie,' now would she cry;
'Tereu, tereu!' by and by;
That to hear her so complain,
Scarce I could from tears refrain;
For her griefs, so lively shown,
Made me think upon mine own.
Ah, thought I, thou mourn'st in vain!
None takes pity on thy pain:
Senseless trees they cannot hear thee;
Ruthless beasts they will not cheer thee:
King Pandion he is dead;
All thy friends are lapp'd in lead;
All thy fellow birds do sing,
Careless of thy sorrowing.
Even so, poor bird, like thee,
None alive will pity me.
Whilst as fickle Fortune smiled,
Thou and I were both beguiled.
Every one that flatters thee
Is no friend in misery.
Words are easy, like the wind;
Faithful friends are hard to find:
Every man will be thy friend
Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend;
But if store of crowns be scant,
No man will supply thy want.
If that one be prodigal,
Bountiful they will him call,
And with such-like flattering,
'Pity but he were a king;'
If he be addict to vice,
Quickly him they will entice;
If to women he be bent,
They have at commandement:
But if Fortune once do frown,
Then farewell his great renown
They that fawn'd on him before
Use his company no more.
He that is thy friend indeed,
He will help thee in thy need:
If thou sorrow, he will weep;
If thou wake, he cannot sleep;
Thus of every grief in heart
He with thee doth bear a part.
These are certain signs to know
Faithful friend from flattering foe.

TITLE The Phoenix and the Turtle

RHYME a b b a

Let the bird of loudest lay,
On the sole Arabian tree,
Herald sad and trumpet be,
To whose sound chaste wings obey.

RHYME a b b a

But thou shrieking harbinger, 
Foul precurrer of the fiend,
Augur of the fever's end,
To this troop come thou not near!

RHYME a b b a

From this session interdict
Every fowl of tyrant wing, 
Save the eagle, feather'd king:
Keep the obsequy so strict.

RHYME a b b a

Let the priest in surplice white,
That defunctive music can,
Be the death-divining swan, 
Lest the requiem lack his right.

RHYME a b b a

And thou treble-dated crow,
That thy sable gender makest
With the breath thou givest and takest,
'Mongst our mourners shalt thou go. 

RHYME a b b a

Here the anthem doth commence:
Love and constancy is dead;
Phoenix and the turtle fled
In a mutual flame from hence.

RHYME a b b a

So they loved, as love in twain 
Had the essence but in one;
Two distincts, division none:
Number there in love was slain.

RHYME a b b a

Hearts remote, yet not asunder;
Distance, and no space was seen 
'Twixt the turtle and his queen:
But in them it were a wonder.

RHYME a b b a

So between them love did shine,
That the turtle saw his right
Flaming in the phoenix' sight; 
Either was the other's mine.

RHYME a b b a

Property was thus appalled,
That the self was not the same;
Single nature's double name
Neither two nor one was called. 

RHYME a b b a

Reason, in itself confounded,
Saw division grow together,
To themselves yet either neither,
Simple were so well compounded,

RHYME a b b a

That it cried, How true a twain 
Seemeth this concordant one!
Love hath reason, reason none,
If what parts can so remain.

RHYME a b b a

Whereupon it made this threne
To the phoenix and the dove, 
Co-supremes and stars of love,
As chorus to their tragic scene.

RHYME a a a

Beauty, truth, and rarity,
Grace in all simplicity, 
Here enclosed in cinders lie.

RHYME a a a

Death is now the phoenix' nest
And the turtle's loyal breast
To eternity doth rest,

RHYME a a a

Leaving no posterity: 
'Twas not their infirmity,
It was married chastity.

RHYME a a a

Truth may seem, but cannot be:
Beauty brag, but 'tis not she;
Truth and beauty buried be. 

RHYME a a a

To this urn let those repair
That are either true or fair
For these dead birds sigh a prayer.

TITLE The Rape of Lucrece

RHYME a b a b b c c

From the besieged Ardea all in post,
Borne by the trustless wings of false desire,
Lust-breathed Tarquin leaves the Roman host,
And to Collatium bears the lightless fire 
Which, in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire
And girdle with embracing flames the waist
Of Collatine's fair love, Lucrece the chaste.

RHYME a b a b b c c

Haply that name of 'chaste' unhappily set
This bateless edge on his keen appetite; 
When Collatine unwisely did not let
To praise the clear unmatched red and white
Which triumph'd in that sky of his delight,
Where mortal stars, as bright as heaven's beauties,
With pure aspects did him peculiar duties. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

For he the night before, in Tarquin's tent,
Unlock'd the treasure of his happy state;
What priceless wealth the heavens had him lent
In the possession of his beauteous mate;
Reckoning his fortune at such high-proud rate, 
That kings might be espoused to more fame,
But king nor peer to such a peerless dame.

RHYME a b a b b c c

O happiness enjoy'd but of a few!
And, if possess'd, as soon decay'd and done
As is the morning's silver-melting dew 
Against the golden splendor of the sun!
An expired date, cancell'd ere well begun:
Honour and beauty, in the owner's arms,
Are weakly fortress'd from a world of harms.

RHYME a b a b b c c

Beauty itself doth of itself persuade 
The eyes of men without an orator;
What needeth then apologies be made,
To set forth that which is so singular?
Or why is Collatine the publisher
Of that rich jewel he should keep unknown 
From thievish ears, because it is his own?

RHYME a b a b b c c

Perchance his boast of Lucrece' sovereignty
Suggested this proud issue of a king;
For by our ears our hearts oft tainted be:
Perchance that envy of so rich a thing, 
Braving compare, disdainfully did sting
His high-pitch'd thoughts, that meaner men should vaunt
That golden hap which their superiors want.

RHYME a b a b b c c

But some untimely thought did instigate
His all-too-timeless speed, if none of those: 
His honour, his affairs, his friends, his state,
Neglected all, with swift intent he goes
To quench the coal which in his liver glows.
O rash false heat, wrapp'd in repentant cold,
Thy hasty spring still blasts, and ne'er grows old! 

RHYME a b a b b c c

When at Collatium this false lord arrived,
Well was he welcomed by the Roman dame,
Within whose face beauty and virtue strived
Which of them both should underprop her fame:
When virtue bragg'd, beauty would blush for shame; 
When beauty boasted blushes, in despite
Virtue would stain that o'er with silver white.

RHYME a b a b b c c

But beauty, in that white intituled,
From Venus' doves doth challenge that fair field:
Then virtue claims from beauty beauty's red, 
Which virtue gave the golden age to gild
Their silver cheeks, and call'd it then their shield;
Teaching them thus to use it in the fight,
When shame assail'd, the red should fence the white.

RHYME a b a b b c c

This heraldry in Lucrece' face was seen, 
Argued by beauty's red and virtue's white
Of either's colour was the other queen,
Proving from world's minority their right:
Yet their ambition makes them still to fight;
The sovereignty of either being so great, 
That oft they interchange each other's seat.

RHYME a b a b b c c

Their silent war of lilies and of roses,
Which Tarquin view'd in her fair face's field,
In their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses;
Where, lest between them both it should be kill'd, 
The coward captive vanquished doth yield
To those two armies that would let him go,
Rather than triumph in so false a foe.

RHYME a b a b b c c

Now thinks he that her husband's shallow tongue,--
The niggard prodigal that praised her so,-- 
In that high task hath done her beauty wrong,
Which far exceeds his barren skill to show:
Therefore that praise which Collatine doth owe
Enchanted Tarquin answers with surmise,
In silent wonder of still-gazing eyes. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

This earthly saint, adored by this devil,
Little suspecteth the false worshipper;
For unstain'd thoughts do seldom dream on evil;
Birds never limed no secret bushes fear:
So guiltless she securely gives good cheer 
And reverend welcome to her princely guest,
Whose inward ill no outward harm express'd:

RHYME a b a b b c c

For that he colour'd with his high estate,
Hiding base sin in plaits of majesty;
That nothing in him seem'd inordinate, 
Save something too much wonder of his eye,
Which, having all, all could not satisfy;
But, poorly rich, so wanteth in his store,
That, cloy'd with much, he pineth still for more.

RHYME a b a b b c c

But she, that never coped with stranger eyes, 
Could pick no meaning from their parling looks,
Nor read the subtle-shining secrecies
Writ in the glassy margents of such books:
She touch'd no unknown baits, nor fear'd no hooks;
Nor could she moralize his wanton sight, 
More than his eyes were open'd to the light.

RHYME a b a b b c c

He stories to her ears her husband's fame,
Won in the fields of fruitful Italy;
And decks with praises Collatine's high name,
Made glorious by his manly chivalry 
With bruised arms and wreaths of victory:
Her joy with heaved-up hand she doth express,
And, wordless, so greets heaven for his success.

RHYME a b a b b c c

Far from the purpose of his coming hither,
He makes excuses for his being there: 
No cloudy show of stormy blustering weather
Doth yet in his fair welkin once appear;
Till sable Night, mother of Dread and Fear,
Upon the world dim darkness doth display,
And in her vaulty prison stows the Day. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

For then is Tarquin brought unto his bed,
Intending weariness with heavy spright;
For, after supper, long he questioned
With modest Lucrece, and wore out the night:
Now leaden slumber with life's strength doth fight; 
And every one to rest themselves betake,
Save thieves, and cares, and troubled minds, that wake.

RHYME a b a b b c c

As one of which doth Tarquin lie revolving
The sundry dangers of his will's obtaining;
Yet ever to obtain his will resolving, 
Though weak-built hopes persuade him to abstaining:
Despair to gain doth traffic oft for gaining;
And when great treasure is the meed proposed,
Though death be adjunct, there's no death supposed.

RHYME a b a b b c c

Those that much covet are with gain so fond, 
For what they have not, that which they possess
They scatter and unloose it from their bond,
And so, by hoping more, they have but less;
Or, gaining more, the profit of excess
Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain, 
That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich gain.

RHYME a b a b b c c

The aim of all is but to nurse the life
With honour, wealth, and ease, in waning age;
And in this aim there is such thwarting strife,
That one for all, or all for one we gage; 
As life for honour in fell battle's rage;
Honour for wealth; and oft that wealth doth cost
The death of all, and all together lost.

RHYME a b a b b c c

So that in venturing ill we leave to be
The things we are for that which we expect; 
And this ambitious foul infirmity,
In having much, torments us with defect
Of that we have: so then we do neglect
The thing we have; and, all for want of wit,
Make something nothing by augmenting it. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

Such hazard now must doting Tarquin make,
Pawning his honour to obtain his lust;
And for himself himself be must forsake:
Then where is truth, if there be no self-trust?
When shall he think to find a stranger just, 
When he himself himself confounds, betrays
To slanderous tongues and wretched hateful days?

RHYME a b a b b c c

Now stole upon the time the dead of night,
When heavy sleep had closed up mortal eyes:
No comfortable star did lend his light, 
No noise but owls' and wolves' death-boding cries;
Now serves the season that they may surprise
The silly lambs: pure thoughts are dead and still,
While lust and murder wake to stain and kill.

RHYME a b a b b c c

And now this lustful lord leap'd from his bed, 
Throwing his mantle rudely o'er his arm;
Is madly toss'd between desire and dread;
Th' one sweetly flatters, th' other feareth harm;
But honest fear, bewitch'd with lust's foul charm,
Doth too too oft betake him to retire, 
Beaten away by brain-sick rude desire.

RHYME a b a b b c c

His falchion on a flint he softly smiteth,
That from the cold stone sparks of fire do fly;
Whereat a waxen torch forthwith he lighteth,
Which must be lode-star to his lustful eye; 
And to the flame thus speaks advisedly,
'As from this cold flint I enforced this fire,
So Lucrece must I force to my desire.'

RHYME a b a b b c c

Here pale with fear he doth premeditate
The dangers of his loathsome enterprise, 
And in his inward mind he doth debate
What following sorrow may on this arise:
Then looking scornfully, he doth despise
His naked armour of still-slaughter'd lust,
And justly thus controls his thoughts unjust: 

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Fair torch, burn out thy light, and lend it not
To darken her whose light excelleth thine:
And die, unhallow'd thoughts, before you blot
With your uncleanness that which is divine;
Offer pure incense to so pure a shrine: 
Let fair humanity abhor the deed
That spots and stains love's modest snow-white weed.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'O shame to knighthood and to shining arms!
O foul dishonour to my household's grave!
O impious act, including all foul harms! 
A martial man to be soft fancy's slave!
True valour still a true respect should have;
Then my digression is so vile, so base,
That it will live engraven in my face.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Yea, though I die, the scandal will survive, 
And be an eye-sore in my golden coat;
Some loathsome dash the herald will contrive,
To cipher me how fondly I did dote;
That my posterity, shamed with the note
Shall curse my bones, and hold it for no sin 
To wish that I their father had not bin.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'What win I, if I gain the thing I seek?
A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy.
Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week?
Or sells eternity to get a toy? 
For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy?
Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown,
Would with the sceptre straight be strucken down?

RHYME a b a b b c c

'If Collatinus dream of my intent,
Will he not wake, and in a desperate rage 
Post hither, this vile purpose to prevent?
This siege that hath engirt his marriage,
This blur to youth, this sorrow to the sage,
This dying virtue, this surviving shame,
Whose crime will bear an ever-during blame? 

RHYME a b a b b c c

'O, what excuse can my invention make,
When thou shalt charge me with so black a deed?
Will not my tongue be mute, my frail joints shake,
Mine eyes forego their light, my false heart bleed?
The guilt being great, the fear doth still exceed; 
And extreme fear can neither fight nor fly,
But coward-like with trembling terror die.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Had Collatinus kill'd my son or sire,
Or lain in ambush to betray my life,
Or were he not my dear friend, this desire 
Might have excuse to work upon his wife,
As in revenge or quittal of such strife:
But as he is my kinsman, my dear friend,
The shame and fault finds no excuse nor end.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Shameful it is; ay, if the fact be known: 
Hateful it is; there is no hate in loving:
I'll beg her love; but she is own:
The worst is but denial and reproving:
My will is strong, past reason's weak removing.
Who fears a sentence or an old man's saw 
Shall by a painted cloth be kept in awe.'

RHYME a b a b b c c

Thus, graceless, holds he disputation
'Tween frozen conscience and hot-burning will,
And with good thoughts make dispensation,
Urging the worser sense for vantage still; 
Which in a moment doth confound and kill
All pure effects, and doth so far proceed,
That what is vile shows like a virtuous deed.

RHYME a b a b b c c

Quoth he, 'She took me kindly by the hand,
And gazed for tidings in my eager eyes, 
Fearing some hard news from the warlike band,
Where her beloved Collatinus lies.
O, how her fear did make her colour rise!
First red as roses that on lawn we lay,
Then white as lawn, the roses took away. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

'And how her hand, in my hand being lock'd
Forced it to tremble with her loyal fear!
Which struck her sad, and then it faster rock'd,
Until her husband's welfare she did hear;
Whereat she smiled with so sweet a cheer, 
That had Narcissus seen her as she stood,
Self-love had never drown'd him in the flood.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Why hunt I then for colour or excuses?
All orators are dumb when beauty pleadeth;
Poor wretches have remorse in poor abuses; 
Love thrives not in the heart that shadows dreadeth:
Affection is my captain, and he leadeth;
And when his gaudy banner is display'd,
The coward fights and will not be dismay'd.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Then, childish fear, avaunt! debating, die! 
Respect and reason, wait on wrinkled age!
My heart shall never countermand mine eye:
Sad pause and deep regard beseem the sage;
My part is youth, and beats these from the stage:
Desire my pilot is, beauty my prize; 
Then who fears sinking where such treasure lies?'

RHYME a b a b b c c

As corn o'ergrown by weeds, so heedful fear
Is almost choked by unresisted lust.
Away he steals with open listening ear,
Full of foul hope and full of fond mistrust; 
Both which, as servitors to the unjust,
So cross him with their opposite persuasion,
That now he vows a league, and now invasion.

RHYME a b a b b c c

Within his thought her heavenly image sits,
And in the self-same seat sits Collatine: 
That eye which looks on her confounds his wits;
That eye which him beholds, as more divine,
Unto a view so false will not incline;
But with a pure appeal seeks to the heart,
Which once corrupted takes the worser part; 

RHYME a b a b b c c

And therein heartens up his servile powers,
Who, flatter'd by their leader's jocund show,
Stuff up his lust, as minutes fill up hours;
And as their captain, so their pride doth grow,
Paying more slavish tribute than they owe. 
By reprobate desire thus madly led,
The Roman lord marcheth to Lucrece' bed.

RHYME a b a b b c c

The locks between her chamber and his will,
Each one by him enforced, retires his ward;
But, as they open, they all rate his ill, 
Which drives the creeping thief to some regard:
The threshold grates the door to have him heard;
Night-wandering weasels shriek to see him there;
They fright him, yet he still pursues his fear.

RHYME a b a b b c c

As each unwilling portal yields him way, 
Through little vents and crannies of the place
The wind wars with his torch to make him stay,
And blows the smoke of it into his face,
Extinguishing his conduct in this case;
But his hot heart, which fond desire doth scorch, 
Puffs forth another wind that fires the torch:

RHYME a b a b b c c

And being lighted, by the light he spies
Lucretia's glove, wherein her needle sticks:
He takes it from the rushes where it lies,
And griping it, the needle his finger pricks; 
As who should say 'This glove to wanton tricks
Is not inured; return again in haste;
Thou see'st our mistress' ornaments are chaste.'

RHYME a b a b b c c

But all these poor forbiddings could not stay him;
He in the worst sense construes their denial: 
The doors, the wind, the glove, that did delay him,
He takes for accidental things of trial;
Or as those bars which stop the hourly dial,
Who with a lingering slay his course doth let,
Till every minute pays the hour his debt. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

'So, so,' quoth he, 'these lets attend the time,
Like little frosts that sometime threat the spring,
To add a more rejoicing to the prime,
And give the sneaped birds more cause to sing.
Pain pays the income of each precious thing; 
Huge rocks, high winds, strong pirates, shelves and sands,
The merchant fears, ere rich at home he lands.'

RHYME a b a b b c c

Now is he come unto the chamber-door,
That shuts him from the heaven of his thought,
Which with a yielding latch, and with no more, 
Hath barr'd him from the blessed thing be sought.
So from himself impiety hath wrought,
That for his prey to pray he doth begin,
As if the heavens should countenance his sin.

RHYME a b a b b c c

But in the midst of his unfruitful prayer, 
Having solicited th' eternal power
That his foul thoughts might compass his fair fair,
And they would stand auspicious to the hour,
Even there he starts: quoth he, 'I must deflower:
The powers to whom I pray abhor this fact, 
How can they then assist me in the act?

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Then Love and Fortune be my gods, my guide!
My will is back'd with resolution:
Thoughts are but dreams till their effects be tried;
The blackest sin is clear'd with absolution; 
Against love's fire fear's frost hath dissolution.
The eye of heaven is out, and misty night
Covers the shame that follows sweet delight.'

RHYME a b a b b c c

This said, his guilty hand pluck'd up the latch,
And with his knee the door he opens wide. 
The dove sleeps fast that this night-owl will catch:
Thus treason works ere traitors be espied.
Who sees the lurking serpent steps aside;
But she, sound sleeping, fearing no such thing,
Lies at the mercy of his mortal sting. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

Into the chamber wickedly he stalks,
And gazeth on her yet unstained bed.
The curtains being close, about he walks,
Rolling his greedy eyeballs in his head:
By their high treason is his heart misled; 
Which gives the watch-word to his hand full soon
To draw the cloud that hides the silver moon.

RHYME a b a b b c c

Look, as the fair and fiery-pointed sun,
Rushing from forth a cloud, bereaves our sight;
Even so, the curtain drawn, his eyes begun 
To wink, being blinded with a greater light:
Whether it is that she reflects so bright,
That dazzleth them, or else some shame supposed;
But blind they are, and keep themselves enclosed.

RHYME a b a b b c c

O, had they in that darksome prison died! 
Then had they seen the period of their ill;
Then Collatine again, by Lucrece' side,
In his clear bed might have reposed still:
But they must ope, this blessed league to kill;
And holy-thoughted Lucrece to their sight 
Must sell her joy, her life, her world's delight.

RHYME a b a b b c c

Her lily hand her rosy cheek lies under,
Cozening the pillow of a lawful kiss;
Who, therefore angry, seems to part in sunder,
Swelling on either side to want his bliss; 
Between whose hills her head entombed is:
Where, like a virtuous monument, she lies,
To be admired of lewd unhallow'd eyes.

RHYME a b a b b c c

Without the bed her other fair hand was,
On the green coverlet; whose perfect white 
Show'd like an April daisy on the grass,
With pearly sweat, resembling dew of night.
Her eyes, like marigolds, had sheathed their light,
And canopied in darkness sweetly lay,
Till they might open to adorn the day. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

Her hair, like golden threads, play'd with her breath;
O modest wantons! wanton modesty!
Showing life's triumph in the map of death,
And death's dim look in life's mortality:
Each in her sleep themselves so beautify, 
As if between them twain there were no strife,
But that life lived in death, and death in life.

RHYME a b a b b c c

Her breasts, like ivory globes circled with blue,
A pair of maiden worlds unconquered,
Save of their lord no bearing yoke they knew, 
And him by oath they truly honoured.
These worlds in Tarquin new ambition bred;
Who, like a foul ursurper, went about
From this fair throne to heave the owner out.

RHYME a b a b b c c

What could he see but mightily he noted? 
What did he note but strongly he desired?
What he beheld, on that he firmly doted,
And in his will his wilful eye he tired.
With more than admiration he admired
Her azure veins, her alabaster skin, 
Her coral lips, her snow-white dimpled chin.

RHYME a b a b b c c

As the grim lion fawneth o'er his prey,
Sharp hunger by the conquest satisfied,
So o'er this sleeping soul doth Tarquin stay,
His rage of lust by gazing qualified; 
Slack'd, not suppress'd; for standing by her side,
His eye, which late this mutiny restrains,
Unto a greater uproar tempts his veins:

RHYME a b a b b c c

And they, like straggling slaves for pillage fighting,
Obdurate vassals fell exploits effecting, 
In bloody death and ravishment delighting,
Nor children's tears nor mothers' groans respecting,
Swell in their pride, the onset still expecting:
Anon his beating heart, alarum striking,
Gives the hot charge and bids them do their liking. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

His drumming heart cheers up his burning eye,
His eye commends the leading to his hand;
His hand, as proud of such a dignity,
Smoking with pride, march'd on to make his stand
On her bare breast, the heart of all her land; 
Whose ranks of blue veins, as his hand did scale,
Left there round turrets destitute and pale.

RHYME a b a b b c c

They, mustering to the quiet cabinet
Where their dear governess and lady lies,
Do tell her she is dreadfully beset, 
And fright her with confusion of their cries:
She, much amazed, breaks ope her lock'd-up eyes,
Who, peeping forth this tumult to behold,
Are by his flaming torch dimm'd and controll'd.

RHYME a b a b b c c

Imagine her as one in dead of night 
From forth dull sleep by dreadful fancy waking,
That thinks she hath beheld some ghastly sprite,
Whose grim aspect sets every joint a-shaking;
What terror or 'tis! but she, in worser taking,
From sleep disturbed, heedfully doth view 
The sight which makes supposed terror true.

RHYME a b a b b c c

Wrapp'd and confounded in a thousand fears,
Like to a new-kill'd bird she trembling lies;
She dares not look; yet, winking, there appears
Quick-shifting antics, ugly in her eyes: 
Such shadows are the weak brain's forgeries;
Who, angry that the eyes fly from their lights,
In darkness daunts them with more dreadful sights.

RHYME a b a b b c c

His hand, that yet remains upon her breast,--
Rude ram, to batter such an ivory wall!-- 
May feel her heart-poor citizen!--distress'd,
Wounding itself to death, rise up and fall,
Beating her bulk, that his hand shakes withal.
This moves in him more rage and lesser pity,
To make the breach and enter this sweet city. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

First, like a trumpet, doth his tongue begin
To sound a parley to his heartless foe;
Who o'er the white sheet peers her whiter chin,
The reason of this rash alarm to know,
Which he by dumb demeanor seeks to show; 
But she with vehement prayers urgeth still
Under what colour he commits this ill.

RHYME a b a b b c c

Thus he replies: 'The colour in thy face,
That even for anger makes the lily pale,
And the red rose blush at her own disgrace, 
Shall plead for me and tell my loving tale:
Under that colour am I come to scale
Thy never-conquer'd fort: the fault is thine,
For those thine eyes betray thee unto mine.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Thus I forestall thee, if thou mean to chide: 
Thy beauty hath ensnared thee to this night,
Where thou with patience must my will abide;
My will that marks thee for my earth's delight,
Which I to conquer sought with all my might;
But as reproof and reason beat it dead, 
By thy bright beauty was it newly bred.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'I see what crosses my attempt will bring;
I know what thorns the growing rose defends;
I think the honey guarded with a sting;
All this beforehand counsel comprehends: 
But will is deaf and hears no heedful friends;
Only he hath an eye to gaze on beauty,
And dotes on what he looks, 'gainst law or duty.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'I have debated, even in my soul,
What wrong, what shame, what sorrow I shall breed; 
But nothing can affection's course control,
Or stop the headlong fury of his speed.
I know repentant tears ensue the deed,
Reproach, disdain, and deadly enmity;
Yet strive I to embrace mine infamy.' 

