Elizabethan Sonnet Cycles Phillis - Licia

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Else will I captive all my hopes again, And shut them up in prisons of despair, And weep such tears as shall destroy this plain, And sigh such sighs as shall eclipse the air, And cry such cries as love that hears my crying Shall faint and weep for grief and fall a-dying.

Full text of "Elizabethan Sonnet Cycles: Phillis - Licia"

My little world hath vowed no sun shall glad it, Except thy little world her light discover, Of which heavens would grow proud if so they had it. Oh how I fear lest absent Jove should love her! I fear it, Phillis, for he never saw one That had more heaven-sweet looks to lure and awe one. I swear to thee, all-seeing sovereign Rolling heaven's circles round about our center, Except my Phillis safe return again, No joy to heart, no meat to mouth shall enter.

All hope but future hope to be renowned, For weeping Phillis shall in tears be drowned. Ah bend thy muse to matters far more fit! For time shall come when Phillis is interred, That Damon shall confess that he hath erred. When nature's riches shall, by time dissolved, Call thee to see with more judicial eye How Phillis' beauties are to dust resolved, Thou then shalt ask thyself the reason why Thou wert so fond, since Phillis was so frail, To praise her gifts that should so quickly fail.

Have mercy on thyself, cease being idle, Let reason claim and gain of will his homage; Rein in these brain-sick thoughts with judgment's bridle, A short prevention helps a mighty domage. If Phillis love, love her, yet love her so That if she fly, thou may'st love's fire forego. Play with the fire, yet die not in the flame; Show passions in thy words, but not in heart; Lest when thou think to bring thy thoughts in frame, Thou prove thyself a prisoner by thine art.

Play with these babes of love, as apes with glasses, And put no trust in feathers, wind, or lasses. DAMON Did not thine age yield warrantise, old man, Impatience would enforce me to offend thee; Me list not now thy forward skill to scan, Yet will I pray that love may mend or end thee.

Spring flowers, sea-tides, earth, grass, sky, stars shall banish, Before the thoughts of love or Phillis vanish. So get thee gone, and fold thy tender sheep, For lo, the great automaton of day In Isis stream his golden locks doth steep; Sad even her dusky mantle doth display; Light-flying fowls, the posts of night, disport them, And cheerful-looking vesper doth consort them. Come you, my careful flock, forego you master, I'll fold you up and after fall a-sighing; Words have no worth my secret wounds to plaster; Naught may refresh my joys but Phillis nighing.

How 'gainst advice doth headlong youth rebel! Why make you breach betwixt my soul and me? For though ye salt sea-gods withhold the rain Of all your floats and gentle winds be still, While I have wept such tears as might restrain The rage of tides and winds against their will. Ah shall I love your sight, bright shining eyes? And must my soul his life and glory leave? Must I forsake the bower where solace lives, To trust to tickle fates that still deceive?

Alas, so wills the wanton queen of change, That each man tract this labyrinth of life With slippery steps, now wronged by fortune strange, Now drawn by counsel from the maze of strife! No joy because so soon thou fleetest, Hours, days, and times inconstant in your being! No life, since with such chance thou meetest! No eyes, since you must lose your seeing!

Clothe thou my body all in heaviness; My suns appeared fair smiling full of pleasure, But now the vale of absence overclouds them; They fed my heart with joys exceeding measure Which now shall die, since absence needs must shroud them. Oh death, sweet death, vouchsafe that blessing, That I may die the death whilst she regardeth! For sweet were death, and sweet were death's oppressing, If she look on who all my life awardeth.

Oh thou that art the portion of my joy, Yet not the portion, for thou art the prime; Suppose my griefs, conceive the deep annoy That wounds my soul upon this sorry time! Pale is my face, and in my pale confesses The pain I suffer, since I needs must leave thee. Red are mine eyes through tears that them oppresses, Dulled are my sp'rits since fates do now bereave thee. And now, ah now, my plaints are quite prevented!

