Chapter 5

If ever sorrow spoke from soul that loves, As speaks a spirit in a man possest, In me her spirit speaks. My soul it moves, Whose sigh-swoll'n words breed whirlwinds in my breast; Or like the echo of a passing bell, Which sounding on the water seems to howl; So rings my heart a fearful heavy knell, And keeps all night in consort with the owl. My cheeks with a thin ice of tears are clad, Mine eyes like morning stars are bleared and red. What resteth then but I be raging mad, To see that she, my cares' chief conduit-head, When all streams else help quench my burning heart, Shuts up her springs and will no grace impart.

IV

You secret vales, you solitary fields, You shores forsaken and you sounding rocks! If ever groaning heart hath made you yield, Or words half spoke that sense in prison locks, Then 'mongst night shadows whisper out my death. That when myself hath sealed my lips from speaking, Each tell-tale echo with a weeping breath, May both record my truth and true love's breaking. You pretty flowers that smile for summer's sake, Pull in your heads before my wat'ry eyes Do turn the meadows to a standing lake, By whose untimely floods your glory dies! For lo, mine heart, resolved to moistening air, Feedeth mine eyes which double tear for tear.

V

His shadow to Narcissus well presented, How fair he was by such attractive love! So if thou would'st thyself thy beauty prove, Vulgar breath-mirrors might have well contented, And to their prayers eternally consented, Oaths, vows and sighs, if they believe might move; But more thou forc'st, making my pen approve Thy praise to all, least any had dissented. When this hath wrought, thou which before wert known But unto some, of all art now required, And thine eyes' wonders wronged, because not shown The world, with daily orisons desired. Thy chaste fair gifts, with learning's breath is blown, And thus my pen hath made thy sweets admired.

VI

I am no model figure, or sign of care, But his eternal heart's-consuming essence, In whom grief's commentaries written are, Drawing gross passion into pure quintessence, Not thine eye's fire, but fire of thine eye's disdain, Fed by neglect of my continual grieving, Attracts the true life's spirit of my pain, And gives it thee, which gives me no relieving. Within thine arms sad elegies I sing; Unto thine eyes a true heart love-torn lay I: Thou smell'st from me the savours sorrows bring; My tears to taste my truth to touch display I. Lo thus each sense, dear fair one, I importune; But being care, thou flyest me as ill fortune.

VII

But being care, thou flyest me as ill fortune;-- Care the consuming canker of the mind! The discord that disorders sweet hearts' tune! Th' abortive bastard of a coward mind! The lightfoot lackey that runs post by death, Bearing the letters which contain our end! The busy advocate that sells his breath, Denouncing worst to him, is most his friend! O dear, this care no interest holds in me; But holy care, the guardian of thy fair, Thine honour's champion, and thy virtue's fee, The zeal which thee from barbarous times shall bear, This care am I; this care my life hath taken. Dear to my soul, then leave me not forsaken!

VIII

Dear to my soul, then, leave, me not forsaken! Fly not! My heart within thy bosom sleepeth; Even from myself and sense I have betaken Me unto thee for whom my spirit weepeth, And on the shore of that salt teary sea, Couched in a bed of unseen seeming pleasure, Where in imaginary thoughts thy fair self lay; But being waked, robbed of my life's best treasure, I call the heavens, air, earth, and seas to hear My love, my truth, and black disdained estate, Beating the rocks with bellowings of despair, Which still with plaints my words reverberate, Sighing, "Alas, what shall become of me?" Whilst echo cries, "What shall become of me?"

IX

Whilst echo cries, "What shall become of me?" And desolate, my desolations pity, Thou in thy beauty's carack sitt'st to see My tragic downfall, and my funeral ditty. No timbrel, but my heart thou play'st upon, Whose strings are stretched unto the highest key; The diapason, love; love is the unison; In love my life and labours waste away. Only regardless to the world thou leav'st me, Whilst slain hopes, turning from the feast of sorrow, Unto despair, their king, which ne'er deceives me, Captives my heart, whose black night hates the morrow, And he in truth of my distressed cry Plants me a weeping star within mine eye.

X

Prometheus for stealing living fire From heaven's king, was judged eternal death; In self-same flame with unrelenting ire Bound fast to Caucasus' low foot beneath. So I, for stealing living beauty's fire Into my verse that it may always live, And change his forms to shapes of my desire, Thou beauty's queen, self sentence like dost give. Bound to thy feet in chains of life I lie; For to thine eyes I never dare aspire; And in thy beauty's brightness do I fry, As poor Prometheus in the scalding fire; Which tears maintain as oil the lamp revives; Only my succour in thy favour lies.