RHYME a b a b b c c

This said, he shakes aloft his Roman blade,
Which, like a falcon towering in the skies,
Coucheth the fowl below with his wings' shade,
Whose crooked beak threats if he mount he dies:
So under his insulting falchion lies 
Harmless Lucretia, marking what he tells
With trembling fear, as fowl hear falcon's bells.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Lucrece,' quoth he,'this night I must enjoy thee:
If thou deny, then force must work my way,
For in thy bed I purpose to destroy thee: 
That done, some worthless slave of thine I'll slay,
To kill thine honour with thy life's decay;
And in thy dead arms do I mean to place him,
Swearing I slew him, seeing thee embrace him.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'So thy surviving husband shall remain 
The scornful mark of every open eye;
Thy kinsmen hang their heads at this disdain,
Thy issue blurr'd with nameless bastardy:
And thou, the author of their obloquy,
Shalt have thy trespass cited up in rhymes, 
And sung by children in succeeding times.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'But if thou yield, I rest thy secret friend:
The fault unknown is as a thought unacted;
A little harm done to a great good end
For lawful policy remains enacted. 
The poisonous simple sometimes is compacted
In a pure compound; being so applied,
His venom in effect is purified.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Then, for thy husband and thy children's sake,
Tender my suit: bequeath not to their lot 
The shame that from them no device can take,
The blemish that will never be forgot;
Worse than a slavish wipe or birth-hour's blot:
For marks descried in men's nativity
Are nature's faults, not their own infamy.' 

RHYME a b a b b c c

Here with a cockatrice' dead-killing eye
He rouseth up himself and makes a pause;
While she, the picture of pure piety,
Like a white hind under the gripe's sharp claws,
Pleads, in a wilderness where are no laws, 
To the rough beast that knows no gentle right,
Nor aught obeys but his foul appetite.

RHYME a b a b b c c

But when a black-faced cloud the world doth threat,
In his dim mist the aspiring mountains hiding,
From earth's dark womb some gentle gust doth get, 
Which blows these pitchy vapours from their bidding,
Hindering their present fall by this dividing;
So his unhallow'd haste her words delays,
And moody Pluto winks while Orpheus plays.

RHYME a b a b b c c

Yet, foul night-waking cat, he doth but dally, 
While in his hold-fast foot the weak mouse panteth:
Her sad behavior feeds his vulture folly,
A swallowing gulf that even in plenty wanteth:
His ear her prayers admits, but his heart granteth
No penetrable entrance to her plaining: 
Tears harden lust, though marble wear with raining.

RHYME a b a b b c c

Her pity-pleading eyes are sadly fix'd
In the remorseless wrinkles of his face;
Her modest eloquence with sighs is mix'd,
Which to her oratory adds more grace. 
She puts the period often from his place;
And midst the sentence so her accent breaks,
That twice she doth begin ere once she speaks.

RHYME a b a b b c c

She conjures him by high almighty Jove,
By knighthood, gentry, and sweet friendship's oath, 
By her untimely tears, her husband's love,
By holy human law, and common troth,
By heaven and earth, and all the power of both,
That to his borrow'd bed he make retire,
And stoop to honour, not to foul desire. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

Quoth she, 'Reward not hospitality
With such black payment as thou hast pretended;
Mud not the fountain that gave drink to thee;
Mar not the thing that cannot be amended;
End thy ill aim before thy shoot be ended; 
He is no woodman that doth bend his bow
To strike a poor unseasonable doe.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'My husband is thy friend; for his sake spare me:
Thyself art mighty; for thine own sake leave me:
Myself a weakling; do not then ensnare me: 
Thou look'st not like deceit; do not deceive me.
My sighs, like whirlwinds, labour hence to heave thee:
If ever man were moved with woman moans,
Be moved with my tears, my sighs, my groans:

RHYME a b a b b c c

'All which together, like a troubled ocean, 
Beat at thy rocky and wreck-threatening heart,
To soften it with their continual motion;
For stones dissolved to water do convert.
O, if no harder than a stone thou art,
Melt at my tears, and be compassionate! 
Soft pity enters at an iron gate.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'In Tarquin's likeness I did entertain thee:
Hast thou put on his shape to do him shame?
To all the host of heaven I complain me,
Thou wrong'st his honour, wound'st his princely name. 
Thou art not what thou seem'st; and if the same,
Thou seem'st not what thou art, a god, a king;
For kings like gods should govern everything.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'How will thy shame be seeded in thine age,
When thus thy vices bud before thy spring! 
If in thy hope thou darest do such outrage,
What darest thou not when once thou art a king?
O, be remember'd, no outrageous thing
From vassal actors can be wiped away;
Then kings' misdeeds cannot be hid in clay. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

'This deed will make thee only loved for fear;
But happy monarchs still are fear'd for love:
With foul offenders thou perforce must bear,
When they in thee the like offences prove:
If but for fear of this, thy will remove; 
For princes are the glass, the school, the book,
Where subjects' eyes do learn, do read, do look.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'And wilt thou be the school where Lust shall learn?
Must he in thee read lectures of such shame?
Wilt thou be glass wherein it shall discern 
Authority for sin, warrant for blame,
To privilege dishonour in thy name?
Thou black'st reproach against long-living laud,
And makest fair reputation but a bawd.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Hast thou command? by him that gave it thee, 
From a pure heart command thy rebel will:
Draw not thy sword to guard iniquity,
For it was lent thee all that brood to kill.
Thy princely office how canst thou fulfil,
When, pattern'd by thy fault, foul sin may say, 
He learn'd to sin, and thou didst teach the way?

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Think but how vile a spectacle it were,
To view thy present trespass in another.
Men's faults do seldom to themselves appear;
Their own transgressions partially they smother: 
This guilt would seem death-worthy in thy brother.
O, how are they wrapp'd in with infamies
That from their own misdeeds askance their eyes!

RHYME a b a b b c c

'To thee, to thee, my heaved-up hands appeal,
Not to seducing lust, thy rash relier: 
I sue for exiled majesty's repeal;
Let him return, and flattering thoughts retire:
His true respect will prison false desire,
And wipe the dim mist from thy doting eyne,
That thou shalt see thy state and pity mine.' 

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Have done,' quoth he: 'my uncontrolled tide
Turns not, but swells the higher by this let.
Small lights are soon blown out, huge fires abide,
And with the wind in greater fury fret:
The petty streams that pay a daily debt 
To their salt sovereign, with their fresh falls' haste
Add to his flow, but alter not his taste.'

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Thou art,' quoth she, 'a sea, a sovereign king;
And, lo, there falls into thy boundless flood
Black lust, dishonour, shame, misgoverning, 
Who seek to stain the ocean of thy blood.
If all these pretty ills shall change thy good,
Thy sea within a puddle's womb is hearsed,
And not the puddle in thy sea dispersed.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'So shall these slaves be king, and thou their slave; 
Thou nobly base, they basely dignified;
Thou their fair life, and they thy fouler grave:
Thou loathed in their shame, they in thy pride:
The lesser thing should not the greater hide;
The cedar stoops not to the base shrub's foot, 
But low shrubs wither at the cedar's root.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'So let thy thoughts, low vassals to thy state'--
No more,' quoth he; 'by heaven, I will not hear thee:
Yield to my love; if not, enforced hate,
Instead of love's coy touch, shall rudely tear thee; 
That done, despitefully I mean to bear thee
Unto the base bed of some rascal groom,
To be thy partner in this shameful doom.'

RHYME a b a b b c c

This said, he sets his foot upon the light,
For light and lust are deadly enemies: 
Shame folded up in blind concealing night,
When most unseen, then most doth tyrannize.
The wolf hath seized his prey, the poor lamb cries;
Till with her own white fleece her voice controll'd
Entombs her outcry in her lips' sweet fold: 

RHYME a b a b b c c

For with the nightly linen that she wears
He pens her piteous clamours in her head;
Cooling his hot face in the chastest tears
That ever modest eyes with sorrow shed.
O, that prone lust should stain so pure a bed! 
The spots whereof could weeping purify,
Her tears should drop on them perpetually.

RHYME a b a b b c c

But she hath lost a dearer thing than life,
And he hath won what he would lose again:
This forced league doth force a further strife; 
This momentary joy breeds months of pain;
This hot desire converts to cold disdain:
Pure Chastity is rifled of her store,
And Lust, the thief, far poorer than before.

RHYME a b a b b c c

Look, as the full-fed hound or gorged hawk, 
Unapt for tender smell or speedy flight,
Make slow pursuit, or altogether balk
The prey wherein by nature they delight;
So surfeit-taking Tarquin fares this night:
His taste delicious, in digestion souring, 
Devours his will, that lived by foul devouring.

RHYME a b a b b c c

O, deeper sin than bottomless conceit
Can comprehend in still imagination!
Drunken Desire must vomit his receipt,
Ere he can see his own abomination. 
While Lust is in his pride, no exclamation
Can curb his heat or rein his rash desire,
Till like a jade Self-will himself doth tire.

RHYME a b a b b c c

And then with lank and lean discolour'd cheek,
With heavy eye, knit brow, and strengthless pace, 
Feeble Desire, all recreant, poor, and meek,
Like to a bankrupt beggar wails his case:
The flesh being proud, Desire doth fight with Grace,
For there it revels; and when that decays,
The guilty rebel for remission prays. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

So fares it with this faultful lord of Rome,
Who this accomplishment so hotly chased;
For now against himself he sounds this doom,
That through the length of times he stands disgraced:
Besides, his soul's fair temple is defaced; 
To whose weak ruins muster troops of cares,
To ask the spotted princess how she fares.

RHYME a b a b b c c

She says, her subjects with foul insurrection
Have batter'd down her consecrated wall,
And by their mortal fault brought in subjection 
Her immortality, and made her thrall
To living death and pain perpetual:
Which in her prescience she controlled still,
But her foresight could not forestall their will.

RHYME a b a b b c c

Even in this thought through the dark night he stealeth, 
A captive victor that hath lost in gain;
Bearing away the wound that nothing healeth,
The scar that will, despite of cure, remain;
Leaving his spoil perplex'd in greater pain.
She bears the load of lust he left behind, 
And he the burden of a guilty mind.

RHYME a b a b b c c

He like a thievish dog creeps sadly thence;
She like a wearied lamb lies panting there;
He scowls and hates himself for his offence;
She, desperate, with her nails her flesh doth tear; 
He faintly flies, sneaking with guilty fear;
She stays, exclaiming on the direful night;
He runs, and chides his vanish'd, loathed delight.

RHYME a b a b b c c

He thence departs a heavy convertite;
She there remains a hopeless castaway; 
He in his speed looks for the morning light;
She prays she never may behold the day,
'For day,' quoth she, 'nights scapes doth open lay,
And my true eyes have never practised how
To cloak offences with a cunning brow. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

'They think not but that every eye can see
The same disgrace which they themselves behold;
And therefore would they still in darkness be,
To have their unseen sin remain untold;
For they their guilt with weeping will unfold, 
And grave, like water that doth eat in steel,
Upon my cheeks what helpless shame I feel.'

RHYME a b a b b c c

Here she exclaims against repose and rest,
And bids her eyes hereafter still be blind.
She wakes her heart by beating on her breast, 
And bids it leap from thence, where it may find
Some purer chest to close so pure a mind.
Frantic with grief thus breathes she forth her spite
Against the unseen secrecy of night:

RHYME a b a b b c c

'O comfort-killing Night, image of hell! 
Dim register and notary of shame!
Black stage for tragedies and murders fell!
Vast sin-concealing chaos! nurse of blame!
Blind muffled bawd! dark harbour for defame!
Grim cave of death! whispering conspirator 
With close-tongued treason and the ravisher!

RHYME a b a b b c c

'O hateful, vaporous, and foggy Night!
Since thou art guilty of my cureless crime,
Muster thy mists to meet the eastern light,
Make war against proportion'd course of time; 
Or if thou wilt permit the sun to climb
His wonted height, yet ere he go to bed,
Knit poisonous clouds about his golden head.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'With rotten damps ravish the morning air;
Let their exhaled unwholesome breaths make sick 
The life of purity, the supreme fair,
Ere he arrive his weary noon-tide prick;
And let thy misty vapours march so thick,
That in their smoky ranks his smother'd light
May set at noon and make perpetual night. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Were Tarquin Night, as he is but Night's child,
The silver-shining queen he would distain;
Her twinkling handmaids too, by him defiled,
Through Night's black bosom should not peep again:
So should I have co-partners in my pain; 
And fellowship in woe doth woe assuage,
As palmers' chat makes short their pilgrimage.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Where now I have no one to blush with me,
To cross their arms and hang their heads with mine,
To mask their brows and hide their infamy; 
But I alone alone must sit and pine,
Seasoning the earth with showers of silver brine,
Mingling my talk with tears, my grief with groans,
Poor wasting monuments of lasting moans.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'O Night, thou furnace of foul-reeking smoke, 
Let not the jealous Day behold that face
Which underneath thy black all-hiding cloak
Immodestly lies martyr'd with disgrace!
Keep still possession of thy gloomy place,
That all the faults which in thy reign are made 
May likewise be sepulchred in thy shade!

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Make me not object to the tell-tale Day!
The light will show, character'd in my brow,
The story of sweet chastity's decay,
The impious breach of holy wedlock vow: 
Yea the illiterate, that know not how
To cipher what is writ in learned books,
Will quote my loathsome trespass in my looks.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'The nurse, to still her child, will tell my story,
And fright her crying babe with Tarquin's name; 
The orator, to deck his oratory,
Will couple my reproach to Tarquin's shame;
Feast-finding minstrels, tuning my defame,
Will tie the hearers to attend each line,
How Tarquin wronged me, I Collatine. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Let my good name, that senseless reputation,
For Collatine's dear love be kept unspotted:
If that be made a theme for disputation,
The branches of another root are rotted,
And undeserved reproach to him allotted 
That is as clear from this attaint of mine
As I, ere this, was pure to Collatine.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'O unseen shame! invisible disgrace!
O unfelt sore! crest-wounding, private scar!
Reproach is stamp'd in Collatinus' face, 
And Tarquin's eye may read the mot afar,
How he in peace is wounded, not in war.
Alas, how many bear such shameful blows,
Which not themselves, but he that gives them knows!

RHYME a b a b b c c

'If, Collatine, thine honour lay in me, 
From me by strong assault it is bereft.
My honour lost, and I, a drone-like bee,
Have no perfection of my summer left,
But robb'd and ransack'd by injurious theft:
In thy weak hive a wandering wasp hath crept, 
And suck'd the honey which thy chaste bee kept.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Yet am I guilty of thy honour's wrack;
Yet for thy honour did I entertain him;
Coming from thee, I could not put him back,
For it had been dishonour to disdain him: 
Besides, of weariness he did complain him,
And talk'd of virtue: O unlook'd-for evil,
When virtue is profaned in such a devil!

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Why should the worm intrude the maiden bud?
Or hateful cuckoos hatch in sparrows' nests? 
Or toads infect fair founts with venom mud?
Or tyrant folly lurk in gentle breasts?
Or kings be breakers of their own behests?
But no perfection is so absolute,
That some impurity doth not pollute. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

'The aged man that coffers-up his gold
Is plagued with cramps and gouts and painful fits;
And scarce hath eyes his treasure to behold,
But like still-pining Tantalus he sits,
And useless barns the harvest of his wits; 
Having no other pleasure of his gain
But torment that it cannot cure his pain.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'So then he hath it when he cannot use it,
And leaves it to be master'd by his young;
Who in their pride do presently abuse it: 
Their father was too weak, and they too strong,
To hold their cursed-blessed fortune long.
The sweets we wish for turn to loathed sours
Even in the moment that we call them ours.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring; 
Unwholesome weeds take root with precious flowers;
The adder hisses where the sweet birds sing;
What virtue breeds iniquity devours:
We have no good that we can say is ours,
But ill-annexed Opportunity 
Or kills his life or else his quality.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'O Opportunity, thy guilt is great!
'Tis thou that executest the traitor's treason:
Thou set'st the wolf where he the lamb may get;
Whoever plots the sin, thou 'point'st the season; 
'Tis thou that spurn'st at right, at law, at reason;
And in thy shady cell, where none may spy him,
Sits Sin, to seize the souls that wander by him.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Thou makest the vestal violate her oath;
Thou blow'st the fire when temperance is thaw'd; 
Thou smother'st honesty, thou murder'st troth;
Thou foul abettor! thou notorious bawd!
Thou plantest scandal and displacest laud:
Thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou false thief,
Thy honey turns to gall, thy joy to grief! 

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame,
Thy private feasting to a public fast,
Thy smoothing titles to a ragged name,
Thy sugar'd tongue to bitter wormwood taste:
Thy violent vanities can never last. 
How comes it then, vile Opportunity,
Being so bad, such numbers seek for thee?

RHYME a b a b b c c

'When wilt thou be the humble suppliant's friend,
And bring him where his suit may be obtain'd?
When wilt thou sort an hour great strifes to end? 
Or free that soul which wretchedness hath chain'd?
Give physic to the sick, ease to the pain'd?
The poor, lame, blind, halt, creep, cry out for thee;
But they ne'er meet with Opportunity.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'The patient dies while the physician sleeps; 
The orphan pines while the oppressor feeds;
Justice is feasting while the widow weeps;
Advice is sporting while infection breeds:
Thou grant'st no time for charitable deeds:
Wrath, envy, treason, rape, and murder's rages, 
Thy heinous hours wait on them as their pages.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'When Truth and Virtue have to do with thee,
A thousand crosses keep them from thy aid:
They buy thy help; but Sin ne'er gives a fee,
He gratis comes; and thou art well appaid 
As well to hear as grant what he hath said.
My Collatine would else have come to me
When Tarquin did, but he was stay'd by thee.

RHYME a b a b b c c

Guilty thou art of murder and of theft,
Guilty of perjury and subornation, 
Guilty of treason, forgery, and shift,
Guilty of incest, that abomination;
An accessary by thine inclination
To all sins past, and all that are to come,
From the creation to the general doom. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Mis-shapen Time, copesmate of ugly Night,
Swift subtle post, carrier of grisly care,
Eater of youth, false slave to false delight,
Base watch of woes, sin's pack-horse, virtue's snare;
Thou nursest all and murder'st all that are: 
O, hear me then, injurious, shifting Time!
Be guilty of my death, since of my crime.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Why hath thy servant, Opportunity,
Betray'd the hours thou gavest me to repose,
Cancell'd my fortunes, and enchained me 
To endless date of never-ending woes?
Time's office is to fine the hate of foes;
To eat up errors by opinion bred,
Not spend the dowry of a lawful bed.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Time's glory is to calm contending kings, 
To unmask falsehood and bring truth to light,
To stamp the seal of time in aged things,
To wake the morn and sentinel the night,
To wrong the wronger till he render right,
To ruinate proud buildings with thy hours, 
And smear with dust their glittering golden towers;

RHYME a b a b b c c

'To fill with worm-holes stately monuments,
To feed oblivion with decay of things,
To blot old books and alter their contents,
To pluck the quills from ancient ravens' wings, 
To dry the old oak's sap and cherish springs,
To spoil antiquities of hammer'd steel,
And turn the giddy round of Fortune's wheel;

RHYME a b a b b c c

'To show the beldam daughters of her daughter,
To make the child a man, the man a child, 
To slay the tiger that doth live by slaughter,
To tame the unicorn and lion wild,
To mock the subtle in themselves beguiled,
To cheer the ploughman with increaseful crops,
And waste huge stones with little water drops. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Why work'st thou mischief in thy pilgrimage,
Unless thou couldst return to make amends?
One poor retiring minute in an age
Would purchase thee a thousand thousand friends,
Lending him wit that to bad debtors lends: 
O, this dread night, wouldst thou one hour come back,
I could prevent this storm and shun thy wrack!

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Thou ceaseless lackey to eternity,
With some mischance cross Tarquin in his flight:
Devise extremes beyond extremity, 
To make him curse this cursed crimeful night:
Let ghastly shadows his lewd eyes affright;
And the dire thought of his committed evil
Shape every bush a hideous shapeless devil.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Disturb his hours of rest with restless trances, 
Afflict him in his bed with bedrid groans;
Let there bechance him pitiful mischances,
To make him moan; but pity not his moans:
Stone him with harden'd hearts harder than stones;
And let mild women to him lose their mildness, 
Wilder to him than tigers in their wildness.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Let him have time to tear his curled hair,
Let him have time against himself to rave,
Let him have time of Time's help to despair,
Let him have time to live a loathed slave, 
Let him have time a beggar's orts to crave,
And time to see one that by alms doth live
Disdain to him disdained scraps to give.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Let him have time to see his friends his foes,
And merry fools to mock at him resort; 
Let him have time to mark how slow time goes
In time of sorrow, and how swift and short
His time of folly and his time of sport;
And ever let his unrecalling crime
Have time to wail th' abusing of his time. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

'O Time, thou tutor both to good and bad,
Teach me to curse him that thou taught'st this ill!
At his own shadow let the thief run mad,
Himself himself seek every hour to kill!
Such wretched hands such wretched blood should spill; 
For who so base would such an office have
As slanderous death's-man to so base a slave?

RHYME a b a b b c c

'The baser is he, coming from a king,
To shame his hope with deeds degenerate:
The mightier man, the mightier is the thing 
That makes him honour'd, or begets him hate;
For greatest scandal waits on greatest state.
The moon being clouded presently is miss'd,
But little stars may hide them when they list.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'The crow may bathe his coal-black wings in mire, 
And unperceived fly with the filth away;
But if the like the snow-white swan desire,
The stain upon his silver down will stay.
Poor grooms are sightless night, kings glorious day:
Gnats are unnoted wheresoe'er they fly, 
But eagles gazed upon with every eye.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Out, idle words, servants to shallow fools!
Unprofitable sounds, weak arbitrators!
Busy yourselves in skill-contending schools;
Debate where leisure serves with dull debaters; 
To trembling clients be you mediators:
For me, I force not argument a straw,
Since that my case is past the help of law.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'In vain I rail at Opportunity,
At Time, at Tarquin, and uncheerful Night; 
In vain I cavil with mine infamy,
In vain I spurn at my confirm'd despite:
This helpless smoke of words doth me no right.
The remedy indeed to do me good
Is to let forth my foul-defiled blood. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Poor hand, why quiver'st thou at this decree?
Honour thyself to rid me of this shame:
For if I die, my honour lives in thee;
But if I live, thou livest in my defame:
Since thou couldst not defend thy loyal dame, 
And wast afeard to scratch her wicked foe,
Kill both thyself and her for yielding so.'

RHYME a b a b b c c

This said, from her be-tumbled couch she starteth,
To find some desperate instrument of death:
But this no slaughterhouse no tool imparteth 
To make more vent for passage of her breath;
Which, thronging through her lips, so vanisheth
As smoke from AEtna, that in air consumes,
Or that which from discharged cannon fumes.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'In vain,' quoth she, 'I live, and seek in vain 
Some happy mean to end a hapless life.
I fear'd by Tarquin's falchion to be slain,
Yet for the self-same purpose seek a knife:
But when I fear'd I was a loyal wife:
So am I now: O no, that cannot be; 
Of that true type hath Tarquin rifled me.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'O, that is gone for which I sought to live,
And therefore now I need not fear to die.
To clear this spot by death, at least I give
A badge of fame to slander's livery; 
A dying life to living infamy:
Poor helpless help, the treasure stol'n away,
To burn the guiltless casket where it lay!

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Well, well, dear Collatine, thou shalt not know
The stained taste of violated troth; 
I will not wrong thy true affection so,
To flatter thee with an infringed oath;
This bastard graff shall never come to growth:
He shall not boast who did thy stock pollute
That thou art doting father of his fruit. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Nor shall he smile at thee in secret thought,
Nor laugh with his companions at thy state:
But thou shalt know thy interest was not bought
Basely with gold, but stol'n from forth thy gate.
For me, I am the mistress of my fate, 
And with my trespass never will dispense,
Till life to death acquit my forced offence.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'I will not poison thee with my attaint,
Nor fold my fault in cleanly-coin'd excuses;
My sable ground of sin I will not paint, 
To hide the truth of this false night's abuses:
My tongue shall utter all; mine eyes, like sluices,
As from a mountain-spring that feeds a dale,
Shall gush pure streams to purge my impure tale.'

RHYME a b a b b c c

By this, lamenting Philomel had ended 
The well-tuned warble of her nightly sorrow,
And solemn night with slow sad gait descended
To ugly hell; when, lo, the blushing morrow
Lends light to all fair eyes that light will borrow:
But cloudy Lucrece shames herself to see, 
And therefore still in night would cloister'd be.

RHYME a b a b b c c

Revealing day through every cranny spies,
And seems to point her out where she sits weeping;
To whom she sobbing speaks: 'O eye of eyes,
Why pry'st thou through my window? leave thy peeping: 
Mock with thy tickling beams eyes that are sleeping:
Brand not my forehead with thy piercing light,
For day hath nought to do what's done by night.'

RHYME a b a b b c c

Thus cavils she with every thing she sees:
True grief is fond and testy as a child, 
Who wayward once, his mood with nought agrees:
Old woes, not infant sorrows, bear them mild;
Continuance tames the one; the other wild,
Like an unpractised swimmer plunging still,
With too much labour drowns for want of skill. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

So she, deep-drenched in a sea of care,
Holds disputation with each thing she views,
And to herself all sorrow doth compare;
No object but her passion's strength renews;
And as one shifts, another straight ensues: 
Sometime her grief is dumb and hath no words;
Sometime 'tis mad and too much talk affords.

