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E nought dismayd that her unmoved mind Doth still persist in her rebellious pride: Such love, not lyke to lusts of baser kynd, The harder wonne, the firmer will abide. The durefull Oake, whose sap is not yet dride, Is long ere it conceive the kindling fyre; But, when it once doth burne, it doth divide Great heat, and makes his flames to heaven aspire. So hard it is to kindle new desire

In gentle brest, that shall endure for ever:

Deepe is the wound, that dints the parts entire
With chaste affects, that naught but death can sever.
Then thinke not long in taking litle paine
To knit the knot, that ever shall remaine.


AYRE eyes, the myrrour of my mazed hart,
What wondrous vertue is contayn'd in you,
The which both lyfe and death forth from
you dart

Into the object of your mighty view!
For, when ye mildly looke with lovely hew,
Then is my soule with life and love inspired;
But when ye lowre, or looke on me askew,
Then doe I die, as one with lightning fyred.
But, since that lyfe is more then death desyred,
Looke ever lovely, as becomes you best;

That your bright beams, of my weak eies admyred,
May kindle living fire within my brest.

Such life should be the honor of your light,
Such death the sad ensample of your might.



ORE then most faire, full of the living fire
Kindled above unto the Maker neere;
No eies but joyes, in which al po


powers con

That to the world naught else be counted deare!
Thrugh your bright beams doth not the blinded guest
Shoot out his darts to base affections wound;
But Angels come to lead fraile mindes to rest
In chast desires, on heavenly beauty bound.
You frame my thoughts, and fashion me within;
You stop my toung, and teach my hart to speake;
You calme the storme that passion did begin,
Strong thrugh your cause, but by your vertue weak.
Dark is the world where your light shined never;
Well is he borne that may behold

you ever.


ONG-WHILE I sought to what I might


Those powrefull eies, which lighten my dark

Yet find I nought on earth to which I dare
Resemble th' ymage of their goodly light.
Not to the Sun, for they doo shine by night;
Nor to the Moone, for they are changed never;
Nor to the Starres, for they have purer sight;
Nor to the Fire, for they consume not ever;
Nor to the Lightning, for they still persever;
Nor to the Diamond, for they are more tender
Nor unto Christall, for nought may them sever;
Nor unto Glasse, such basenesse mought offend her:
Then to the Maker selfe they likest be,

Whose light doth lighten all that here we see.


NRIGHTEOUS Lord of love, what law is this,

That me thou makest thus tormented be, The whiles she lordeth in licentious blisse Of her freewill, scorning both thee and me? See! how the Tyrannesse doth joy to see The huge massacres which her eyes do make, And humbled harts brings captives unto thee, That thou of them mayst mightie vengeance take. But her proud hart doe thou a little shake, And that high look, with which she doth comptroll All this worlds pride, bow to a baser make, And al her faults in thy black booke enroll: That I may laugh at her, in equall sort

As she doth laugh at me, and makes my pain her sport.



AYLY when I do seeke and sew for peace,
And hostages doe offer for my truth,

She, cruell warrióur, doth her selfe addresse
To battell, and the weary war renew'th;
Ne wilbe moov'd with reason, or with rewth,
To graunt small respit to my restlesse toile,
But greedily her fell intent poursewth,
Of my poore life to make unpittied spoile.
Yet my poore life, all sorrowes to assoyle,
I would her yield, her wrath to pacify:
But then she seekes, with torment and turmoyle,
To force me live, and will not let me dy.

All paine hath end, and every war hath peace.
But mine no price nor prayer may surcease.


NE day I sought with her hart-thrilling eies
To make a truce, and termes to entertaine;
All fearlesse then of so false enimies,
Which sought me to entrap in treasons traine.
So, as I then disarmed did remaine,

A wicked ambush which lay hidden long,
In the close covert of her guilfull eyen,

Thence breaking forth, did thick about me throng.
Too feeble I t' abide the brunt so strong,
Was forst to yeeld my selfe into their hands;
Who me captiving streight with rigorous wrong,
Have ever since kept me in cruell bands.

So, Ladie, now to you I doo complaine,
Against your eies, that justice I may gaine.


N that proud port, which her so goodly graceth,

Whiles her faire face she reares up to the

And to the ground her eie-lids low embaseth,
Most goodly temperature ye may descry,
Myld humblesse, mixt with awfull majestie;
For, looking on the earth, whence she was borne,
Her minde remembreth her mortalitie,

Whatso is fayrest shall to earth returne:

But that same lofty countenance seemes to scorne
Base thing, and thinke how she to heaven may clime;
Treading downe earth as lothsome and forlorne,
That hinders heavenly thoughts with drossy slime.
Yet lowly still vouchsafe to looke on me;
Such lowlinesse shall make you lofty be.



ETOURNE agayne, my forces late dismayd, Unto the siege by you abandon'd quite. Great shame it is to leave, like one afrayd, So fayre a peece, for one repulse so light. 'Gaynst such strong castles needeth greater might Then those small forts which ye were wont belay: Such haughty mynds, enur'd to hardy fight, Disdayne to yield unto the first assay. Bring therefore all the forces that ye may, And lay incessant battery to her heart; Playnts, prayers, vowes, ruth, sorrow, and dismay: Those engins can the proudest love convert; And, if those fayle, fall down and dy before her; So dying live, and living do adore her.


E tradefull Merchants, that with weary toyle
Do seeke most pretious things to make your

And both the Indias of their treasure spoile,
What needeth you to seeke so farre in vaine?
For loe! my Love doth in her selfe containe
All this worlds riches that may farre be found:
If Saphyres, loe! her eies be Saphyres plaine;
If Rubies, loe! hir lips be Rubies sound;

If Pearles, hir teeth be pearles, both pure and round;
If Yvorie, her forhead yvory weene;

If Gold, her locks are finest gold on ground;
If Silver, her faire hands are silver sheene:
But that which fairest is but few behold,
Her mind, adornd with vertues manifold.

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