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But though she part us, to hear my oft prayers TO E. OF D.

For your increase, God is as near me here; WITH SIX HOLY SONNETS.

And to send you what I shall beg, his stairs

In length and ease are alike every where. See, sir, how as the Sun's hot masculine flame

Begets strange creatures on Nile's dirty slime,

In me your fatherly yet lusty rhyme (same; (For these songs are their fruits) have wrought the But though th' engendring force, from whence they

came, Be strong enough, and nature doth admit Mad paper, stay, and grudge not here to burn Sev'n to be born at once; I send as yet

With all those sons, whom thy brain did create; But six; they say, the seventh hath still some maim: At least lie hid with me, till thou return

I choose your judgment, which the same degree To rags again, which is thy native state.

Doth with her sister, your invention, hold, As fire these drossy rhymes to purify,

What though thou have enough onworthiness Or as elixir to change them to gold ;

To come unto great place as others do, You are that alchymist, which always bad That 's much, emboldens, pulls, thrusts, I confess; Wit, whose one spark could make good things of bad. But 't is not all, thou shouldst be wicked too.

And that thou canst not learn, or not of me,

Yet thou wilt go; go, since thou goest to her,

Who lacks but faults to be a prince, for she

Truth, whom they dare not pardon, dares prefer.

But when thou com'st to that perplexing eye, AFTER those rev'rend papers, whose soul is (name, Which equally claims love and reverence,

Our goud and great king's lov'd hand and feard | Thou wilt not long dispute it, thou wilt die; By which to you he derives much of his,

And having little now, have then no sense. And (how he may) makes you almost the same,

Yet when her warm redeeming hand (which is A taper of his torch, a copy writ

A miracle, and made such to work more) From his original, and a fair beam

Doth touch thee (sapless leaf) thou grow'st by this Of the same warm and dazzling Sun, though it Her creature, glorify'd more than before. Must in another sphere his virtue stream;

Then as a mother, which delights to hear After those learned papers, which your hand Her early child misspeak half utter'd words,

Hath stor'd with notes of use and pleasure too, Or, because majesty doth never fear From which rich treasury you may command Ill or bold speech, she audience affords. Fit matter, whether you will write or do;

And then, cold speechless wretch, thou diest again, After those loving papers, which friends send And wisely; what discourse is left for thee?

With glad grief to your sea-ward steps farewell, From speech of ill and her thou must abstain? Which thicken on you now, as pray'rs ascend And is there any good which is not she? To Heaven in troops at a good man's passing bell;

Yet may'st thou praise her servants, though not her; Admit this honest paper, and allow

And wit and virtue and honour her attend, It such an audience as yourself would ask; And since they 're but her clothes, thou shalt not What you must say at Venice, this means now,

err, And hath for nature, what you have for task. If thou her shape and beauty and grace commend. To swear much love, not to be chang'd before Who knows thy destiny? when thou hast done, Honour alone will to your fortune fit;

Perchance her cabinet may harbour thee. Nor shall I then honour your fortune more, Whither all noble ambitious wits do run;

Than I have done your noble-wanting wit. A nest almost as full of good as she. But 't is an easier load (though both oppress) When thou art there, if any, whom we know,

To want than govern greatness; for we are Were sav'd before, and did that Heaven partake, In that, our own and only business;

When she revolves his papers, mark what show In this, we must for others' vices care.

Of favour she, alone, to them doth make. 'T is therefore well your spirits now are plac'd Mark if, to get them, sbe o'er-skip the rest, In their last furnace, in activity;

(past) Mark if she read them twice, or kiss the name; Which fits them (schools and courts and wars o'er- Mark if she do the same that they protest; To touch and taste in any best degree.

Mark if she mark, whither her woman came. For me, (if there be such a thing as I)

Mark if slight things b' objected, and o'erblown, Fortune (if there be such a thing as she)

Mark if her oaths against him be not still Spies that I bear so well her tyranny,

Reserv'd, and that she grieve she's not her own, That she thinks nothing else so fit for me. And chides the doctrine that denies free-will.


I bid thee not do this to be my spy,

In those poor types of God (round circles) so Nor to make myself her familiar;

Religion's types the pieceless centres flow, But so much I do love her choice, that I

And are in all the lines which all ways go.
Would fain love him, that shall be lov'd of her.

