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[From the First Part.]

SONNET.

In my first years, and prime yet not at height,

When sweet conceits my wits did entertain,
Ere beauty's force I knew, or false delight,
Or to what oar she did her captives chain,
Led by a sacred troop of Phoebus' train,
I first began to read, then lov'd to write,
And so to praise a perfect red and white,
But, God wot, wist not what was in my
brain :

SONNET.

Fair is my yoke, though grievous be my pains,

Sweet are my wounds, although they deeply smart,

My bit is gold, though shortened be the reins,

My bondage brave, though I may not depart :

Although I burn, the fire which doth impart

Those flames, so sweet reviving force contains,

That, like Arabia's bird, my wasted heart, Made quick by death, more lively still remains.

Love smil'd to see in what an awful guise
I turn'd those antiques of the age of gold,
And, that I might more mysteries behold,
He set so fair a volume to mine eyes,
That I (quires clos'd which dead, dead I joy, though oft my waking eyes spend

sighs but breath)

Joy on this living book to read my death.

SONNET.

I know that all beneath the moon decays, And what by mortals in this world is brought,

In Time's great periods shall return to nought;

That fairest states have fatal nights and days;

I know how all the Muse's heavenly lays, With toil of spright which are so dearly bought,

As idle sounds, of few or none are sought, And that nought lighter is than airy praise; I know frail beauty's like the purple flower, To which one morn oft birth and death affords;

That love a jarring is of minds' accords, Where sense and will invassal reason's

power:

Know what I list, this all can not me

move,

tears,

I never want delight, even when I groan, Best companied when most I am alone; A heaven of hopes I have midst hells of fears,

Thus every way contentment strange I find,

But most in her rare beauty, my rare mind.

SONNET.

How that vast heaven intitled First is roll'd,

If any other worlds beyond it lie,
And people living in eternity,
Or essence pure that doth this all uphold;
What motion have those fired sparks of
gold,

The wand'ring carbuncles which shine from high,

By sprights, or bodies, contrariwise in sky If they be turn'd, and mortal things behold; How sun posts heaven about, how night's pale queen

But that, O me! I both must write and With borrowed beams looks on this hang

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What cause fair Iris hath, and monsters

seen

Her either cheek resembl'd a blushing morn,

Betwixt the which a wall so fair is raised,

In air's large fields of light, and seas pro- Or roses gules in field of lilies borne, found, Did hold my wand'ring thoughts, when That it is but abased even when praised;

thy sweet eye

Bade me leave all, and only think on thee.

SONNET.

That learned Grecian, who did so excel In knowledge passing sense, that he is nam'd

Of all the after-worlds divine, doth tell, That at the time when first our souls are fram'd,

Ere in these mansions blind they come to dwell,

Her lips like rows of coral soft did swell,
And th' one like th' other only doth excel :
The Tyrian fish looks pale, pale look the
roses,

The rubies pale, when mouth's sweet

cherry closes.

Her chin like silver Phoebe did appear
Dark in the midst to make the rest more

clear;

Her neck seemed fram'd by curious
Phidias' master,

Most smooth, most white, a piece of ala-
baster.

They live bright rays of that eternal light, Two foaming billows flow'd upon her

And others see, know, love, in heaven's

great height,

Not toil'd with aught to reason doth rebel.
Most true it is, for straight at the first sight
My mind me told, that in some other place
It elsewhere saw the idea of that face,

breast,

Which did their tops with coral red encrest;

There all about, as brooks them sport at leisure,

With circling branches veins did swell in

azure:

And lov'd a love of heavenly pure delight; Within those crooks are only found those

No wonder now I feel so fair a flame,
Sith I her lov'd ere on this earth she came.

SONG.

isles

Which Fortunate the dreaming old world
styles,

The rest the streams did hide, but as a lily
Sunk in a crystal's fair transparent belly

Her hair, more bright than are the I, who yet human weakness did not know,

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On every part my vagabonding sight With two fair brows, love's bows, which Did cast, and drown mine eyes in sweet

never bend,

But that a golden arrow forth they send;
Beneath the which two burning planets

glancing,

delight.

What wondrous thing is this that beauty's named?

Said I; I find I heretofore have dreamed,

Flash'd flames of love, for love there still And never known in all my flying days

is dancing.

Good unto this, that only merits praise.

My pleasures have been pains, my com- A lady sat miraculously fair,

forts crosses,

My treasures poverty, my gains but losses. O precious sight! which none doth else descry,

Except the burning sun, and quivering I. And yet, O dear-bought sight! O would for ever

I might enjoy you, or had joy'd you never!
O happy flood! if so ye might abide,
Yet ever glory of this moment's pride,
Adjure your rillets all now to behold her,
And in their crystal arms to come and
fold her;

And sith ye may not aye your bliss embrace, Draw thousand portraits of her on your face,

Portraits which in my heart be more apparent,

If like to yours my breast but were transparent.

