Sonnet XXIII: The Curious Wits
The curious wits seeing dull pensiveness Bewray itself in my long settled eyes, Whence those same fumes of melancholy rise, With idle pains, and missing aim, do guess. Some that know how my spring
Sonnet XIII: Phoebus Was Judge
Phoebus was judge between Jove, Mars, and Love, Of those three gods, whose arms the fairest were: Jove’s golden shield did eagle sables bear, Whose talons held young Ganymede above: But in vert field
Ring Out Your Bells
Ring out your bells, let mourning shows be spread; For Love is dead All love is dead, infected With plague of deep disdain; Worth, as nought worth, rejected, And Faith fair scorn doth gain.
My True Love Hath My Heart, And I Have His
My true-love hath my heart, and I have his, By just exchange, one for the other giv’n. I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss; There never was a better bargain driv’n. His
Astrophel and Stella VII: WhenNature Made her Chief Work
When Nature made her chief work, Stella’s eyes, In colour black why wrapt she beams so bright? Would she in beamy black, like painter wise, Frame daintiest lustre, mix’d of shades and light? Or
Sleep
Come Sleep; O Sleep! the certain knot of peace, The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe, The poor man’s wealth, the prisoner’s release, Th’ indifferent judge between the high and low; With shield
Sonnet XXXI: With How Sad Steps, O Moon
With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb’st the skies! How silently, and with how wan a face! What, may it be that even in heav’nly place That busy archer his sharp arrows tries!
Sonnet XCII: Be Your Words Made
Be your words made, good sir, of Indian ware, That you allow me them by so small rate? Or do you cutted Spartans imitate? Or do you mean my tender ears to spare, That
Sonnet LXXI: Who Will in Fairest Book
Who will in fairest book of nature know How virtue may best lodg’d in beauty be, Let him but learn of love to read in thee, Stella, those fair lines which true goodness show.
Psalm 19: Coeli Enarrant
The heavenly frame sets forth the fame Of him that only thunders; The firmament, so strangely bent, Shows his handworking wonders. Day unto day doth it display, Their course doth it acknowledge, And night
Song
Who hath his fancy pleased With fruits of happy sight, Let here his eyes be raised On Nature’s sweetest light; A light which doth dissever And yet unite the eyes, A light which, dying
Sonnet X: Reason
Reason, in faith thou art well serv’d, that still Wouldst brabbling be with sense and love in me: I rather wish’d thee climb the Muses’ hill, Or reach the fruit of Nature’s choicest tree,
Sonnet V: It Is Most True
It is most true, that eyes are form’d to serve The inward light; and that the heavenly part Ought to be king, from whose rules who do swerve, Rebles to Nature, strive for their
Sonnet XXX: Whether the Turkish New Moon
Whether the Turkish new moon minded be To fill his horns this year on Christian coast; How Poles’ right king means, with leave of host, To warm with ill-made fire cold Muscovy; If French
Astrophel and Stella: XV
You that do search for every purling spring Which from the ribs of old Parnassus flows, And every flower, not sweet perhaps, which grows Near thereabouts, into your poesy wring; Ye that do dictionary’s