If either ever wrought in you alone,
Or principally, then religion

Wrought your ends, and your ways discretion.

Go thither still, go the same way you went ;

Who so would change, doth covet or repent;

Neither can reach you, great and innocent.
Honour is so sublime perfection,
And so refin'd; that when God was alone,
And creatureless at first, himself had none;
But as of th' elements these, which we tread,
Produce all things with which we 're joy'd or fed,

And those are barren both above our head;

That unripe side of Earth, that heavy elime So from low persons doth all honour flow; That gives us man up now, like Adam's time Kings, whom they would have honour'd, to us show, Before he ate; man's shape, that would yet be And but direct our honour, not bestow.

(Knew they not it, and fear'd beasts' company)

So naked at this day, as though man there For when from herbs the pure part must be won From Paradise so great a distance were, From gross by stilling, this is better done

As yet the news could not arrived be
By despis'd dung, than by the fire or Sun: Of Adam's tasting the forbidden tree;

Depriv'd of that free state which they were in,
Care not then, madam, how low your praises lie; And wanting the reward, yet bear the sin.
In labourer's ballads oft more piety

But, as from extreme heights who downward looks, God finds, than in te deum's melody.

Sees men at children's shapes, rivers as brooks,

And loseth younger forms ; so to your eye
And ordnance rais'd on tow'rs so many mile These, madam, that without your distance lie,
Send not their voice, nor last so long a while, Must either mist, or nothing seem to be,
As fires from th' Earth's low vaults in Sicil isle. Who are at home but wit 's mere atony.

But I, who can behold them move and stay,
Should I say I liv'd darker than were true, Have found myself to you just their midway ;
Your radiation can all clouds subdue,

And now must pity them: for as they do
But one: 't is best light to contemplate you. Seem sick to me, just so must I to you ;

Yet neither will I vex your eyes to see
You, for whose body God made better clay, A sighing ode, nor cross-arm'd elegy.
Or took soul's stuff, such as shall late decay, I come not to call pity from your heart,
Or such as needs small change at the last day. Like some white-liver'd dotard, that would part

Else from his slippery soul with a faint groan,
This, as an amber drop enwraps a bee,

And faithfully (without you smile) were gone.
Covering discovers your quick soul; that we (see. I cannot feel the tempest of a frown,
May in your through-shine front our heart's thoughts I may be rais'd by love, but not thrown down;

Though I can pity those sigh twice a day,
Yon teach (though we learn not) a thing unknown I hate that thing whispers itself away.
To our late times, the use of specular stone, Yet since all love is feverish, who to trees
Through which all things within without were shown. Doth talk, yet doth in love's cold ague freeze.

'T is love, but with such fatal weakness made, Of such were temples; so, and such you are; That it destroys itself with its own shade. [pain, Being and seeming is your equal care ;

Who first look'd sad, griev'd, pin'd, and show'd bis And virtues' whole sum is but know and daré. Was he that first taught women to disdain.

As all things were but one nothing, dull and weak, Discretion is a wise man's soul, and so

Until this raw disorder'd heap did break,
Religion is a Christian's, and you know

And several desires led parts away,
How these are one; her yea is not her no. Water declin'd with earth, the air did stay,

Fire rose, and each from other but unty'd,
But as our souls of growth and souls of sense Themselves unprison'd were and purify'd:
Have birthright of our reason's soul, yet hence So was love, first in vast confusion hid,
They fly not from that, nor seek precedence: An unripe willingness which nothing did,

A thirst, an appetite which had no ease, Nature's first lesson so discretion

That found a want, but knew not what would please. Must not grudge zeal a place, nor yet keep none, What pretty innocence in that day mov'd! Not banish itself , nor religion.

Man ignorantly walk'd by her he lov'd ;

Both sigh'd and interchang'd a speaking eye, Nor may we hope to solder still and knit

Both trembled and were sick, yet knew not why. These two, and dare to break them ; nor must wit That natural fearfulness, that struck man dumb, Be colleague to religion, but be it.

Might well (those times consider'd) man become.



