And ye, high Heavens! the temple of the gods, Pour out your blessing on us plenteously, And happy influence upon us rain, That we may rise a large posterity, Which from the earth, which they may long possess Up to your haughty palaces may mount, Song made in lieu of many ornaments With which my love should duly have been deckt. But promis'd both to recompence, Be unto her a goodly ornament, And for short time an endless monument. SONNET. AIR is my love, when her fair golden hairs FAIR With the loose wind ye waving chance to mark, Fair when the rose in her red cheek appears, Or in her eyes the fire of love doth spark; Fair when her brest, like a rich laden bark With precious merchandize, she forth doth lay; Fair when that cloud of pride, which oft doth dark Her goodly light, with smiles she drives away; But fairest she when so she doth display SONNETS. THE doubt which ye misdeem, fair love! is vain, That fondly fear to lose your liberty, When losing one, two liberties ye gain, And make him bound that bondage erst did fly. Sweet be the bands the which true Love doth tye, Without constraint or dread of any ill; The gentle bird feels no captivity Within her cage, but sings and feeds her fill. There pride dare not approach, nor discord spill The league 'twixt them, that loyal love hath bound, But simple truth and mutual good-will Seeks with sweet peace to salve each other's wound; There Faith doth fearless dwell in brasen towre, And spotless Pleasure builds her sacred bowre. RUDELY thou wrongest my dear heart's desire, In finding fault with her too portly pride: Sorn of base things and 'sdeign of foul dishonour, Was never in this world ought worthy tride, SONNETS. FRE RESH Spring, the herald of love's mighty king, All sorts of flowres the which on earth do spring, Go to my love, where she is careless laid, L' IKE as a huntsman after weary chace, Seeing the game from him escape away, Sits down to rest him in some shady place, With panting hounds beguiled of their prey; So after long pursute and vain assay, When I all weary had the chace forsook, The gentle deer return'd the self-same way, Thinking to quench her thirst at the next brook; There she beholding me with milder look, Sought not to fly, but fearless still did bide, Till I in hand her yet half trembling took, And with her own good-will her firmly tide: Strange thing me seem'd to see a beast so wild So goodly wone, with her own will beguil'd. JOHN DONNE. SEND home my long-stray'd eyes to me, Which, oh! too long have dwelt on thee; But if they there have learn'd such ill, Such forc'd fashions, And false passions, Made by thee Fit for no good sight, keep them still. Send home my harmless heart again,' Word and oath, Keep it still-'tis none of mine. Yet send me back my heart and eyes, Art in anguish, And dost languish For some one That will none, Or prove as false as thou dost now. GEORGE WITHER. SONG. SHALL I, wasting in despair, Die because a woman's fair? Or make pale my cheeks with care, 'Cause another's rosy are? 1 Be she fairer than the day, What care I how fair she be? Shall my foolish heart be pin'd, Shall a woman's virtues move Cause her fortune seems too high, Where they want of riches find, Think what with them they would do, Who without them dare to woo; And unless that mind I see, What care I how great she be? |