The Sonnets and Other Poems (Modern Library Classics)

  By all our country rights in Rome maintained,

  And by chaste Lucrece' soul that late complained

  Her wrongs to us, and by this bloody knife

  We will revenge the death of this true wife.'

  This said, he struck his hand upon his breast,

  And kissed the fatal knife, to end his vow,

  And to his protestation1844 urged the rest,

  Who, wond'ring1845 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.

  When they had sworn to this advised doom1849,

  They did conclude to bear dead Lucrece thence,

  To show her bleeding body thorough1851 Rome,

  And so to publish Tarquin's foul offence;

  Which being done with speedy diligence,

  The Romans plausibly1854 did give consent

  To Tarquin's everlasting banishment.

  THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM

  [1]

  When my love swears that she is made of truth1,

  I do believe her, though I know she lies2,

  That she might think3 me some untutored youth,

  Unskilful in the world's false forgeries4.

  Thus vainly5 thinking that she thinks me young,

  Although I know my years be past the best,

  I, smiling, credit7 her false-speaking tongue,

  Outfacing8 faults in love with love's ill rest.

  But wherefore9 says my love that she is young?

  And wherefore say not I that I am old?

  O, love's best habit11's in a soothing tongue,

  And age in love loves not to have years told12.

  Therefore I'll lie13 with love and love with me,

  Since that our faults in love thus smothered14 be.

  [2]

  Two loves1 I have, of comfort and despair,

  That like two spirits do suggest2 me still:

  My better angel is a man right fair3,

  My worser spirit a woman coloured ill4.

  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 pride8.

  And whether that my angel be turned fiend,

  Suspect I may, yet not directly tell:

  For being both to me, both to each, friend,

  I guess one angel in another's hell12.

  The truth I shall not know, but live in doubt,

  Till my bad angel fire my good one out14.

  [3]

  Did not the heavenly rhetoric1 of thine eye,

  Gainst whom the world could not hold argument,

  Persuade my heart to this false perjury3?

  Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment.

  A woman I forswore5, but I will prove,

  Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee:

  My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love.

  Thy grace8 being gained cures all disgrace in me.

  My vow was breath and breath a vapour is,

  Then thou, fair sun that on this earth doth shine,

  Exhal'st11 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?

  [4]

  Sweet Cytherea1, sitting by a brook

  With young Adonis2, lovely, fresh and green,

  Did court the lad with many a lovely3 look,

  Such looks as none could look but beauty's queen.

  She told him stories to delight his ears,

  She showed him favours6 to allure his eye,

  To win his heart she touched him here and there:

  Touches so soft still8 conquer chastity.

  But whether unripe9 years did want conceit,

  Or he refused to take her figured proffer10,

  The tender11 nibbler would not touch the bait,

  But smile and jest at every gentle offer:

  Then fell she on her back, fair queen13, and toward:

  He rose and ran away, ah fool too froward14.

  [5]

  If love make me forsworn1, how shall I swear to love?

  O never faith could hold, if not to beauty vowed.

  Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll constant prove:

  Those thoughts, to me like oaks, to thee like osiers4 bowed.

  Study5 his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes,

  Where all those pleasures live that art6 can comprehend.

  If knowledge be the mark7, 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 praise10, that I thy parts admire.

  Thine eye Jove11's lightning seems, thy voice his dreadful

  thunder,

  Which, not to anger bent12, 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.

  [6]

  Scarce had the sun dried up the dewy morn,

  And scarce the herd gone to the hedge for shade,

  When Cytherea3, all in love forlorn,

  A longing tarriance4 for Adonis made

  Under an osier5 growing by a brook,

  A brook where Adon6 used to cool his spleen.

  Hot was the day, she hotter7 that did look

  For his approach, that often there had been.

  Anon9 he comes and throws his mantle by,

  And stood stark naked on the brook's green brim:

  The sun looked on the world with glorious11 eye,

  Yet not so wistly12 as this queen on him.

  He, spying her, bounced in13 whereas he stood:

  'O Jove14,' quoth she, 'why was not I a flood?'

  [7]

  Fair is my love but not so fair as fickle,

  Mild as a dove2 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 damask5 dye to grace her,

  None fairer, nor none falser6 to deface her.

  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 coined9,

  Dreading10 my love, the loss whereof still fearing.

  Yet in the midst of all her pure protestings11,

  Her faith, her oaths, her tears and all were jestings.