O that I were, while she doth in you play,
A dolphin to transport her to the sea,
To none of all those gods I would her
render,

From Thule to Ind though I should with her wander.

Oh! what is this? the more I fix mine eye, Mine eye the more new wonders doth espy; The more I spy, the more in uncouth fashion

My soul is ravish'd in a pleasant passion. But look not, eyes: as more I would have said,

A sound of whirling wheels meall dismay'd, And with the sound forth from the

timorous bushes,

With storm-like course, a sumptuous chariot rushes:

A chariot all of gold, the wheels were gold, The nails and axle gold on which it roll'd; The upmost part a scarlet veil did cover, More rich than Danaë's lap spread with

her lover:

in midst of it, in a triumphing chair,

Whose pensive countenance, and looks of honour,

Do more allure the mind that thinketh on her,

Than the most wanton face and amorous

eyes,

That Amathus or flowr'y Paphos sees.
A crew of virgins made a ring about her,
The diamond she, they seem the gold

without her.

Such Thetis is, when to the billows' roar With mermaids nice she danceth on the shore :

So in a sable night the sun's bright sister Among the lesser twinkling lights doth glister.

Fair yokes of ermelines, whose colour pass The whitest snows on agèd Grampius' face, More swift than Venus' birds this chariot guided

To the astonish'd bank whereat it bided: But long it did not bide, when pour those

streams

Ay me! it made, transporting these rich gems,

And by that burthen lighter, swiftly drived Till, as me thought, it at a tower arrived.

SONNET.

O sacred blush, impurpling cheeks' pure skies

With crimson wings which spread thee like the morn;

O bashful look, sent from those shining

eyes,

Which, though cast down on earth,

couldst heaven adorn;

O tongue, in which most luscious nectar lies,

That can at once both bless and make

forlorn ;

Dear coral lip, which beauty beautifies, That trembling stood ere that her words were born,

And you her words, words! no, but golden Earth's silent daughter, night, is fair, chains, though brown ; Which did captive mine ears, ensnare my Fair is the moon though in love's livery

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To western worlds when wearied day Which can not err, whatever foggy mists

goes down,

And from Heaven's windows each star

shows her head,

Do blind men in these sublunary lists. But what if she for whom thou spend'st those groans,

And wastest life's dear torch in ruthful It hath an earth, as hath this world of moans, yours,

She for whose sake thou hat'st the joyful With creatures peopled, stor'd with trees and flow'rs;

light, Court'st solitary shades, and irksome It hath a sea, like sapphire girdle cast, night, Which decketh of harmonious shores the

Doth live? O! if thou canst, through

tears, a space

waste:

It hath pure fire, it hath delicious air,

Lift thy dimm'd lights, and look upon Moon, sun and stars, heavens wonderfully this face,

Look if those eyes which, fool, thou didst adore,

Shine not more bright than they were wont before;

Look if those roses death could aught impair,

Those roses to thee once which seem'd so fair;

And if those locks have lost aught of that gold,

Which erst they had when thou them didst
behold.

I live, and happy live, but thou art dead,
And still shalt be, till thou be like me made,
Alas! while we are wrapt in gowns of earth,
And blind, here suck the air of woe be-
neath,

Each thing in sense's balances we weigh,
And but with toil and pain the truth descry.

Above this vast and admirable frame,
This temple visible, which world we name,
Within those walls so many lamps do burn,
So many arches opposite do turn,
Where elemental brethren nurse their

strife,

And by intestine wars maintain their life,
There is a world, a world of perfect bliss,
Pure, immaterial, bright, more far from
this

Than that high circle, which the rest en-
spheres,

Is from this dull ignoble vale of tears;
A world, where all is found, that here is

found,

But further discrepant than heaven and ground.

fair:

But there flow'rs do not fade, trees grow not old,

The creatures do not die through heat
nor cold;

Sea there not tossèd is, nor air made black,
Fire doth not nurse itself on others' wrack;
There heavens be not constrain'd about to

range,

For this world hath no need of any change;
The minutes grow not hours, hours rise
not days,

Days make no months but ever-blooming
Mays.

Here I remain, but hitherward do tend
All who their span of days in virtue spend:
Whatever pleasure this low place con-

tains,

It is a glance but of what high remains. Those who, perchance, think there can nothing be

Without this wide expansion which they

see,

And that nought else mounts stars' circumference,

For that nought else is subject to their

sense,

Feel such a case, as one whom some abysm
Of the deep ocean kept had all his time;
Who born and nourish'd there, can
scarcely dream

That aught can live without that briny

stream;

Cannot believe that there be temples, towers,

That go beyond his caves and dampish bowers,

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