« ZurückWeiter »
SONNET CXLI. Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes, Ix faith I do not love thee with mine eyes, That they behold, and see not what they see? For they in thee a thousand errours note; They know what beauty is, see where it lies, But 't is my heart that loves what they despise, Yet what the best is, take the worst to be. Who in despite of view is pleas'd to dote. If eyes, corrupt by over-partial looks,
Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune delighted; Be anchor'd in the bay where all men ride, Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone, Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged hooks, Nor taste nor smell, desire to be invited Whereto the judgment of my heart is ty'd ? To any sensual feast with thee alone: Why should my heart think that a several plot, But my five wits, nor my five senses can Which my heart knows the wide world's common Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee, Or mine eyes seeing this, say this is not, [place? Who leaves unsway'd the likeness of a man, To put fair truth upon so fou! a face?
Thy proud heart's slave and vassal wretch to be : In things right true my heart and eyes have err'd, Only my plague thus far I count my gain, And to this false plague are they now transferr'd. That she that makes me sin, awards me pain.
SONNET CXLIII. O CALL not me to justify the wrong,
Lo, as a careful housewife runs to catch That thy unkindness lays upon my heart;
One of her feather'd creatures broke away, Wound me not with thine eye, but with thy tongue; Sets down her babe, and makes all swift dispatch Use power with power, and slay me not by art. In pursuit of the thing she would have stay; Tell me thou lov'st elsewhere; but in my sight, Whilst her neglected child holds ber in chase, Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside. (might Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent What need’st thou wound with cunning, when thy To follow that which flies before her face, Is more than my o'erpress'd defence can 'bide? Not prizing her poor infant's discontent; Let me excuse thee: ah! my love well knows So run'st thou after that which fies from thee, Her pretty looks have been mine enemies;
Whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind; And therefore from my face she turns my foes, But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me, That they elsewhere might dart their injuries: And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind : Yet do not so; but since I am near slain,
So will I pray that thou may'st have thy Will, Kill me outright with looks, and rid my pain. If thou turn back, and my loud crying still.
SONNET CXLVIII. Two loves I have of comfort and despair,
O me! what eyes hath love put in my head, Which like two spirits do suggest me still; Which have no correspondence with true sight? The better angel is a man right fair,
Or, if they have, where is my judgment fled, The worser spirit a woman, colour'd ill.
That censures falsely what they see aright? To win me soon to Hell, my female evil
If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote, Tempteth my better angel from my side,
What means the world to say it is not so? And would corrupt my saint to be a devil,
If it be not, then love doth well denote Wooing bis purity with her foul pride.
Love's eye is not so true as all men's: no, And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend, How can it? O how can Love's eye be true, Saspect I may, yet not directly tell;
That is so vex'd with watching and with tears? But being both from me, both to each friend, No marvel then though I mistake my view; I guess one angel in another's Hell.
The Sun itself sees not, till Heaven clears. Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt, O cunning Love! with tears thou keep'st me blind, Till my bad angel fire my good one out.
Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find.
SONNET CL. Pror soul, the centre of my sinful earth,
O FROM what power hast thou this powerful might, Fool'd by those rebel powers that thee array, With insufficiency my heart to sway? Why dost tbou pine within, aud suffer dearth, To make me give the lie to my true sight, Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? And swear that brightness doth not grace the day? Why so large cost, having so short a lease, Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill, Dost thou opon thy fading mansion spend ? That in the very refuse of thy deeds Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,
There is such strength and warrantise of skill, Eat up thy charge? Is this thy body's end? That in my mind, thy worst all best exceeds ? Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, Who taught thee how to make me love thee more, And let that pine to aggravate thy store;
The more I hear and see just cause of hate? Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross;
0, though I love what others do abhor, Within be fed, without be rich no more:
With others thou should'st not abhor my state; So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men, If thy unworthiness rais'd love in me, And, Death once dead, there's no more dying then. More worthy I to be belov'd of thee.
SONNET CLI. My love is like a fever, longing still
Love is too young to know what conscience is; For that which longer nurseth the disease ; Yet who knows not, conscience is born of love? Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss, The uncertain sickly appetite to please.
Lest guilty of my faults tby sweet self prove. My reason, the physician to my love,
For thou betraying me, I do betray Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
My nobler part to my gross body's treason; Hath left me, and I desperate now approve, My soul doth tell my body that he may Desire his death, which physic did except. Triumph in love; flesh stays no further reason; Past cure I am, now reason is past care,
But rising at thy name, doth point out thee And frantic-mad with ever-more unrest;
As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride, My thoughts and my discourse as mad men's are, He is contented thy poor drudge to be, at random from the truth vainly express’d; To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side. For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, No want of conscience hold it that I call Whw art as black as Hell, as dark as night. Her love, for whose dear love I rise and fall.