RHYME a b a b b c c

The little birds that tune their morning's joy
Make her moans mad with their sweet melody:
For mirth doth search the bottom of annoy; 
Sad souls are slain in merry company;
Grief best is pleased with grief's society:
True sorrow then is feelingly sufficed
When with like semblance it is sympathized.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Tis double death to drown in ken of shore; 
He ten times pines that pines beholding food;
To see the salve doth make the wound ache more;
Great grief grieves most at that would do it good;
Deep woes roll forward like a gentle flood,
Who being stopp'd, the bounding banks o'erflows; 
Grief dallied with nor law nor limit knows.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'You mocking-birds,' quoth she, 'your tunes entomb
Within your hollow-swelling feather'd breasts,
And in my hearing be you mute and dumb:
My restless discord loves no stops nor rests; 
A woeful hostess brooks not merry guests:
Relish your nimble notes to pleasing ears;
Distress likes dumps when time is kept with tears.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Come, Philomel, that sing'st of ravishment,
Make thy sad grove in my dishevell'd hair: 
As the dank earth weeps at thy languishment,
So I at each sad strain will strain a tear,
And with deep groans the diapason bear;
For burden-wise I'll hum on Tarquin still,
While thou on Tereus descant'st better skill. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

'And whiles against a thorn thou bear'st thy part,
To keep thy sharp woes waking, wretched I,
To imitate thee well, against my heart
Will fix a sharp knife to affright mine eye;
Who, if it wink, shall thereon fall and die. 
These means, as frets upon an instrument,
Shall tune our heart-strings to true languishment.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'And for, poor bird, thou sing'st not in the day,
As shaming any eye should thee behold,
Some dark deep desert, seated from the way, 
That knows not parching heat nor freezing cold,
Will we find out; and there we will unfold
To creatures stern sad tunes, to change their kinds:
Since men prove beasts, let beasts bear gentle minds.'

RHYME a b a b b c c

As the poor frighted deer, that stands at gaze, 
Wildly determining which way to fly,
Or one encompass'd with a winding maze,
That cannot tread the way out readily;
So with herself is she in mutiny,
To live or die which of the twain were better, 
When life is shamed, and death reproach's debtor.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'To kill myself,' quoth she, 'alack, what were it,
But with my body my poor soul's pollution?
They that lose half with greater patience bear it
Than they whose whole is swallow'd in confusion. 
That mother tries a merciless conclusion
Who, having two sweet babes, when death takes one,
Will slay the other and be nurse to none.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'My body or my soul, which was the dearer,
When the one pure, the other made divine? 
Whose love of either to myself was nearer,
When both were kept for heaven and Collatine?
Ay me! the bark peel'd from the lofty pine,
His leaves will wither and his sap decay;
So must my soul, her bark being peel'd away. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Her house is sack'd, her quiet interrupted,
Her mansion batter'd by the enemy;
Her sacred temple spotted, spoil'd, corrupted,
Grossly engirt with daring infamy:
Then let it not be call'd impiety, 
If in this blemish'd fort I make some hole
Through which I may convey this troubled soul.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Yet die I will not till my Collatine
Have heard the cause of my untimely death;
That he may vow, in that sad hour of mine, 
Revenge on him that made me stop my breath.
My stained blood to Tarquin I'll bequeath,
Which by him tainted shall for him be spent,
And as his due writ in my testament.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'My honour I'll bequeath unto the knife 
That wounds my body so dishonoured.
'Tis honour to deprive dishonour'd life;
The one will live, the other being dead:
So of shame's ashes shall my fame be bred;
For in my death I murder shameful scorn: 
My shame so dead, mine honour is new-born.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Dear lord of that dear jewel I have lost,
What legacy shall I bequeath to thee?
My resolution, love, shall be thy boast,
By whose example thou revenged mayest be. 
How Tarquin must be used, read it in me:
Myself, thy friend, will kill myself, thy foe,
And for my sake serve thou false Tarquin so.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'This brief abridgement of my will I make:
My soul and body to the skies and ground; 
My resolution, husband, do thou take;
Mine honour be the knife's that makes my wound;
My shame be his that did my fame confound;
And all my fame that lives disbursed be
To those that live, and think no shame of me. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Thou, Collatine, shalt oversee this will;
How was I overseen that thou shalt see it!
My blood shall wash the slander of mine ill;
My life's foul deed, my life's fair end shall free it.
Faint not, faint heart, but stoutly say 'So be it:' 
Yield to my hand; my hand shall conquer thee:
Thou dead, both die, and both shall victors be.'

RHYME a b a b b c c

This Plot of death when sadly she had laid,
And wiped the brinish pearl from her bright eyes,
With untuned tongue she hoarsely calls her maid, 
Whose swift obedience to her mistress hies;
For fleet-wing'd duty with thought's feathers flies.
Poor Lucrece' cheeks unto her maid seem so
As winter meads when sun doth melt their snow.

RHYME a b a b b c c

Her mistress she doth give demure good-morrow, 
With soft-slow tongue, true mark of modesty,
And sorts a sad look to her lady's sorrow,
For why her face wore sorrow's livery;
But durst not ask of her audaciously
Why her two suns were cloud-eclipsed so, 
Nor why her fair cheeks over-wash'd with woe.

RHYME a b a b b c c

But as the earth doth weep, the sun being set,
Each flower moisten'd like a melting eye;
Even so the maid with swelling drops gan wet
Her circled eyne, enforced by sympathy 
Of those fair suns set in her mistress' sky,
Who in a salt-waved ocean quench their light,
Which makes the maid weep like the dewy night.

RHYME a b a b b c c

A pretty while these pretty creatures stand,
Like ivory conduits coral cisterns filling: 
One justly weeps; the other takes in hand
No cause, but company, of her drops spilling:
Their gentle sex to weep are often willing;
Grieving themselves to guess at others' smarts,
And then they drown their eyes or break their hearts. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

For men have marble, women waxen, minds,
And therefore are they form'd as marble will;
The weak oppress'd, the impression of strange kinds
Is form'd in them by force, by fraud, or skill:
Then call them not the authors of their ill, 
No more than wax shall be accounted evil
Wherein is stamp'd the semblance of a devil.

RHYME a b a b b c c

Their smoothness, like a goodly champaign plain,
Lays open all the little worms that creep;
In men, as in a rough-grown grove, remain 
Cave-keeping evils that obscurely sleep:
Through crystal walls each little mote will peep:
Though men can cover crimes with bold stern looks,
Poor women's faces are their own fault's books.

RHYME a b a b b c c

No man inveigh against the wither'd flower, 
But chide rough winter that the flower hath kill'd:
Not that devour'd, but that which doth devour,
Is worthy blame. O, let it not be hild
Poor women's faults, that they are so fulfill'd
With men's abuses: those proud lords, to blame, 
Make weak-made women tenants to their shame.

RHYME a b a b b c c

The precedent whereof in Lucrece view,
Assail'd by night with circumstances strong
Of present death, and shame that might ensue
By that her death, to do her husband wrong: 
Such danger to resistance did belong,
That dying fear through all her body spread;
And who cannot abuse a body dead?

RHYME a b a b b c c

By this, mild patience bid fair Lucrece speak
To the poor counterfeit of her complaining: 
'My girl,' quoth she, 'on what occasion break
Those tears from thee, that down thy cheeks are raining?
If thou dost weep for grief of my sustaining,
Know, gentle wench, it small avails my mood: 
If tears could help, mine own would do me good.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'But tell me, girl, when went'--and there she stay'd
Till after a deep groan--'Tarquin from hence?'
'Madam, ere I was up,' replied the maid,
'The more to blame my sluggard negligence: 
Yet with the fault I thus far can dispense;
Myself was stirring ere the break of day,
And, ere I rose, was Tarquin gone away.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'But, lady, if your maid may be so bold,
She would request to know your heaviness.' 
'O, peace!' quoth Lucrece: 'if it should be told,
The repetition cannot make it less;
For more it is than I can well express:
And that deep torture may be call'd a hell
When more is felt than one hath power to tell. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Go, get me hither paper, ink, and pen:
Yet save that labour, for I have them here.
What should I say? One of my husband's men
Bid thou be ready, by and by, to bear
A letter to my lord, my love, my dear; 
Bid him with speed prepare to carry it;
The cause craves haste, and it will soon be writ.'

RHYME a b a b b c c

Her maid is gone, and she prepares to write,
First hovering o'er the paper with her quill:
Conceit and grief an eager combat fight; 
What wit sets down is blotted straight with will;
This is too curious-good, this blunt and ill:
Much like a press of people at a door,
Throng her inventions, which shall go before.

RHYME a b a b b c c

At last she thus begins: 'Thou worthy lord 
Of that unworthy wife that greeteth thee,
Health to thy person! next vouchsafe t' afford--
If ever, love, thy Lucrece thou wilt see--
Some present speed to come and visit me.
So, I commend me from our house in grief: 
My woes are tedious, though my words are brief.'

RHYME a b a b b c c

Here folds she up the tenor of her woe,
Her certain sorrow writ uncertainly.
By this short schedule Collatine may know
Her grief, but not her grief's true quality: 
She dares not thereof make discovery,
Lest he should hold it her own gross abuse,
Ere she with blood had stain'd her stain'd excuse.

RHYME a b a b b c c

Besides, the life and feeling of her passion
She hoards, to spend when he is by to hear her: 
When sighs and groans and tears may grace the fashion
Of her disgrace, the better so to clear her
From that suspicion which the world might bear her.
To shun this blot, she would not blot the letter
With words, till action might become them better. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

To see sad sights moves more than hear them told;
For then eye interprets to the ear
The heavy motion that it doth behold,
When every part a part of woe doth bear.
'Tis but a part of sorrow that we hear: 
Deep sounds make lesser noise than shallow fords,
And sorrow ebbs, being blown with wind of words.

RHYME a b a b b c c

Her letter now is seal'd, and on it writ
'At Ardea to my lord with more than haste.'
The post attends, and she delivers it, 
Charging the sour-faced groom to hie as fast
As lagging fowls before the northern blast:
Speed more than speed but dull and slow she deems:
Extremity still urgeth such extremes.

RHYME a b a b b c c

The homely villain court'sies to her low; 
And, blushing on her, with a steadfast eye
Receives the scroll without or yea or no,
And forth with bashful innocence doth hie.
But they whose guilt within their bosoms lie
Imagine every eye beholds their blame; 
For Lucrece thought he blush'd to her see shame:

RHYME a b a b b c c

When, silly groom! God wot, it was defect
Of spirit, Life, and bold audacity.
Such harmless creatures have a true respect
To talk in deeds, while others saucily 
Promise more speed, but do it leisurely:
Even so this pattern of the worn-out age
Pawn'd honest looks, but laid no words to gage.

RHYME a b a b b c c

His kindled duty kindled her mistrust,
That two red fires in both their faces blazed; 
She thought he blush'd, as knowing Tarquin's lust,
And, blushing with him, wistly on him gazed;
Her earnest eye did make him more amazed:
The more she saw the blood his cheeks replenish,
The more she thought he spied in her some blemish. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

But long she thinks till he return again,
And yet the duteous vassal scarce is gone.
The weary time she cannot entertain,
For now 'tis stale to sigh, to weep, and groan:
So woe hath wearied woe, moan tired moan, 
That she her plaints a little while doth stay,
Pausing for means to mourn some newer way.

RHYME a b a b b c c

At last she calls to mind where hangs a piece
Of skilful painting, made for Priam's Troy:
Before the which is drawn the power of Greece. 
For Helen's rape the city to destroy,
Threatening cloud-kissing Ilion with annoy;
Which the conceited painter drew so proud,
As heaven, it seem'd, to kiss the turrets bow'd.

RHYME a b a b b c c

A thousand lamentable objects there, 
In scorn of nature, art gave lifeless life:
Many a dry drop seem'd a weeping tear,
Shed for the slaughter'd husband by the wife:
The red blood reek'd, to show the painter's strife;
And dying eyes gleam'd forth their ashy lights, 
Like dying coals burnt out in tedious nights.

RHYME a b a b b c c

There might you see the labouring pioner
Begrimed with sweat, and smeared all with dust;
And from the towers of Troy there would appear
The very eyes of men through loop-holes thrust, 
Gazing upon the Greeks with little lust:
Such sweet observance in this work was had,
That one might see those far-off eyes look sad.

RHYME a b a b c c

In great commanders grace and majesty
You might behold, triumphing in their faces; 
In youth, quick bearing and dexterity;
Pale cowards, marching on with trembling paces;
Which heartless peasants did so well resemble,
That one would swear he saw them quake and tremble.

RHYME a b a b b c c

In Ajax and Ulysses, O, what art 
Of physiognomy might one behold!
The face of either cipher'd either's heart;
Their face their manners most expressly told:
In Ajax' eyes blunt rage and rigor roll'd;
But the mild glance that sly Ulysses lent 
Show'd deep regard and smiling government.

RHYME a b a b b c c

There pleading might you see grave Nestor stand,
As 'twere encouraging the Greeks to fight;
Making such sober action with his hand,
That it beguiled attention, charm'd the sight: 
In speech, it seem'd, his beard, all silver white,
Wagg'd up and down, and from his lips did fly
Thin winding breath, which purl'd up to the sky.

RHYME a b a b b c c

About him were a press of gaping faces,
Which seem'd to swallow up his sound advice; 
All jointly listening, but with several graces,
As if some mermaid did their ears entice,
Some high, some low, the painter was so nice;
The scalps of many, almost hid behind,
To jump up higher seem'd, to mock the mind. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

Here one man's hand lean'd on another's head,
His nose being shadow'd by his neighbour's ear;
Here one being throng'd bears back, all boll'n and red;
Another smother'd seems to pelt and swear;
And in their rage such signs of rage they bear, 
As, but for loss of Nestor's golden words,
It seem'd they would debate with angry swords.

RHYME a b a b b c c

For much imaginary work was there;
Conceit deceitful, so compact, so kind,
That for Achilles' image stood his spear, 
Griped in an armed hand; himself, behind,
Was left unseen, save to the eye of mind:
A hand, a foot, a face, a leg, a head,
Stood for the whole to be imagined.

RHYME a b a b b c c

And from the walls of strong-besieged Troy 
When their brave hope, bold Hector, march'd to field,
Stood many Trojan mothers, sharing joy
To see their youthful sons bright weapons wield;
And to their hope they such odd action yield,
That through their light joy seemed to appear, 
Like bright things stain'd, a kind of heavy fear.

RHYME a b a b b c c

And from the strand of Dardan, where they fought,
To Simois' reedy banks the red blood ran,
Whose waves to imitate the battle sought
With swelling ridges; and their ranks began 
To break upon the galled shore, and than
Retire again, till, meeting greater ranks,
They join and shoot their foam at Simois' banks.

RHYME a b a b b c c

To this well-painted piece is Lucrece come,
To find a face where all distress is stell'd. 
Many she sees where cares have carved some,
But none where all distress and dolour dwell'd,
Till she despairing Hecuba beheld,
Staring on Priam's wounds with her old eyes,
Which bleeding under Pyrrhus' proud foot lies. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

In her the painter had anatomized
Time's ruin, beauty's wreck, and grim care's reign:
Her cheeks with chaps and wrinkles were disguised;
Of what she was no semblance did remain:
Her blue blood changed to black in every vein, 
Wanting the spring that those shrunk pipes had fed,
Show'd life imprison'd in a body dead.

RHYME a b a b b c c

On this sad shadow Lucrece spends her eyes,
And shapes her sorrow to the beldam's woes,
Who nothing wants to answer her but cries, 
And bitter words to ban her cruel foes:
The painter was no god to lend her those;
And therefore Lucrece swears he did her wrong,
To give her so much grief and not a tongue.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Poor instrument,' quoth she,'without a sound, 
I'll tune thy woes with my lamenting tongue;
And drop sweet balm in Priam's painted wound,
And rail on Pyrrhus that hath done him wrong;
And with my tears quench Troy that burns so long;
And with my knife scratch out the angry eyes 
Of all the Greeks that are thine enemies.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Show me the strumpet that began this stir,
That with my nails her beauty I may tear.
Thy heat of lust, fond Paris, did incur
This load of wrath that burning Troy doth bear: 
Thy eye kindled the fire that burneth here;
And here in Troy, for trespass of thine eye,
The sire, the son, the dame, and daughter die.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Why should the private pleasure of some one
Become the public plague of many moe? 
Let sin, alone committed, light alone
Upon his head that hath transgressed so;
Let guiltless souls be freed from guilty woe:
For one's offence why should so many fall,
To plague a private sin in general? 

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Lo, here weeps Hecuba, here Priam dies,
Here manly Hector faints, here Troilus swounds,
Here friend by friend in bloody channel lies,
And friend to friend gives unadvised wounds,
And one man's lust these many lives confounds: 
Had doting Priam cheque'd his son's desire,
Troy had been bright with fame and not with fire.'

RHYME a b a b b c c

Here feelingly she weeps Troy's painted woes:
For sorrow, like a heavy-hanging bell,
Once set on ringing, with his own weight goes; 
Then little strength rings out the doleful knell:
So Lucrece, set a-work, sad tales doth tell
To pencill'd pensiveness and colour'd sorrow;
She lends them words, and she their looks doth borrow.

RHYME a b a b b c c

She throws her eyes about the painting round, 
And whom she finds forlorn she doth lament.
At last she sees a wretched image bound,
That piteous looks to Phrygian shepherds lent:
His face, though full of cares, yet show'd content;
Onward to Troy with the blunt swains he goes, 
So mild, that Patience seem'd to scorn his woes.

RHYME a b a b b c c

In him the painter labour'd with his skill
To hide deceit, and give the harmless show
An humble gait, calm looks, eyes wailing still,
A brow unbent, that seem'd to welcome woe; 
Cheeks neither red nor pale, but mingled so
That blushing red no guilty instance gave,
Nor ashy pale the fear that false hearts have.

RHYME a b a b b c c

But, like a constant and confirmed devil,
He entertain'd a show so seeming just, 
And therein so ensconced his secret evil,
That jealousy itself could not mistrust
False-creeping craft and perjury should thrust
Into so bright a day such black-faced storms,
Or blot with hell-born sin such saint-like forms. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

The well-skill'd workman this mild image drew
For perjured Sinon, whose enchanting story
The credulous old Priam after slew;
Whose words like wildfire burnt the shining glory
Of rich-built Ilion, that the skies were sorry, 
And little stars shot from their fixed places,
When their glass fell wherein they view'd their faces.

RHYME a b a b b c c

This picture she advisedly perused,
And chid the painter for his wondrous skill,
Saying, some shape in Sinon's was abused; 
So fair a form lodged not a mind so ill:
And still on him she gazed; and gazing still,
Such signs of truth in his plain face she spied,
That she concludes the picture was belied.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'It cannot be,' quoth she,'that so much guile'-- 
She would have said 'can lurk in such a look;'
But Tarquin's shape came in her mind the while,
And from her tongue 'can lurk' from 'cannot' took:
'It cannot be' she in that sense forsook,
And turn'd it thus,' It cannot be, I find, 
But such a face should bear a wicked mind.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'For even as subtle Sinon here is painted.
So sober-sad, so weary, and so mild,
As if with grief or travail he had fainted,
To me came Tarquin armed; so beguiled 
With outward honesty, but yet defiled
With inward vice: as Priam him did cherish,
So did I Tarquin; so my Troy did perish.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Look, look, how listening Priam wets his eyes,
To see those borrow'd tears that Sinon sheds! 
Priam, why art thou old and yet not wise?
For every tear he falls a Trojan bleeds:
His eye drops fire, no water thence proceeds;
Those round clear pearls of his, that move thy pity,
Are balls of quenchless fire to burn thy city. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Such devils steal effects from lightless hell;
For Sinon in his fire doth quake with cold,
And in that cold hot-burning fire doth dwell;
These contraries such unity do hold,
Only to flatter fools and make them bold: 
So Priam's trust false Sinon's tears doth flatter,
That he finds means to burn his Troy with water.'

RHYME a b a b b c c

Here, all enraged, such passion her assails,
That patience is quite beaten from her breast.
She tears the senseless Sinon with her nails, 
Comparing him to that unhappy guest
Whose deed hath made herself herself detest:
At last she smilingly with this gives o'er;
'Fool, fool!' quoth she, 'his wounds will not be sore.'

RHYME a b a b b c c

Thus ebbs and flows the current of her sorrow, 
And time doth weary time with her complaining.
She looks for night, and then she longs for morrow,
And both she thinks too long with her remaining:
Short time seems long in sorrow's sharp sustaining:
Though woe be heavy, yet it seldom sleeps, 
And they that watch see time how slow it creeps.

RHYME a b a b b c c

Which all this time hath overslipp'd her thought,
That she with painted images hath spent;
Being from the feeling of her own grief brought
By deep surmise of others' detriment; 
Losing her woes in shows of discontent.
It easeth some, though none it ever cured,
To think their dolour others have endured.

RHYME a b a b b c c

But now the mindful messenger, come back,
Brings home his lord and other company; 
Who finds his Lucrece clad in mourning black:
And round about her tear-stained eye
Blue circles stream'd; like rainbows in the sky:
These water-galls in her dim element
Foretell new storms to those already spent. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

Which when her sad-beholding husband saw,
Amazedly in her sad face he stares:
Her eyes, though sod in tears, look'd red and raw,
Her lively colour kill'd with deadly cares.
He hath no power to ask her how she fares: 
Both stood, like old acquaintance in a trance,
Met far from home, wondering each other's chance.

RHYME a b a b b c c

At last he takes her by the bloodless hand,
And thus begins: 'What uncouth ill event
Hath thee befall'n, that thou dost trembling stand? 
Sweet love, what spite hath thy fair colour spent?
Why art thou thus attired in discontent?
Unmask, dear dear, this moody heaviness,
And tell thy grief, that we may give redress.'

RHYME a b a b b c c

Three times with sighs she gives her sorrow fire, 
Ere once she can discharge one word of woe:
At length address'd to answer his desire,
She modestly prepares to let them know
Her honour is ta'en prisoner by the foe;
While Collatine and his consorted lords 
With sad attention long to hear her words.

RHYME a b a b b c c

And now this pale swan in her watery nest
Begins the sad dirge of her certain ending;
'Few words,' quoth she, 'Shall fit the trespass best,
Where no excuse can give the fault amending: 
In me moe woes than words are now depending;
And my laments would be drawn out too long,
To tell them all with one poor tired tongue.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Then be this all the task it hath to say
Dear husband, in the interest of thy bed 
A stranger came, and on that pillow lay
Where thou was wont to rest thy weary head;
And what wrong else may be imagined
By foul enforcement might be done to me,
From that, alas, thy Lucrece is not free. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

'For in the dreadful dead of dark midnight,
With shining falchion in my chamber came
A creeping creature, with a flaming light,
And softly cried 'Awake, thou Roman dame,
And entertain my love; else lasting shame 
On thee and thine this night I will inflict,
If thou my love's desire do contradict.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'For some hard-favour'd groom of thine,' quoth he,
'Unless thou yoke thy liking to my will,
I'll murder straight, and then I'll slaughter thee 
And swear I found you where you did fulfil
The loathsome act of lust, and so did kill
The lechers in their deed: this act will be
My fame and thy perpetual infamy.'

RHYME a b a b b c c

'With this, I did begin to start and cry; 
And then against my heart he sets his sword,
Swearing, unless I took all patiently,
I should not live to speak another word;
So should my shame still rest upon record,
And never be forgot in mighty Rome 
Th' adulterate death of Lucrece and her groom.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Mine enemy was strong, my poor self weak,
And far the weaker with so strong a fear:
My bloody judge forbade my tongue to speak;
No rightful plea might plead for justice there: 
His scarlet lust came evidence to swear
That my poor beauty had purloin'd his eyes;
And when the judge is robb'd the prisoner dies.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'O, teach me how to make mine own excuse!
Or at the least this refuge let me find; 
Though my gross blood be stain'd with this abuse,
Immaculate and spotless is my mind;
That was not forced; that never was inclined
To accessary yieldings, but still pure
Doth in her poison'd closet yet endure.' 

RHYME a b a b b c c

Lo, here, the hopeless merchant of this loss,
With head declined, and voice damm'd up with woe,
With sad set eyes, and wretched arms across,
From lips new-waxen pale begins to blow
The grief away that stops his answer so: 
But, wretched as he is, he strives in vain;
What he breathes out his breath drinks up again.

RHYME a b a b b c c

As through an arch the violent roaring tide
Outruns the eye that doth behold his haste,
Yet in the eddy boundeth in his pride 
Back to the strait that forced him on so fast;
In rage sent out, recall'd in rage, being past:
Even so his sighs, his sorrows, make a saw,
To push grief on, and back the same grief draw.

RHYME a b a b b c c

Which speechless woe of his poor she attendeth, 
And his untimely frenzy thus awaketh:
'Dear lord, thy sorrow to my sorrow lendeth
Another power; no flood by raining slaketh.
My woe too sensible thy passion maketh
More feeling-painful: let it then suffice 
To drown one woe, one pair of weeping eyes.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'And for my sake, when I might charm thee so,
For she that was thy Lucrece, now attend me:
Be suddenly revenged on my foe,
Thine, mine, his own: suppose thou dost defend me 
From what is past: the help that thou shalt lend me
Comes all too late, yet let the traitor die;
For sparing justice feeds iniquity.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'But ere I name him, you fair lords,' quoth she,
Speaking to those that came with Collatine, 
'Shall plight your honourable faiths to me,
With swift pursuit to venge this wrong of mine;
For 'tis a meritorious fair design
To chase injustice with revengeful arms:
Knights, by their oaths, should right poor ladies' harms.' 

RHYME a b a b b c c

At this request, with noble disposition
Each present lord began to promise aid,
As bound in knighthood to her imposition,
Longing to hear the hateful foe bewray'd.
But she, that yet her sad task hath not said, 
The protestation stops. 'O, speak, ' quoth she,
'How may this forced stain be wiped from me?

RHYME a b a b b c c

'What is the quality of mine offence,
Being constrain'd with dreadful circumstance?
May my pure mind with the foul act dispense, 
My low-declined honour to advance?
May any terms acquit me from this chance?
The poison'd fountain clears itself again;
And why not I from this compelled stain?'

RHYME a b a b b c c

With this, they all at once began to say, 
Her body's stain her mind untainted clears;
While with a joyless smile she turns away
The face, that map which deep impression bears
Of hard misfortune, carved in it with tears.
'No, no,' quoth she, 'no dame, hereafter living, 
By my excuse shall claim excuse's giving.'

RHYME a b a b b c c

Here with a sigh, as if her heart would break,
She throws forth Tarquin's name; 'He, he,' she says,
But more than 'he' her poor tongue could not speak;
Till after many accents and delays, 
Untimely breathings, sick and short assays,
She utters this, 'He, he, fair lords, 'tis he,
That guides this hand to give this wound to me.'

RHYME a b a b b c c

Even here she sheathed in her harmless breast
A harmful knife, that thence her soul unsheathed: 
That blow did that it from the deep unrest
Of that polluted prison where it breathed:
Her contrite sighs unto the clouds bequeath'd
Her winged sprite, and through her wounds doth fly
Life's lasting date from cancell'd destiny. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

Stone-still, astonish'd with this deadly deed,
Stood Collatine and all his lordly crew;
Till Lucrece' father, that beholds her bleed,
Himself on her self-slaughter'd body threw;
And from the purple fountain Brutus drew 
The murderous knife, and, as it left the place,
Her blood, in poor revenge, held it in chase;

RHYME a b a b b c c

And bubbling from her breast, it doth divide
In two slow rivers, that the crimson blood
Circles her body in on every side, 
Who, like a late-sack'd island, vastly stood
Bare and unpeopled in this fearful flood.
Some of her blood still pure and red remain'd,
And some look'd black, and that false Tarquin stain'd.

RHYME a b a b b c c

About the mourning and congealed face 
Of that black blood a watery rigol goes,
Which seems to weep upon the tainted place:
And ever since, as pitying Lucrece' woes,
Corrupted blood some watery token shows;
And blood untainted still doth red abide, 
Blushing at that which is so putrified.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Daughter, dear daughter,' old Lucretius cries,
'That life was mine which thou hast here deprived.
If in the child the father's image lies,
Where shall I live now Lucrece is unlived? 
Thou wast not to this end from me derived.
If children predecease progenitors,
We are their offspring, and they none of ours.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Poor broken glass, I often did behold
In thy sweet semblance my old age new born; 
But now that fresh fair mirror, dim and old,
Shows me a bare-boned death by time out-worn:
O, from thy cheeks my image thou hast torn,
And shivered all the beauty of my glass,
That I no more can see what once I was! 

RHYME a b a b b c c

'O time, cease thou thy course and last no longer,
If they surcease to be that should survive.
Shall rotten death make conquest of the stronger
And leave the faltering feeble souls alive?
The old bees die, the young possess their hive: 
Then live, sweet Lucrece, live again and see
Thy father die, and not thy father thee!

RHYME a b a b b c c

By this, starts Collatine as from a dream,
And bids Lucretius give his sorrow place;
And then in key-cold Lucrece' bleeding stream 
He falls, and bathes the pale fear in his face,
And counterfeits to die with her a space;
Till manly shame bids him possess his breath
And live to be revenged on her death.

RHYME a b a b b c c

The deep vexation of his inward soul 
Hath served a dumb arrest upon his tongue;
Who, mad that sorrow should his use control,
Or keep him from heart-easing words so long,
Begins to talk; but through his lips do throng
Weak words, so thick come in his poor heart's aid, 
That no man could distinguish what he said.

RHYME a b a b b c c

Yet sometime 'Tarquin' was pronounced plain,
But through his teeth, as if the name he tore.
This windy tempest, till it blow up rain,
Held back his sorrow's tide, to make it more; 
At last it rains, and busy winds give o'er:
Then son and father weep with equal strife
Who should weep most, for daughter or for wife.

RHYME a b a b b c c

The one doth call her his, the other his,
Yet neither may possess the claim they lay. 
The father says 'She's mine.' 'O, mine she is,'
Replies her husband: 'do not take away
My sorrow's interest; let no mourner say
He weeps for her, for she was only mine,
And only must be wail'd by Collatine.' 

RHYME a b a b b c c

'O,' quoth Lucretius,' I did give that life
Which she too early and too late hath spill'd.'
'Woe, woe,' quoth Collatine, 'she was my wife,
I owed her, and 'tis mine that she hath kill'd.'
'My daughter' and 'my wife' with clamours fill'd 
The dispersed air, who, holding Lucrece' life,
Answer'd their cries, 'my daughter' and 'my wife.'

RHYME a b a b b c c

Brutus, who pluck'd the knife from Lucrece' side,
Seeing such emulation in their woe,
Began to clothe his wit in state and pride, 
Burying in Lucrece' wound his folly's show.
He with the Romans was esteemed so
As silly-jeering idiots are with kings,
For sportive words and uttering foolish things:

RHYME a b a b b c c

But now he throws that shallow habit by, 
Wherein deep policy did him disguise;
And arm'd his long-hid wits advisedly,
To cheque the tears in Collatinus' eyes.
'Thou wronged lord of Rome,' quoth be, 'arise:
Let my unsounded self, supposed a fool, 
Now set thy long-experienced wit to school.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Why, Collatine, is woe the cure for woe?
Do wounds help wounds, or grief help grievous deeds?
Is it revenge to give thyself a blow
For his foul act by whom thy fair wife bleeds? 
Such childish humour from weak minds proceeds:
Thy wretched wife mistook the matter so,
To slay herself, that should have slain her foe.

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Courageous Roman, do not steep thy heart
In such relenting dew of lamentations; 
But kneel with me and help to bear thy part,
To rouse our Roman gods with invocations,
That they will suffer these abominations,
Since Rome herself in them doth stand disgraced,
By our strong arms from forth her fair streets chased. 

RHYME a b a b b c c

'Now, by the Capitol that we adore,
And by this chaste blood so unjustly stain'd,
By heaven's fair sun that breeds the fat earth's store,
By all our country rights in Rome maintain'd,
And by chaste Lucrece' soul that late complain'd 
Her wrongs to us, and by this bloody knife,
We will revenge the death of this true wife.'

RHYME a b a b b c c

This said, he struck his hand upon his breast,
And kiss'd the fatal knife, to end his vow;
And to his protestation urged the rest, 
Who, wondering at him, did his words allow:
Then jointly to the ground their knees they bow;
And that deep vow, which Brutus made before,
He doth again repeat, and that they swore.

RHYME a b a b b c c

When they had sworn to this advised doom, 
They did conclude to bear dead Lucrece thence;
To show her bleeding body thorough Rome,
And so to publish Tarquin's foul offence:
Which being done with speedy diligence,
The Romans plausibly did give consent 
To Tarquin's everlasting banishment.

TITLE Venus and Adonis

RHYME a b a b c c

Even as the sun with purple-colour'd face
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheek'd Adonis hied him to the chase;
Hunting he loved, but love he laugh'd to scorn;
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him, 
And like a bold-faced suitor 'gins to woo him.

RHYME a b a b c c

'Thrice-fairer than myself,' thus she began,
'The field's chief flower, sweet above compare,
Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man,
More white and red than doves or roses are; 
Nature that made thee, with herself at strife,
Saith that the world hath ending with thy life.

RHYME a b a b c c

'Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed,
And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow;
If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed 
A thousand honey secrets shalt thou know:
Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses,
And being set, I'll smother thee with kisses;

RHYME a b a b c c

'And yet not cloy thy lips with loathed satiety,
But rather famish them amid their plenty, 
Making them red and pale with fresh variety,
Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty:
A summer's day will seem an hour but short,
Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.'

RHYME a b a b c c

With this she seizeth on his sweating palm, 
The precedent of pith and livelihood,
And trembling in her passion, calls it balm,
Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess good:
Being so enraged, desire doth lend her force
Courageously to pluck him from his horse. 

RHYME a b a b c c

Over one arm the lusty courser's rein,
Under her other was the tender boy,
Who blush'd and pouted in a dull disdain,
With leaden appetite, unapt to toy;
She red and hot as coals of glowing fire, 
He red for shame, but frosty in desire.

RHYME a b a b c c

The studded bridle on a ragged bough
Nimbly she fastens:--O, how quick is love!--
The steed is stalled up, and even now
To tie the rider she begins to prove: 
Backward she push'd him, as she would be thrust,
And govern'd him in strength, though not in lust.

RHYME a b a b c c

So soon was she along as he was down,
Each leaning on their elbows and their hips:
Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown, 
And 'gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips;
And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken,
'If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open.'

RHYME a b a b c c

He burns with bashful shame: she with her tears
Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks; 
Then with her windy sighs and golden hairs
To fan and blow them dry again she seeks:
He saith she is immodest, blames her 'miss;
What follows more she murders with a kiss.

RHYME a b a b c c

Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast, 
Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh and bone,
Shaking her wings, devouring all in haste,
Till either gorge be stuff'd or prey be gone;
Even so she kissed his brow, his cheek, his chin,
And where she ends she doth anew begin. 

RHYME a b a b c c

Forced to content, but never to obey,
Panting he lies and breatheth in her face;
She feedeth on the steam as on a prey,
And calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace;
Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers, 
So they were dew'd with such distilling showers.

RHYME a b a b c c

Look, how a bird lies tangled in a net,
So fasten'd in her arms Adonis lies;
Pure shame and awed resistance made him fret,
Which bred more beauty in his angry eyes: 
Rain added to a river that is rank
Perforce will force it overflow the bank.

RHYME a b a b c c

Still she entreats, and prettily entreats,
For to a pretty ear she tunes her tale;
Still is he sullen, still he lours and frets, 
'Twixt crimson shame and anger ashy-pale:
Being red, she loves him best; and being white,
Her best is better'd with a more delight.

RHYME a b a b c c

Look how he can, she cannot choose but love;
And by her fair immortal hand she swears, 
From his soft bosom never to remove,
Till he take truce with her contending tears,
Which long have rain'd, making her cheeks all wet;
And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless debt.

RHYME a b a b c c

Upon this promise did he raise his chin, 
Like a dive-dapper peering through a wave,
Who, being look'd on, ducks as quickly in;
So offers he to give what she did crave;
But when her lips were ready for his pay,
He winks, and turns his lips another way. 

RHYME a b a b c c

Never did passenger in summer's heat
More thirst for drink than she for this good turn.
Her help she sees, but help she cannot get;
She bathes in water, yet her fire must burn:
'O, pity,' 'gan she cry, 'flint-hearted boy! 
'Tis but a kiss I beg; why art thou coy?

RHYME a b a b c c

'I have been woo'd, as I entreat thee now,
Even by the stern and direful god of war,
Whose sinewy neck in battle ne'er did bow,
Who conquers where he comes in every jar; 
Yet hath he been my captive and my slave,
And begg'd for that which thou unask'd shalt have.

RHYME a b a b c c

'Over my altars hath he hung his lance,
His batter'd shield, his uncontrolled crest,
And for my sake hath learn'd to sport and dance, 
To toy, to wanton, dally, smile and jest,
Scorning his churlish drum and ensign red,
Making my arms his field, his tent my bed.

RHYME a b a b c c

'Thus he that overruled I oversway'd,
Leading him prisoner in a red-rose chain: 
Strong-tempered steel his stronger strength obey'd,
Yet was he servile to my coy disdain.
O, be not proud, nor brag not of thy might,
For mastering her that foil'd the god of fight!

RHYME a b a b c c

'Touch but my lips with those fair lips of thine,-- 
Though mine be not so fair, yet are they red--
The kiss shall be thine own as well as mine.
What seest thou in the ground? hold up thy head:
Look in mine eye-balls, there thy beauty lies;
Then why not lips on lips, since eyes in eyes? 

RHYME a b a b c c

'Art thou ashamed to kiss? then wink again,
And I will wink; so shall the day seem night;
Love keeps his revels where they are but twain;
Be bold to play, our sport is not in sight:
These blue-vein'd violets whereon we lean 
Never can blab, nor know not what we mean.

RHYME a b a b c c

'The tender spring upon thy tempting lip
Shows thee unripe; yet mayst thou well be tasted:
Make use of time, let not advantage slip;
Beauty within itself should not be wasted: 
Fair flowers that are not gather'd in their prime
Rot and consume themselves in little time.

RHYME a b a b c c

'Were I hard-favour'd, foul, or wrinkled-old,
Ill-nurtured, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice,
O'erworn, despised, rheumatic and cold, 
Thick-sighted, barren, lean and lacking juice,
Then mightst thou pause, for then I were not for thee
But having no defects, why dost abhor me?

RHYME a b a b c c

'Thou canst not see one wrinkle in my brow;
Mine eyes are gray and bright and quick in turning: 
My beauty as the spring doth yearly grow,
My flesh is soft and plump, my marrow burning;
My smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand felt,
Would in thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt.

RHYME a b a b c c

'Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear, 
Or, like a fairy, trip upon the green,
Or, like a nymph, with long dishevell'd hair,
Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen:
Love is a spirit all compact of fire,
Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire. 

RHYME a b a b c c

'Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie;
These forceless flowers like sturdy trees support me;
Two strengthless doves will draw me through the sky,
From morn till night, even where I list to sport me:
Is love so light, sweet boy, and may it be 
That thou shouldst think it heavy unto thee?

RHYME a b a b c c

'Is thine own heart to thine own face affected?
Can thy right hand seize love upon thy left?
Then woo thyself, be of thyself rejected,
Steal thine own freedom and complain on theft. 
Narcissus so himself himself forsook,
And died to kiss his shadow in the brook.

RHYME a b a b c c

'Torches are made to light, jewels to wear,
Dainties to taste, fresh beauty for the use,
Herbs for their smell, and sappy plants to bear: 
Things growing to themselves are growth's abuse:
Seeds spring from seeds and beauty breedeth beauty;
Thou wast begot; to get it is thy duty.

RHYME a b a b c c

'Upon the earth's increase why shouldst thou feed,
Unless the earth with thy increase be fed? 
By law of nature thou art bound to breed,
That thine may live when thou thyself art dead;
And so, in spite of death, thou dost survive,
In that thy likeness still is left alive.'

RHYME a b a b c c

By this the love-sick queen began to sweat, 
For where they lay the shadow had forsook them,
And Titan, tired in the mid-day heat,
With burning eye did hotly overlook them;
Wishing Adonis had his team to guide,
So he were like him and by Venus' side. 

RHYME a b a b c c

And now Adonis, with a lazy spright,
And with a heavy, dark, disliking eye,
His louring brows o'erwhelming his fair sight,
Like misty vapours when they blot the sky,
Souring his cheeks cries 'Fie, no more of love! 
The sun doth burn my face: I must remove.'

RHYME a b a b c c

'Ay me,' quoth Venus, 'young, and so unkind?
What bare excuses makest thou to be gone!
I'll sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind
Shall cool the heat of this descending sun: 
I'll make a shadow for thee of my hairs;
If they burn too, I'll quench them with my tears.

RHYME a b a b c c

'The sun that shines from heaven shines but warm,
And, lo, I lie between that sun and thee:
The heat I have from thence doth little harm, 
Thine eye darts forth the fire that burneth me;
And were I not immortal, life were done
Between this heavenly and earthly sun.

RHYME a b a b c c

'Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as steel,
Nay, more than flint, for stone at rain relenteth? 
Art thou a woman's son, and canst not feel
What 'tis to love? how want of love tormenteth?
O, had thy mother borne so hard a mind,
She had not brought forth thee, but died unkind.

RHYME a b a b c c

'What am I, that thou shouldst contemn me this? 
Or what great danger dwells upon my suit?
What were thy lips the worse for one poor kiss?
Speak, fair; but speak fair words, or else be mute:
Give me one kiss, I'll give it thee again,
And one for interest, if thou wilt have twain. 

RHYME a b a b c c

'Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone,
Well-painted idol, image dun and dead,
Statue contenting but the eye alone,
Thing like a man, but of no woman bred!
Thou art no man, though of a man's complexion, 
For men will kiss even by their own direction.'

RHYME a b a b c c

This said, impatience chokes her pleading tongue,
And swelling passion doth provoke a pause;
Red cheeks and fiery eyes blaze forth he wrong;
Being judge in love, she cannot right her cause: 
And now she weeps, and now she fain would speak,
And now her sobs do her intendments break.

RHYME a b a b c c

Sometimes she shakes her head and then his hand,
Now gazeth she on him, now on the ground;
Sometimes her arms infold him like a band: 
She would, he will not in her arms be bound;
And when from thence he struggles to be gone,
She locks her lily fingers one in one.

RHYME a b a b c c

'Fondling,' she saith, 'since I have hemm'd thee here
Within the circuit of this ivory pale, 
I'll be a park, and thou shalt be my deer;
Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale:
Graze on my lips; and if those hills be dry,
Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.

RHYME a b a b c c

Within this limit is relief enough, 
Sweet bottom-grass and high delightful plain,
Round rising hillocks, brakes obscure and rough,
To shelter thee from tempest and from rain
Then be my deer, since I am such a park;
No dog shall rouse thee, though a thousand bark.' 

RHYME a b a b c c

At this Adonis smiles as in disdain,
That in each cheek appears a pretty dimple:
Love made those hollows, if himself were slain,
He might be buried in a tomb so simple;
Foreknowing well, if there he came to lie, 
Why, there Love lived and there he could not die.

RHYME a b a b c c

These lovely caves, these round enchanting pits,
Open'd their mouths to swallow Venus' liking.
Being mad before, how doth she now for wits?
Struck dead at first, what needs a second striking? 
Poor queen of love, in thine own law forlorn,
To love a cheek that smiles at thee in scorn!

RHYME a b a b c c

Now which way shall she turn? what shall she say?
Her words are done, her woes are more increasing;
The time is spent, her object will away, 
And from her twining arms doth urge releasing.
'Pity,' she cries, 'some favour, some remorse!'
Away he springs and hasteth to his horse.

RHYME a b a b c c

But, lo, from forth a copse that neighbors by,
A breeding jennet, lusty, young and proud, 
Adonis' trampling courser doth espy,
And forth she rushes, snorts and neighs aloud:
The strong-neck'd steed, being tied unto a tree,
Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he.

RHYME a b a b c c

Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds, 
And now his woven girths he breaks asunder;
The bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds,
Whose hollow womb resounds like heaven's thunder;
The iron bit he crusheth 'tween his teeth,
Controlling what he was controlled with. 

RHYME a b a b c c

His ears up-prick'd; his braided hanging mane
Upon his compass'd crest now stand on end;
His nostrils drink the air, and forth again,
As from a furnace, vapours doth he send:
His eye, which scornfully glisters like fire, 
Shows his hot courage and his high desire.

RHYME a b a b c c

Sometime he trots, as if he told the steps,
With gentle majesty and modest pride;
Anon he rears upright, curvets and leaps,
As who should say 'Lo, thus my strength is tried, 
And this I do to captivate the eye
Of the fair breeder that is standing by.'

RHYME a b a b c c

What recketh he his rider's angry stir,
His flattering 'Holla,' or his 'Stand, I say'?
What cares he now for curb or pricking spur? 
For rich caparisons or trapping gay?
He sees his love, and nothing else he sees,
For nothing else with his proud sight agrees.

RHYME a b a b c c

Look, when a painter would surpass the life,
In limning out a well-proportion'd steed, 
His art with nature's workmanship at strife,
As if the dead the living should exceed;
So did this horse excel a common one
In shape, in courage, colour, pace and bone.

RHYME a b a b c c

Round-hoof'd, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long, 
Broad breast, full eye, small head and nostril wide,
High crest, short ears, straight legs and passing strong,
Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide:
Look, what a horse should have he did not lack,
Save a proud rider on so proud a back. 

RHYME a b a b c c

Sometime he scuds far off and there he stares;
Anon he starts at stirring of a feather;
To bid the wind a base he now prepares,
And whether he run or fly they know not whether;
For through his mane and tail the high wind sings, 
Fanning the hairs, who wave like feather'd wings.

RHYME a b a b c c

He looks upon his love and neighs unto her;
She answers him as if she knew his mind:
Being proud, as females are, to see him woo her,
She puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind, 
Spurns at his love and scorns the heat he feels,
Beating his kind embracements with her heels.

RHYME a b a b c c

Then, like a melancholy malcontent,
He veils his tail that, like a falling plume,
Cool shadow to his melting buttock lent: 
He stamps and bites the poor flies in his fume.
His love, perceiving how he is enraged,
Grew kinder, and his fury was assuaged.

RHYME a b a b c c

His testy master goeth about to take him;
When, lo, the unback'd breeder, full of fear, 
Jealous of catching, swiftly doth forsake him,
With her the horse, and left Adonis there:
As they were mad, unto the wood they hie them,
Out-stripping crows that strive to over-fly them.

RHYME a b a b c c

All swoln with chafing, down Adonis sits, 
Banning his boisterous and unruly beast:
And now the happy season once more fits,
That love-sick Love by pleading may be blest;
For lovers say, the heart hath treble wrong
When it is barr'd the aidance of the tongue. 

RHYME a b a b c c

An oven that is stopp'd, or river stay'd,
Burneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage:
So of concealed sorrow may be said;
Free vent of words love's fire doth assuage;
But when the heart's attorney once is mute, 
The client breaks, as desperate in his suit.

RHYME a b a b c c

He sees her coming, and begins to glow,
Even as a dying coal revives with wind,
And with his bonnet hides his angry brow;
Looks on the dull earth with disturbed mind, 
Taking no notice that she is so nigh,
For all askance he holds her in his eye.

RHYME a b a b c c

O, what a sight it was, wistly to view
How she came stealing to the wayward boy!
To note the fighting conflict of her hue, 
How white and red each other did destroy!
But now her cheek was pale, and by and by
It flash'd forth fire, as lightning from the sky.

RHYME a b a b c c

Now was she just before him as he sat,
And like a lowly lover down she kneels; 
With one fair hand she heaveth up his hat,
Her other tender hand his fair cheek feels:
His tenderer cheek receives her soft hand's print,
As apt as new-fall'n snow takes any dint.

RHYME a b a b c c

O, what a war of looks was then between them! 
Her eyes petitioners to his eyes suing;
His eyes saw her eyes as they had not seen them;
Her eyes woo'd still, his eyes disdain'd the wooing:
And all this dumb play had his acts made plain
With tears, which, chorus-like, her eyes did rain. 

RHYME a b a b c c

Full gently now she takes him by the hand,
A lily prison'd in a gaol of snow,
Or ivory in an alabaster band;
So white a friend engirts so white a foe:
This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling, 
Show'd like two silver doves that sit a-billing.

RHYME a b a b c c

Once more the engine of her thoughts began:
'O fairest mover on this mortal round,
Would thou wert as I am, and I a man,
My heart all whole as thine, thy heart my wound; 
For one sweet look thy help I would assure thee,
Though nothing but my body's bane would cure thee!

RHYME a b a b c c

'Give me my hand,' saith he, 'why dost thou feel it?'
'Give me my heart,' saith she, 'and thou shalt have it:
O, give it me, lest thy hard heart do steel it, 
And being steel'd, soft sighs can never grave it:
Then love's deep groans I never shall regard,
Because Adonis' heart hath made mine hard.'

RHYME a b a b c c

'For shame,' he cries, 'let go, and let me go;
My day's delight is past, my horse is gone, 
And 'tis your fault I am bereft him so:
I pray you hence, and leave me here alone;
For all my mind, my thought, my busy care,
Is how to get my palfrey from the mare.'

RHYME a b a b c c

Thus she replies: 'Thy palfrey, as he should, 
Welcomes the warm approach of sweet desire:
Affection is a coal that must be cool'd;
Else, suffer'd, it will set the heart on fire:
The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath none;
Therefore no marvel though thy horse be gone. 

RHYME a b a b c c

'How like a jade he stood, tied to the tree,
Servilely master'd with a leathern rein!
But when he saw his love, his youth's fair fee,
He held such petty bondage in disdain;
Throwing the base thong from his bending crest, 
Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast.

RHYME a b a b c c

'Who sees his true-love in her naked bed,
Teaching the sheets a whiter hue than white,
But, when his glutton eye so full hath fed,
His other agents aim at like delight? 
Who is so faint, that dare not be so bold
To touch the fire, the weather being cold?

RHYME a b a b c c

'Let me excuse thy courser, gentle boy;
And learn of him, I heartily beseech thee,
To take advantage on presented joy; 
Though I were dumb, yet his proceedings teach thee;
O, learn to love; the lesson is but plain,
And once made perfect, never lost again.'

RHYME a b a b c c

I know not love,' quoth he, 'nor will not know it,
Unless it be a boar, and then I chase it; 
'Tis much to borrow, and I will not owe it;
My love to love is love but to disgrace it;
For I have heard it is a life in death,
That laughs and weeps, and all but with a breath.

RHYME a b a b c c

'Who wears a garment shapeless and unfinish'd? 
Who plucks the bud before one leaf put forth?
If springing things be any jot diminish'd,
They wither in their prime, prove nothing worth:
The colt that's back'd and burden'd being young
Loseth his pride and never waxeth strong. 

RHYME a b a b c c

'You hurt my hand with wringing; let us part,
And leave this idle theme, this bootless chat:
Remove your siege from my unyielding heart;
To love's alarms it will not ope the gate:
Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your flattery; 
For where a heart is hard they make no battery.'

RHYME a b a b c c

'What! canst thou talk?' quoth she, 'hast thou a tongue?
O, would thou hadst not, or I had no hearing!
Thy mermaid's voice hath done me double wrong;
I had my load before, now press'd with bearing: 
Melodious discord, heavenly tune harshsounding,
Ear's deep-sweet music, and heart's deep-sore wounding.

RHYME a b a b c c

'Had I no eyes but ears, my ears would love
That inward beauty and invisible;
Or were I deaf, thy outward parts would move 
Each part in me that were but sensible:
Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see,
Yet should I be in love by touching thee.