As all discoverers, whose first essay

So happy man, bless'd with a virtuous lore Finds but the place; after, the nearest way: Remote or near, or howsoe'er they move; So passion is to woman's love, about,

Their virtce breaks all clouds, that might annoy Nay, further off, than when we first set out. There is no emptiness, but all is joy. It is not love, that sues or doth contend ; He much profanes (whom valiant heats do move) Love either conquers, or but meets a friend. To style his wandring rage of passion love. Man's better part consists of purer fire,

Love, that imports in every thing delight, And finds itself allow'd, ere it desire.

Is fancied by the soul, not appetite;
Love is wise here, keeps home, gives reason sway, Why love among the virtues is not known,
And journies not till it find summer-way.

Is, that love is them all contract in one.
A weather-beaten lover, but once known,
Is sport for every girl to practise on.
Who strives through woman's scorns women to know,
Is lost, and seeks his shadow to outgo;
It is mere sickness after one disdain,
Though he be call'd aloud, to look again.

Let others sin and grieve ; one cuoning sleight
Shall freeze my love to crystal in a night.

If her disdain least change in you can move, I can lose first, and (if I win) love still;

You do not love; And cannot be remov'd, unless she will.

For when that hope gives fuel to the fire, It is her fault, if I unsure remain;

You sell desire. She only can unty, I bind again.

Love is not love, but given free;
Tbe honesties of love with ease I do,

And so is mine, so should yours be.
But am no porter for a tedious woe.
But, madam, I now think on you; and here,

Her heart, that melts to hear of other's moan, Where we are at our heights, you, but appear;

To mine is stone; We are but clouds, you rise from our noon-ray,

Her eyes, that weep a stranger's eyes to see, But a foul shadow, not your break of day.

Joy to wound me: You are at first-hand all that 's fair and right;

Yet I so well affect each part,
And others' good reflects but back your light.

As (caus'd by them) I love my smart.
You are a pi 'ectness, so curious hit,
That yonnge flatteries do scandal it;

Say her disdainings justly must be grac'd
For w
5 n re doth what you are restrain;

With name of chaste; And ti to beyond, is down the hill again.

And that she frowns, lest longing should exceed, We ha e no next way to you, we cross to 't;

And raging breed; You are the straight line, thing prais'd, attribute :

So her disdains can ne'er offend;
Each good in you 's a light; so many a shade

Unless self-love take private end.
You make, and in them are your motions made.
These are your pictures to the life. From far

'T is love breeds love in me, and cold disdain We e see you move, and here your Zanis are :

Kills that again; So that no fountain good there is, doth grow

As water causeth fire to fret and fume, In you, but our dim actions faintly show :

Till all consume. Then find I, if man's noblest part be love,

Who can of love more rich gift make,
Your purest lustre must that shadow move.

Than to love's self for love's own sake!
The soul with body is a Heav'n combin'd
With Earth, and for man's ease nearer join'd.

I'll never dig in quarry of an heart,
Where thoughts, the stars of soul, we understand,

To have no part; We guess not their large natures, but command.

Nor roast in fiery eyes, which always are And love in you that bounty is of light,

Canicular. That gives to all, and yet hath infinite:

Who this way would a lover prove,
Whose heat doth force us thither to intend,

May show his patience, not his love.
But soul we find too earthly to ascend;
Till slow access hath made it wholly pure,

A frown may be sometimes for physic good,
Able immortal clearness to endure.

But not for food ; Who dare aspire this journey with a stain,

And for tbat raging humour there is sure Hath weight will force him headlong back again.

A gentler cure. No more can impure man retain and move

Why bar you love of private end,
In that pure region of a worthy love,

Which never should to public tend ?
Than earthly substance can unforc'd aspire,
And leave his nature to converse with fire.
Such may bave eye and havd; may sigh, may

But, like swoln bubbles, when they 're highest, they

Though far removed northern isles scarce find

The Sun's comfort, yet some think him too kind.
There is an equal distance from her eye;

Though I be dead and buried, yet I have
Men perish too far off, and burn too nigh. (Living in you) court enough in my grave;
But as air takes the Sun-beams equal bright As oft as there I think myself to be,
From the rays first, to his last opposite :

So many resurrections waken me;



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That thankfulness your favours have begot We're thus but parcel guilts to gold we 're growa, In me, embalms me, that I do not rot:

When virtue is our soul's complexion :
This season, as 't is Easter, as 't is spring, Who knows his virtue's name or place, bath none.
Must both to growth and to confession bring
My thoughts dispos'd unto your influence, so Virtue 's but agueish, when 't is several,
These verses bud, so these confessions grow; By occasion wak'd and circumstantial ;
First I confess I have to others lent

True virtue's soul, always in all deeds all.
Your stock, and over prodigally spent
Your treasure, for since I had never known This virtue thinking to give dignity
Virtue and beauty, but as they are grown

To your soul, found there no infirmity,
In you, I should not think or say they shine, For your soul was as good virtue as she.
(So as I have) in any other mine ;
Next I confess this my confession,

She therefore wrought upon that part of you,
For 't is some fault thus much to touch upon Which is scarce less than soul, as she could do,
Your praise to you, where halfrights seem too much, And so hath made your beauty virtue too.
And make your mind's sincere complexion blush.
Next I confess m'impenitence; for I

Hence comes it, that your beauty wounds not hearts, Can scarce repent my first fault, since thereby As others', with profane and sensual darts Remote low spirits, which shall ne'er read you, But as an influence virtuous thoughts imparts. May in less lessons find enough to do, By studying copies, not originals ;

But if such friends by th' honour of your sight
Desunt cætera.

Grow capable of this so great a light,
As to partake your virtues, and their might:

What must I think that influence must do,

Where it finds simpathy and matter too,

Virtue and beauty, of the same stuff as you ? TO THE LADY CAREY, AND MRS. ESSEX RICHE, FROM

Which is your noble worthy sister; she,

Of whom if, what in this my ecstasyias MADAM,

And revelation of you both I see, Here, where by all all saints invoked are, 'T were too much schism to be singular,

I should write here, as in short gallenes'yooľ And 'gainst a practice general to war.

The master at the end large glasses ties, %

So to present the room twice to our eyes :
Yet turning to saints should m'humility
To other saint than you directed be,

So I should give this letter length, and say
That were to make my schism heresy.

That which I said of you; there is no way

From either, but to th’ other, not to stray.
Nor wonld I be a convertite so cold,
As not to tell it; if this be too bold,

May therefore this b' epongh to testify
Pardons are in this market cheaply sold.

My true devotion, free from battery;

He that believes himself, doth never lie.
Where, because faith is in too low degree,
I thought it some apostleship in me
To speak things, which by faith alone I see.
That is, of you, who are a firmament
Of virtues, where no one is grown or spent;

They 're your materials, not your orna!nent.

AUGUST, 1614. Others, whom we call virtuous, are not so In their whole substance; but their virtues grow Fair, great, and good, since seeing you we see But in their humours, and at seasons show. What Heav'n can do, what any earth can be:

Since now your beauty shines, now when the Sun, For when through tasteless flat humility

Grown stale, is to so low a value run, In dough-bak'd men some harmlessness we see,

That his dishevel'd beams and scatter'd fires 'T is but his phlegm that 's virtuous, and not be: Serve but for ladies' periwigs and tires

In lovers' sonnets : you come to repair So is the blood sometimes; whoever ran

God's book of creatures, teaching what is fair. To danger unimportun'd, he was then

Since now, when all is withery, shrunk, and dry'd, No better than a sanguine-virtuous man.

All virtues ebb’d out to a dead low tide,

All the world's frame being crumbled into sand, So cloister'd men, who in pretence of fear

Where ev'ry man thinks by himself to stand,
All contributions to this life forbear,

Integrity, friendship, and confidence,
Have virtue in melancholy, and only there. (Cements of greatness) being vapour'd hence,

And narrow man being fill’d with little shares, Spiritual choleric critic, which in all

Courts, city, church, are all shops of small-wares, Religions find faults, and forgive no fall,

All having blown to sparks their noble fire, Have through this zeal virtue but in their gall. And drawn their sound gold ingot into wire ;


Al trying by a love of littleness
To make abridgments and to draw to less,

Even that nothing, which at first we were ;
Since in these times your greatness doth appear, You that are she and you, that's double she,
And that we learn by it, that man, to get

In her dead face half of yourself shall see; Towards him that's infinite, must first be great. She was the other part; for so they do, Since in an age so ill, as none is fit

Which build them friendships, become one of two; So much as to accuse, much less mend it,