SONNET CLIL In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn, But thou art twice forsworn, to me love swearing; Sweet Cytherea, sitting by a brook, In act thy bed-vow broke, and new faith torn, With young Adonis, lovely, fresh, and green, In vowing new hate after new love bearing. Did court the lad with many a lovely look, But why of two oaths' breach do I accuse thee, Such looks as none could look but beauty's queer. When I break twenty? I am perjur'd most; She told him stories to delight his ear; For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee, She show'd him favours to allure his eye; And all my honest faith in thee is lost :
To win his heart she touch'd bim here and there: For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness, Touches so soft still conquer chastity. Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy; But whether unripe years did want conceit, And, to enlighten thee, gave eyes to blindness, Or be refus'd to take her figur'd proffer, Or made them swear against the thing they see; The tender nibbler would not touch the bait, For I have sworn thee fair: more perjur'd i, But smile and jest at every gentle offer: To swear, against the truth, so foul a lie!
Then fell she on her back, fair queen, and toward;
He rose and ran away; ah, fool, too froward !
If love make me forsworu, how shall Iswear to love? And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep
O never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow'd: In a cold valley-fountain of that ground;
Though to myself forsworn, to thee I 'll constant Which borrow'd from this holy fire of love
[bow'd. A dateless lively heat, still to endure,
Those thoughts to me like oaks, to thee like osiers And drew a seething bath which yet men prove,
Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes,
Where all those pleasures live, that art can compreAgainst strange maladies a sovereign cure.
hend. But at my mistress' eye Love's brand new-fir'a, The boy for trial needs would touch my breast;
If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice;
Well learned is that tongue that well can thee comI sick withal, the help of bath desir'd,
mend; And bither hied, a sad distemper'd guest,
All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder; But found no cure; the bath for my help lies
Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire: Where Cupid got new fire; my mistress' eyes.
Thine eye Jove's lightning seems, thy voice his
dreadful thunder, SONNET CLIV.
Which (not to anger bent) is music and suvet fire.
Celestial as thou art, O do not love that wrong, The little love-god lying once asleep,
To sing the Heavens' praise with such an earthly Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand,
And scarce the herd gone to the hedge for shade, Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarm’d.
When Cytherea, all in love forlorn, This brand she quenched in a cool well by, A longing tarriance for Adonis made, Which from love's fire took heat perpetual, Under an osier growing by a brook, Growing a bath and healthful remedy
A brook, wbere Adon us'd to cool his spleen.
And stood stark-naked on the brook's green brim;
Yet not so wistiy, as this queen on him:
He spying her, bounc'd in, whereas he stood;
Oh, Jove," quoth she, “why was I not a flood ?" 1.
Mild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty; Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment. Brighter than glass, and yet, as lass is, brittle, A woman I forswore; but I will prove,
Softer than wax, and yet, as iron, rusty : Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee: A little pale, with damask dye to grace her, My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love; None fair, nor none falser to deface her. Thy grace being gain'd, cures all disgrace in me. My vow was breath, and breath a vapour is : Her lips to mine how often hath she join'd, Then thou fair Sun, which on my earth dost shine, Between each kiss her oath of true love swearing i Exhal'st this vapour now; in thee it is :
How many tales to please me hath she coin'd, If broken, then it is no fault of mine.
Dreading my love, the loss whereof still fearing! If by me broke, what fool is not so wise
Yet in the midst of all her true protestings, To break an oath, to win a paradise ?
Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were jestings
She bumt with love, as straw with fire flameth,
Crabbed age and youth
Cannot live together; Was this a lover, or a lecher whether?
Youth is full of pleasance,
Age is full of care :
Youth like summer morn,
Age like winter weather; If music and sweet poetry agree,
Youth like summer brave, As they must needs, the sister and the brother,
Age like winter bare. Then must the love be great 'twixt thee and me, Youth is full of sport, Because thou lov'st the one, and I the other.
Age's breath is short, Dowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch
Youth is nimble, age is lame: Upon the lute doth ravish human sense ;
Youth is hot and bold, Spenser to me, whose deep conceit is such,
Age is weak and cold; As passing all conceit, needs no defence.
Youth is wild, and age is tame. Thou lor'st to hear the sweet melodious sound
Age, I do abhor thee, That Phæbus' lute, the queen of music, makes ; Youth, I do adore thee; And I in deep delight am chiefly drown'd,
O, my love, my love is young: Whenas himself to singing he betakes.
Age, I do defy thee; One god is god of both, as poets feign;
O, sweet shepherd, hic thee,
For methinks thou stay'st too long.
A shining gloss that fadeth suddenly; Paler for sorrow than her milk-white dove, A fower that dies, when first it 'gins to bud; For Adon's sake, a youngster proud and wild;
A brittle glass, that 's broken presently : Her stand she takes upon a steep-up hill:
A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower,
Lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour.
