The Shorter Poems

  So when I thinke to end that I begonne,

  10

  I must begin and neuer bring to end:

  for with one looke she spils that long I sponne,

  and with one word my whole years work doth rend.

  Such labour like the Spyders web I fynd,

  whose fruitlesse worke is broken with least wynd.

  SONNET. XXIIII.

  When I behold that beauties wonderment,

  And rare perfection of each goodly part:

  of natures skill the onely complement,

  I honor and admire the makers art.

  5

  But when I feele the bitter balefull smart,

  which her fayre eyes vnwares doe worke in mee:

  that death out of theyr shiny beames doe dart,

  I thinke that I a new Pandora see;

  Whom all the Gods in councell did agree,

  10

  into this sinfull world from heauen to send:

  that she to wicked men a scourge should bee,

  for all their faults with which they did offend.

  But since ye are my scourge I will intreat,

  that for my faults ye will me gently beat.

  SONNET. XXV.

  How long shall this lyke dying lyfe endure,

  And know no end of her owne mysery:

  but wast and weare away in termes vnsure,

  twixt feare and hope depending doubtfully.

  5

  Yet better were attonce to let me die,

  and shew the last ensample of your pride:

  then to torment me thus with cruelty,

  to proue your powre, which I too wel haue tride.

  But yet if in your hardned brest ye hide,

  10

  a close intent at last to shew me grace:

  then all the woes and wrecks which I abide,

  as meanes of blisse I gladly wil embrace.

  And wish that more and greater they might be,

  that greater meede at last may turne to mee.

  SONNET. XXVI.

  Sweet is the Rose, but growes vpon a brere;

  Sweet is the Iunipere, but sharpe his bough;

  sweet is the Eglantine, but pricketh nere;

  sweet is the firbloome, but his braunches rough.

  5

  Sweet is the Cypresse, but his rynd is tough,

  sweet is the nut, but bitter is his pill;

  sweet is the broome-flowre, but yet sowre enough;

  and sweet is Moly, but his root is ill.

  So euery sweet with soure is tempred still,

  10

  that maketh it be coueted the more:

  for easie things that may be got at will,

  most sorts of men doe set but little store.

  Why then should I accoumpt of little paine,

  that endlesse pleasure shall vnto me gaine.

  SONNET. XXVII.

  Faire proud now tell me why should faire be proud,

  Sith all worlds glorie is but drosse vncleane:

  and in the shade of death it selfe shall shroud,

  how euer now thereof ye little weene.

  5

  That goodly Idoll now so gay beseene,

  shall doffe her fleshes borowd fayre attyre:

  and be forgot as it had neuer beene,

  that many now much worship and admire.

  Ne any then shall after it inquire,

  10

  ne any mention shall thereof remaine:

  but what this verse, that neuer shall expyre,

  shall to you purchas with her thankles paine.

  Faire be no lenger proud of that shall perish,

  but that which shal you make immortall, cherish.

  SONNET. XXVIII.

  The laurell leafe, which you this day doe weare,

  giues me great hope of your relenting mynd:

  for since it is the badg which I doe beare,

  ye bearing it doe seeme to me inclind:

  5

  The powre thereof, which ofte in me I find,

  let it lykewise your gentle brest inspire

  with sweet infusion, and put you in mind

  of that proud mayd, whom now those leaues attyre:

  Proud Daphne scorning Phæbus louely fyre,

  10

  on the Thessalian shore from him did flie:

  for which the gods in theyr reuengefull yre

  did her transforme into a laurell tree.

  Then fly no more fayre loue from Phebus chace,

  but in your brest his leafe and loue embrace.

  SONNET. XXIX.

  See how the stubborne damzell doth depraue

  my simple meaning with disdaynfull scorne:

  and by the bay which I vnto her gaue,

  accoumpts my selfe her captiue quite forlorne.

  5

  The bay (quoth she) is of the victours borne,

  yielded them by the vanquisht as theyr meeds,

  and they therewith doe poetes heads adorne,

  to sing the glory of their famous deedes.