A faint farewell with trembling hand I tender, And with my tears my papers are distained. Vouchsafe his message that doth bring farewell, And for my sake let him with beauty dwell. Eye of day regarded never Certain trust in world untrusty; Flattering hope beguileth ever Weary, old, and wanton lusty. Rob the sphere of lines united, Make a sudden void in nature; Force the day to be benighted, Reave the cause of time and creature; Ere the world will cease to vary, This I weep for, this I sorrow.

Muses, if you please to tarry, Further helps I mean to borrow. Courted once by fortune's favour, Compassed now with envy's curses, All my thoughts of sorrow savour, Hopes run fleeting like the sources. Scant regard my weal hath scanted, Looking coy hath forced my lowering; Nothing liked where nothing wanted Weds mine eyes to ceaseless showering. Lovely swain with lucky guiding, Once but now no more so friended Thou my flocks hast had in minding, From the morn till day was ended. Drink and fodder, food and folding, Had my lambs and ewes together; I with them was still beholding, Both in warmth and winter weather.

Phillis' son can with his finger Hide his scar, it is so little; Little sin a day to linger, Wise men wander in a tittle. Yet for pity love my muses; Gentle silence be their cover; They must leave their wonted uses, Since I leave to be a lover. Kiss them, silence, kiss them kindly Though I leave them, yet I love them; Though my wit have led them blindly, Yet my swain did once approve them. If perchance the sheep estrayeth, In thy walks and shades unhaunted, Tell the teen my heart betrayeth, How neglect my joys hath daunted. XXI Ye heralds of my heart, mine ardent groans, O tears which gladly would burst out to brooks, Oh spent on fruitless sand my surging moans, Oh thoughts enthralled unto care-boding looks!

Ah just laments of my unjust distress, Ah fond desires whom reason could not guide!

Oh hopes of love that intimate redress, Yet prove the load-stars unto bad betide! When will you cease? Or shall pain never-ceasing, Seize oh my heart? Oh mollify your rage, Lest your assaults with over-swift increasing, Procure my death, or call on timeless age. What if they do? They shall but feed the fire, Which I have kindled by my fond desire. XXII Fair art thou, Phillis, ay, so fair, sweet maid, As nor the sun, nor I have seen more fair; For in thy cheeks sweet roses are embayed, And gold more pure than gold doth gild thy hair. Sweet bees have hived their honey on thy tongue, And Hebe spiced her nectar with thy breath; About thy neck do all the graces throng, And lay such baits as might entangle death.

In such a breast what heart would not be thrall? From such sweet arms who would not wish embraces? At thy fair hands who wonders not at all, Wonder itself through ignorance embases? Yet natheless though wondrous gifts you call these, My faith is far more wonderful than all these. Thou hast no longer hope; Captive mine eyes unto eternal sleep; Let all my senses have no further scope; Let death be lord of me and all my sheep! In such extremes what wretch can cease to crave His peace from death, who can no mercy have! XXIV No glory makes me glorious or glad, Nor pleasure may to pleasure me dispose, No comfort can revive my senses sad, Nor hope enfranchise me with one repose.

Nor in her absence taste I one delight, Nor in her presence am I well content; Was never time gave term to my despite, Nor joy that dried the tears of my lament. Nor hold I hope of weal in memory, Nor have I thought to change my restless grief, Nor doth my conquest yield me sovereignty, Nor hope repose, nor confidence relief. She sorts her frowns and favours so, As when I gain or lose I cannot know. XXV I wage the combat with two mighty foes, Which are more strong than I ten thousand fold; The one is when thy pleasure I do lose, The other, when thy person I behold.

In seeing thee a swarm of loves confound me, And cause my death in spite of my resist, And if I see thee not, thy want doth wound me, For in thy sight my comfort doth consist. The one in me continual care createth, The other doth occasion my desire; The one the edge of all my joy rebateth, The other makes me a phoenix in love's fire. So that I grieve when I enjoy your presence, And die for grief by reason of your absence.

