Elizabethan Sonnet-Cycles Part 13

My tears are true. Though others be divine, And sing of wars and Troy's new rising frame, Meeting heroic feet in every line, That tread high measures in the scene of fame, And I, though disaccustoming my muse, And sing but low songs in an humble vein, May one day raise my style as others use, And turn Elizon to a higher strain.

When re-intombing from oblivious ages In better stanzas her surviving wonder, I may opposed against the monster rage That part desert and excellence asunder; That she though coy may yet survive to see, Her beauty's wonder lives again in me.

V

_Conclusion of the whole_

Sometimes in verse I praised, sometimes in verse sighed; No more shall pen with love and beauty mell, But to my heart alone my heart shall tell How unseen flames do burn it day and night, Lest flames give light, light bring my love to sight, And my love prove my folly to excel.

Wherefore my love burns like the fire of h.e.l.l, Wherein is fire and yet there is no light; For if one never loved like me, then why Skill-less blames he the thing he doth not know?

And he that so hath loved should favour show, For he hath been a fool as well as I.

Thus shall henceforth more pain, more folly have; And folly past, may justly pardon crave.

A CALCULATION UPON THE BIRTH OF AN HONOURABLE LADY'S DAUGHTER, BORN IN THE YEAR 1588 AND ON A FRIDAY

Fair by inheritance, whom born we see Both in the wondrous year and on the day Wherein the fairest planet beareth sway, The heavens to thee this fortune doth decree!

Thou of a world of hearts in time shall be A monarch great, and with one beauty's ray So many hosts of hearts thy face shall slay, As all the rest for love shall yield to thee, But even as Alexander when he knew His father's conquests wept, lest he should leave No kingdom unto him for to subdue: So shall thy mother thee of praise bereave; So many hearts already she hath slain, As few behind to conquer shall remain.

SONNETS FROM THE Ma.n.u.sCRIPT EDITION, NOT FOUND IN THAT OF 1594

I

_Of the sudden surprising of his heart, and how unawares he was caught_

Delight in your bright eyes my death did breed, As light and glittering weapons babes allure To play with fire and sword, and so procure Then to be burnt and hurt ere they take heed, Thy beauty so hath made me burn and bleed; Yet shall my ashes and my blood a.s.sure Thy beauty's fame forever to endure; For thy fame's life from my death doth proceed; Because my heart to ashes burned giveth Life to thy fame, thou right a phoenix art, And like a pelican thy beauty liveth By sucking blood out of my breast and heart.

Lo why with wonder we may thee compare Unto the pelican and phoenix rare!

II

_An exhortation to the reader to come and see his mistress's beauty_

Eyes curious to behold what nature can create, Come see, come see, and write what wonder you do see, Causing by true report our next posterity Curse fortune for that they were born too late!

Come then and come ye all, come soon lest that The time should be too short and men too few should be; For all be few to write her least part's history, Though they should ever write and never write but that.

Millions look on her eyes, millions think on her wit, Millions speak of her, millions write of her hand.

The whole eye on the lip I do not understand; Millions too few to praise but some one part of it, As either of her eye or lip or hand to write, The light or black, the taste or red, the soft or white.

III

_Of the excellency of his lady's voice_

Lady of ladies, the delight alone For which to heaven earth doth no envy bear; Seeing and hearing thee, we see and hear Such voice, such light, as never sung nor shone.

The want of heaven I grant yet we may moan, Not for the pleasure of the angels there, As though in face or voice they like thee were, But that they many be, and thou but one.

The basest notes which from thy voice proceed, The treble of the angels do exceed, So that I fear their choir to beautify, Lest thou to some in heaven shall sing and shine.

Lo, when I hear thee sing, the reason why Sighs of my breast keep time with notes of thine!

IV

_Of her excellency both in singing and instruments_

Not that thy hand is soft, is sweet, is white, Thy lips sweet roses, breast sweet lily is, That love esteems these three the chiefest bliss Which nature ever made for lips' delight; But when these three to show their heavenly might Such wonders do, devotion then for this Commandeth us with humble zeal to kiss Such things as work miracles in our sight.

A lute of senseless wood, by nature dumb, Touched by thy hand doth speak divinely well; And from thy lips and breast sweet tunes do come To my dead heart, the which new life do give.

Of greater wonders heard we never tell Than for the dumb to speak, the dead to live.

V

_Of the envy others bear to his lady for the former perfections_

When beauty to the world vouchsafes this bliss, To show the one whose other there is not, The whitest skins red blushing shame doth blot, And in the reddest cheeks pale envy is.

The fair and foul come thus alike by this; For when the sun hath our horizon got, Venus herself doth shine no more, G.o.d wot, Than the least star that takes the light from his.

The poor in beauty thus content remain To see their jealous cause revenged in thee, And their fair foes afflicted with like pain.

Lo, the clear proof of thy divinity; For unto G.o.d is only due this praise The highest to pluck down, the low to raise!

VI

_To his mistress, upon occasion of a Petrarch he gave her, showing her the reason why the Italian commenters dissent so much in the exposition thereof_

Miracle of the world! I never will deny That former poets praise the beauty of their days; But all those beauties were but figures of thy praise, And all those poets did of thee but prophesy.

Thy coming to the world hath taught us to descry What Petrarch's Laura meant, for truth the lip bewrays.

Lo, why th' Italians, yet which never saw thy rays, To find out Petrarch's sense such forged glosses try!

The beauties which he in a veil enclosed beheld But revelations were within his surest heart By which in parables thy coming he foretold; His songs were hymns of thee, which only now before Thy image should be sung; for thou that G.o.ddess art Which only we without idolatry adore.

VII

_Complaint of misfortune in love only_

Now, now I love indeed, and suffer more In one day now then I did in a year; Great flames they be which but small sparkles were, And wounded now, I was but p.r.i.c.ked before.

No marvel then, though more than heretofore I weep and sigh; how can great wounds be there Where moisture runs not out? and ever, where The fire is great, of smoke there must be store.

My heart was. .h.i.therto but like green wood, Which must be dried before it will burn bright; My former love served but my heart to dry; Now Cupid for his fire doth find it good: For now it burneth clear, and shall give light For all the world your beauty to espy.

VIII

_Complaint of his lady's melancholiness_

If that one care had our two hearts possessed, Or you once (felt) what I long suffered, Then should thy heart accuse in my heart's stead The rigour of itself for mine unrest.

Then should thine arm upon my shoulder rest, And weight of grief sway down thy troubled head; Then should thy tears upon my sheet be shed, And then thy heart should pant upon my breast.

But when that other cares thy heart do seize, Alas, what succour gain I then by this, But double grief for thine and mine unease?

Yet when thou see'st thy hurts to wound my heart, And so art taught by me what pity is, Perhaps thy heart will learn to feel my smart.

IX