RHYME a b a b c c

'Say, that the sense of feeling were bereft me,
And that I could not see, nor hear, nor touch, 
And nothing but the very smell were left me,
Yet would my love to thee be still as much;
For from the stillitory of thy face excelling
Comes breath perfumed that breedeth love by smelling. 

RHYME a b a b c c

'But, O, what banquet wert thou to the taste,
Being nurse and feeder of the other four!
Would they not wish the feast might ever last,
And bid Suspicion double-lock the door,
Lest Jealousy, that sour unwelcome guest, 
Should, by his stealing in, disturb the feast?'

RHYME a b a b c c

Once more the ruby-colour'd portal open'd,
Which to his speech did honey passage yield;
Like a red morn, that ever yet betoken'd
Wreck to the seaman, tempest to the field, 
Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds,
Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds.

RHYME a b a b c c

This ill presage advisedly she marketh:
Even as the wind is hush'd before it raineth,
Or as the wolf doth grin before he barketh, 
Or as the berry breaks before it staineth,
Or like the deadly bullet of a gun,
His meaning struck her ere his words begun.

RHYME a b a b c c

And at his look she flatly falleth down,
For looks kill love and love by looks reviveth; 
A smile recures the wounding of a frown;
But blessed bankrupt, that by love so thriveth!
The silly boy, believing she is dead,
Claps her pale cheek, till clapping makes it red;

RHYME a b a b c c

And all amazed brake off his late intent, 
For sharply he did think to reprehend her,
Which cunning love did wittily prevent:
Fair fall the wit that can so well defend her!
For on the grass she lies as she were slain,
Till his breath breatheth life in her again. 

RHYME a b a b c c

He wrings her nose, he strikes her on the cheeks,
He bends her fingers, holds her pulses hard,
He chafes her lips; a thousand ways he seeks
To mend the hurt that his unkindness marr'd:
He kisses her; and she, by her good will, 
Will never rise, so he will kiss her still.

RHYME a b a b c c

The night of sorrow now is turn'd to day:
Her two blue windows faintly she up-heaveth,
Like the fair sun, when in his fresh array
He cheers the morn and all the earth relieveth; 
And as the bright sun glorifies the sky,
So is her face illumined with her eye;

RHYME a b a b c c

Whose beams upon his hairless face are fix'd,
As if from thence they borrow'd all their shine.
Were never four such lamps together mix'd, 
Had not his clouded with his brow's repine;
But hers, which through the crystal tears gave light,
Shone like the moon in water seen by night.

RHYME a b a b c c

'O, where am I?' quoth she, 'in earth or heaven,
Or in the ocean drench'd, or in the fire? 
What hour is this? or morn or weary even?
Do I delight to die, or life desire?
But now I lived, and life was death's annoy;
But now I died, and death was lively joy.

RHYME a b a b c c

'O, thou didst kill me: kill me once again: 
Thy eyes' shrewd tutor, that hard heart of thine,
Hath taught them scornful tricks and such disdain
That they have murder'd this poor heart of mine;
And these mine eyes, true leaders to their queen,
But for thy piteous lips no more had seen. 

RHYME a b a b c c

'Long may they kiss each other, for this cure!
O, never let their crimson liveries wear!
And as they last, their verdure still endure,
To drive infection from the dangerous year!
That the star-gazers, having writ on death, 
May say, the plague is banish'd by thy breath.

RHYME a b a b c c

'Pure lips, sweet seals in my soft lips imprinted,
What bargains may I make, still to be sealing?
To sell myself I can be well contented,
So thou wilt buy and pay and use good dealing; 
Which purchase if thou make, for fear of slips
Set thy seal-manual on my wax-red lips.

RHYME a b a b c c

'A thousand kisses buys my heart from me;
And pay them at thy leisure, one by one.
What is ten hundred touches unto thee? 
Are they not quickly told and quickly gone?
Say, for non-payment that the debt should double,
Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble?

RHYME a b a b c c

'Fair queen,' quoth he, 'if any love you owe me,
Measure my strangeness with my unripe years: 
Before I know myself, seek not to know me;
No fisher but the ungrown fry forbears:
The mellow plum doth fall, the green sticks fast,
Or being early pluck'd is sour to taste.

RHYME a b a b c c

'Look, the world's comforter, with weary gait, 
His day's hot task hath ended in the west;
The owl, night's herald, shrieks, 'Tis very late;'
The sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest,
And coal-black clouds that shadow heaven's light
Do summon us to part and bid good night. 

RHYME a b a b c c

'Now let me say 'Good night,' and so say you;
If you will say so, you shall have a kiss.'
'Good night,' quoth she, and, ere he says 'Adieu,'
The honey fee of parting tender'd is:
Her arms do lend his neck a sweet embrace; 
Incorporate then they seem; face grows to face.

RHYME a b a b c c

Till, breathless, he disjoin'd, and backward drew
The heavenly moisture, that sweet coral mouth,
Whose precious taste her thirsty lips well knew,
Whereon they surfeit, yet complain on drouth: 
He with her plenty press'd, she faint with dearth
Their lips together glued, fall to the earth.

RHYME a b a b c c

Now quick desire hath caught the yielding prey,
And glutton-like she feeds, yet never filleth;
Her lips are conquerors, his lips obey, 
Paying what ransom the insulter willeth;
Whose vulture thought doth pitch the price so high,
That she will draw his lips' rich treasure dry:

RHYME a b a b c c

And having felt the sweetness of the spoil,
With blindfold fury she begins to forage; 
Her face doth reek and smoke, her blood doth boil,
And careless lust stirs up a desperate courage,
Planting oblivion, beating reason back,
Forgetting shame's pure blush and honour's wrack.

RHYME a b a b c c

Hot, faint, and weary, with her hard embracing, 
Like a wild bird being tamed with too much handling,
Or as the fleet-foot roe that's tired with chasing,
Or like the froward infant still'd with dandling,
He now obeys, and now no more resisteth,
While she takes all she can, not all she listeth. 

RHYME a b a b c c

What wax so frozen but dissolves with tempering,
And yields at last to every light impression?
Things out of hope are compass'd oft with venturing,
Chiefly in love, whose leave exceeds commission:
Affection faints not like a pale-faced coward, 
But then woos best when most his choice is froward.

RHYME a b a b c c

When he did frown, O, had she then gave over,
Such nectar from his lips she had not suck'd.
Foul words and frowns must not repel a lover;
What though the rose have prickles, yet 'tis pluck'd: 
Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast,
Yet love breaks through and picks them all at last.

RHYME a b a b c c

For pity now she can no more detain him;
The poor fool prays her that he may depart:
She is resolved no longer to restrain him; 
Bids him farewell, and look well to her heart,
The which, by Cupid's bow she doth protest,
He carries thence incaged in his breast.

RHYME a b a b c c

'Sweet boy,' she says, 'this night I'll waste in sorrow,
For my sick heart commands mine eyes to watch. 
Tell me, Love's master, shall we meet to-morrow?
Say, shall we? shall we? wilt thou make the match?'
He tells her, no; to-morrow he intends
To hunt the boar with certain of his friends.

RHYME a b a b c c

'The boar!' quoth she; whereat a sudden pale, 
Like lawn being spread upon the blushing rose,
Usurps her cheek; she trembles at his tale,
And on his neck her yoking arms she throws:
She sinketh down, still hanging by his neck,
He on her belly falls, she on her back. 

RHYME a b a b c c

Now is she in the very lists of love,
Her champion mounted for the hot encounter:
All is imaginary she doth prove,
He will not manage her, although he mount her;
That worse than Tantalus' is her annoy, 
To clip Elysium and to lack her joy.

RHYME a b a b c c

Even as poor birds, deceived with painted grapes,
Do surfeit by the eye and pine the maw,
Even so she languisheth in her mishaps,
As those poor birds that helpless berries saw. 
The warm effects which she in him finds missing
She seeks to kindle with continual kissing.

RHYME a b a b c c

But all in vain; good queen, it will not be:
She hath assay'd as much as may be proved;
Her pleading hath deserved a greater fee; 
She's Love, she loves, and yet she is not loved.
'Fie, fie,' he says, 'you crush me; let me go;
You have no reason to withhold me so.'

RHYME a b a b c c

'Thou hadst been gone,' quoth she, 'sweet boy, ere this,
But that thou told'st me thou wouldst hunt the boar. 
O, be advised! thou know'st not what it is
With javelin's point a churlish swine to gore,
Whose tushes never sheathed he whetteth still,
Like to a mortal butcher bent to kill.

RHYME a b a b c c

'On his bow-back he hath a battle set 
Of bristly pikes, that ever threat his foes;
His eyes, like glow-worms, shine when he doth fret;
His snout digs sepulchres where'er he goes;
Being moved, he strikes whate'er is in his way,
And whom he strikes his cruel tushes slay. 

RHYME a b a b c c

'His brawny sides, with hairy bristles arm'd,
Are better proof than thy spear's point can enter;
His short thick neck cannot be easily harm'd;
Being ireful, on the lion he will venture:
The thorny brambles and embracing bushes, 
As fearful of him, part, through whom he rushes.

RHYME a b a b c c

'Alas, he nought esteems that face of thine,
To which Love's eyes pay tributary gazes;
Nor thy soft hands, sweet lips and crystal eyne,
Whose full perfection all the world amazes; 
But having thee at vantage,--wondrous dread!--
Would root these beauties as he roots the mead.

RHYME a b a b c c

'O, let him keep his loathsome cabin still;
Beauty hath nought to do with such foul fiends:
Come not within his danger by thy will; 
They that thrive well take counsel of their friends.
When thou didst name the boar, not to dissemble,
I fear'd thy fortune, and my joints did tremble.

RHYME a b a b c c

'Didst thou not mark my face? was it not white?
Saw'st thou not signs of fear lurk in mine eye? 
Grew I not faint? and fell I not downright?
Within my bosom, whereon thou dost lie,
My boding heart pants, beats, and takes no rest,
But, like an earthquake, shakes thee on my breast.

RHYME a b a b c c

'For where Love reigns, disturbing Jealousy 
Doth call himself Affection's sentinel;
Gives false alarms, suggesteth mutiny,
And in a peaceful hour doth cry 'Kill, kill!'
Distempering gentle Love in his desire,
As air and water do abate the fire. 

RHYME a b a b c c

'This sour informer, this bate-breeding spy,
This canker that eats up Love's tender spring,
This carry-tale, dissentious Jealousy,
That sometime true news, sometime false doth bring,
Knocks at my heat and whispers in mine ear 
That if I love thee, I thy death should fear:

RHYME a b a b c c

'And more than so, presenteth to mine eye
The picture of an angry-chafing boar,
Under whose sharp fangs on his back doth lie
An image like thyself, all stain'd with gore; 
Whose blood upon the fresh flowers being shed
Doth make them droop with grief and hang the head.

RHYME a b a b c c

'What should I do, seeing thee so indeed,
That tremble at the imagination?
The thought of it doth make my faint heart bleed, 
And fear doth teach it divination:
I prophesy thy death, my living sorrow,
If thou encounter with the boar to-morrow.

RHYME a b a b c c

'But if thou needs wilt hunt, be ruled by me;
Uncouple at the timorous flying hare, 
Or at the fox which lives by subtlety,
Or at the roe which no encounter dare:
Pursue these fearful creatures o'er the downs,
And on thy well-breath'd horse keep with thy hounds. 

RHYME a b a b c c

'And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare,
Mark the poor wretch, to overshoot his troubles
How he outruns the wind and with what care
He cranks and crosses with a thousand doubles:
The many musets through the which he goes 
Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes.

RHYME a b a b c c

'Sometime he runs among a flock of sheep,
To make the cunning hounds mistake their smell,
And sometime where earth-delving conies keep,
To stop the loud pursuers in their yell, 
And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer:
Danger deviseth shifts; wit waits on fear:

RHYME a b a b c c

'For there his smell with others being mingled,
The hot scent-snuffing hounds are driven to doubt,
Ceasing their clamorous cry till they have singled 
With much ado the cold fault cleanly out;
Then do they spend their mouths: Echo replies,
As if another chase were in the skies.

RHYME a b a b c c

'By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill,
Stands on his hinder legs with listening ear, 
To harken if his foes pursue him still:
Anon their loud alarums he doth hear;
And now his grief may be compared well
To one sore sick that hears the passing-bell.

RHYME a b a b c c

'Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch 
Turn, and return, indenting with the way;
Each envious brier his weary legs doth scratch,
Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay:
For misery is trodden on by many,
And being low never relieved by any. 

RHYME a b a b c c

'Lie quietly, and hear a little more;
Nay, do not struggle, for thou shalt not rise:
To make thee hate the hunting of the boar,
Unlike myself thou hear'st me moralize,
Applying this to that, and so to so; 
For love can comment upon every woe.

RHYME a b a b c c

'Where did I leave?' 'No matter where,' quoth he,
'Leave me, and then the story aptly ends:
The night is spent.' 'Why, what of that?' quoth she.
'I am,' quoth he, 'expected of my friends; 
And now 'tis dark, and going I shall fall.'
'In night,' quoth she, 'desire sees best of all

RHYME a b a b c c

'But if thou fall, O, then imagine this,
The earth, in love with thee, thy footing trips,
And all is but to rob thee of a kiss. 
Rich preys make true men thieves; so do thy lips
Make modest Dian cloudy and forlorn,
Lest she should steal a kiss and die forsworn.

RHYME a b a b c c

'Now of this dark night I perceive the reason:
Cynthia for shame obscures her silver shine, 
Till forging Nature be condemn'd of treason,
For stealing moulds from heaven that were divine;
Wherein she framed thee in high heaven's despite,
To shame the sun by day and her by night.

RHYME a b a b c c

'And therefore hath she bribed the Destinies 
To cross the curious workmanship of nature,
To mingle beauty with infirmities,
And pure perfection with impure defeature,
Making it subject to the tyranny
Of mad mischances and much misery; 

RHYME a b a b c c

'As burning fevers, agues pale and faint,
Life-poisoning pestilence and frenzies wood,
The marrow-eating sickness, whose attaint
Disorder breeds by heating of the blood:
Surfeits, imposthumes, grief, and damn'd despair, 
Swear nature's death for framing thee so fair.

RHYME a b a b c c

'And not the least of all these maladies
But in one minute's fight brings beauty under:
Both favour, savour, hue and qualities,
Whereat the impartial gazer late did wonder, 
Are on the sudden wasted, thaw'd and done,
As mountain-snow melts with the midday sun.

RHYME a b a b c c

'Therefore, despite of fruitless chastity,
Love-lacking vestals and self-loving nuns,
That on the earth would breed a scarcity 
And barren dearth of daughters and of sons,
Be prodigal: the lamp that burns by night
Dries up his oil to lend the world his light.

RHYME a b a b c c

'What is thy body but a swallowing grave,
Seeming to bury that posterity 
Which by the rights of time thou needs must have,
If thou destroy them not in dark obscurity?
If so, the world will hold thee in disdain,
Sith in thy pride so fair a hope is slain.

RHYME a b a b c c

'So in thyself thyself art made away; 
A mischief worse than civil home-bred strife,
Or theirs whose desperate hands themselves do slay,
Or butcher-sire that reaves his son of life.
Foul-cankering rust the hidden treasure frets,
But gold that's put to use more gold begets.' 

RHYME a b a b c c

'Nay, then,' quoth Adon, 'you will fall again
Into your idle over-handled theme:
The kiss I gave you is bestow'd in vain,
And all in vain you strive against the stream;
For, by this black-faced night, desire's foul nurse, 
Your treatise makes me like you worse and worse.

RHYME a b a b c c

'If love have lent you twenty thousand tongues,
And every tongue more moving than your own,
Bewitching like the wanton mermaid's songs,
Yet from mine ear the tempting tune is blown 
For know, my heart stands armed in mine ear,
And will not let a false sound enter there;

RHYME a b a b c c

'Lest the deceiving harmony should run
Into the quiet closure of my breast;
And then my little heart were quite undone, 
In his bedchamber to be barr'd of rest.
No, lady, no; my heart longs not to groan,
But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps alone.

RHYME a b a b c c

'What have you urged that I cannot reprove?
The path is smooth that leadeth on to danger: 
I hate not love, but your device in love,
That lends embracements unto every stranger.
You do it for increase: O strange excuse,
When reason is the bawd to lust's abuse!

RHYME a b a b c c

'Call it not love, for Love to heaven is fled, 
Since sweating Lust on earth usurp'd his name;
Under whose simple semblance he hath fed
Upon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame;
Which the hot tyrant stains and soon bereaves,
As caterpillars do the tender leaves. 

RHYME a b a b c c

'Love comforteth like sunshine after rain,
But Lust's effect is tempest after sun;
Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain,
Lust's winter comes ere summer half be done;
Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies; 
Love is all truth, Lust full of forged lies.

RHYME a b a b c c

'More I could tell, but more I dare not say;
The text is old, the orator too green.
Therefore, in sadness, now I will away;
My face is full of shame, my heart of teen: 
Mine ears, that to your wanton talk attended,
Do burn themselves for having so offended.'

RHYME a b a b c c

With this, he breaketh from the sweet embrace,
Of those fair arms which bound him to her breast,
And homeward through the dark laund runs apace; 
Leaves Love upon her back deeply distress'd.
Look, how a bright star shooteth from the sky,
So glides he in the night from Venus' eye.

RHYME a b a b c c

Which after him she darts, as one on shore
Gazing upon a late-embarked friend, 
Till the wild waves will have him seen no more,
Whose ridges with the meeting clouds contend:
So did the merciless and pitchy night
Fold in the object that did feed her sight.

RHYME a b a b c c

Whereat amazed, as one that unaware 
Hath dropp'd a precious jewel in the flood,
Or stonish'd as night-wanderers often are,
Their light blown out in some mistrustful wood,
Even so confounded in the dark she lay,
Having lost the fair discovery of her way. 

RHYME a b a b c c

And now she beats her heart, whereat it groans,
That all the neighbour caves, as seeming troubled,
Make verbal repetition of her moans;
Passion on passion deeply is redoubled:
'Ay me!' she cries, and twenty times 'Woe, woe!' 
And twenty echoes twenty times cry so.

RHYME a b a b c c

She marking them begins a wailing note
And sings extemporally a woeful ditty;
How love makes young men thrall and old men dote;
How love is wise in folly, foolish-witty: 
Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe,
And still the choir of echoes answer so.

RHYME a b a b c c

Her song was tedious and outwore the night,
For lovers' hours are long, though seeming short:
If pleased themselves, others, they think, delight 
In such-like circumstance, with suchlike sport:
Their copious stories oftentimes begun
End without audience and are never done.

RHYME a b a b c c

For who hath she to spend the night withal
But idle sounds resembling parasites, 
Like shrill-tongued tapsters answering every call,
Soothing the humour of fantastic wits?
She says 'Tis so:' they answer all 'Tis so;'
And would say after her, if she said 'No.'

RHYME a b a b c c

Lo, here the gentle lark, weary of rest, 
From his moist cabinet mounts up on high,
And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast
The sun ariseth in his majesty;
Who doth the world so gloriously behold
That cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold. 

RHYME a b a b c c

Venus salutes him with this fair good-morrow:
'O thou clear god, and patron of all light,
From whom each lamp and shining star doth borrow
The beauteous influence that makes him bright,
There lives a son that suck'd an earthly mother, 
May lend thee light, as thou dost lend to other.'

RHYME a b a b c c

This said, she hasteth to a myrtle grove,
Musing the morning is so much o'erworn,
And yet she hears no tidings of her love:
She hearkens for his hounds and for his horn: 
Anon she hears them chant it lustily,
And all in haste she coasteth to the cry.

RHYME a b a b c c

And as she runs, the bushes in the way
Some catch her by the neck, some kiss her face,
Some twine about her thigh to make her stay: 
She wildly breaketh from their strict embrace,
Like a milch doe, whose swelling dugs do ache,
Hasting to feed her fawn hid in some brake.

RHYME a b a b c c

By this, she hears the hounds are at a bay;
Whereat she starts, like one that spies an adder 
Wreathed up in fatal folds just in his way,
The fear whereof doth make him shake and shudder;
Even so the timorous yelping of the hounds
Appals her senses and her spirit confounds.

RHYME a b a b c c

For now she knows it is no gentle chase, 
But the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud,
Because the cry remaineth in one place,
Where fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud:
Finding their enemy to be so curst,
They all strain courtesy who shall cope him first. 

RHYME a b a b c c

This dismal cry rings sadly in her ear,
Through which it enters to surprise her heart;
Who, overcome by doubt and bloodless fear,
With cold-pale weakness numbs each feeling part:
Like soldiers, when their captain once doth yield, 
They basely fly and dare not stay the field.

RHYME a b a b c c

Thus stands she in a trembling ecstasy;
Till, cheering up her senses all dismay'd,
She tells them 'tis a causeless fantasy,
And childish error, that they are afraid; 
Bids them leave quaking, bids them fear no more:--
And with that word she spied the hunted boar,

RHYME a b a b c c

Whose frothy mouth, bepainted all with red,
Like milk and blood being mingled both together,
A second fear through all her sinews spread, 
Which madly hurries her she knows not whither:
This way runs, and now she will no further,
But back retires to rate the boar for murther.

RHYME a b a b c c

A thousand spleens bear her a thousand ways;
She treads the path that she untreads again; 
Her more than haste is mated with delays,
Like the proceedings of a drunken brain,
Full of respects, yet nought at all respecting;
In hand with all things, nought at all effecting.

RHYME a b a b c c

Here kennell'd in a brake she finds a hound, 
And asks the weary caitiff for his master,
And there another licking of his wound,
'Gainst venom'd sores the only sovereign plaster;
And here she meets another sadly scowling,
To whom she speaks, and he replies with howling. 

RHYME a b a b c c

When he hath ceased his ill-resounding noise,
Another flap-mouth'd mourner, black and grim,
Against the welkin volleys out his voice;
Another and another answer him,
Clapping their proud tails to the ground below, 
Shaking their scratch'd ears, bleeding as they go.

RHYME a b a b c c

Look, how the world's poor people are amazed
At apparitions, signs and prodigies,
Whereon with fearful eyes they long have gazed,
Infusing them with dreadful prophecies; 
So she at these sad signs draws up her breath
And sighing it again, exclaims on Death.

RHYME a b a b c c

'Hard-favour'd tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean,
Hateful divorce of love,'--thus chides she Death,--
'Grim-grinning ghost, earth's worm, what dost thou mean 
To stifle beauty and to steal his breath,
Who when he lived, his breath and beauty set
Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet?

RHYME a b a b c c

'If he be dead,--O no, it cannot be,
Seeing his beauty, thou shouldst strike at it:-- 
O yes, it may; thou hast no eyes to see,
But hatefully at random dost thou hit.
Thy mark is feeble age, but thy false dart
Mistakes that aim and cleaves an infant's heart.

RHYME a b a b c c

'Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke, 
And, hearing him, thy power had lost his power.
The Destinies will curse thee for this stroke;
They bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck'st a flower:
Love's golden arrow at him should have fled,
And not Death's ebon dart, to strike dead. 

RHYME a b a b c c

'Dost thou drink tears, that thou provokest such weeping?
What may a heavy groan advantage thee?
Why hast thou cast into eternal sleeping
Those eyes that taught all other eyes to see?
Now Nature cares not for thy mortal vigour, 
Since her best work is ruin'd with thy rigour.'

RHYME a b a b c c

Here overcome, as one full of despair,
She vail'd her eyelids, who, like sluices, stopt
The crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair
In the sweet channel of her bosom dropt; 
But through the flood-gates breaks the silver rain,
And with his strong course opens them again.

RHYME a b a b c c

O, how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow!
Her eyes seen in the tears, tears in her eye;
Both crystals, where they view'd each other's sorrow, 
Sorrow that friendly sighs sought still to dry;
But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain,
Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again.

RHYME a b a b c c

Variable passions throng her constant woe,
As striving who should best become her grief; 
All entertain'd, each passion labours so,
That every present sorrow seemeth chief,
But none is best: then join they all together,
Like many clouds consulting for foul weather.

RHYME a b a b c c

By this, far off she hears some huntsman hollo; 
A nurse's song ne'er pleased her babe so well:
The dire imagination she did follow
This sound of hope doth labour to expel;
For now reviving joy bids her rejoice,
And flatters her it is Adonis' voice. 

RHYME a b a b c c

Whereat her tears began to turn their tide,
Being prison'd in her eye like pearls in glass;
Yet sometimes falls an orient drop beside,
Which her cheek melts, as scorning it should pass,
To wash the foul face of the sluttish ground, 
Who is but drunken when she seemeth drown'd.

RHYME a b a b c c

O hard-believing love, how strange it seems
Not to believe, and yet too credulous!
Thy weal and woe are both of them extremes;
Despair and hope makes thee ridiculous: 
The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely,
In likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly.

RHYME a b a b c c

Now she unweaves the web that she hath wrought;
Adonis lives, and Death is not to blame;
It was not she that call'd him, all-to naught: 
Now she adds honours to his hateful name;
She clepes him king of graves and grave for kings,
Imperious supreme of all mortal things.

RHYME a b a b c c

'No, no,' quoth she, 'sweet Death, I did but jest;
Yet pardon me I felt a kind of fear 
When as I met the boar, that bloody beast,
Which knows no pity, but is still severe;
Then, gentle shadow,--truth I must confess,--
I rail'd on thee, fearing my love's decease.

RHYME a b a b c c

'Tis not my fault: the boar provoked my tongue; 
Be wreak'd on him, invisible commander;
'Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee wrong;
I did but act, he's author of thy slander:
Grief hath two tongues, and never woman yet
Could rule them both without ten women's wit.' 