THE SIXTH DECADE

I

One sun unto my life's day gives true light. One moon dissolves my stormy night of woes. One star my fate and happy fortune shows. One saint I serve, one shrine with vows I dight. One sun transfix'd hath burnt my heart outright, One moon opposed my love in darkness throws. One star hath bid my thoughts my wrongs disclose. Saints scorn poor swains, shrines do my vows no right. Yet if my love be found a holy fire, Pure, unstained, without idolatry, And she nathless in hate of my desire, Lives to repose her in my misery, My sun, my moon, my star, my saint, my shrine, Mine be the torment but the guilt be thine!

II

To live in hell, and heaven to behold; To welcome life, and die a living death; To sweat with heat, and yet be freezing cold; To grasp at stars, and lie the earth beneath; To treat a maze that never shall have end; To burn in sighs, and starve in daily tears; To climb a hill, and never to descend; Giants to kill, and quake at childish fears; To pine for food, and watch th' Hesperian tree; To thirst for drink, and nectar still to draw; To live accurs'd whom men hold blest to be, And weep those wrongs which never creature saw: If this be love, if love in these be founded, My heart is love, for these in it are grounded.

III

A carver, having loved too long in vain, Hewed out the portraiture of Venus' son In marble rock, upon the which did rain Small drizzling drops, that from a fount did run: Imagining the drops would either wear His fury out, or quench his living flame; But when he saw it bootless did appear, He swore the water did augment the same. So I, that seek in verse to carve thee out, Hoping thy beauty will my flame allay, Viewing my verse and poems all throughout, Find my will rather to my love obey, That with the carver I my work do blame, Finding it still th' augmenter of my flame.

IV

Astronomers the heavens do divide Into eight houses, where the god remains; All which in thy perfections do abide. For in thy feet, the queen of silence reigns; About thy waist Jove's messenger doth dwell, Inchanting me as I thereat admire; And on thy dugs the queen of love doth tell Her godhead's power in scrolls of my desire; Thy beauty is the world's eternal sun; Thy favours force a coward's heart to dare, And in thy hairs Jove and his riches won. Thy frowns hold Saturn; thine's the fixèd stars. Pardon me then, divine, to love thee well, Since thou art heaven, and I in heaven would dwell!

V

Weary of love, my thoughts of love complained, Till reason told them there was no such power, And bade me view fair beauty's richest flower, To see if there a naked boy remained. Dear, to thine eyes, eyes that my soul hath pained, Thoughts turned them back in that unhappy hour To see if love kept there his royal bower, For if not there, then no place him contained. There was he not, nor boy, nor golden bow; Yet as thou turned thy chaste fair eye aside, A flame of fire did from thine eyelids go, Which burnt my heart through my sore wounded side; Then with a sigh, reason made thoughts to cry, "There is no god of love, save that thine eye!"

VI

Forgive me, dear, for thundering on thy name; Sure 'tis thyself that shows my love distrest. For fire exhaled in freezing clouds possessed, Warring for way, makes all the heavens exclaim. Thy beauty so, the brightest living flame, Wrapt in my cloudy heart, by winter prest, Scorning to dwell within so base a nest, Thunders in me thy everlasting flame. O that my heart might still contain that fire! Or that the fire would always light my heart! Then should'st thou not disdain my true desire, Or think I wronged thee to reveal to my smart; For as the fire through freezing clouds doth break, So not myself but thou in me would'st speak.

VII

My heart mine eye accuseth of his death, Saying his wanton sight bred his unrest; Mine eye affirms my heart's unconstant faith Hath been his bane, and all his joys repressed. My heart avows mine eye let in the fire, Which burns him with an everliving light. Mine eye replies my greedy heart's desire Let in those floods, which drown him day and night. Thus wars my heart which reason doth maintain, And calls my eye to combat if he dare, The whilst my soul impatient of disdain, Wrings from his bondage unto death more near; Save that my love still holdeth him in hand; A kingdom thus divided cannot stand!