  She burnt with love as straw with fire flameth,

  She burnt out love as soon as straw out-burneth:

  She framed15 the love and yet she foiled the framing,

  She bade love last and yet she fell16 a-turning.

  Was this a lover or a lecher, whether17?

  Bad in the best, though excellent in neither18.

  [8]

  If music and sweet poetry agree,

  As they must needs2, the sister and the brother,

  Then must the love be great 'twixt thee3 and me,

  Because thou lov'st the one and I the other.

  Dowland5 to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch

  Upon the lute doth ravish human sense:

  Spenser7 to me, whose deep conceit is such

  As passing all conceit needs no defence.

  Thou lov'st to hear the sweet melodious sound

  That Phoebus10' lute, the queen of music, makes:

  And I in deep delight am chiefly drowned

  When as himself to singing he betakes.

  One god is god of both13, as poets feign:

  One knight14 loves both and both in thee remain.

  [9]

  Fair was the morn, when the fair queen of love1,

/>   [ ]2

  Paler for sorrow than her milk-white dove,

  For Adon4's sake, a youngster proud and wild,

  Her stand5 she takes upon a steep-up hill.

  Anon6 Adonis comes with horn and hounds:

  She, silly7 queen, with more than love's good will,

  Forbade the boy he should not pass those grounds.

  'Once', quoth she, 'did I see a fair sweet youth

  Here in these brakes10 deep-wounded with a boar,

  Deep in the thigh, a spectacle of ruth11!

  See, in my thigh,' quoth she, 'here was the sore.'

  She showed hers -- he saw more wounds than one13,

  And blushing fled and left her all alone.

  [10]

  Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely plucked, soon faded,

  Plucked in the bud and faded in the spring.

  Bright orient pearl3, alack, too timely shaded.

  Fair creature, killed 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.

  I weep for thee and yet no cause I have,

  For why8 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.

  [11]

  Venus1 with Adonis sitting by her

  Under a myrtle2 shade began to woo him.

  She told the youngling3 how god Mars did try her,

  And as he fell to4 her, she fell to him.

  'Even thus', quoth she, 'the warlike god embraced me',

  And then she clipped6 Adonis in her arms:

  'Even thus', quoth she, 'the warlike god unlaced7 me',

  As if the boy should use like8 loving charms:

  'Even thus', quoth she, 'he seized on9 my lips',

  And with her lips on his did act the seizure:

  And as she fetched11 breath, away he skips

  And would not take12 her meaning nor her pleasure.

  Ah, that I had my lady at this bay13,

  To kiss and clip14 me till I run away!

  [12]

  Crabbed1 age and youth cannot live together:

  Youth is full of pleasance2, age is full of care,

  Youth like summer morn, age like winter weather,

  Youth like summer brave4, age like winter bare.

  Youth is full of sport5, 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 thee11,

  For methinks thou stays12 too long.

  [13]

  Beauty is but a vain1 and doubtful good,

  A shining gloss that fadeth suddenly,

  A flower that dies when first it 'gins3 to bud,

  A brittle glass that's broken presently4,

  A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower,

  Lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour.

  And as goods lost are seld7 or never found,

  As faded gloss no rubbing will refresh,

  As flowers dead lie withered on the ground,

  As broken glass no cement can redress:

  So beauty blemished once, forever lost,

  In spite of physic12, painting, pain and cost.

  [14]

  Goodnight, good rest: ah, neither be my share.

  She bade goodnight that kept my rest away,

  And daffed me3 to a cabin hanged with care,

  To descant on the doubts of my decay4.

  'Farewell,' quoth she, 'and come again tomorrow':

  Fare6 well I could not, for I supped with sorrow.

  Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile,

  In scorn or friendship nill I conster whether8:

  'T may be she joyed to jest at my exile,

  'T may be again to make me wander thither:

  'Wander', a word for shadows like myself,

  As12 take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf.

  Lord, how mine eyes throw gazes to the east13!

  My heart doth charge the watch14, the morning rise

  Doth cite15 each moving sense from idle rest,

  Not daring trust the office16 of mine eyes.

  While Philomela17 sits and sings, I sit and mark,

  And wish her lays18 were tuned like the lark.

  For she doth welcome daylight with her ditty,

  And drives away dark dreaming night:

  The night so packed21, I post unto my pretty.