RHYME a b a b c c

Thus hoping that Adonis is alive,
Her rash suspect she doth extenuate;
And that his beauty may the better thrive,
With Death she humbly doth insinuate;
Tells him of trophies, statues, tombs, and stories 
His victories, his triumphs and his glories.

RHYME a b a b c c

'O Jove,' quoth she, 'how much a fool was I
To be of such a weak and silly mind
To wail his death who lives and must not die
Till mutual overthrow of mortal kind! 
For he being dead, with him is beauty slain,
And, beauty dead, black chaos comes again.

RHYME a b a b c c

'Fie, fie, fond love, thou art so full of fear
As one with treasure laden, hemm'd thieves;
Trifles, unwitnessed with eye or ear, 
Thy coward heart with false bethinking grieves.'
Even at this word she hears a merry horn,
Whereat she leaps that was but late forlorn.

RHYME a b a b c c

As falcon to the lure, away she flies;
The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light; 
And in her haste unfortunately spies
The foul boar's conquest on her fair delight;
Which seen, her eyes, as murder'd with the view,
Like stars ashamed of day, themselves withdrew;

RHYME a b a b c c

Or, as the snail, whose tender horns being hit, 
Shrinks backward in his shelly cave with pain,
And there, all smother'd up, in shade doth sit,
Long after fearing to creep forth again;
So, at his bloody view, her eyes are fled
Into the deep dark cabins of her head: 

RHYME a b a b c c

Where they resign their office and their light
To the disposing of her troubled brain;
Who bids them still consort with ugly night,
And never wound the heart with looks again;
Who like a king perplexed in his throne, 
By their suggestion gives a deadly groan,

RHYME a b a b c c

Whereat each tributary subject quakes;
As when the wind, imprison'd in the ground,
Struggling for passage, earth's foundation shakes,
Which with cold terror doth men's minds confound. 
This mutiny each part doth so surprise
That from their dark beds once more leap her eyes;

RHYME a b a b c c

And, being open'd, threw unwilling light
Upon the wide wound that the boar had trench'd
In his soft flank; whose wonted lily white 
With purple tears, that his wound wept, was drench'd:
No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, or weed,
But stole his blood and seem'd with him to bleed.

RHYME a b a b c c

This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth;
Over one shoulder doth she hang her head; 
Dumbly she passions, franticly she doteth;
She thinks he could not die, he is not dead:
Her voice is stopt, her joints forget to bow;
Her eyes are mad that they have wept til now.

RHYME a b a b c c

Upon his hurt she looks so steadfastly, 
That her sight dazzling makes the wound seem three;
And then she reprehends her mangling eye,
That makes more gashes where no breach should be:
His face seems twain, each several limb is doubled;
For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being troubled. 

RHYME a b a b c c

'My tongue cannot express my grief for one,
And yet,' quoth she, 'behold two Adons dead!
My sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone,
Mine eyes are turn'd to fire, my heart to lead:
Heavy heart's lead, melt at mine eyes' red fire! 
So shall I die by drops of hot desire.

RHYME a b a b c c

'Alas, poor world, what treasure hast thou lost!
What face remains alive that's worth the viewing?
Whose tongue is music now? what canst thou boast
Of things long since, or any thing ensuing? 
The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh and trim;
But true-sweet beauty lived and died with him.

RHYME a b a b c c

'Bonnet nor veil henceforth no creature wear!
Nor sun nor wind will ever strive to kiss you:
Having no fair to lose, you need not fear; 
The sun doth scorn you and the wind doth hiss you:
But when Adonis lived, sun and sharp air
Lurk'd like two thieves, to rob him of his fair:

RHYME a b a b c c

'And therefore would he put his bonnet on,
Under whose brim the gaudy sun would peep; 
The wind would blow it off and, being gone,
Play with his locks: then would Adonis weep;
And straight, in pity of his tender years,
They both would strive who first should dry his tears.

RHYME a b a b c c

'To see his face the lion walk'd along 
Behind some hedge, because he would not fear him;
To recreate himself when he hath sung,
The tiger would be tame and gently hear him;
If he had spoke, the wolf would leave his prey
And never fright the silly lamb that day. 

RHYME a b a b c c

'When he beheld his shadow in the brook,
The fishes spread on it their golden gills;
When he was by, the birds such pleasure took,
That some would sing, some other in their bills
Would bring him mulberries and ripe-red cherries; 
He fed them with his sight, they him with berries.

RHYME a b a b c c

'But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted boar,
Whose downward eye still looketh for a grave,
Ne'er saw the beauteous livery that he wore;
Witness the entertainment that he gave: 
If he did see his face, why then I know
He thought to kiss him, and hath kill'd him so.

RHYME a b a b c c

'Tis true, 'tis true; thus was Adonis slain:
He ran upon the boar with his sharp spear,
Who did not whet his teeth at him again, 
But by a kiss thought to persuade him there;
And nuzzling in his flank, the loving swine
Sheathed unaware the tusk in his soft groin.

RHYME a b a b c c

'Had I been tooth'd like him, I must confess,
With kissing him I should have kill'd him first; 
But he is dead, and never did he bless
My youth with his; the more am I accurst.'
With this, she falleth in the place she stood,
And stains her face with his congealed blood.

RHYME a b a b c c

She looks upon his lips, and they are pale; 
She takes him by the hand, and that is cold;
She whispers in his ears a heavy tale,
As if they heard the woeful words she told;
She lifts the coffer-lids that close his eyes,
Where, lo, two lamps, burnt out, in darkness lies; 

RHYME a b a b c c

Two glasses, where herself herself beheld
A thousand times, and now no more reflect;
Their virtue lost, wherein they late excell'd,
And every beauty robb'd of his effect:
'Wonder of time,' quoth she, 'this is my spite, 
That, thou being dead, the day should yet be light.

RHYME a b a b c c

'Since thou art dead, lo, here I prophesy:
Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend:
It shall be waited on with jealousy,
Find sweet beginning, but unsavoury end, 
Ne'er settled equally, but high or low,
That all love's pleasure shall not match his woe.

RHYME a b a b c c

'It shall be fickle, false and full of fraud,
Bud and be blasted in a breathing-while;
The bottom poison, and the top o'erstraw'd 
With sweets that shall the truest sight beguile:
The strongest body shall it make most weak,
Strike the wise dumb and teach the fool to speak.

RHYME a b a b c c

'It shall be sparing and too full of riot,
Teaching decrepit age to tread the measures; 
The staring ruffian shall it keep in quiet,
Pluck down the rich, enrich the poor with treasures;
It shall be raging-mad and silly-mild,
Make the young old, the old become a child.

RHYME a b a b c c

'It shall suspect where is no cause of fear; 
It shall not fear where it should most mistrust;
It shall be merciful and too severe,
And most deceiving when it seems most just;
Perverse it shall be where it shows most toward,
Put fear to valour, courage to the coward. 

RHYME a b a b c c

'It shall be cause of war and dire events,
And set dissension 'twixt the son and sire;
Subject and servile to all discontents,
As dry combustious matter is to fire:
Sith in his prime Death doth my love destroy, 
They that love best their loves shall not enjoy.'

RHYME a b a b c c

By this, the boy that by her side lay kill'd
Was melted like a vapour from her sight,
And in his blood that on the ground lay spill'd,
A purple flower sprung up, chequer'd with white, 
Resembling well his pale cheeks and the blood
Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood.

RHYME a b a b c c

She bows her head, the new-sprung flower to smell,
Comparing it to her Adonis' breath,
And says, within her bosom it shall dwell, 
Since he himself is reft from her by death:
She crops the stalk, and in the breach appears
Green dropping sap, which she compares to tears.

RHYME a b a b c c

'Poor flower,' quoth she, 'this was thy fathers guise--
Sweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire-- 
For every little grief to wet his eyes:
To grow unto himself was his desire,
And so 'tis thine; but know, it is as good
To wither in my breast as in his blood.

RHYME a b a b c c

'Here was thy father's bed, here in my breast; 
Thou art the next of blood, and 'tis thy right:
Lo, in this hollow cradle take thy rest,
My throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night:
There shall not be one minute in an hour
Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love's flower.' 

RHYME a b a b c c

Thus weary of the world, away she hies,
And yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aid
Their mistress mounted through the empty skies
In her light chariot quickly is convey'd;
Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen 
Means to immure herself and not be seen.


TITLE Sonnets

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

from fairest creatures we desire increase
that thereby beautys rose might never die
but as the riper should by time decease
his tender heir might bear his memory
but thou contracted to thine own bright eyes
feedst thy lightst flame with self substantial fuel
making a famine where abundance lies
thyself thy foe to thy sweet self too cruel
thou that art now the worlds fresh ornament
and only herald to the gaudy spring
within thine own bud buriest thy content
and tender churl makest waste in niggarding
pity the world or else this glutton be
to eat the worlds due by the grave and thee

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

when forty winters shall beseige thy brow
and dig deep trenches in thy beautys field
thy youths proud livery so gazed on now
will be a tatterd weed of small worth held
then being askd where all thy beauty lies
where all the treasure of thy lusty days
to say within thine own deep sunken eyes
were an all eating shame and thriftless praise
how much more praise deserved thy beautys use
if thou couldst answer this fair child of mine
shall sum my count and make my old excuse
proving his beauty by succession thine
this were to be new made when thou art old
and see thy blood warm when thou feelst it cold

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest
now is the time that face should form another
whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest
thou dost beguile the world unbless some mother
for where is she so fair whose uneard womb
disdains the tillage of thy husbandry
or who is he so fond will be the tomb
of his self love to stop posterity
thou art thy mothers glass and she in thee
calls back the lovely april of her prime
so thou through windows of thine age shall see
despite of wrinkles this thy golden time
but if thou live rememberd not to be
die single and thine image dies with thee

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

unthrifty loveliness why dost thou spend
upon thyself thy beautys legacy
natures bequest gives nothing but doth lend
and being frank she lends to those are free
then beauteous niggard why dost thou abuse
the bounteous largess given thee to give
profitless usurer why dost thou use
so great a sum of sums yet canst not live
for having traffic with thyself alone
thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive
then how when nature calls thee to be gone
what acceptable audit canst thou leave
thy unused beauty must be tombd with thee
which used lives th executor to be

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

those hours that with gentle work did frame
the lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell
will play the tyrants to the very same
and that unfair which fairly doth excel
for never resting time leads summer on
to hideous winter and confounds him there
sap chequed with frost and lusty leaves quite gone
beauty oersnowd and bareness every where
then were not summers distillation left
a liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass
beautys effect with beauty were bereft
nor it nor no remembrance what it was
but flowers distilld though they with winter meet
leese but their show their substance still lives sweet

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

then let not winters ragged hand deface
in thee thy summer ere thou be distilld
make sweet some vial treasure thou some place
with beautys treasure ere it be self killd
that use is not forbidden usury
which happies those that pay the willing loan
thats for thyself to breed another thee
or ten times happier be it ten for one
ten times thyself were happier than thou art
if ten of thine ten times refigured thee
then what could death do if thou shouldst depart
leaving thee living in posterity
be not self willd for thou art much too fair
to be deaths conquest and make worms thine heir

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

lo in the orient when the gracious light
lifts up his burning head each under eye
doth homage to his new appearing sight
serving with looks his sacred majesty
and having climbd the steep up heavenly hill
resembling strong youth in his middle age
yet mortal looks adore his beauty still
attending on his golden pilgrimage
but when from highmost pitch with weary car
like feeble age he reeleth from the day
the eyes fore duteous now converted are
from his low tract and look another way
so thou thyself out going in thy noon
unlookd on diest unless thou get a son

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

music to hear why hearst thou music sadly
sweets with sweets war not joy delights in joy
why lovest thou that which thou receivest not gladly
or else receivest with pleasure thine annoy
if the true concord of well tuned sounds
by unions married do offend thine ear
they do but sweetly chide thee who confounds
in singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear
mark how one string sweet husband to another
strikes each in each by mutual ordering
resembling sire and child and happy mother
who all in one one pleasing note do sing
whose speechless song being many seeming one
sings this to thee thou single wilt prove none

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

is it for fear to wet a widows eye
that thou consumest thyself in single life
ah if thou issueless shalt hap to die
the world will wail thee like a makeless wife
the world will be thy widow and still weep
that thou no form of thee hast left behind
when every private widow well may keep
by childrens eyes her husbands shape in mind
look what an unthrift in the world doth spend
shifts but his place for still the world enjoys it
but beautys waste hath in the world an end
and kept unused the user so destroys it
no love toward others in that bosom sits
that on himself such murderous shame commits

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

for shame deny that thou bearst love to any
who for thyself art so unprovident
grant if thou wilt thou art beloved of many
but that thou none lovest is most evident
for thou art so possessd with murderous hate
that gainst thyself thou stickst not to conspire
seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate
which to repair should be thy chief desire
o change thy thought that i may change my mind
shall hate be fairer lodged than gentle love
be as thy presence is gracious and kind
or to thyself at least kind hearted prove
make thee another self for love of me
that beauty still may live in thine or thee

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

as fast as thou shalt wane so fast thou growest
in one of thine from that which thou departest
and that fresh blood which youngly thou bestowest
thou mayst call thine when thou from youth convertest
herein lives wisdom beauty and increase
without this folly age and cold decay
if all were minded so the times should cease
and threescore year would make the world away
let those whom nature hath not made for store
harsh featureless and rude barrenly perish
look whom she best endowd she gave the more
which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty cherish
she carved thee for her seal and meant thereby
thou shouldst print more not let that copy die

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

when i do count the clock that tells the time
and see the brave day sunk in hideous night
when i behold the violet past prime
and sable curls all silverd oer with white
when lofty trees i see barren of leaves
which erst from heat did canopy the herd
and summers green all girded up in sheaves
borne on the bier with white and bristly beard
then of thy beauty do i question make
that thou among the wastes of time must go
since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake
and die as fast as they see others grow
and nothing gainst times scythe can make defence
save breed to brave him when he takes thee hence

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

o that you were yourself but love you are
no longer yours than you yourself here live
against this coming end you should prepare
and your sweet semblance to some other give
so should that beauty which you hold in lease
find no determination then you were
yourself again after yourselfs decease
when your sweet issue your sweet form should bear
who lets so fair a house fall to decay
which husbandry in honour might uphold
against the stormy gusts of winters day
and barren rage of deaths eternal cold
o none but unthrifts dear my love you know
you had a father let your son say so

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

not from the stars do i my judgment pluck
and yet methinks i have astronomy
but not to tell of good or evil luck
of plagues of dearths or seasons quality
nor can i fortune to brief minutes tell
pointing to each his thunder rain and wind
or say with princes if it shall go well
by oft predict that i in heaven find
but from thine eyes my knowledge i derive
and constant stars in them i read such art
as truth and beauty shall together thrive
if from thyself to store thou wouldst convert
or else of thee this i prognosticate
thy end is truths and beautys doom and date

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

when i consider every thing that grows
holds in perfection but a little moment
that this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
whereon the stars in secret influence comment
when i perceive that men as plants increase
cheered and chequed even by the self same sky
vaunt in their youthful sap at height decrease
and wear their brave state out of memory
then the conceit of this inconstant stay
sets you most rich in youth before my sight
where wasteful time debateth with decay
to change your day of youth to sullied night
and all in war with time for love of you
as he takes from you i engraft you new

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

but wherefore do not you a mightier way
make war upon this bloody tyrant time
and fortify yourself in your decay
with means more blessed than my barren rhyme
now stand you on the top of happy hours
and many maiden gardens yet unset
with virtuous wish would bear your living flowers
much liker than your painted counterfeit
so should the lines of life that life repair
which this times pencil or my pupil pen
neither in inward worth nor outward fair
can make you live yourself in eyes of men
to give away yourself keeps yourself still
and you must live drawn by your own sweet skill

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

who will believe my verse in time to come
if it were filld with your most high deserts
though yet heaven knows it is but as a tomb
which hides your life and shows not half your parts
if i could write the beauty of your eyes
and in fresh numbers number all your graces
the age to come would say this poet lies
such heavenly touches neer touchd earthly faces
so should my papers yellowd with their age
be scornd like old men of less truth than tongue
and your true rights be termd a poets rage
and stretched metre of an antique song
but were some child of yours alive that time
you should live twice in it and in my rhyme

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

shall i compare thee to a summers day
thou art more lovely and more temperate
rough winds do shake the darling buds of may
and summers lease hath all too short a date
sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines
and often is his gold complexion dimmd
and every fair from fair sometime declines
by chance or natures changing course untrimmd
but thy eternal summer shall not fade
nor lose possession of that fair thou owest
nor shall death brag thou wanderst in his shade
when in eternal lines to time thou growest
so long as men can breathe or eyes can see
so long lives this and this gives life to thee

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

devouring time blunt thou the lions paws
and make the earth devour her own sweet brood
pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tigers jaws
and burn the long lived phoenix in her blood
make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleets
and do whateer thou wilt swift footed time
to the wide world and all her fading sweets
but i forbid thee one most heinous crime
o carve not with thy hours my loves fair brow
nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen
him in thy course untainted do allow
for beautys pattern to succeeding men
yet do thy worst old time despite thy wrong
my love shall in my verse ever live young

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

a womans face with natures own hand painted
hast thou the master mistress of my passion
a womans gentle heart but not acquainted
with shifting change as is false womens fashion
an eye more bright than theirs less false in rolling
gilding the object whereupon it gazeth
a man in hue all hues in his controlling
much steals mens eyes and womens souls amazeth
and for a woman wert thou first created
till nature as she wrought thee fell a doting
and by addition me of thee defeated
by adding one thing to my purpose nothing
but since she prickd thee out for womens pleasure
mine be thy love and thy loves use their treasure

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

so is it not with me as with that muse
stirrd by a painted beauty to his verse
who heaven itself for ornament doth use
and every fair with his fair doth rehearse
making a couplement of proud compare
with sun and moon with earth and seas rich gems
with aprils first born flowers and all things rare
that heavens 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 mothers child though not so bright
as those gold candles fixd in heavens air
let them say more than like of hearsay well
i will not praise that purpose not to sell

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

my glass shall not persuade me i am old
so long as youth and thou are of one date
but when in thee times furrows 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 wary
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 gavest me thine not to give back again

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

as an unperfect actor on the stage
who with his fear is put besides his part
or some fierce thing replete with too much rage
whose strengths abundance weakens his own heart
so i for fear of trust forget to say
the perfect ceremony of loves rite
and in mine own loves strength seem to decay
oercharged with burden of mine own loves might
o let my books be then the eloquence
and dumb presagers of my speaking breast
who plead for love and look for recompense
more than that tongue that more hath more expressd
o learn to read what silent love hath writ
to hear with eyes belongs to loves fine wit

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

mine eye hath playd the painter and hath stelld
thy beautys form in table of my heart
my body is the frame wherein tis held
and perspective it is the painters art
for through the painter must you see his skill
to find where your true image pictured lies
which in my bosoms shop is hanging still
that hath 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 through 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

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

let those who are in favour with their stars
of public honour and proud titles boast
whilst i whom fortune of such triumph bars
unlookd for joy in that i honour most
great princes favourites their fair leaves spread
but as the marigold at the suns eye
and in themselves their pride lies buried
for at a frown they in their glory die
the painful warrior famoused for fight
after a thousand victories once foild
is from the book of honour razed quite
and all the rest forgot for which he toild
then happy i that love and am beloved
where i may not remove nor be removed

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

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 show 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 thy souls 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 tatterd loving
to show me worthy of thy sweet respect
then may i dare to boast how i do love thee
till then not show my head where thou mayst prove me

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

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 bodys works expired
for then my thoughts from far where i abide
intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee
and keep my drooping eyelids open wide
looking on darkness which the blind do see
save that my souls imaginary sight
presents thy 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

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

how can i then return in happy plight
that am debarrd the benefit of rest
when days oppression is not eased by night
but day by night and night by day oppressd
and each though enemies to eithers 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 them thou art bright
and dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven
so flatter i the swart complexiond night
when sparkling stars twire not thou gildst the even
but day doth daily draw my sorrows longer
and night doth nightly make griefs strength seem stronger

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

when in disgrace with fortune and mens eyes
i all alone beweep my outcast 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
featured like him like him with friends possessd
desiring this mans art and that mans 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 sings hymns at heavens gate
for thy sweet love rememberd such wealth brings
that then i scorn to change my state with kings

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

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 times waste
then can i drown an eye unused to flow
for precious friends hid in deaths dateless night
and weep afresh loves long since cancelld woe
and moan the expense of many a vanishd sight
then can i grieve at grievances foregone
and heavily from woe to woe tell oer
the sad account of fore bemoaned moan
which i new pay as if not paid before
but if the while i think on thee dear friend
all losses are restored and sorrows end

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

thy bosom is endeared with all hearts
which i by lacking have supposed dead
and there reigns love and all loves loving parts
and all those friends which i thought buried
how many a holy and obsequious tear
hath dear religious love stoln from mine eye
as interest of the dead which now appear
but things removed that hidden in thee lie
thou art the grave where buried love doth live
hung with the trophies of my lovers gone
who all their parts of me to thee did give
that due of many now is thine alone
their images i loved i view in thee
and thou all they hast all the all of me

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

if thou survive my well contented day
when that churl death my bones with dust shall cover
and shalt by fortune once more re survey
these poor rude lines of thy deceased lover
compare them with the bettering of the time
and though they be outstrippd by every pen
reserve them for my love not for their rhyme
exceeded by the height of happier men
o then vouchsafe me but this loving thought
had my friends muse grown with this growing age
a dearer birth than this his love had brought
to march in ranks of better equipage
but since he died and poets better prove
theirs for their style ill read his for his love

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

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 alchemy
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 this disgrace
even so my sun one early morn did shine
with all triumphant splendor on my brow
but out alack he was but one hour mine
the region cloud hath maskd him from me now
yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth
suns of the world may stain when heavens sun staineth

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

why didst thou promise such a beauteous day
and make me travel forth without my cloak
to let base clouds oertake me in my way
hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke
tis not enough that through 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
though thou repent yet i have still the loss
the offenders sorrow lends but weak relief
to him that bears the strong offences cross
ah but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds
and they are rich and ransom all ill deeds

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

no more be grieved 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
all men make faults and even i in this
authorizing thy trespass with compare
myself corrupting salving thy amiss
excusing thy sins more than thy sins are
for to thy sensual fault i bring in sense
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 sourly robs from me

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

let me confess that we two must be twain
although 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
though in our lives a separable spite
which though it alter not loves sole effect
yet doth it steal sweet hours from loves delight
i may not evermore acknowledge thee
lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame
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

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

as a decrepit father takes delight
to see his active child do deeds of youth
so i made lame by fortunes 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
entitled in thy parts do crowned sit
i make my love engrafted to this store
so then i am not lame poor nor despised
whilst that this shadow doth such substance give
that i in thy abundance am sufficed
and by a part of all thy glory live
look what is best that best i wish in thee
this wish i have then ten times happy me

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

how can my muse want subject to invent
while thou dost breathe that pourst into my verse
thine own sweet argument too excellent
for every vulgar paper to rehearse
o give thyself the thanks if aught in me
worthy perusal stand against thy sight
for whos so dumb that cannot write to thee
when thou thyself dost give invention light
be thou the tenth muse ten times more in worth
than those old nine which rhymers invocate
and he that calls on thee let him bring forth
eternal numbers to outlive long date
if my slight muse do please these curious days
the pain be mine but thine shall be the praise

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

o how thy worth with manners may i sing
when thou art all the better part of me
what can mine own praise to mine own self bring
and what is t but mine own when i praise thee
even for this let us divided live
and our dear love lose name of single one
that by this separation i may give
that due to thee which thou deservest alone
o absence what a torment wouldst thou prove
were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave
to entertain the time with thoughts of love
which time and thoughts so sweetly doth deceive
and that thou teachest how to make one twain
by praising him here who doth hence remain

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

take all my loves my love yea take them all
what hast thou then more than thou hadst before
no love my love that thou mayst true love call
all mine was thine before thou hadst this more
then if for my love thou my love receivest
i cannot blame thee for my love thou usest
but yet be blamed if thou thyself deceivest
by wilful taste of what thyself refusest
i do forgive thy robbery gentle thief
although thou steal thee all my poverty
and yet love knows it is a greater grief
to bear loves wrong than hates known injury
lascivious grace in whom all ill well shows
kill me with spites yet we must not be foes

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

those petty wrongs that liberty commits
when i am sometime absent from thy heart
thy beauty and thy years full well befits
for still temptation follows where thou art
gentle thou art and therefore to be won
beauteous thou art therefore to be assailed
and when a woman woos what womans son
will sourly leave her till she have prevailed
ay me but yet thou mightest my seat forbear
and chide try beauty and thy straying youth
who lead thee in their riot even there
where thou art forced to break a twofold truth
hers by thy beauty tempting her to thee
thine by thy beauty being false to me

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

that thou hast her it is not all my grief
and yet it may be said i loved her dearly
that she hath thee is of my wailing chief
a loss in love that touches me more nearly
loving offenders thus i will excuse ye
thou dost love her because thou knowst i love her
and for my sake even so doth she abuse me
suffering my friend for my sake to approve her
if i lose thee my loss is my loves gain
and losing her my friend hath found that loss
both find each other and i lose both twain
and both for my sake lay on me this cross
but heres the joy my friend and i are one
sweet flattery then she loves but me alone

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

when most i wink then do mine eyes best see
for all the day they view things unrespected
but when i sleep in dreams they look on thee
and darkly bright are bright in dark directed
then thou whose shadow shadows doth make bright
how would thy shadows form form happy show
to the clear day with thy much clearer light
when to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so
how would i say mine eyes be blessed made
by looking on thee in the living day
when in dead night thy fair imperfect shade
through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay
all days are nights to see till i see thee
and nights bright days when dreams do show thee me

