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Would God your spill were full of thread,
That might relieve my wretched state:

I will forget the wrongs are past,

So

you will choose me at the last.

Choose one at length, I know you will;
Let tried faith for ten years space,
However that your spindle fill,

With joy possess that empty place:

And if you will, I do protest

My love shall far surmount the rest.

These lines that hope for better speed,

As loving spies are sent to see;

spun up all your thread,

Where you have spun up

And what good hap is left for me:

Let their return yet make him glad,

Whom love's despair hath made so sad.

[graphic]

SONNET III.

From "Calica," consisting of 109 Sonnets.

Fol. 1693.

BY FULKE GREVILE, LORD BROOKE.

MORE than most fair, full of that heavenly fire,
Kindled above to shew the Maker's glory;
Beauty's first-born, in whom all powers conspire
To write the Graces' life, and Muses' story;

If in my heart all Saints else be defaced,

Honour the Shrine where you alone are placed!

Thou window of the sky, and pride of spirits,
True character of honour in perfection;
Thou heavenly creature, judge of earthly merits,
And glorious prison of man's pure affection;

If in my heart all Nymphs else be defaced,
Honour the Shrine where you alone are placed!

SONNET IV.

You little stars that live in skies,

And glory in Apollo's glory,

In whose aspects conjoined lies

The Heaven's will and Nature's story;

Joy to be liken❜d to those eyes,

Which eyes make all eyes glad or sorry;

For when you force thoughts from above,

These overrule your force by love.

And thou, O Love, which in these eyes
Hast married reason with affection,
And made them saints of Beauty's skies,
Where joys are shadows of perfection,
Lend me thy wings that I may rise
Up not by worth, but thy election:

For I have vow'd in strangest fashion

To love, and never seek compassion.

SONNET XXV.

CUPID, my pretty boy, leave off thy crying; Thou shalt have bells or apples; be not peevish; Kiss me, sweet lad; beshrew her for denying; Such rude denials do make children thievish!

Did reason say that boys must be restrained? What was it? Tell: hath cruel honour chidden?

Or would they have thee from sweet Myra weaned? Are her fair breasts made dainty to be hidden?

Tell me, sweet boy, doth Myra's beauty threaten? Must you say grace when you would be a playing? Does she cause thee make faults to make thee beaten? Is beauty's pride in innocents betraying?

Give me a bow, let me thy quiver borrow,

And she shall play the child with love or sorrow.

SONNET XXVI.

Was ever man so over-match'd with boy?

When I am thinking how to keep him under,
He plays and dallies me with every toy;

With pretty stealths he makes me laugh and wonder.

When with the child, the child-thoughts of mine own
Do long to play and toy as well as he;
The boy is sad and melancholy grown,
And with one humour cannot long agree.

Straight do I scorn and bid the child away,
The boy knows fury, and soon sheweth me
Cælica's sweet eyes, where love and beauty play,
Fury turns into love of that I see.

If these mad changes do make children gods,
Women and children are not far at odds.

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