  But sith she will the conquest challeng needs,

  10

  let her accept me as her faithfull thrall,

  that her great triumph which my skill exceeds,

  I may in trump of fame blaze ouer all.

  Then would I decke her head with glorious bayes,

  and fill the world with her victorious prayse.

  SONNET. XXX.

  My loue is lyke to yse, and I to fyre;

  how comes it then that this her cold so great

  is not dissolu’d through my so hot desyre,

  but harder growes the more I her intreat?

  5

  Or how comes it that my exceeding heat

  is not delayd by her hart frosen cold:

  but that I burne much more in boyling sweat,

  and feele my flames augmented manifold?

  What more miraculous thing may be told

  10

  that fire which all thing melts, should harden yse:

  and yse which is congeald with sencelesse cold,

  should kindle fyre by wonderfull deuyse?

  Such is the powre of loue in gentle mind,

  that it can alter all the course of kynd.

  SONNET. XXXI.

  Ah why hath nature to so hard a hart,

  giuen so goodly giftes of beauties grace?

  whose pryde depraues each other better part,

  and all those pretious ornaments deface.

  5

  Sith to all other beastes of bloody race,

  a dreadfull countenaunce she giuen hath:

  that with theyr terrour al the rest may chace,

  and warne to shun the daunger of theyr wrath.

  But my proud one doth worke the greater scath,

  10

  through sweet allurement of her louely hew:

  that she the better may in bloody bath

  of such poore thralls her cruell hands embrew.

  But did she know how ill these two accord,

  such cruelty she would haue soone abhord.

  SONNET. XXXII.

  The paynefull smith with force of feruent heat,

  the hardest yron soone doth mollify:

  that with his heauy sledge he can it beat,

  and fashion to what he it list apply.

  5

  Yet cannot all these flames in which I fry,

  her hart more harde then yron soft awhit:

  ne all the playnts and prayers with which I

  doe beat on th’anduyle of her stubberne wit:

  But still the more she feruent sees my fit,

  10

  the more she frieseth in her wilfull pryde:

  and harder growes the harder she is smit,

  with all the playnts which to her be applyde.

  What then remaines but I to ashes burne,

  and she to stones at length all frosen turne?

  SONNET. XXXIII.

  Great wr
ong I doe, I can it not deny,

  to that most sacred Empresse my dear dred,

  not finishing her Queene of faëry,

  that mote enlarge her liuing prayses dead:

  5

  But lodwick, this of grace to me aread:

  doe ye not thinck th’accomplishment of it,

  sufficient worke for one mans simple head,

  all were it as the rest but rudely writ.

  How then should I without another wit,

  10

  thinck euer to endure so tædious toyle,

  sins that this one is tost with troublous fit,

  of a proud loue, that doth my spirite spoyle.

  Ceasse then, till she vouchsafe to grawnt me rest,

  or lend you me another liuing brest.

  SONNET. XXXIIII.

  Lyke as a ship that through the Ocean wyde,

  by conduct of some star doth make her way,

  whenas a storme hath dimd her trusty guyde,

  out of her course doth wander far astray.

  5

  So I whose star, that wont with her bright ray

  me to direct, with cloudes is ouercast,

  doe wander now in darknesse and dismay,

  through hidden perils round about me plast.

  Yet hope I well, that when this storme is past

  10

  my Helice the lodestar of my lyfe

  will shine again, and looke on me at last,

  with louely light to cleare my cloudy grief.

  Till then I wander carefull comfortlesse,

  in secret sorow and sad pensiuenesse.

  SONNET. XXXV.

  My hungry eyes through greedy couetize,

  still to behold the obiect of their paine:

  with no contentment can themselues suffize,

  but hauing pine and hauing not complaine.

  5

  For lacking it they cannot lyfe sustayne,

  and hauing it they gaze on it the more:

  in their amazement lyke Narcissus vaine

  whose eyes him staru’d: so plenty makes me poore.