VIII

Unhappy day, unhappy month and season, When first proud love, my joys away adjourning, Pourèd into mine eye to her eye turning A deadly juice, unto my green thought's reason. Prisoner I am unto the eye I gaze on; Eternally my love's flame is in burning; A mortal shaft still wounds me in my mourning; Thus prisoned, burnt and slain, the spirit, soul and reason. What tides me then since these pains which annoy me, In my despair are evermore increasing? The more I love, less is my pain's releasing; That cursèd be the fortune which destroys me, The hour, the month, the season, and the cause, When love first made me thrall to lovers' laws.

IX

Love hath I followed all too long, nought gaining; And sighed I have in vain to sweet what smarteth, But from his brow a fiery arrow parteth, Thinking that I should him resist not plaining. But cowardly my heart submiss remaining, Yields to receive what shaft thy fair eye darteth. Well do I see thine eye my bale imparteth, And that save death no hope I am detaining. For what is he can alter fortune's sliding? One in his bed consumes his life away, Other in wars, another in the sea; The like effects in me have their abiding; For heavens avowed my fortune should be such, That I should die by loving far too much.

X

My God, my God, how much I love my goddess, Whose virtues rare, unto the heavens arise! My God, my God, how much I love her eyes One shining bright, the other full of hardness! My God, my God, how much I love her wisdom, Whose works may ravish heaven's richest maker! Of whose eyes' joys if I might be partaker Then to my soul a holy rest would come. My God, how much I love to hear her speak! Whose hands I kiss and ravished oft rekisseth, When she stands wotless whom so much she blesseth. Say then, what mind this honest love would break; Since her perfections pure, withouten blot, Makes her beloved of thee, she knoweth not?

THE SEVENTH DECADE

I

The first created held a joyous bower, A flowering field, the world's sole wonderment, High Paradise, from whence a woman's power Enticed him to fall to endless banishment. This on the banks of Euphrates did stand, Till the first Mover, by his wondrous might, Planted it in thine eyes, thy face, thy hands, From whence the world receives his fairest light. Thy cheeks contain choice flowers; thy eyes, two suns; Thy hands, the fruit that no life blood can stain; And in thy breath, that heavenly music wons, Which, when thou speak'st, angels their voices strain. As from the first thy sex exilèd me, So to this next let me be called by thee!

II

Fair grace of graces, muse of muses all, Thou Paradise, thou only heaven I know! What influence hath bred my hateful woe, That I from thee and them am forced to fall? Thou falled from me, from thee I never shall, Although my fortunes thou hast brought so low; Yet shall my faith and service with thee go, For live I do, on heaven and thee to call. Banish'd all grace, no graces with me dwell; Compelled to muse, my muses from me fly; Excluded heaven, what can remain but hell? Exiled from paradise, in hate I lie, Cursing my stars; albeit I find it true, I lost all these when I lost love and you.

III

What viewed I, dear, when I thine eyes beheld? Love in his glory? No, him Thyrsis saw, And stood the boy, whilst he his darts did draw, Whose painted pride to baser swains he telled. Saw I two suns? That sight is seen but seld. Yet can their brood that teach the holy law Gaze on their beams, and dread them not a straw, Where princely looks are by their eyes repelled. What saw I then? Doubtless it was Amen, Armed with strong thunder and a lightning's flame, Who bridegroom like with power was riding then, Meaning that none should see him when he came. Yet did I gaze; and thereby caught the wound Which burns my heart and keeps my body sound.

IV

When tedious much and over weary long, Cruel disdain reflecting from her brow, Hath been the cause that I endured such wrong And rest thus discontent and weary now. Yet when posterity in time to come, Shall find th' uncancelled tenour of her vow, And her disdain be then confessed of some, How much unkind and long, I find it now, O yet even then--though then will be too late To comfort me; dead, many a day, ere then-- They shall confess I did not force her heart; And time shall make it known to other men That ne'er had her disdain made me despair, Had she not been so excellently fair.

V

Had she not been so excellently fair, My muse had never mourned in lines of woe; But I did too inestimable weigh her, And that's the cause I now lament me so. Yet not for her contempt do I complain me: Complaints may ease the mind, but that is all; Therefore though she too constantly disdain me, I can but sigh and grieve, and so I shall. Yet grieve I not because I must grieve ever; And yet, alas, waste tears away, in vain; I am resolvèd truly to persèver, Though she persisteth in her old disdain. But that which grieves me most is that I see Those which most fair, the most unkindest be.