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

if the dull substance of my flesh were thought
injurious distance should not stop my way
for then despite of space i would be brought
from limits far remote where thou dost stay
no matter then although my foot did stand
upon the farthest earth removed from thee
for nimble thought can jump both sea and land
as soon as think the place where he would be
but ah thought kills me that i am not thought
to leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone
but that so much of earth and water wrought
i must attend times leisure with my moan
receiving nought by elements so slow
but heavy tears badges of eithers woe

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

the other two slight air and purging fire
are both with thee wherever i abide
the first my thought the other my desire
these present absent with swift motion slide
for when these quicker elements are gone
in tender embassy of love to thee
my life being made of four with two alone
sinks down to death oppressd with melancholy
until lifes composition be recured
by those swift messengers returnd from thee
who even but now come back again assured
of thy fair health recounting it to me
this told i joy but then no longer glad
i send them back again and straight grow sad

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

mine eye and heart are at a mortal war
how to divide the conquest of thy sight
mine eye my heart thy pictures sight would bar
my heart mine eye the freedom of that right
my heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie
a closet never pierced with crystal eyes
but the defendant doth that plea deny
and says in him thy fair appearance lies
to cide this title is impanneled
a quest of thoughts all tenants to the heart
and by their verdict is determined
the clear eyes moiety and the dear hearts part
as thus mine eyes due is thy outward part
and my hearts right thy inward love of heart

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took
and each doth good turns now unto the other
when that mine eye is famishd for a look
or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother
with my loves picture then my eye doth feast
and to the painted banquet bids my heart
another time mine eye is my hearts guest
and in his thoughts of love doth share a part
so either by thy picture or my love
thyself away art resent still with me
for thou not farther than my thoughts canst move
and i am still with them and they with thee
or if they sleep thy picture in my sight
awakes my heart to hearts and eyes delight

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

how careful was i when i took my way
each trifle under truest bars to thrust
that to my use it might unused stay
from hands of falsehood in sure wards of trust
but thou to whom my jewels trifles are
most worthy of comfort now my greatest grief
thou best of dearest and mine only care
art left the prey of every vulgar thief
thee have i not lockd up in any chest
save where thou art not though i feel thou art
within the gentle closure of my breast
from whence at pleasure thou mayst come and part
and even thence thou wilt be stoln i fear
for truth proves thievish for a prize so dear

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

against that time if ever that time come
when i shall see thee frown on my defects
when as thy love hath cast his utmost sum
calld to that audit by advised respects
against that time when thou shalt strangely pass
and scarcely greet me with that sun thine eye
when love converted from the thing it was
shall reasons find of settled gravity
against that time do i ensconce me here
within the knowledge of mine own desert
and this my hand against myself uprear
to guard the lawful reasons on thy part
to leave poor me thou hast the strength of laws
since why to love i can allege no cause

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

how heavy do i journey on the way
when what i seek my weary travels end
doth teach that ease and that repose to say
thus far the miles are measured 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 loved 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 mind
my grief lies onward and my joy behind

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

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
o what excuse will my poor beast then find
when swift extremity can seem but slow
then should i spur though mounted on the wind
in winged speed no motion shall i know
then can no horse with my desire keep pace
therefore desire of perfectst love being made
shall neigh no dull flesh in his fiery race
but love for love thus shall excuse my jade
since from thee going he went wilful slow
towards thee ill run and give him leave to go

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

so am i as the rich whose blessed key
can bring him to his sweet up locked treasure
the which he will not every hour survey
for blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure
therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare
since seldom coming in the long year set
like stones of worth they thinly placed are
or captain jewels in the carcanet
so is the time that keeps you as my chest
or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide
to make some special instant special blest
by new unfolding his imprisond pride
blessed are you whose worthiness gives scope
being had to triumph being lackd to hope

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

what is your substance whereof are you made
that millions of strange shadows on you tend
since every one hath every one one shade
and you but one can every shadow lend
describe adonis and the counterfeit
is poorly imitated after you
on helens cheek all art of beauty set
and you in grecian tires are painted new
speak of the spring and foison of the year
the one doth shadow of your beauty show
the other as your bounty doth appear
and you in every blessed shape we know
in all external grace you have some part
but you like none none you for constant heart

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

o how much more doth beauty beauteous seem
by that sweet ornament which truth doth give
the rose looks fair but fairer we it deem
for that sweet odour which doth in it live
the canker blooms have full as deep a dye
as the perfumed tincture of the roses
hang on such thorns and play as wantonly
when summers breath their masked buds discloses
but for their virtue only is their show
they live unwood and unrespected fade
die to themselves sweet roses do not so
of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made
and so of you beauteous and lovely youth
when that shall fade my verse distills your truth

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

not marble nor the gilded monuments
of princes shall outlive this powerful rhyme
but you shall shine more bright in these contents
than unswept stone besmeard with sluttish time
when wasteful war shall statues overturn
and broils root out the work of masonry
nor mars his sword nor wars quick fire shall burn
the living record of your memory
gainst death and all oblivious enmity
shall you pace forth your praise shall still find room
even in the eyes of all posterity
that wear this world out to the ending doom
so till the judgment that yourself arise
you live in this and dwell in lovers eyes

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

sweet love renew thy force be it not said
thy edge should blunter be than appetite
which but to day by feeding is allayd
to morrow sharpend in his former might
so love be thou although to day thou fill
thy hungry eyes even till they wink with fullness
to morrow see again and do not kill
the spirit of love with a perpetual dullness
let this sad interim like the ocean be
which parts the shore where two contracted new
come daily to the banks that when they see
return of love more blest may be the view
else call it winter which being full of care
makes summers welcome thrice more wishd more rare

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

being your slave what should i do but tend
upon the hours and times of your desire
i have no precious time at all to spend
nor services to do till you require
nor dare i chide the world without end hour
whilst i my sovereign watch the clock for you
nor think the bitterness of absence sour
when you have bid your servant once adieu
nor dare i question with my jealous thought
where you may be or your affairs suppose
but like a sad slave stay and think of nought
save where you are how happy you make those
so true a fool is love that in your will
though you do any thing he thinks no ill

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

that god forbid that made me first your slave
i should in thought control your times of pleasure
or at your hand the account of hours to crave
being your vassal bound to stay your leisure
o let me suffer being at your beck
the imprisond absence of your liberty
and patience tame to sufferance bide each cheque
without accusing you of injury
be where you list your charter is so strong
that you yourself may privilege your time
to what you will to you it doth belong
yourself to pardon of self doing crime
i am to wait though waiting so be hell
not blame your pleasure be it ill or well

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

if there be nothing new but that which is
hath been before how are our brains beguiled
which labouring for invention bear amiss
the second burden of a former child
o that record could with a backward look
even of five hundred courses of the sun
show me your image in some antique book
since mind at first in character was done
that i might see what the old world could say
to this composed wonder of your frame
whether we are mended or whether better they
or whether revolution be the same
o sure i am the wits of former days
to subjects worse have given admiring praise

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore
so do our minutes hasten to their end
each changing place with that which goes before
in sequent toil all forwards do contend
nativity once in the main of light
crawls to maturity wherewith being crownd
crooked elipses gainst his glory fight
and time that gave doth now his gift confound
time doth transfix the flourish set on youth
and delves the parallels in beautys brow
feeds on the rarities of natures truth
and nothing stands but for his scythe to mow
and yet to times in hope my verse shall stand
praising thy worth despite his cruel hand

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

is it thy will thy image should keep open
my heavy eyelids to the weary night
dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken
while shadows like to thee do mock my sight
is it thy spirit that thou sendst from thee
so far from home into my deeds to pry
to find out shames and idle hours in me
the scope and tenor of thy jealousy
o no thy love though much is not so great
it is my love that keeps mine eye awake
mine own true love that doth my rest defeat
to play the watchman ever for thy sake
for thee watch i whilst thou dost wake elsewhere
from me far off with others all too near

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

sin of self love possesseth all mine eye
and all my soul and all my every part
and for this sin there is no remedy
it is so grounded inward in my heart
methinks no face so gracious is as mine
no shape so true no truth of such account
and for myself mine own worth do define
as i all other in all worths surmount
but when my glass shows me myself indeed
beated and choppd with tannd antiquity
mine own self love quite contrary i read
self so self loving were iniquity
tis thee myself that for myself i praise
painting my age with beauty of thy days

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

against my love shall be as i am now
with times injurious hand crushd and oer worn
when hours have draind his blood and filld his brow
with lines and wrinkles when his youthful morn
hath travelld on to ages steepy night
and all those beauties whereof now hes king
are vanishing or vanishd out of sight
stealing away the treasure of his spring
for such a time do i now fortify
against confounding ages cruel knife
that he shall never cut from memory
my sweet loves beauty though my lovers life
his beauty shall in these black lines be seen
and they shall live and he in them still green

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

when i have seen by times fell hand defaced
the rich proud cost of outworn buried age
when sometime lofty towers i see down razed
and brass eternal slave to mortal rage
when i have seen the hungry ocean gain
advantage on the kingdom of the shore
and the firm soil win of the watery main
increasing store with loss and loss with store
when i have seen such interchange of state
or state itself confounded to decay
ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate
that time will come and take my love away
this thought is as a death which cannot choose
but weep to have that which it fears to lose

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

since brass nor stone nor earth nor boundless sea
but sad mortality oer sways their power
how with this rage shall beauty hold a plea
whose action is no stronger than a flower
o how shall summers honey breath hold out
against the wreckful siege of battering days
when rocks impregnable are not so stout
nor gates of steel so strong but time decays
o fearful meditation where alack
shall times best jewel from times chest lie hid
or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back
or who his spoil of beauty can forbid
o none unless this miracle have might
that in black ink my love may still shine bright

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

tired with all these for restful death i cry
as to behold desert a beggar born
and needy nothing trimmd in jollity
and purest faith unhappily forsworn
and guilded honour shamefully misplaced
and maiden virtue rudely strumpeted
and right perfection wrongfully disgraced
and strength by limping sway disabled
and art made tongue tied by authority
and folly doctor like controlling skill
and simple truth miscalld simplicity
and captive good attending captain ill
tired with all these from these would i be gone
save that to die i leave my love alone

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

ah wherefore with infection should he live
and with his presence grace impiety
that sin by him advantage should achieve
and lace itself with his society
why should false painting imitate his cheek
and steal dead seeing of his living hue
why should poor beauty indirectly seek
roses of shadow since his rose is true
why should he live now nature bankrupt is
beggard of blood to blush through lively veins
for she hath no exchequer now but his
and proud of many lives upon his gains
o him she stores to show what wealth she had
in days long since before these last so bad

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

thus is his cheek the map of days outworn
when beauty lived and died as flowers do now
before the bastard signs of fair were born
or durst inhabit on a living brow
before the golden tresses of the dead
the right of sepulchres were shorn away
to live a second life on second head
ere beautys dead fleece made another gay
in him those holy antique hours are seen
without all ornament itself and true
making no summer of anothers green
robbing no old to dress his beauty new
and him as for a map doth nature store
to show false art what beauty was of yore

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

those parts of thee that the worlds eye doth view
want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend
all tongues the voice of souls give thee that due
uttering bare truth even so as foes commend
thy outward thus with outward praise is crownd
but those same tongues that give thee so thine own
in other accents do this praise confound
by seeing farther than the eye hath shown
they look into the beauty of thy mind
and that in guess they measure by thy deeds
then churls their thoughts although their eyes were kind
to thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds
but why thy odour matcheth not thy show
the solve is this that thou dost common grow

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

that thou art blamed shall not be thy defect
for slanders mark was ever yet the fair
the ornament of beauty is suspect
a crow that flies in heavens sweetest air
so thou be good slander doth but approve
thy worth the greater being wood of time
for canker vice the sweetest buds doth love
and thou presentst a pure unstained prime
thou hast passd by the ambush of young days
either not assaild or victor being charged
yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise
to tie up envy evermore enlarged
if some suspect of ill maskd not thy show
then thou alone kingdoms of hearts shouldst owe

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

no longer mourn for me when i am dead
then you shall hear the surly sullen bell
give warning to the world that i am fled
from this vile world with vilest worms to dwell
nay if you read this line remember not
the hand that writ it for i love you so
that i in your sweet thoughts would be forgot
if thinking on me then should make you woe
o if i say you look upon this verse
when i perhaps compounded am with clay
do not so much as my poor name rehearse
but let your love even with my life decay
lest the wise world should look into your moan
and mock you with me after i am gone

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

o lest the world should task you to recite
what merit lived in me that you should love
after my death dear love forget me quite
for you in me can nothing worthy prove
unless you would devise some virtuous lie
to do more for me than mine own desert
and hang more praise upon deceased i
than niggard truth would willingly impart
o lest your true love may seem false in this
that you for love speak well of me untrue
my name be buried where my body is
and live no more to shame nor me nor you
for i am shamed by that which i bring forth
and so should you to love things nothing worth

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

that time of year thou mayst in me behold
when yellow leaves or none or few do hang
upon those boughs which shake against the cold
bare ruind choirs where late the sweet birds sang
in me thou seest the twilight of such day
as after sunset fadeth in the west
which by and by black night doth take away
deaths second self that seals up all in rest
in me thou seest the glowing of such fire
that on the ashes of his youth doth lie
as the death bed whereon it must expire
consumed with that which it was nourishd by
this thou perceivest which makes thy love more strong
to love that well which thou must leave ere long

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

but be contented when that fell arrest
without all bail shall carry me away
my life hath in this line some interest
which for memorial still with thee shall stay
when thou reviewest this thou dost review
the very part was consecrate to thee
the earth can have but earth which is his due
my spirit is thine the better part of me
so then thou hast but lost the dregs of life
the prey of worms my body being dead
the coward conquest of a wretchs knife
too base of thee to be remembered
the worth of that is that which it contains
and that is this and this with thee remains

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

so are you to my thoughts as food to life
or as sweet seasond showers are to the ground
and for the peace of you i hold such strife
as twixt a miser and his wealth is found
now proud as an enjoyer and anon
doubting the filching age will steal his treasure
now counting best to be with you alone
then betterd that the world may see my pleasure
sometime all full with feasting on your sight
and by and by clean starved for a look
possessing or pursuing no delight
save what is had or must from you be took
thus do i pine and surfeit day by day
or gluttoning on all or all away

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

why is my verse so barren of new pride
so far from variation or quick change
why with the time do i not glance aside
to new found methods and to compounds strange
why write i still all one ever the same
and keep invention in a noted weed
that every word doth almost tell my name
showing their birth and where they did proceed
o know sweet love i always write of you
and you and love are still my argument
so all my best is dressing old words new
spending again what is already spent
for as the sun is daily new and old
so is my love still telling what is told

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear
thy dial how thy precious minutes waste
the vacant leaves thy minds imprint will bear
and of this book this learning mayst thou taste
the wrinkles which thy glass will truly show
of mouthed graves will give thee memory
thou by thy dials shady stealth mayst know
times thievish progress to eternity
look what thy memory can not contain
commit to these waste blanks and thou shalt find
those children nursed deliverd from thy brain
to take a new acquaintance of thy mind
these offices so oft as thou wilt look
shall profit thee and much enrich thy book

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

so oft have i invoked thee for my muse
and found such fair assistance in my verse
as every alien pen hath got my use
and under thee their poesy disperse
thine eyes that taught the dumb on high to sing
and heavy ignorance aloft to fly
have added feathers to the learneds wing
and given grace a double majesty
yet be most proud of that which i compile
whose influence is thine and born of thee
in others works thou dost but mend the style
and arts with thy sweet graces graced be
but thou art all my art and dost advance
as high as learning my rude ignorance

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

whilst i alone did call upon thy aid
my verse alone had all thy gentle grace
but now my gracious numbers are decayd
and my sick muse doth give another place
i grant sweet love thy lovely argument
deserves the travail of a worthier pen
yet what of thee thy poet doth invent
he robs thee of and pays it thee again
he lends thee virtue and he stole that word
from thy behavior beauty doth he give
and found it in thy cheek he can afford
no praise to thee but what in thee doth live
then thank him not for that which he doth say
since what he owes thee thou thyself dost pay

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

o how i faint when i of you do write
knowing a better spirit doth use your name
and in the praise thereof spends all his might
to make me tongue tied speaking of your fame
but since your worth wide as the ocean is
the humble as the proudest sail doth bear
my saucy bark inferior far to his
on your broad main doth wilfully appear
your shallowest help will hold me up afloat
whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride
or being wreckd i am a worthless boat
he of tall building and of goodly pride
then if he thrive and i be cast away
the worst was this my love was my decay

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

or i shall live your epitaph to make
or you survive when i in earth am rotten
from hence your memory death cannot take
although in me each part will be forgotten
your name from hence immortal life shall have
though i once gone to all the world must die
the earth can yield me but a common grave
when you entombed in mens eyes shall lie
your monument shall be my gentle verse
which eyes not yet created shall oer read
and tongues to be your being shall rehearse
when all the breathers of this world are dead
you still shall live such virtue hath my pen
where breath most breathes even in the mouths of men

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

i grant thou wert not married to my muse
and therefore mayst without attaint oerlook
the dedicated words which writers use
of their fair subject blessing every book
thou art as fair in knowledge as in hue
finding thy worth a limit past my praise
and therefore art enforced to seek anew
some fresher stamp of the time bettering days
and do so love yet when they have devised
what strained touches rhetoric can lend
thou truly fair wert truly sympathized
in true plain words by thy true telling friend
and their gross painting might be better used
where cheeks need blood in thee it is abused

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

i never saw that you did painting need
and therefore to your fair no painting set
i found or thought i found you did exceed
the barren tender of a poets debt
and therefore have i slept in your report
that you yourself being extant well might show
how far a modern quill doth come too short
speaking of worth what worth in you doth grow
this silence for my sin you did impute
which shall be most my glory being dumb
for i impair not beauty being mute
when others would give life and bring a tomb
there lives more life in one of your fair eyes
than both your poets can in praise devise

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

who is it that says most which can say more
than this rich praise that you alone are you
in whose confine immured is the store
which should example where your equal grew
lean penury within that pen doth dwell
that to his subject lends not some small glory
but he that writes of you if he can tell
that you are you so dignifies his story
let him but copy what in you is writ
not making worse what nature made so clear
and such a counterpart shall fame his wit
making his style admired every where
you to your beauteous blessings add a curse
being fond on praise which makes your praises worse

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

my tongue tied muse in manners holds her still
while comments of your praise richly compiled
reserve their character with golden quill
and precious phrase by all the muses filed
i think good thoughts whilst other write good words
and like unletterd clerk still cry amen
to every hymn that able spirit affords
in polishd form of well refined pen
hearing you praised i say tis so tis true
and to the most of praise add something more
but that is in my thought whose love to you
though words come hindmost holds his rank before
then others for the breath of words respect
me for my dumb thoughts speaking in effect

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

was it the proud full sail of his great verse
bound for the prize of all too precious you
that did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse
making their tomb the womb wherein they grew
was it his spirit by spirits taught to write
above a mortal pitch that struck me dead
no neither he nor his compeers by night
giving him aid my verse astonished
he nor that affable familiar ghost
which nightly gulls him with intelligence
as victors of my silence cannot boast
i was not sick of any fear from thence
but when your countenance filld up his line
then lackd i matter that enfeebled mine

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

farewell thou art too dear for my possessing
and like enough thou knowst thy estimate
the charter of thy worth gives thee releasing
my bonds in thee are all determinate
for how do i hold thee but by thy granting
and for that riches where is my deserving
the cause of this fair gift in me is wanting
and so my patent back again is swerving
thyself thou gavest thy own worth then not knowing
or me to whom thou gavest it else mistaking
so thy great gift upon misprision growing
comes home again on better judgment making
thus have i had thee as a dream doth flatter
in sleep a king but waking no such matter

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

when thou shalt be disposed to set me light
and place my merit in the eye of scorn
upon thy side against myself ill fight
and prove thee virtuous though thou art forsworn
with mine own weakness being best acquainted
upon thy part i can set down a story
of faults conceald wherein i am attainted
that thou in losing me shalt win much glory
and i by this will be a gainer too
for bending all my loving thoughts on thee
the injuries that to myself i do
doing thee vantage double vantage me
such is my love to thee i so belong
that for thy right myself will bear all wrong

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

say that thou didst forsake me for some fault
and i will comment upon that offence
speak of my lameness and i straight will halt
against thy reasons making no defence
thou canst not love disgrace me half so ill
to set a form upon desired change
as ill myself disgrace knowing thy will
i will acquaintance strangle and look strange
be absent from thy walks and in my tongue
thy sweet beloved name no more shall dwell
lest i too much profane should do it wrong
and haply of our old acquaintance tell
for thee against myself ill vow debate
for i must neer love him whom thou dost hate

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

then hate me when thou wilt if ever now
now while the world is bent my deeds to cross
join with the spite of fortune make me bow
and do not drop in for an after loss
ah do not when my heart hath scoped this sorrow
come in the rearward of a conquerd woe
give not a windy night a rainy morrow
to linger out a purposed overthrow
if thou wilt leave me do not leave me last
when other petty griefs have done their spite
but in the onset come so shall i taste
at first the very worst of fortunes might
and other strains of woe which now seem woe
compared with loss of thee will not seem so

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

some glory in their birth some in their skill
some in their wealth some in their bodies force
some in their garments though new fangled ill
some in their hawks and hounds some in their horse
and every humour hath his adjunct pleasure
wherein it finds a joy above the rest
but these particulars are not my measure
all these i better in one general best
thy love is better than high birth to me
richer than wealth prouder than garments cost
of more delight than hawks or horses be
and having thee of all mens pride i boast
wretched in this alone that thou mayst take
all this away and me most wretched make

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

but do thy worst to steal thyself away
for term of life thou art assured mine
and life no longer than thy love will stay
for it depends upon that love of thine
then need i not to fear the worst of wrongs
when in the least of them my life hath end
i see a better state to me belongs
than that which on thy humour doth depend
thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind
since that my life on thy revolt doth lie
o what a happy title do i find
happy to have thy love happy to die
but whats so blessed fair that fears no blot
thou mayst be false and yet i know it not

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

so shall i live supposing thou art true
like a deceived husband so loves face
may still seem love to me though alterd new
thy looks with me thy heart in other place
for there can live no hatred in thine eye
therefore in that i cannot know thy change
in manys looks the false hearts history
is writ in moods and frowns and wrinkles strange
but heaven in thy creation did decree
that in thy face sweet love should ever dwell
whateer thy thoughts or thy hearts workings be
thy looks should nothing thence but sweetness tell
how like eves apple doth thy beauty grow
if thy sweet virtue answer not thy show

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

they that have power to hurt and will do none
that do not do the thing they most do show
who moving others are themselves as stone
unmoved cold and to temptation slow
they rightly do inherit heavens graces
and husband natures riches from expense
they are the lords and owners of their faces
others but stewards of their excellence
the summers flower is to the summer sweet
though to itself it only live and die
but if that flower with base infection meet
the basest weed outbraves his dignity
for sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds
lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

how sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame
which like a canker in the fragrant rose
doth spot the beauty of thy budding name
o in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose
that tongue that tells the story of thy days
making lascivious comments on thy sport
cannot dispraise but in a kind of praise
naming thy name blesses an ill report
o what a mansion have those vices got
which for their habitation chose out thee
where beautys veil doth cover every blot
and all things turn to fair that eyes can see
take heed dear heart of this large privilege
the hardest knife ill used doth lose his edge

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

some say thy fault is youth some wantonness
some say thy grace is youth and gentle sport
both grace and faults are loved of more and less
thou makest faults graces that to thee resort
as on the finger of a throned queen
the basest jewel will be well esteemd
so are those errors that in thee are seen
to truths translated and for true things deemd
how many lambs might the stem wolf betray
if like a lamb he could his looks translate
how many gazers mightst thou lead away
if thou wouldst use the strength of all thy state
but do not so i love thee in such sort
as thou being mine mine is thy good report

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

how like a winter hath my absence been
from thee the pleasure of the fleeting year
what freezings have i felt what dark days seen
what old decembers bareness every where
and yet this time removed was summers time
the teeming autumn big with rich increase
bearing the wanton burden of the prime
like widowd wombs after their lords decease
yet this abundant issue seemd to me
but hope of orphans and unfatherd fruit
for summer and his pleasures wait on thee
and thou away the very birds are mute
or if they sing tis with so dull a cheer
that leaves look pale dreading the winters near

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

from you have i been absent in the spring
when proud pied april dressd in all his trim
hath put a spirit of youth in every thing
that heavy saturn laughd and leapd with him
yet nor the lays of birds nor the sweet smell
of different flowers in odour and in hue
could make me any summers story tell
or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew
nor did i wonder at the lilys white
nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose
they were but sweet but figures of delight
drawn after you you pattern of all those
yet seemd it winter still and you away
as with your shadow i with these did play

RHYME a b a b a c d c d e f e f g g

the forward violet thus did i chide
sweet thief whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells
if not from my loves breath the purple pride
which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells
in my loves veins thou hast too grossly dyed
the lily i condemned for thy hand
and buds of marjoram had stoln thy hair
the roses fearfully on thorns did stand
one blushing shame another white despair
a third nor red nor white had stoln of both
and to his robbery had annexd thy breath
but for his theft in pride of all his growth
a vengeful canker eat him up to death
more flowers i noted yet i none could see
but sweet or colour it had stoln from thee