It is a vision seeming such as thou, That flies as fast as it assaults mine eyes; It is affection that doth reason miss; It is a shape of pleasure like to you, Which meets the eye, and seen on sudden dies; It is a doubled grief, a spark of pleasure Begot by vain desire. And this is love, Whom in our youth we count our chiefest treasure, In age for want of power we do reprove. Yea, such a power is love, whose loss is pain, And having got him we repent our gain.

But when your suns in oceans of their glory Shut up their day-bright shine, I die for thought; So pass my joys as doth a new-played story, And one poor sigh breathes all delight to naught. So to myself I live not, but for you; For you I live, and you I love, but none else, Oh then, fair eyes, whose light I live to view, Or poor forlorn despised to live alone else, Look sweet, since from the pith of contemplation Love gathereth life, and living, breedeth passion.

XXVIII Not causeless were you christened, gentle flowers, The one of faith, the other fancy's pride; For she who guides both faith and fancy's power, In your fair colors wraps her ivory side. As one of you hath whiteness without stain, So spotless is my love and never tainted; And as the other shadoweth faith again, Such is my lass, with no fond change acquainted. And as nor tyrant sun nor winter weather May ever change sweet amaranthus' hue, So she though love and fortune join together, Will never leave to be both fair and true.

And should I leave thee then, thou pretty elf? Nay, first let Damon quite forget himself. XXX I do compare unto thy youthly clear, Which always bides within thy flow'ring prime, The month of April, that bedews our clime With pleasant flowers, when as his showers appear. Before thy face shall fly false cruelty, Before his face the doly season fleets; Mild been his looks, thine eyes are full of sweets; Firm is his course, firm is thy loyalty. XXXI Devoid of reason, thrall to foolish ire, I walk and chase a savage fairy still, Now near the flood, straight on the mounting hill, Now midst the woods of youth, and vain desire.

For leash I bear a cord of careful grief; For brach I lead an over-forward mind; My hounds are thoughts, and rage despairing blind, Pain, cruelty, and care without relief. But they perceiving that my swift pursuit My flying fairy cannot overtake, With open mouths their prey on me do make, Like hungry hounds that lately lost their suit. And full of fury on their master feed, To hasten on my hapless death with speed.

Apollo first his golden rays among, Did form the beauty of her bounteous eyes; He graced her with his sweet melodious song, And made her subject of his poesies. The warrior Mars bequeathed her fierce disdain, Venus her smile, and Phoebe all her fair, Python his voice, and Ceres all her grain, The morn her locks and fingers did repair.

Elizabethan Sonnet Cycles: Phillis - Licia

Young Love, his bow, and Thetis gave her feet; Clio her praise, Pallas her science sweet. XXXIV I would in rich and golden-coloured rain, With tempting showers in pleasant sort descend Into fair Phillis' lap, my lovely friend, When sleep her sense with slumber doth restrain. I were content to weary out my pain, To be Narsissus so she were a spring, To drown in her those woes my heart do wring. XXXV I hope and fear, I pray and hold my peace, Now freeze my thoughts and straight they fry again, I now admire and straight my wonders cease, I loose my bonds and yet myself restrain; This likes me most that leaves me discontent, My courage serves and yet my heart doth fail, My will doth climb whereas my hopes are spent, I laugh at love, yet when he comes I quail; The more I strive, the duller bide I still.

I would be thralled, and yet I freedom love, I would redress, yet hourly feed mine ill, I would repine, and dare not once reprove; And for my love I am bereft of power, And strengthless strive my weakness to devour. XXXVI If so I seek the shades, I presently do see The god of love forsakes his bow and sit me by; If that I think to write, his Muses pliant be If so I plain my grief, the wanton boy will cry, If I lament his pride, he doth increase my pain; If tears my cheeks attaint, his cheeks are moist with moan; If I disclose the wounds the which my heart hath slain, He takes his fascia off, and wipes them dry anon.

