SONNET. LXXXI.

SONNET. LXXXIIII.

Et not one sparke of filthy lustfull fyre

heares,

with the loose wynd ye wauing chance to marke:

fayre when the rose in her red cheekes appeares,

or in her eyes the fyre of loue does sparke. Fayre when her brest lyke a rich laden barke, with pretious merchandize she torth doth lay: fayre when that cloud of pryde, which oft doth dark

her goodly light with smiles she driues away. But fayrest she, when so she doth display,

the gate with pearles and rubyes richly dight: throgh which her words so wise do make their way

to beare the message of her gentle spright. The rest be works of natures wonderment,

but this the worke of harts astonishment.

SONNET. LXXXII.

Joy of my life, full oft for louing you

I blesse my lot, that was so lucky placed: but then the more your owne mishap I rew, that are so much by so meane loue embased. For had the equall heuens so much you graced in this as in the rest, ye mote inuent som heuenly wit, whose verse could haue enchased

your glorious name in golden moniment. But since ye deignd so goodly to relent to me your thrall, in whom is little worth, that little that I am, shall all be spent, in setting your immortall prayses forth. Whose lofty argument vplifting me,

shall lift you vp vnto an high degree.

SONNET. LXXXIII.

molest:

ne one light glance of sensuall desyre Attempt to work her gentle mindes vnrest. But pure affections bred in spotlesse brest, and modest thoughts breathd from wel tempred sprites

goe visit her in her chast bowre of rest, accompanyde with angelick delightes. There fill your selfe with those most ioyous sights,

the which my selfe could neuer yet attayne: but speake no word to her of these sad plights, which her too constant stiffenesse doth constrayn.

Onely behold her rare perfection,

and blesse your fortunes fayre election.

SONNET. LXXXV.

He world that cannot deeme of worthy

Tthings,

when I doe praise her, say I doe but flatter: so does the Cuckow, when the Mauis sings, begin his witlesse note apace to clatter. But they that skill not of so heauenly matter, all that they know not, enuy or admyre, rather then enuy let them wonder at her, but not to deeme of her desert aspyre. Deepe in the closet of my parts entyre, her worth is written with a golden quill: that me with heauenly fury doth inspire, and my glad mouth with her sweet prayses fill. Which when as fame in her shrill trump shal thunder

let the world chose to enuy or to wonder.

SONNET. LXXXVI.

Enemous toung, tipt with vile adders sting,

still to behold the obiect of theyr payne: with no contentment can themselues suffize, but hauing pine, and hauing not complayne. For lacking it, they cannot lyfe sustayne,

and seeing it, they gaze on it the more: in theyr amazement lyke Narcissus vayne whose eyes him staru'd: so plenty makes me

theyr snaky heads doe combe, from which a spring

of poysoned words and spitefull speeches well. Let all the plagues and horrid paines of hell, vpon thee fall for thine accursed hyre:

that with false forged lyes, which thou didst tel, in my true loue did stirre vp coles of yre, The sparkes whereof let kindle thine own fyre, and catching hold on thine owne wicked hed consume thee quite, that didst with guile conspire

in my sweet peace such breaches to haue bred. Shame be thy meed, and mischiefe thy reward, dew to thy selfe that it for me prepard.

SONNET. LXXXVII.

Ince I did leaue the presence of my loue, Many long weary dayes I haue outworne: and many nights, that slowly seemd to moue theyr sad protract from euening vntill morne. For when as day the heauen doth adorne,

I wish that night the noyous day would end: and when as night hath vs of light forlorne, I wish that day would shortly reascend. Thus I the time with expectation spend,

and faine my griefe with chaunges to beguile, that further seemes his terme still to extend, and maketh euery minute seeme a myle. So sorrow still doth seeme too long to last, but ioyous houres doo fly away too fast.

SONNET. LXXXVIÏÌ.

Ince I haue lackt the comfort of that light,

Saw in secret to my Dame,

astray:

I wander as in darkenesse of the night, affrayd of euery dangers least dismay. Ne ought I see, though in the clearest day, when others gaze vpon theyrshadowes vayne: but th'onely image of that heauenly ray, whereof some glance doth in mine eie remayne.

Of which beholding the Idea playne,

through contemplation of my purest part: with light thereof I doe my selfe sustayne, and thereon feed my loue-affamisht hart.

But with such brightnesse whylest I fill my

mind,

I starue my body and mine eyes doe blynd.

L

SONNET. LXXXIX.

Yke as the Culuer on the bared bough,

Sits mourning for the absence of her mate: and in her songs sends many a wishfull vow, for his returne that seemes to linger late. So I alone now left disconsolate,

mourne to my selfe the absence of my loue: and wandring here and there all desolate, seek with my playnts to match that mournful doue:

Ne ioy of ought that vnder heauen doth houe, can comfort me, but her owne ioyous sight: whose sweet aspect both God and man can

and sayd to her All hayle my mother. But when he saw me laugh, for shame His face with bashfull blood did flame, not knowing Venus from the other, Then neuer blush Cupid (quoth I)

for many haue err'd in this beauty.

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Pon a day as loue lay sweetly slumbring, gentle Bee with his loud trumpet murmʼring, all in his mothers lap: Whereof when he was wakened with the noyse, about him flew by hap.

and saw the beast so small:

Whats this (quoth he) that giues so great a

To whom his mother closely smiling sayd, twixt earnest and twixt game:

See thou thy selfe likewise art lyttle made, if thou regard the same.

And yet thou suffrest neyther gods in sky, nor men in earth to rest: But when thou art disposed cruelly, theyr sleepe thou doost molest. Then eyther change thy cruelty, or giue lyke leaue vnto the fly.

She tooke him streight full pitiously lamenting, and wrapt him in her smock:

She wrapt him softly, all the while repenting, that he the fly did mock.

She drest his wound and it embaulmed wel with salue of soueraigne might: And then she bath'd him in a dainty well the well of deare delight.

Who would not oft be stung as this. to be so bath'd in Venus blis?

The wanton boy was shortly wel recured, of that his malady:

But he soone after fresh againe enured, his former cruelty.

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smart

of those whom thou dost wound: Full many thou hast pricked to the hart, that pitty neuer found: Therefore henceforth some pitty take, when thou doest spoyle of louers make.

selfe

with his sharpe dart of loue:

And now forgets the cruell carelesse elfe, his mothers heast to proue. So now I languish, till he please 40 my pining anguish to appease. FINIS.

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