As flowers dead, lie wither'd on the ground,
As broken glass no cement can redress,
Good night, good rest. Ah! neither be my share;
Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile, I weep for thee, and yet no cause I have,
In scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether : For why? thou leftist me nothing in thy will.
May be, she joy'd to jest at my exile, And yet thou left'st me more than I did crave;
May be, again to make me wander thither : For why? I craved nothing of thee still:
Wander, a word for shadows like myself,
As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf,
Lord how mine eyes throw gazes to the east ! Under a myrtle shade, began to woo him:
My heart doth charge the watch; the morning rise She told the youngling how god Mars did try her, Doth cite each moving sense from idle rest. And as he felt to her, she felt to him. [me;" Not daring trust the office of mine eyes, “Even thus,"quoth she, “the warlike god embrac'd While Philomela sits and sings, I sit and mark, And then she clip'd Adonis in her arms: [me,” | And wish her lays were tuned like the lark. " Even thus," quoth she, “ the warlike god unlac'd As if the boy should use like loving charms. Por she doth welcome day-light with her ditty, “Even thus," quoth she," he seized on my lips," And drives away dark dismal-dreaming night: And with her lips on his did act the seizure; The night so pack'd, I post unto my pretty; And as sbe fetched breath, away he skips,
Heart bath his hope, and eyes their wished sight; And would not take ber meaning nor her pleasure. Sorrow chang'd to solace, solace mix'd with sorAh! that I had my lady at this bay, To kiss and clip me till I run away!
For why ? she sigh'd, and bade me come to morrow.
Were I with her, the night would post too soon;
“ In black mourn 1, But now are minutes added to the hours;
All fears scorn I,
(O cruel speeding!)
Fraughted with gall.
My wethers' bell rings dolefull knell;
[could see, Plays not at all, but seems afraid;
[knight: Procures to weep, To leave the master loveless, or kill the gallant
In howling-wise, to see my doleful plight. To put in practice either, alas it was a spite
How sighs resound Unto the silly damsel.
Through heartless ground,
Like a thousand vanquish'd men in bloody fight! But one must be refused, more mickle was the pain, Clear wells spring not, That nothing could be used, to turn them both to Sweet birds sing not, gain,
[disdain: Green plants bring not For of the two the trusty knight was wounded with Forth; they die: Alas, she could not help it!
Herds stand weeping, Thus art with arms contending was victor of the day, Flocks all sleeping, Which by a gift of learning did bear the maid away; Nymphs back peeping Then lullaby, the learned man bath got the lady gay;
Fearfully. For now iny song is ended.
All our pleasure known to us poor swains,
All our merry meetings on the plains,
All our evening sport from us is fled,
All our love is lost, for love is dead. On a day (alack the day!)
Farewell, sweet love, Love, whose month was ever May,
Thy like ne'er was Spy'd a blossom passing fair,
Por sweet content, the cause of all my moan: Playing in the wanton air,
Poor Coridon, Through the velvet leaves the wind,
Must live alone, All unseen, 'gan passage find;
Other help for bim I see that there is none." That the lover, sick to death, Wish'd himself the Heaven's breath;
XVII. “ Air," quoth he, “thy cheeks may blow; When as thine eye hath chose the dame, Air, would I might triumph so!
And stall'd the deer that thou should'st strike, But, alas! my hand hath sworn
Let reason rule things worthy blame, Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn :
As well as fancy, partial might : Vow, alack, for youth unmeet,
Take counsel of some wiser head,
Neither too young, nor yet unwed.
And when thou com'st thy tale to tell,
Smooth not thy tongue with filed talk, Juno but an Ethiope were;
Lest she some subtle practice smell; And deny himself for Jove,
(A cripple soon can find a halt :) Turning mortal for thy love.
But plainly say thou lov'st her well,
And set her person forth to sale.
What though her frowning brows be bent, “ My flocks feed not,
Her cloudy looks will calm ere night; My ewes breed not,
And then too late she will repent, My rams speed not,
That thus dissembled her delight; All is amiss :
And twice desire, ere it be day, Love's denying,
That which with scorn she put away. Faith's defying,
What though she strive to try her strength, Heart's renging,
And ban and brawl, and say thee nay, Causer of this.
Her feeble force will yield at length, All my merry jigs are quite forgot,
When craft hath taught her thus to say: All my lady's love is lost, God wot:
“ Had women been so strong as men, Where her faith was firmly fix'd in love,
In faith you had not had it then."
And to her will frame all thy ways;
Spare not to spend, and chiefly there O frowning Fortune, cursed, fickle dame! Where thy desert may merit praise, For now I see,
By ringing in thy lady's ear: Inconstancy
The strongest castle, tower, and town, More in women than in men remain.
The golden bullet beats it down.