If so I walk the woods, the woods are his delight; If I myself torment, he bathes him in my blood; He will my soldier be if once I wend to fight, If seas delight, he steers my bark amidst the hood. In brief, the cruel god doth never from me go, But makes my lasting love eternal with my woe. Such streams of ruth within me find no place. These floods that wet my cheeks are gathered from thy grace And thy perfections, and from hundred thousand flowers Which from thy beauties spring; whereto I medley showers Of rose and lilies too, the colours of thy face.

My love doth serve for fire, my heart the furnace is, The aperries of my sighs augment the burning flame, The limbec is mine eye that doth distil the same; And by how much my fire is violent and sly, By so much doth it cause the waters mount on high, That shower from out mine eyes, for to assuage my miss. I first was turned into a wounded hart, That bare the bloody arrow in my side; Then to a swan that midst the waters glide, With piteous voice presaged my deadly smart; Eftsoons I waxed a faint and fading flower; Then was I made a fountain sudden dry, Distilling all my tears from troubled eye; Now am I salamander by his power, Living in flames, but hope ere long to be A voice, to talk my mistress' majesty.

XXXIX My matchless mistress, whose delicious eyes Have power to perfect nature's privy wants, Even when the sun in greatest pomp did rise, With pretty tread did press the tender plants. Each stalk whilst forth she stalks, to kiss her feet Is proud with pomp, and prodigal of sweet. Where Love did couch by summer toil suppressed, And sought his sleeps within so sweet a nest. The virgin's hand that held the wanton thrall, Imprisoned him within the roseate leaves; And twixt her teats, with favour did install The lovely rose, where Love his rest receives.

The lad that felt the soft and sweet so nigh, Drowned in delights, disdains his liberty; And said, let Venus seek another son, For here my only matchless mother is; From whose fair orient orbs the drink doth run, That deifies my state with greater bliss. This said, he sucked, my mistress blushing smiled, Since Love was both her prisoner and her child. Siren pleasant, foe to reason, Cupid plague thee for this treason!

Lily white and pretty winking, Solemn vows, but sorry thinking. Now I see, O seemly cruel, Others warm them at my fuel! Wit shall guide me in this durance, Since in love is no assurance. Change thy pasture, take thy pleasure; Beauty is a fading treasure.

Prime youth lusts not age still follow, And make white these tresses yellow; Wrinkled face for looks delightful Shall acquaint the dame despightful; And when time shall eat thy glory, Then too late thou wilt be sorry. Siren pleasant, foe to reason, Cupid plague thee for thy treason! Oh thou that canst, and she that may do all things, Support these languishing conceits that perish!

Look on their growth; perhaps these silly small things May win this wordly palm, so you do cherish. Homer hath vowed, and I with him do vow this, He will and shall revive, if you allow this. The two sons of Dr. Giles Fletcher were also men of marked poetic ability: There was a strong family feeling in this circle; Phineas and Giles pay compliments to each other in their verse and show great reverence and tenderness toward the memory of the poetic powers of their father.

But Giles Fletcher the elder was not thought of in his own time as a poet. Fletcher died at the age of seventy-two, he was known as a man of action, a man for public responsibility, rather than as the retired scholar or riming courtier. Most important among the foreign embassages undertaken by Fletcher was the one to Russia.

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The results were of great import to England, commercially and otherwise, but the book he wrote on his return was, for political reasons, suppressed. It happened that the years of enforced idleness that followed the suppression of this book came in the time when the young sonneteers at London were all busy. He returned from his embassage in '89; the book was suppressed in ' This is love, and far more than this, which I know a vulgar head, a base mind, an ordinary conceit, a common person will not nor cannot have.

Thus do I commend that love wherewith in these poems I have honoured the worthy Licia. What the poet's feeling was towards his patroness he defines sufficiently. Yet take this by the way; though I am so liberal to grant thus much, a man may write of love and not be in love, as well as of husbandry and not go to the plough, or of witches and be none, or of holiness and be flat profane. It may be she is Learning's image, or some heavenly wonder, which the precisest may not dislike: It may be I mean that kind courtesy which I found at the patroness of these poems.

It may be some college; it may be my conceit, and portend nothing. For if I had not received of her In this case the jewels have a particular finish. Fletcher has adopted the idea of a series of quatrains, often extending the number to four, and a concluding couplet, which he seems fond of utilising to give an epigrammatic finish to the ingenious incident he so often makes the subject of the sonnet.

He is fully in the spirit of the Italian mode, however, acknowledging in his title page his indebtedness to poets of other nationalities than his own. I build besides a temple to your name, Wherein my thoughts shall daily sing your praise; And will erect an altar for the same, Which shall your virtues and your honour raise. But heaven the temple of your honour is, Whose brasen tops your worthy self made proud; The ground an altar, base for such a bliss With pity torn, because I sighed so loud. And since my skill no worship can impart, Make you an incense of my loving heart.

Sad all alone not long I musing sat, But that my thoughts compelled me to aspire, A laurel garland in my hand I gat; So the Muses I approached the nigher. My suite was this, a poet to become, To drink with them, and from the heavens be fed. Phoebus denied, and sware there was no room, Such to be poets as fond fancy led. With that I mourned and sat me down to weep. Venus she smiled, and smiling to me said, "Come, drink with me, and sit thee still and sleep.

That poison sweet hath done me all this wrong, For now of love must needs be all my song. II Weary was love and sought to take his rest, He made his choice, upon a virgin's lap; And slyly crept from thence unto her breast, Where still he meant to sport him in his hap; The virgin frowned like Phoebus in a cloud; "Go pack, sir boy, here is no room for such, My breast no wanton foolish boy must shroud.

You seemed to me My mother Venus in her pride to be.

Elizabethan Sonnet Cycles: Phillis - Licia

Mean are the matches which he sought before, Like bloomless buds, too base to make compare, And she alone hath treasured beauty's store, In whom all gifts and princely graces are. IV Love and my love did range the forest wild, Mounted alike, upon swift coursers both. Love her encountered, though he was a child. A kiss of hers, as I, poor soul, do prove, Can make the hottest freeze and coldest love.

V Love with her hair my love by force hath tied, To serve her lips, her eyes, her voice, her hand; I smiled for joy, when I the boy espied To lie unchained and live at her command. She if she look, or kiss, or sing, or smile, Cupid withal doth smile, doth sing, doth kiss, Lips, hands, voice, eyes, all hearts that may beguile, Because she scorns all hearts but only this.

Venus for this in pride began to frown That Cupid, born a god, enthralled should be. So now, sweet love, though I myself be thrall, Not her a goddess, but thyself I call. VI My love amazed did blush herself to see, Pictured by art, all naked as she was. It is not like he naked me hath seen, Or stood so nigh for to observe so much. Then take my heart, and place it with your own; So shall you naked never more be known. VII Death in a rage assaulted once my heart With love of her, my love that doth deny.

I scorned his force, and wished him to depart, I heartless was, and therefore could not die. I live in her, in her I placed my life, She guides my soul, and her I honour must. Nor is this life but yet a living strife, A thing unmeet, and yet a thing most just. Cupid enraged did fly to make me love, My heart lay guarded with those burning eyes The sparks whereof denied him to remove; So conquered now, he like a captive lies; Thus two at once by love were both undone, My heart not loved, and armless Venus' son.

VIII Hard are the rocks, the marble, and the steel, The ancient oak with wind and weather tossed; But you, my love, far harder do I feel Than flint, or these, or is the winter's frost. My tears too weak, your heart they cannot move; My sighs, that rock, like wind it cannot rent; Too tiger-like you swear you cannot love; But tears and sighs you fruitless back have sent. The frost too hard, not melted with my flame, I cinders am, and yet you feel no heat. Surpass not these, sweet love, for very shame, But let my tears, my vows, my sighs entreat; Then shall I say as by trial find; These all are hard, but you, my love, are kind.

