Classic Poem

Sonet . 9

F A ire faces are eyes witches,
That but inchaunt the minde:
Fond humors reason's itches,
That but affection blinde.
While loue is but a mockery.
To cheate the world with foolerie.

Youth but a blaze of time,
Whome Age to ashes bringes:
Time but a weary chime,
That death to sorrowe ringes:
While wealth the weight of care doth prooue
The world hath little what to loue.

Beautie is sildome wise.
Nor wit hath fortune friend
And loue in Argus eyes
Findes Iealouzie a fiend.
While truth doth gaine so little grace
As makes the world a woefull place.

And vertue is so poore,
Shee liues by pittie most:
While pride doth ope her doore
But onely vnto cost.
And power is growne so daungerous
As makes discretion timorous.

And fancie is so fickle.
That faith is in mistrust:
And friendship is so tickle,
That judgements prooues vniust.
While nature's blot in Reason's blame
Doth shew the world a wicked frame.

Woordes are but blastes of breath
Thoughts but the witte's illusion:
Deedes but desartes of death,
All but the worlde's confusion.
Where wordes and thoughts, and deedes doe trie
The worlde wrapt vp in miserie.

What then on earth remaineth
That reason can discouer?
But that the heart disdaineth
Which is the spirit's louer.
Saue that which wisdome findes in wit
Is in the worlde but none of it.

For which conceal'd content
In honor's carefull chest
Wherein the spirit spent
Is onely truely blest.
I will subscribe to reason's will.
To liue in purgatory still.

For such the worlde I finde,
A place where eyes may see,
What moste may glad the minde
Yet neere the better be,
Because the world hath smallest parte,
Of that which moste doth please the hearte.

Then heauen's protest for me
In spight of worldly spight:
Aglaia all shall be,
Where loue in honour's light.
In iudgements of discretion's eyes:
Doth make the world a Paradice.

For were it not thrise good
In Nature wit and grace:
Where truth hath vnderstood
The cleerenes of my Case,
My loue on earth should neuer dwell
But hate the world as halfe a hell.

Then wherein goodnes showes
The grace of fancie's blisse:
Which no Corruption knowes,
Nor earth come where it is:
Let me this true conclusion prooue.
I hate the world but for thy loue.