Let no lamenting cries nor doleful tears Ne let house-fires, nor lightnings, helpless harms, Ne let mischievous witches with their charms, Ne let hob-goblins, names whose sense we see not, Let not the skriech-owl nor the stork be heard, Nor damned ghosts, call'd up with mighty spells, Ne let th' unpleasant quire of frogs still croking Let none of these their drery accents sing, Ne let the woods them answer, nor their eccho ring; But let still Silence true night-watches keep, Like divers-fethered doves, Shall fly and flutter round about your bed, And in the secret dark, that noné reproves, Their pretty stealths shall work, and snares shall spread To filch away sweet snatches of delight, Conceal'd through covert night, Ye Sons of Venus! play your sports at will, Now none doth hinder you that say or sing, Ne will the woods now answer, nor your eccho ring. Who is the same which at my window peeps? Or whose is that fair face which shines so bright? Is it not Cynthia, she that never sleeps, But walks about high heaven all the night? O! fairest Goddess! do thou not envy My love with me to spy; For thou likewise didst love, though now unthought, The Latmian shepherd once unto thee brought, Therefore to us be favourable now, And sith of womens labours thou hast charge, Encline thy will t' effect our wishful vow, Till which we cease our hopeful hap to sing, And thou, great Juno! which with aweful might Eternally bind thou this lovely band, And thou, glad Genius! in whose gentle hand Without blemish or stain, And the sweet pleasures of their love's delight Till which we cease your further praise to sing, And ye, high Heavens! the temple of the gods, Pour out your blessing on us plenteously, And happy influence upon us rain, That we may rise a large posterity, Which from the earth, which they may long possess With lasting happiness, Up to your haughty palaces may mount, Song made in lieu of many ornaments With which my love should duly have been deckt. Be unto her a goodly ornament, And for short time an endless monument. FAIR SONNET. AIR is my love, when her fair golden hairs With the loose wind ye waving chance to mark, Fair when the rose in her red cheek appears, Or in her eyes the fire of love doth spark; Fair when her brest, like a rich laden bark With precious merchandize, she forth doth lay; Fair when that cloud of pride, which oft doth dark Her goodly light, with smiles she drives away; But fairest she when so she doth display The gate with pearls and rubies richly dight, SONNETS. THE doubt which ye misdeem, fair love! is vain, That fondly fear to lose your liberty, When one, two liberties ye gain, And make him bound that bondage erst did fly, Sweet be the bands the which true Love doth tye, Without constraint or dread of any ill; The gentle bird feels no captivity Within her cage, but sings and feeds her fill. There pride dare not approach, nor discord spill The league 'twixt them, that loyal love hath bound, But simple truth and mutual good-will Seeks with sweet peace to salve each other's wound; There Faith doth fearless dwell in brasen towre, And spotless Pleasure builds her sacred bowre. R UDELY thou wrongest my dear heart's desire, Sorn of base things and 'sdeign of foul dishonour, Was never in this world ought worthy tride, SONNETS. FRESH Spring, the herald of love's mighty king, In whose coat-armour richly are displaid All sorts of flowres the which on earth do spring, Go to my love, where she is careless laid, L IKE as a huntsman after weary chace, Seeing the game from him escape away, Sits down to rest him in some shady place, With panting hounds beguiled of their prey; So after long pursute and vain assay, When I all weary had the chace forsook, The gentle deer return'd the self-same way, Thinking to quench her thirst at the next brook; There she beholding me with milder look, Sought not to fly, but fearless still did bide, Till I in hand her yet half trembling took, And with her own good-will her firmly tide: Strange thing me seem'd to see a beast so wild So goodly wone, with her own will beguil'd. |