IX Love was laid down, all weary fast asleep, Whereas my love his armor took away; The boy awaked, and straight began to weep, But stood amazed, and knew not what to say. X A painter drew the image of the boy, Swift love, with wings all naked, and yet blind; With bow and arrows, bent for to destroy; I blamed his skill, and fault I thus did find: But I a wonder shaw, Their virtues all in one alone to be.

Licia the fair, surpassing Venus' pride, The matchless queen, commander of the gods, When drawn with doves she in her pomp doth ride Hath far more beauty, and more grace by odds Juno, Jove's wife, unmeet to make compare, I grant a goddess, but not half so mild; Minerva wise, a virtue, but not rare; Yet these are mean, if that my love but smiled.

She them surpasseth, when their prides are full As far as they surpass the meanest trull. XII I wish sometimes, although a worthless thing, Spurred by ambition, glad to aspire, Myself a monarch, or some mighty king, And then my thoughts do wish for to be higher. But when I view what winds the cedars toss, What storms men feels that covet for renown, I blame myself that I have wished my loss, And scorn a kingdom, though it give a crown. Ah Licia, though the wonder of my thought, My heart's content, procurer of my bliss, For whom a crown I do esteem as naught, As Asia's wealth, too mean to buy a kiss!

Kiss me, sweet love, this favor do for me; Then crowns and kingdoms shall I scorn for thee. XIII Enamored Jove commanding did entreat Cupid to wound my love, which he denied, And swore he could not for she wanted heat And would not love, as he full oft had tried. Jove in a rage, impatient this to hear, Replied with threats; "I'll make you to obey!

Then Jove he scorned, and dared him to his face, For now more safe than in the heavens he dwelled, Nor could Jove's wrath do wrong to such a place Where grace and honour have their kingdom held. Thus in the pride and beauty of her eyes The seely boy the greatest god defies. XIV My love lay sleeping, where birds music made, Shutting her eyes, disdainful of the light; The heat was great but greater was the shade Which her defended from his burning sight.

XV I stood amazed, and saw my Licia shine, Fairer than Phoebus, in his brightest pride, Set forth in colors by a hand divine, Where naught was wanting but a soul to guide. It was a picture, that I could descry, Yet made with art so as it seemed to live, Surpassing fair, and yet it had no eye, Whereof my senses could no reason give.

With that the painter bid me not to muse; "Her eyes are shut, but I deserve no blame; For if she saw, in faith, it could not choose But that the work had wholly been a flame,"-- Then burn me, sweet, with brightness of your eyes, That phoenix-like from thence I may arise. XVI Grant, fairest kind, a kiss unto thy friend!

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A blush replied, and yet a kiss I had. It is not heaven that can such nectar send Whereat my senses all amazed were glad. This done, she fled as one that was affrayed, And I desired to kiss by kissing more; My love she frowned, and I my kissing stayed, Yet wished to kiss her as I did before. Then as the vine the propping elm doth clasp, Loath to depart till both together die, So fold me, sweet, until my latest gasp, That in thy arms to death I kissed may lie. Thus whilst I live for kisses I must call; Still kiss me, sweet, or kiss me not at all.

XVII As are the sands, fair Licia, on the shore, Or colored flowers, garlands of the spring, Or as the frosts not seen, not felt before, Or as the fruits that autumn forth doth bring; As twinkling stars, the tinsel of the night, Or as the fish that gallop in the seas; As airs each part that still escapes our sight, So are my sighs, controllers of my ease. Yet these are such as needs must have an end, For things finite none else hath nature done; Only the sighs, which from my heart I send, Will never cease, but where they first begun.