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

where art thou muse that thou forgetst so long
to speak of that which gives thee all thy might
spendst thou thy fury on some worthless song
darkening thy power to lend base subjects light
return forgetful muse and straight redeem
in gentle numbers time so idly spent
sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem
and gives thy pen both skill and argument
rise resty muse my loves sweet face survey
if time have any wrinkle graven there
if any be a satire to decay
and make times spoils despised every where
give my love fame faster than time wastes life
so thou preventst his scythe and crooked knife

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

o truant muse what shall be thy amends
for thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed
both truth and beauty on my love depends
so dost thou too and therein dignified
make answer muse wilt thou not haply say
truth needs no colour with his colour fixd
beauty no pencil beautys truth to lay
but best is best if never intermixd
because he needs no praise wilt thou be dumb
excuse not silence so fort lies in thee
to make him much outlive a gilded tomb
and to be praised of ages yet to be
then do thy office muse i teach thee how
to make him seem long hence as he shows now

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

my love is strengthend though more weak in seeming
i love not less though less the show appear
that love is merchandized whose rich esteeming
the owners tongue doth publish every where
our love was new and then but in the spring
when i was wont to greet it with my lays
as philomel in summers front doth sing
and stops her pipe in growth of riper days
not that the summer is less pleasant now
than when her mournful hymns did hush the night
but that wild music burthens every bough
and sweets grown common lose their dear delight
therefore like her i sometime hold my tongue
because i would not dull you with my song

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

alack what poverty my muse brings forth
that having such a scope to show her pride
the argument all bare is of more worth
than when it hath my added praise beside
o blame me not if i no more can write
look in your glass and there appears a face
that over goes my blunt invention quite
dulling my lines and doing me disgrace
were it not sinful then striving to mend
to mar the subject that before was well
for to no other pass my verses tend
than of your graces and your gifts to tell
and more much more than in my verse can sit
your own glass shows you when you look in it

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

to me fair friend you never can be old
for as you were when first your eye i eyed
such seems your beauty still three winters cold
have from the forests shook three summers pride
three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turnd
in process of the seasons have i seen
three april perfumes in three hot junes burnd
since first i saw you fresh which yet are green
ah yet doth beauty like a dial hand
steal from his figure and no pace perceived
so your sweet hue which methinks still doth stand
hath motion and mine eye may be deceived
for fear of which hear this thou age unbred
ere you were born was beautys summer dead

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

let not my love be calld idolatry
nor my beloved as an idol show
since all alike my songs and praises be
to one of one still such and ever so
kind is my love to day to morrow kind
still constant in a wondrous excellence
therefore my verse to constancy confined
one thing expressing leaves out difference
fair kind and true is all my argument
fair kind and true varying to other words
and in this change is my invention spent
three themes in one which wondrous scope affords
fair kind and true have often lived alone
which three till now never kept seat in one

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

when in the chronicle of wasted time
i see descriptions of the fairest wights
and beauty making beautiful old rhyme
in praise of ladies dead and lovely knights
then in the blazon of sweet beautys best
of hand of foot of lip of eye of brow
i see their antique pen would have expressd
even such a beauty as you master now
so all their praises are but prophecies
of this our time all you prefiguring
and for they lookd but with divining eyes
they had not skill enough your worth to sing
for we which now behold these present days
had eyes to wonder but lack tongues to praise

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

not mine own fears nor the prophetic soul
of the wide world dreaming on things to come
can yet the lease of my true love control
supposed as forfeit to a confined doom
the mortal moon hath her eclipse endured
and the sad augurs mock their own presage
incertainties now crown themselves assured
and peace proclaims olives of endless age
now with the drops of this most balmy time
my love looks fresh and death to me subscribes
since spite of him ill live in this poor rhyme
while he insults oer dull and speechless tribes
and thou in this shalt find thy monument
when tyrants crests and tombs of brass are spent

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

whats in the brain that ink may character
which hath not figured to thee my true spirit
whats new to speak what new to register
that may express my love or thy dear merit
nothing sweet boy but yet like prayers divine
i must each day say oer the very same
counting no old thing old thou mine i thine
even as when first i hallowd thy fair name
so that eternal love in loves fresh case
weighs not the dust and injury of age
nor gives to necessary wrinkles place
but makes antiquity for aye his page
finding the first conceit of love there bred
where time and outward form would show it dead

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

o never say that i was false of heart
though absence seemd my flame to qualify
as easy might i from myself depart
as from my soul which in thy breast doth lie
that is my home of love if i have ranged
like him that travels i return again
just to the time not with the time exchanged
so that myself bring water for my stain
never believe though in my nature reignd
all frailties that besiege all kinds of blood
that it could so preposterously be staind
to leave for nothing all thy sum of good
for nothing this wide universe i call
save thou my rose in it thou art my all

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

alas tis true i have gone here and there
and made myself a motley to the view
gored mine own thoughts sold cheap what is most dear
made old offences of affections new
most true it is that i have lookd on truth
askance and strangely but by all above
these blenches gave my heart another youth
and worse essays proved thee my best of love
now all is done have what shall have no end
mine appetite i never more will grind
on newer proof to try an older friend
a god in love to whom i am confined
then give me welcome next my heaven the best
even to thy pure and most most loving breast

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

o for my sake do you with fortune chide
the guilty goddess of my harmful deeds
that did not better for my life provide
than public means which public manners breeds
thence comes it that my name receives a brand
and almost thence my nature is subdued
to what it works in like the dyers hand
pity me then and wish i were renewd
whilst like a willing patient i will drink
potions of eisel gainst my strong infection
no bitterness that i will bitter think
nor double penance to correct correction
pity me then dear friend and i assure ye
even that your pity is enough to cure me

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

your love and pity doth the impression fill
which vulgar scandal stampd upon my brow
for what care i who calls me well or ill
so you oer green my bad my good allow
you are my all the world and i must strive
to know my shames and praises from your tongue
none else to me nor i to none alive
that my steeld sense or changes right or wrong
in so profound abysm i throw all care
of others voices that my adders sense
to critic and to flatterer stopped are
mark how with my neglect i do dispense
you are so strongly in my purpose bred
that all the world besides methinks are dead

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

since i left you mine eye is in my mind
and that which governs me to go about
doth part his function and is partly blind
seems seeing but effectually is out
for it no form delivers to the heart
of bird of flower or shape which it doth latch
of his quick objects hath the mind no part
nor his own vision holds what it doth catch
for if it see the rudest or gentlest sight
the most sweet favour or deformedst creature
the mountain or the sea the day or night
the crow or dove it shapes them to your feature
incapable of more replete with you
my most true mind thus makes mine eye untrue

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

or whether doth my mind being crownd with you
drink up the monarchs plague this flattery
or whether shall i say mine eye saith true
and that your love taught it this alchemy
to make of monsters and things indigest
such cherubins as your sweet self resemble
creating every bad a perfect best
as fast as objects to his beams assemble
otis the first tis flattery in my seeing
and my great mind most kingly drinks it up
mine eye well knows what with his gust is greeing
and to his palate doth prepare the cup
if it be poisond tis the lesser sin
that mine eye loves it and doth first begin

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

those lines that i before have writ do lie
even those that said i could not love you dearer
yet then my judgment knew no reason why
my most full flame should afterwards burn clearer
but reckoning time whose milliond accidents
creep in twixt vows and change decrees of kings
tan sacred beauty blunt the sharpst intents
divert strong minds to the course of altering things
alas why fearing of times tyranny
might i not then say now i love you best
when i was certain oer incertainty
crowning the present doubting of the rest
love is a babe then might i not say so
to give full growth to that which still doth grow

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

let me not to the marriage of true minds
admit impediments love is not love
which alters when it alteration finds
or bends with the remover to remove
o no it is an ever fixed mark
that looks on tempests and is never shaken
it is the star to every wandering bark
whose worths unknown although his height be taken
loves not times fool though rosy lips and cheeks
within his bending sickles compass come
love alters not with his brief hours and weeks
but bears it out even to the edge of doom
if this be error and upon me proved
i never writ nor no man ever loved

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

accuse me thus that i have scanted all
wherein i should your great deserts repay
forgot upon your dearest love to call
whereto all bonds do tie me day by day
that i have frequent been with unknown minds
and given to time your own dear purchased right
that i have hoisted sail to all the winds
which should transport me farthest from your sight
book both my wilfulness and errors down
and on just proof surmise accumulate
bring me within the level of your frown
but shoot not at me in your wakend hate
since my appeal says i did strive to prove
the constancy and virtue of your love

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

like as to make our appetites more keen
with eager compounds we our palate urge
as to prevent our maladies unseen
we sicken to shun sickness when we purge
even so being tuff of your neer cloying sweetness
to bitter sauces did i frame my feeding
and sick of welfare found a kind of meetness
to be diseased ere that there was true needing
thus policy in love to anticipate
the ills that were not grew to faults assured
and brought to medicine a healthful state
which rank of goodness would by ill be cured
but thence i learn and find the lesson true
drugs poison him that so fell sick of you

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

what potions have i drunk of siren tears
distilld from limbecks foul as hell within
applying fears to hopes and hopes to fears
still losing when i saw myself to win
what wretched errors hath my heart committed
whilst it hath thought itself so blessed never
how have mine eyes out of their spheres been fitted
in the distraction of this madding fever
o benefit of ill now i find true
that better is by evil still made better
and ruind love when it is built anew
grows fairer than at first more strong far greater
so i return rebuked to my content
and gain by ill thrice more than i have spent

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

that you were once unkind befriends me now
and for that sorrow which i then did feel
needs must i under my transgression bow
unless my nerves were brass or hammerd steel
for if you were by my unkindness shaken
as i by yours youve passd a hell of time
and i a tyrant have no leisure taken
to weigh how once i suffered in your crime
o that our night of woe might have rememberd
my deepest sense how hard true sorrow hits
and soon to you as you to me then tenderd
the humble slave which wounded bosoms fits
but that your trespass now becomes a fee
mine ransoms yours and yours must ransom me

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

tis better to be vile than vile esteemd
when not to be receives reproach of being
and the just pleasure lost which is so deemd
not by our feeling but by others seeing
for why should others false adulterate eyes
give salutation to my sportive blood
or on my frailties why are frailer spies
which in their wills count bad what i think good
no i am that i am and they that level
at my abuses reckon up their own
i may be straight though they themselves be bevel
by their rank thoughts my deeds must not be shown
unless this general evil they maintain
all men are bad and in their badness reign

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

thy gift thy tables are within my brain
full characterd with lasting memory
which shall above that idle rank remain
beyond all date even to eternity
or at the least so long as brain and heart
have faculty by nature to subsist
till each to razed oblivion yield his part
of thee thy record never can be missd
that poor retention could not so much hold
nor need i tallies thy dear love to score
therefore to give them from me was i bold
to trust those tables that receive thee more
to keep an adjunct to remember thee
were to import forgetfulness in me

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

no time thou shalt not boast that i do change
thy pyramids built up with newer might
to me are nothing novel nothing strange
they are but dressings of a former sight
our dates are brief and therefore we admire
what thou dost foist upon us that is old
and rather make them born to our desire
than think that we before have heard them told
thy registers and thee i both defy
not wondering at the present nor the past
for thy records and what we see doth lie
made more or less by thy continual haste
this i do vow and this shall ever be
i will be true despite thy scythe and thee

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

if my dear love were but the child of state
it might for fortunes bastard be unfatherd
as subject to times love or to times hate
weeds among weeds or flowers with flowers gatherd
no it was builded far from accident
it suffers not in smiling pomp nor falls
under the blow of thralled discontent
whereto the inviting time our fashion calls
it fears not policy that heretic
which works on leases of short numberd hours
but all alone stands hugely politic
that it nor grows with heat nor drowns with showers
to this i witness call the fools of time
which die for goodness who have lived for crime

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

were t aught to me i bore the canopy
with my extern the outward honouring
or laid great bases for eternity
which prove more short than waste or ruining
have i not seen dwellers on form and favour
lose all and more by paying too much rent
for compound sweet forgoing simple savour
pitiful thrivers in their gazing spent
no let me be obsequious in thy heart
and take thou my oblation poor but free
which is not mixd with seconds knows no art
but mutual render only me for thee
hence thou subornd informer a true soul
when most impeachd stands least in thy control

RHYME a a *

o thou my lovely boy who in thy power
dost hold times fickle glass his sickle hour
who hast by waning grown and therein showst
thy lovers withering as thy sweet self growst
if nature sovereign mistress over wrack
as thou goest onwards still will pluck thee back
she keeps thee to this purpose that her skill
may time disgrace and wretched minutes kill
yet fear her o thou minion of her pleasure
she may detain but not still keep her treasure
her audit though delayd answerd must be
and her quietus is to render thee

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

in the old age black was not counted fair
or if it were it bore not beautys name
but now is black beautys successive heir
and beauty slanderd with a bastard shame
for since each hand hath put on natures power
fairing the foul with arts false borrowd face
sweet beauty hath no name no holy bower
but is profaned if not lives in disgrace
therefore my mistress brows are raven black
her eyes so suited and they mourners seem
at such who not born fair no beauty lack
slandering creation with a false esteem
yet so they mourn becoming of their woe
that every tongue says beauty should look so

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

how oft when thou my music music playst
upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds
with thy sweet fingers when thou gently swayst
the wiry concord that mine ear confounds
do i envy those jacks that nimble leap
to kiss the tender inward of thy hand
whilst my poor lips which should that harvest reap
at the woods boldness by thee blushing stand
to be so tickled they would change their state
and situation with those dancing chips
oer whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait
making dead wood more blest than living lips
since saucy jacks so happy are in this
give them thy fingers me thy lips to kiss

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

the expense of spirit in a waste of shame
is lust in action and till action lust
is perjured murderous bloody full of blame
savage extreme rude cruel not to trust
enjoyd no sooner but despised straight
past reason hunted and no sooner had
past reason hated as a swallowd bait
on purpose laid to make the taker mad
mad in pursuit and in possession so
had having and in quest to have extreme
a bliss in proof and proved a very woe
before a joy proposed behind a dream
all this the world well knows yet none knows well
to shun the heaven that leads men to this hell

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

my mistress eyes are nothing like the sun
coral is far more red than her lips red
if snow be white why then her breasts are dun
if hairs be wires black wires grow on her head
i have seen roses damaskd red and white
but no such roses see i in her cheeks
and in some perfumes is there more delight
than in the breath that from my mistress reeks
i love to hear her speak yet well i know
that music hath a far more pleasing sound
i grant i never saw a goddess go
my mistress when she walks treads on the ground
and yet by heaven i think my love as rare
as any she belied with false compare

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

thou art as tyrannous so as thou art
as those whose beauties proudly make them cruel
for well thou knowst to my dear doting heart
thou art the fairest and most precious jewel
yet in good faith some say that thee behold
thy face hath not the power to make love groan
to say they err i dare not be so bold
although i swear it to myself alone
and to be sure that is not false i swear
a thousand groans but thinking on thy face
one on anothers neck do witness bear
thy black is fairest in my judgments place
in nothing art thou black save in thy deeds
and thence this slander as i think proceeds

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

thine eyes i love and they as pitying me
knowing thy heart torments me with disdain
have put on black and loving mourners be
looking with pretty ruth upon my pain
and truly not the morning sun of heaven
better becomes the grey cheeks of the east
nor that full star that ushers in the even
doth half that glory to the sober west
as those two mourning eyes become thy face
o let it then as well beseem thy heart
to mourn for me since mourning doth thee grace
and suit thy pity like in every part
then will i swear beauty herself is black
and all they foul that thy complexion lack

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan
for that deep wound it gives my friend and me
ist not enough to torture me alone
but slave to slavery my sweetst friend must be
me from myself thy cruel eye hath taken
and my next self thou harder hast engrossd
of him myself and thee i am forsaken
a torment thrice threefold thus to be crossd
prison my heart in thy steel bosoms ward
but then my friends heart let my poor heart bail
whoeer keeps me let my heart be his guard
thou canst not then use rigor in my gaol
and yet thou wilt for i being pent in thee
perforce am thine and all that is in me

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

so now i have confessd that he is thine
and i myself am mortgaged to thy will
myself ill forfeit so that other mine
thou wilt restore to be my comfort still
but thou wilt not nor he will not be free
for thou art covetous and he is kind
he learnd but surety like to write for me
under that bond that him as fast doth bind
the statute of thy beauty thou wilt take
thou usurer that putst forth all to use
and sue a friend came debtor for my sake
so him i lose through my unkind abuse
him have i lost thou hast both him and me
he pays the whole and yet am i not free

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

whoever hath her wish thou hast thy will
and will to boot and will in overplus
more than enough am i that vex thee still
to thy sweet will making addition thus
wilt thou whose will is large and spacious
not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine
shall will in others seem right gracious
and in my will no fair acceptance shine
the sea all water yet receives rain still
and in abundance addeth to his store
so thou being rich in will add to thy will
one will of mine to make thy large will more
let no unkind no fair beseechers kill
think all but one and me in that one will

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

if thy soul cheque thee that i come so near
swear to thy blind soul that i was thy will
and will thy soul knows is admitted there
thus far for love my love suit sweet fulfil
will will fulfil the treasure of thy love
ay fill it full with wills and my will one
in things of great receipt with ease we prove
among a number one is reckond none
then in the number let me pass untold
though in thy stores account i one must be
for nothing hold me so it please thee hold
that nothing me a something sweet to thee
make but my name thy love and love that still
and then thou lovest me for my name is will

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

thou blind fool love what dost thou to mine eyes
that they behold and see not what they see
they know what beauty is see where it lies
yet what the best is take the worst to be
if eyes corrupt by over partial looks
be anchord in the bay where all men ride
why of eyes falsehood hast thou forged hooks
whereto the judgment of my heart is tied
why should my heart think that a several plot
which my heart knows the wide worlds common place
or mine eyes seeing this say this is not
to put fair truth upon so foul a face
in things right true my heart and eyes have erred
and to this false plague are they now transferrd

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

when my love swears that she is made of truth
i do believe her though i know she lies
that she might think me some untutord youth
unlearned in the worlds false subtleties
thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young
although she knows my days are past the best
simply i credit her false speaking tongue
on both sides thus is simple truth suppressd
but wherefore says she not she is unjust
and wherefore say not i that i am old
o loves best habit is in seeming trust
and age in love loves not to have years told
therefore i lie with her and she with me
and in our faults by lies we flatterd be

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

o call not me to justify the wrong
that thy unkindness lays upon my heart
wound me not with thine eye but with thy tongue
use power with power and slay me not by art
tell me thou lovest elsewhere but in my sight
dear heart forbear to glance thine eye aside
what needst thou wound with cunning when thy might
is more than my oer pressd defense can bide
let me excuse thee ah my love well knows
her pretty looks have been mine enemies
and therefore from my face she turns my foes
that they elsewhere might dart their injuries
yet do not so but since i am near slain
kill me outright with looks and rid my pain

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

be wise as thou art cruel do not press
my tongue tied patience with too much disdain
lest sorrow lend me words and words express
the manner of my pity wanting pain
if i might teach thee wit better it were
though not to love yet love to tell me so
as testy sick men when their deaths be near
no news but health from their physicians know
for if i should despair i should grow mad
and in my madness might speak ill of thee
now this ill wresting world is grown so bad
mad slanderers by mad ears believed be
that i may not be so nor thou belied
bear thine eyes straight though thy proud heart go wide

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

in faith i do not love thee with mine eyes
for they in thee a thousand errors note
but tis my heart that loves what they despise
who in despite of view is pleased to dote
nor are mine ears with thy tongues tune delighted
nor tender feeling to base touches prone
nor taste nor smell desire to be invited
to any sensual feast with thee alone
but my five wits nor my five senses can
dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee
who leaves unswayd the likeness of a man
thy proud hearts slave and vassal wretch to be
only my plague thus far i count my gain
that she that makes me sin awards me pain

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

love is my sin and thy dear virtue hate
hate of my sin grounded on sinful loving
o but with mine compare thou thine own state
and thou shalt find it merits not reproving
or if it do not from those lips of thine
that have profaned their scarlet ornaments
and seald false bonds of love as oft as mine
robbd others beds revenues of their rents
be it lawful i love thee as thou lovest those
whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee
root pity in thy heart that when it grows
thy pity may deserve to pitied be
if thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide
by self example mayst thou be denied

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

lo as a careful housewife runs to catch
one of her featherd creatures broke away
sets down her babe and makes an swift dispatch
in pursuit of the thing she would have stay
whilst her neglected child holds her in chase
cries to catch her whose busy care is bent
to follow that which flies before her face
not prizing her poor infants discontent
so runnst thou after that which flies from thee
whilst i thy babe chase thee afar behind
but if thou catch thy hope turn back to me
and play the mothers part kiss me be kind
so will i pray that thou mayst have thy will
if thou turn back and my loud crying still

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

two loves i have of comfort and despair
which like two spirits do suggest me still
the better angel is a man right fair
the worser spirit a woman colourd ill
to win me soon to hell my female evil
tempteth my better angel from my side
and would corrupt my saint to be a devil
wooing his purity with her foul pride
and whether that my angel be turnd fiend
suspect i may but not directly tell
but being both from me both to each friend
i guess one angel in anothers hell
yet this shall i neer know but live in doubt
till my bad angel fire my good one out

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

those lips that loves own hand did make
breathed forth the sound that said i hate
to me that languishd for her sake
but when she saw my woeful state
straight in her heart did mercy come
chiding that tongue that ever sweet
was used in giving gentle doom
and taught it thus anew to greet
i hate she alterd with an end
that followd it as gentle day
doth follow night who like a fiend
from heaven to hell is flown away
i hate from hate away she threw
and saved my life saying not you

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

poor soul the centre of my sinful earth
these rebel powers that thee array
why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth
painting thy outward walls so costly gay
why so large cost having so short a lease
dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend
shall worms inheritors of this excess
eat up thy charge is this thy bodys end
then soul live thou upon thy servants loss
and let that pine to aggravate thy store
buy terms divine in selling hours of dross
within be fed without be rich no more
so shalt thou feed on death that feeds on men
and death once dead theres no more dying then

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

my love is as a fever longing still
for that which longer nurseth the disease
feeding on that which doth preserve the ill
the uncertain sickly appetite to please
my reason the physician to my love
angry that his prescriptions are not kept
hath left me and i desperate now approve
desire is death which physic did except
past cure i am now reason is past care
and frantic mad with evermore unrest
my thoughts and my discourse as madmens are
at random from the truth vainly expressd
for i have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright
who art as black as hell as dark as night

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

o me what eyes hath love put in my head
which have no correspondence with true sight
or if they have where is my judgment fled
that censures falsely what they see aright
if that be fair whereon my false eyes dote
what means the world to say it is not so
if it be not then love doth well denote
loves eye is not so true as all mens no
how can it o how can loves eye be true
that is so vexd with watching and with tears
no marvel then though i mistake my view
the sun itself sees not till heaven clears
o cunning love with tears thou keepst me blind
lest eyes well seeing thy foul faults should find

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

canst thou o cruel say i love thee not
when i against myself with thee partake
do i not think on thee when i forgot
am of myself all tyrant for thy sake
who hateth thee that i do call my friend
on whom frownst thou that i do fawn upon
nay if thou lourst on me do i not spend
revenge upon myself with present moan
what merit do i in myself respect
that is so proud thy service to despise
when all my best doth worship thy defect
commanded by the motion of thine eyes
but love hate on for now i know thy mind
those that can see thou lovest and i am blind

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

o from what power hast thou this powerful might
with insufficiency my heart to sway
to make me give the lie to my true sight
and swear that brightness doth not grace the day
whence hast thou this becoming of things ill
that in the very refuse of thy deeds
there is such strength and warrantize of skill
that in my mind thy worst all best exceeds
who taught thee how to make me love thee more
the more i hear and see just cause of hate
o though i love what others do abhor
with others thou shouldst not abhor my state
if thy unworthiness raised love in me
more worthy i to be beloved of thee

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

love is too young to know what conscience is
yet who knows not conscience is born of love
then gentle cheater urge not my amiss
lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove
for thou betraying me i do betray
my nobler part to my gross bodys treason
my soul doth tell my body that he may
triumph in love flesh stays no father reason
but rising at thy name doth point out thee
as his triumphant prize proud of this pride
he is contented thy poor drudge to be
to stand in thy affairs fall by thy side
no want of conscience hold it that i call
her love for whose dear love i rise and fall

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

in loving thee thou knowst i am forsworn
but thou art twice forsworn to me love swearing
in act thy bed vow broke and new faith torn
in vowing new hate after new love bearing
but why of two oaths breach do i accuse thee
when i break twenty i am perjured most
for all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee
and all my honest faith in thee is lost
for i have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness
oaths of thy love thy truth thy constancy
and to enlighten thee gave eyes to blindness
or made them swear against the thing they see
for i have sworn thee fair more perjured i
to swear against the truth so foul a lie

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep
a maid of dians this advantage found
and his love kindling fire did quickly steep
in a cold valley fountain of that ground
which borrowd from this holy fire of love
a dateless lively heat still to endure
and grew a seething bath which yet men prove
against strange maladies a sovereign cure
but at my mistress eye loves brand new fired
the boy for trial needs would touch my breast
i sick withal the help of bath desired
and thither hied a sad distemperd guest
but found no cure the bath for my help lies
where cupid got new fire my mistress eyes

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

the little love god lying once asleep
laid by his side his heart inflaming brand
whilst many nymphs that vowd chaste life to keep
came tripping by but in her maiden hand
the fairest votary took up that fire
which many legions of true hearts had warmd
and so the general of hot desire
was sleeping by a virgin hand disarmd
this brand she quenched in a cool well by
which from loves fire took heat perpetual
growing a bath and healthful remedy
for men diseased but i my mistress thrall
came there for cure and this by that i prove
loves fire heats water water cools not love