So two, that but themselves no third can fit, (For who can judge or witness of those times, Which were to be so, when they were not yet Where all alike are guilty of the crimes?) Twins, though their birth Cusco and Masco take, Where he, that would be good, is thought by all As divers stars oue constellation make; A monster, or at best fantastical:

Pair'd like two eyes, have equal motion, so Since now you durst be good, and that I do Both but one means to see, one way to go. Discern, by daring to contemplate you,

Had you dy'd first, a carcass she had been ; That there may be degrees of fair, great, good, And we your rich tomb in her face had seen. Through your light, largeness, virtue understood : She like the soul is gone, and you here stay, If in this sacrifice of mine be shown

Not a live friend, but th’ other half of clay; Any small spark of these, call it your own : And since you act that part, as men say, here And if things like these have been said by me Lies such a prince, when but one part is there; Of others; call not that idolatry.

And do all honour and devotion due
For had God made man first, and man had seen Unto the whole, so we all reverence you ;
The third day's fruits and flowers, and various For such a friendship who would not adore

In' you, who are all what both were before ?
He might have said the best that he could say Not all, as if some perished by this,
Of those fair creatures, which were made that day: But so, as all in you contracted is;
And when next day he had admir'd the birth As of this all though many parts decay,
Of San, Moon, stars, fairer than late-prais'a The pure, which elemented them, shall stay,

And though diffus'd, and spread in infinite,
He might have said the best that he could say, Shall re-collect, and in one all unite:
And not be chid for praising yesterday:

So madam, as her soul to Heav'n is fed,
So though some things are not together true, Her fesh rests in the earth, as in the bed ;
As, that another's worthiest, and, that you:

Her virtues do, as to their proper sphere,
Yet to say so doth not condemn a man,

Return to dwell with you, of whom they were: If, when he spoke them, they were both true then. As perfect motions are all circular; How fair a proof of this in our soul grows? So they to you, their sea, whence less streams are. We first have souls of growth, and sense; and She was all spices, you all metals; so those,

In you two we did both rich Indias know.
When our last soul, our soul immortal, came, And as no fire nor rust can spend or waste
Were swallow'd into it, and have no name: One dram of gold, but what was first shall last;
Nor doth he injure those souls, which doth cast Though it be forc'd in water, earth, salt, air,
The power and praise of both them on the last; Expans'd in infinite, none will impair;
No more do I wrong any, if I adore

So to yourself you may additions take,
The same things now, which I ador'd before, But nothing can you less or changed make.
The subject chang'd, and measure; the same thing Seek not, in seeking new, to seem to doubt,
In a low constable and in the king

That you can match her, or not be without;
I reverence; his power to work on me:

But let some faithful book in her room be,
So did I humbly reverence each degree

Yet but of Judith no such book as she.
Of fair, great, good ; but more, now I am come
From having found their walks, to find their

And as I owe my first soul's thanks, that they

For my last soul did fit and mould my clay,
So am I debtor unto them, whose worth

WHERE is that holy fire, which verse is said
Enabled me to profit, and take forth

To have? is that enchanting force decay'd ? This new great lesson, thus to study you;

Verse, that draws Nature's works from Nature's law, Which none, not reading others first, could do. Thee, her best work, to her work cannot draw. Nor lack I light to read this book, though I Have my tears quench'd my old poetic fire; In a dark cave, yea, in a grave do lie;

Why quench'd they not as well that of desire ? For as your fellow angels, so you do

Thoughts, my mind's creatures, often are with thee; Illustrate them, who come to study you.

But I, their maker, want their liberty: The first, whom we in histories do find

Only thine image in my heart doth sit; To have profess'd all arts, was one born blind: But that is wax, and fires environ it. He lack'd those eyes beasts have as well as we, My fires have driven, thine have drawn it hence ; Not those, by which angels are seen and see; And I am robb'd of picture, heart, and sense. So, though I'm born withont those eyes to live, Dwells with me still mine irksome memory: Which Portune, who hath none herself, doth give, Which both to keep and lose grieves equally. Which are fit means to see bright courts and you, That tells how fair thou art: thou art so fair, Yet may I see you thus, as now I do;

As gods, when gods to thee I do compare, I shall by that all goodness have discern'd, Are grac'd thereby; and to make blind men see, And, though I burn my library, be learn'd. What things gods are, I say they 're like to thee.

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