  Heart hath his hope and eyes their wished sight;

  Sorrow changed to solace and solace mixed with sorrow,

  For why24 she sighed and bade me come tomorrow.

  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 moon27,

  Yet28 not for me, shine sun to succour flowers.

  Pack night, peep day. Good day, of night now borrow:

  Short30 night tonight and length thyself tomorrow.

  Sonnets to Sundry Notes of Music

  [15]

  It was a lording1's daughter, the fairest one of three,

  That liked of her master2 as well as well might be,

  Till looking on an Englishman, the fairest that eye could see,

  Her fancy fell a-turning.

  Long was the combat doubtful5 that love with love did fight,

  To leave the master loveless or kill the gallant knight,

  To put in practice either, alas, it was a spite7

  Unto the silly8 damsel!

  But one must be refused: more mickle9 was the pain

  That nothing could be used to turn them both to gain10,

  For of the two the trusty knight was wounded with disdain11,

  Alas, she could not help it!

  Thus art13 with arms contending was victor of the day,

  Which by a gift of learning did bear the maid away:

  Then, lullaby15, the learned man hath got the lady gay,

  For now my song is ended.

  [16]

  On a day, alack the day,

  Love whose month was ever May

  Spied a blossom passing3 fair,

  Playing in the wanton4 air.

  Through the velvet leaves5 the wind

  All unseen 'gan passage find,

  That7 the lover, sick to death,

  Wished himself the heavens' breath.

  'Air9,' 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 thorn12:

  Vow, alack, for youth unmeet13,

  Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet14.

  Thou for whom Jove15 would swear

  Juno16 but an Ethiope were,

  And deny himself for Jove17,

  Turning mortal for thy love.'

  [17]

  My flocks feed not, my ewes breed not,

  My rams speed2 not, all is amiss:

  Love is dying, faith's defying3,

  Heart's denying4, causer of this.

  All my merry jigs are quite forgot,

  All my lady's love is lost, God wot6.

  Where her faith was firmly fixed in love,

  There a 'nay' is placed without remove8.

  One silly9 cross wrought all my loss,

  O frowning Fortune, cursed fickle dame,

  For now I see inconstancy

  More in women than in men remain.

  In black mourn I, all fears scorn I,

  Love hath forlorn me, living in thrall14:

  Heart is bleeding, all help needing,

 
O cruel speeding16, fraughted with gall.

  My shepherd's pipe can sound no deal17,

  My wether18's bell rings doleful knell,

  My curtal19 dog that wont to have played,

  Plays not at all, but seems afraid --

  With sighs so deep procures21 to weep,

  In howling wise22, to see my doleful plight.

  How sighs resound through heartless ground23,

  Like a thousand vanquished men in bloody fight.

  Clear wells spring not, sweet birds sing not,

  Green plants bring not forth their dye26,

  Herds stand weeping, flocks all sleeping,

  Nymphs back peeping fearfully.

  All our pleasure known to us poor swains29,

  All our merry meetings on the plains,

  All our evening sport from us is fled,

  All our love is lost, for love is dead.

  Farewell, sweet love, thy like ne'er was

  For a sweet content, the cause of all my woe.

  Poor Corydon35 must live alone:

  Other help for him I see that there is none.

  [18]

  When as thine eye hath chose the dame,

  And stalled2 the deer that thou shouldst strike,

  Let reason rule things worthy blame3,

  As well as fancy4, partial might.

  Take counsel of some wiser head,

  Neither too young nor yet unwed6.

  And when thou com'st thy tale to tell,

  Smooth not thy tongue with filed8 talk,

  Lest she some subtle practice9 smell --

  A cripple soon can find a halt10 --

  But plainly say thou lov'st her well,

  And set her person forth to sale12.

  And to her will frame all thy ways:

  Spare not to spend14, and chiefly there

  Where thy desert15 may merit praise

  By ringing16 in thy lady's ear.

  The strongest castle, tower and town,

  The golden bullet18 beats it down.

  Serve always with assured trust

  And in thy suit be humble true,

  Unless thy lady prove unjust21

  Press22 never thou to choose anew:

  When time shall serve, be thou not slack23

  To proffer, though she put thee back24.

  What though her frowning brows be bent,

  Her cloudy looks will calm ere26 night,

  And then too late she will repent

  That thus dissembled28 her delight,

  And twice desire, ere it be day,

  That which with scorn she put away30.