English

Of all the kings that ever here did reign,
Edward named fourth, as first in praise I name,
Not for his fair outside, nor well-lined brain,
Although less gifts imp feathers oft on Fame;
Nor that he could young-wise, wise-valiant frame
His sire's revenge, joined with a kingdom's gain,
And gained by Mars , could yet mad Mars so tame,
That balance weighed what sword did late obtain;
Nor that he made the flower-de-luce so 'fraid,
Though strongly hedged of bloody lion's paws,
That witty Lewis to him a tribute paid;

Desire, though thou my old companion art,
And oft so clings to my pure love, that I
One from the other scarcely can descry,
While each doth blow the fire of my heart,
Now from thy fellowship I needs must part;
Venus is taught with Dian 's wings to fly;
I must no more in thy sweet passions lie;
Virtue's gold now must head my Cupid 's dart.
Service and honour, wonder with delight,
Fear to offend, will worthy to appear,
Care shining in mine eyes, faith in my sprite,

My Muse may well grudge at my heav'nly joy,
If still I force her in sad rhymes to creep:
She oft hath drunk my tears, now hopes t'enjoy
Nectar of mirth, since I Fove 's cup do keep.
Sonnets be not bound 'prentice to annoy;
Trebles sing high, as well as bases deep;
Grief but Love's winter liv'ry is; the boy
Hath cheeks to smile, as well as eyes to weep.
Come then, my Muse, show thou height of delight
In well-raised notes; my pen the best it may
Shall paint out joy, though but in black and white.

Stella , the onely Planet of my light,
Light of my life, and life of my desire,
Chiefe good, whereto my hope doth only aspire,
World of my wealth, and heav'n of my delight.
Why doest thou spend the treasures of thy sprite,
With voice more fit to wed Amphions lyre,
Seeking to quench in me the noble fire,
Fed by thy worth, and blinded by thy sight?
And all in vaine, for while thy breath most sweet,
With choisest words, thy words with reasons rare,
Thy reasons firmly set on Vertues feet ,
Labour to kill in me this killing care:

Hope, art thou true, or dost thou flatter me?
Doth Stella now begin with piteous eye
The ruins of her conquest to espy:
Will she take time, before all wracked be?
Her eyes' speech is translated thus by thee:
But fail'st thou not in phrase so heav'nly high?
Look on again, the fair text better try:
What blushing notes dost thou in margin see?
What sighs stol'n out, or killed before full born?
Hast thou found such and such like arguments?
Or art thou else to comfort me forsworn?

And do I see some cause a hope to feed,
Or doth the tedious burden of long woe,
In weakened minds, quick apprehending breed
Of every image which may comfort show?
I cannot brag of word, much less of deed;
Fortune wheels still with me in one sort slow;
My wealth no more, and no whit less my need,
Desire still on the stilts of fear doth go.
And yet amid all fears a hope there is
Stol'n to my heart, since last fair night, nay day,
Stella 's eyes sent to me the beams of bliss,
Looking on me, while I looked other way:

No more, my dear, no more these counsels try,
O give my passions leave to run their race;
Let Fortune lay on me her worst disgrace,
Let folk o'ercharged with brain against me cry,
Let clouds bedim my face, break in mine eye,
Let me no steps but of lost labour trace,
Let all the earth with scorn recount my case,
But do not will me from my love to fly.
I do not envy Aristotle 's wit,
Nor do aspire to Caesar 's bleeding fame,
Nor aught do care, though some above me sit,

O grammar rules, O now your virtues show;
So children still read you with awful eyes,
As my young dove may in your precepts wise
Her grant to me, by her own virtue know.
For late with heart most high, with eyes most low,
I craved the thing which ever she denies:
She, lightning love, displaying Venus ' skies,
Lest once should not be heard, twice said, " No, no."
Sing then my Muse, now Io Paean sing,
Heav'ns envy not at my high triumphing,
But grammar's force with sweet success confirm:

Oft with true sighs, oft with uncalled tears,
Now with slow words, now with dumb eloquence,
I Stella 's eyes assail, invade her ears;
But this at last is her sweet-breathed defence:
That who indeed infelt affection bears,
So captives to his saint both soul and sense,
That, wholly hers, all selfness he forbears,
Thence his desires he learns, his life's course thence.
Now since her chaste mind hates this love in me,
With chastened mind, I straight must show that she
Shall quickly me from what she hates remove.

When my good angel guides me to the place
Where all my good I do in Stella see,
That heav'n of joys throws only down on me
Thundered disdains and lightnings of disgrace:
But when the rugged'st step of fortune's race
Makes me fall from her sight, then sweetly she
With words, wherein the Muses' treasures be,
Shows love and pity to my absent case.
Now I, wit-beaten long by hardest fate,
So dull am, that I cannot look into
The ground of this fierce love and lovely hate: