I saw a bird from joining grove, The Lily and Vermilion strove, In maiden-like and lovely face: With seemly arms instead of wings; No claws, but fingers set with rings. And in her hand she held a dart, As being of Diana's train: O, that's the cause of all my smart, And breeder of this endless pain! The thing I sought not there I find, And lost the freedom of my mind. While on her eyes my eyes did hang, That struck me in a deadly trance: But wak'd I saw blind Cupid's craft, And in my heart the golden shaft. I sued for grace, but she denied; Away she soars, and from my sight You are the bird that bred the bane, You are the jailor that do keep Your friend in bonds and dungeon deep. Renowned chaste Penelope, With all her words could not redrive Her suitors, till she set a day In which she would them answer give; Then would she choose one for her own. They daily came to see the end, And every man doth hope to be The chosen man to be her friend; But women's wiles here men may see; For night undid that day had done. I hope the like you have decreed, That found you spinning but of late; Would God your spill were full of thread, That might relieve my wretched state: I will forget the wrongs are past, Choose one at length, I know you will; With joy possess that empty place: My love shall far surmount the rest. These lines that hope for better speed, 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, Beauty's first-born, in whom all powers conspire 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 SONNET XXV. CUPID, my pretty boy, leave off thy crying; Did reason say that boys must be restrained? |