Accept them, sweet, as incense due to thee; For you immortal made them so to be. Then by my sighs, my passions, and my tears, My vows, my prayers, my sorrow, and my love, My grief, my joy, my hope, and hopeless fears, My heart is thine, and never shall remove. These are not thine, though sent unto thy view, All else I grant, by right they are thine own; Let these suffice that what I swear is true, And more than this if that it could be known. So shall all these though troubles ease my grief; If that they serve to work in thee belief.

My life which loved, for love behind me staid. I sent my heart my life for to recall, But that was held, not able to return, And both detained as captives were in thrall, And judged by her, that both by sighs should burn. Fair, burn them both, for that they were so bold, But let the altar be within thy heart; And I shall live because my life you hold, You that give life, to every living part; A flame I took whenas I stole the kiss; Take you my life, yet can I live with this.

XX First did I fear, when first my love began; Possessed in fits by watchful jealousy, I sought to keep what I by favour won, And brooked no partner in my love to be. But tyrant sickness fed upon my love, And spread his ensigns, dyed with colour white; Then was suspicion glad for to remove, And loving much did fear to lose her quite. Erect, fair sweet, the colors thou didst wear; Dislodge thy griefs; the short'ners of content; For now of life, not love, is all my fear, Lest life and love be both together spent.

Live but, fair love, and banish thy disease, And love, kind heart, both where and whom thou please. XXI Licia my love was sitting in a grove, Tuning her smiles unto the chirping songs, But straight she spied where two together strove, Each one complaining of the other's wrongs. Cupid did cry lamenting of the harm; Jove's messenger, thou wrong'st me too too far; Use thou thy rod, rely upon the charm; Think not by speech my force thou canst debar.

A rod, Sir boy, were fitter for a child, My weapons oft and tongue and mind you took; And in my wrong at my distress thou smiled, And scorned to grace me with a loving look. Speak you, sweet love, for you did all the wrong That broke his arrows, and did bind his tongue. Then father, thank thy daughter for thy life, And Neptune praise that yielded so to thee, To calm the tempest when the storms were rife, And that thy daughter should a Venus be. I call thee Venus, sweet, but be not wroth; Thou art more chaste, yet seas did favor both. Some did surmize she hid her from the sun, Of whom in pride she scorned for to be kissed, Or feared the harm by him to others done.

But these the reason of this wonder missed, Nor durst the sun, if that her face were bare In greatest pride, presume to take a kiss. But she more kind did show she had more care Than with her eyes eclipse him of his bliss. Unmask you, sweet, and spare not; dim the sun; Your light's enough, although that his were done. XXIV Whenas my love lay sickly in her bed, Pale death did post in hope to have a prey; But she so spotless made him that he fled; "Unmeet to die," she cried, and could not stay.

Back he retired, and thus the heavens he told; "All things that are, are subject unto me, Both towns, and men, and what the world doth hold; But her fair Licia still immortal be. So now she lives, and never more shall fade; In earth a goddess, what can be more strange?

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Then will I hope, a goddess and so near, She cannot choose my sighs and prayers but hear. So see the moon, how pale she doth arise, Standing amazed, as though she durst not move; So is my sweet much paler than the snow, Constant her looks, these looks that cannot change. Mercury the next, a god sweet-tongued we know, But her sweet voice doth wonders speak more strange.

The rising Sun doth boast him of his pride, And yet my love is far more fair than he. The warlike Mars can wieldless weapons guide, But yet that god is far more weak than she. The lovely Venus seemeth to be fair, But at her best my love is far more bright. Saturn for age with groans doth dim the air, Whereas my love with smiles doth give it light. Gaze at her brows, where heaven ingrafted is; Then sigh, and swear, there is no heaven but this. Get fast, free shipping with Amazon Prime. Get to Know Us. English Choose a language for shopping. Not Enabled Word Wise: Not Enabled Screen Reader: Enabled Amazon Best Sellers Rank: Amazon Music Stream millions of songs.

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