And, if dumb things be so witty, There, his hands, in their speech, fain Then she spake; her speech was such Astrophel! (said she) my love, Now be still; yet, still believe me, Can taste comfort, but of thee; Let me feed with hellish anguish, And joyless, helpless, endless languish ! Half so dear, as you to me, Of those eyes, and blinder minded! If to secret of my heart, I do any wish impart, Where thou art not foremost placed, If more may be said, I say If thou love-my love content thee; In myself the smart I try. Tyrant honour thus doth use thee, Therewithal, away she went; Leaving him by passion rent With what she had done and spoken, WE Underneath my window plaineth?" It is one, who from thy sight, "Why, alas! and are you he? Are not yet these fancies changed?" "What if you new beauties see? "Peace! I think that some give ear. Fearing, sweet, you to endanger; But my soul shall harbour there. "Well, begone; begone, I say, Lest that Argus' eyes perceive you." O! unjust is Fortune's sway, Which can make me thus to leave you, And from louts to run away! SONNETS. LOCK up, fair lids! the treasure of my heart, Preserve those beams, this age's only light; To her sweet sense, sweet sleep! some ease impart, Her sense too weak to bear her spirit's might. And while, O Sleep! thou closest up her sight'Her sight, where Love did forge his fairest dart, O harbour all her parts in easeful plight: Let no strange dream make her fair body start. But yet, O Dream! if thou wilt not depart, In this rare subject, from thy common right, Kiss her from me; and say, unto her sprite, Happy Thames, that didst my Stella bear! I saw thee, with full many a smiling line, Upon thy cheerful face joy's livery wear; While those fair planets on thy streams did shine. The boat, for joy, could not to dance forbear; While wanton winds, with beauties so divine, Ravish'd, staid not till in her golden hair They did themselves (O sweetest prison!) twine; And fain those Æol's youth there would their stay Have made; but forc'd by nature still to fly, First did with puffing kiss those locks display. She, so dishevell'd, blush'd: from window I, With sight thereof, cried out-O fair disgrace, Let honour's self to thee grant highest place! BE your words made, good Sir! of Indian ware, That you allow me them by so small rate? Or do you courted Spartans imitate? Or do you mean my tender ears to spare, That to my questions you so total are? When I demand of Phoenix-Stella's state, You say, forsooth, you left her well of late: O God! think you, that satisfies my care? I would know, whether she do sit or walk? How cloth'd? How waited on? Sigh'd she, or smil'd? Whereof? with whom? how often did she talk? With what pastime, time's journey she beguil'd? If her lips deign'd to sweeten my poor name? Say all, and all well said, still say the same. MICHAEL DRAYTON. SONNETS. LOVE, banish'd Heaven, on earth was held in scorn, Wand'ring abroad in need and beggary; And wanting friends, though of a goddess born, Clothed the naked, lodg'd this wand'ring Guest; DE EAR! why should you command me to my rest, Well could I wish it would be ever day, |