Would God your spill were full of thread, I will forget the wrongs are past, So you will choose me at the last. Choose one at length, I know you will; 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. SONNET III. From "Calica," consisting of 109 Sonnets. Fol. 1693. BY FULKE GREVILE, LORD BROOKE. MORE than most fair, full of that heavenly fire, 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, If in my heart all Nymphs else be defaced, 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 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, With pretty stealths he makes me laugh and wonder. When with the child, the child-thoughts of mine own Straight do I scorn and bid the child away, If these mad changes do make children gods, |