VI

Thus long imposed to everlasting plaining, Divinely constant to the worthiest fair, And movèd by eternally disdaining, Aye to persèver in unkind despair: Because now silence wearily confined In tedious dying and a dumb restraint, Breaks forth in tears from mine unable mind To ease her passion by a poor complaint; O do not therefore to thyself suggest That I can grieve to have immured so long Upon the matter of mine own unrest; Such grief is not the tenour of my song, That 'bide so zealously so bad a wrong. My grief is this; unless I speak and plain me, Thou wilt persèver ever to disdain me.

VII

Thou wilt persèver ever to disdain me; And I shall then die, when thou will repent it. O do not therefore from complaint restrain me, And take my life from me, to me that lent it! For whilst these accents, weepingly exprest In humble lines of reverentest zeal, Have issue to complaint from mine unrest, They but thy beauty's wonder shall reveal; And though the grieved muse of some other lover, Whose less devotions knew but woes like mine, Would rather seek occasion to discover How little pitiful and how much unkind, They other not so worthy beauties find. O, I not so! but seek with humble prayer, Means how to move th' unmercifullest fair.

VIII

As draws the golden meteor of the day Exhaled matter from the ground to heaven, And by his secret nature, there to stay The thing fast held, and yet of hold bereaven; So by th' attractive excellence and might, Born to the power of thy transparent eyes, Drawn from myself, ravished with thy delight, Whose dumb conceits divinely sirenise, Lo, in suspense of fear and hope upholden, Diversely poised with passions that pain me, No resolution dares my thoughts embolden, Since 'tis not I, but thou that dost sustain me. O if there's none but thou can work my woe, Wilt thou be still unkind and kill me so?

IX

Wilt thou be still unkind and kill me so, Whose humbled vows with sorrowful appeal Do still persist, and did so long ago Intreat for pity with so pure a zeal? Suffice the world shall, for the world can say How much thy power hath power, and what it can; Never was victor-hand yet moved to slay The rendered captive, or the yielding man. Then, O, why should thy woman-thought impose Death and disdain on him that yields his breath, To free his soul from discontent and woes, And humble sacrifice to a certain death? O since the world knows what the power can do, What were't for thee to save and love me too?

X

I meet not mine by others' discontent, For none compares with me in true devotion; Yet though my tears and sighs to her be spent, Her cruel heart disdains what they do motion. Yet though persisting in eternal hate, To aggravate the cause of my complaining, Her fury ne'er confineth with a date, I will not cease to love, for her disdaining. Such puny thoughts of unresolvèd ground, Whose inaudacity dares but base conceit, In me and my love never shall be found. Those coward thoughts unworthy minds await. But those that love well have not yet begun; Persèver ever and have never done!

THE EIGHTH DECADE

I

Persèver ever and have never done, You weeping accent of my weary song! O do not you eternal passions shun, But be you true and everlasting long! Say that she doth requite you with disdain; Yet fortified with hope, endure your fortune; Though cruel now she will be kind again; Such haps as those, such loves as yours importune. Though she protests the faithfullest severity Inexecrable beauty is inflicting, Kindness in time will pity your sincerity, Though now it be your fortune's interdicting. For some can say, whose loves have known like passion, "Women are kind by kind, and coy for fashion."

II

Give period to my matter of complaining, Fair wonder of our time's admiring eye, And entertain no more thy long disdaining, Or give me leave at last that I may die. For who can live, perpetually secluded From death to life, that loathes her discontent? Lest by some hope seducively deluded, Such thoughts aspire to fortunate event; But I that now have drawn mal-pleasant breath Under the burden of thy cruel hate, O, I must long and linger after death, And yet I dare not give my life her date; For if I die and thou repent t' have slain me, 'Twill grieve me more than if thou didst disdain me.

III

'Twill grieve me more than if thou didst disdain me, That I should die; and thou, because I die so. And yet to die, it should not know to pain me, If cruel beauty were content to bid so. Death to my life, life to my long despair Prolonged by her, given to my love and days, Are means to tell how truly she is fair, And I can die to testify her praise. Yet not to die, though fairness me despiseth, Is cause why in complaint I thus persèver; Though death me and my love inparadiseth, By interdicting me from her for ever. I do not grieve that I am forced to die, But die to think upon the reason why.

IV

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 hell, 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 MANUSCRIPT EDITION, NOT FOUND IN THAT OF 1594

I

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