  Yet are mine eyes so filled with the store

  10

  of that faire sight, that nothing else they brooke,

  but lothe the things which they did like before,

  and can no more endure on them to looke.

  All this worlds glory seemeth vayne to me,

  and all their showes but shadowes sauing she.

  SONNET. XXXVI.

  Tell me when shall these wearie woes haue end,

  Or shall their ruthlesse torment neuer cease:

  but al my dayes in pining languor spend,

  without hope of aswagement or release?

  5

  Is there no meanes for me to purchace peace,

  or make agreement with her thrilling eyes:

  but that their cruelty doth still increace,

  and dayly more augment my miseryes?

  But when ye haue shewed all extremityes,

  10

  then thinke how litle glory ye haue gayned:

  by slaying him, whose lyfe though ye despyse,

  mote haue your life in honour long maintayned.

  But by his death which some perhaps will mone,

  ye shall condemned be of many a one.

  SONNET. XXXVII.

  What guyle is this, that those her golden tresses,

  She doth attyre vnder a net of gold:

  and with sly skill so cunningly them dresses,

  that which is gold or heare, may scarse be told?

  5

  Is it that mens frayle eyes, which gaze too bold,

  she may entangle in that golden snare:

  and being caught may craftily enfold

  theyr weaker harts, which are not wel aware?

  Take heed therefore, myne eyes, how ye doe stare

  10

  henceforth too rashly on that guilefull net,

  in which if euer ye entrapped are,

  out of her bands ye by no meanes shall get.

  Fondnesse it were for any being free,

  to couet fetters, though they golden bee.

  SONNET. XXXVIII.

  Arion, when through tempests cruel wracke,

  He forth was thrown into the greedy seas:

  through the sweet musick which his harp did make

  allur’d a Dolphin him from death to ease.

  5

  But my rude musick, which was wont to please

  some dainty eares, cannot with any skill,

  the dreadfull tempest of her wrath appease,

  nor moue the Dolphin from her stubborne will,

  But in her pride she dooth perseuer still,

  10

  all carelesse how my life for her decayse:

  yet with one word she can it saue or spill,

  to spill were pitty, but to saue were prayse.

  Chose rather to be praysd for dooing good,

  then to be blam’d for spilling guiltlesse blood.

  SONNET. XXXIX.

  Sweet smile, the daughter of the Queene of loue,

  Expressing all thy mothers powrefull art:

  with which she wonts to temper angry Ioue,

  when all the gods he threats with thundring dart.

  5

  Sweet is thy vertue as thy selfe sweet art,

  for when on me thou shinedst late in sadnesse:

  a melting pleasance ran through euery part,

  and me reuiued with hart robbing gladnesse.

  Whylest rapt with ioy resembling heauenly madnes,

  10

  my soule was rauisht quite as in a traunce:

  and feeling thence no more her sorowes sadnesse,

  fed on the fulnesse of that chearefull glaunce.

  More sweet than Nectar or Ambrosiall meat

  seemd euery bit, which thenceforth I did eat.

  SONNET. XL.

  Mark when she smiles with amiable cheare,

  And tell me whereto can ye lyken it:

  when on each eyelid sweetly doe appeare

  an hundred Graces as in shade to sit.

  5

  Lykest it seemeth in my simple wit

  vnto the fayre sunshine in somers day:

  that when a dreadfull storme away is flit,

  thrugh the broad world doth spred his goodly ray:

  At sight whereof each bird that sits on spray,

  10

  and euery beast that to his den was fled,

  comes forth afresh out of their late dismay,

  and to the light lift vp theyr drouping hed.

  So my storme beaten hart likewise is cheared,

  with that sunshine when cloudy looks are cleared.

  SONNET. XLI.

  Is it her nature or is it her will,

  to be so cruell to an humbled foe?

  if nature, then she may it mend with skill,

  if will, then she at will may will forgoe.

  5

  But if her nature and her wil be so,

  that she will plague the man that loues her most:

  and take delight t’encrease a wretches woe,

  then all her natures goodly guifts are lost.

  And that same glorious beauties ydle boast,