MINE

THE PICTURE

INE eye hath play'd the painter, and hath stell'd

Thy beauty's form in table of my heart;

My body is the frame wherein 'tis held,
And pérspective it is best painter's art.

For through the painter must you see his skill,
To find where your true image pictured lies;
Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still,
That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes.

Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done : Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee;

Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art; They draw but what they see, know not the heart.

A BOAST

LET those who are in favour with their stars

Of public honour and proud titles boast, Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars, Unlook'd for joy in that I honour most.

Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread But as the marigold at the sun's eye,

And in themselves their pride lies buried,

For at a frown they in their glory die.

The painful warrior famouséd for fight,
After a thousand victories once foil'd,
Is from the book of honour razéd quite,
And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd:

Then happy I, that love and am beloved
Where I may not remove, nor be removed.

L'ENVOI

LORD of my love, to whom in vassalage
Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit,

To thee I send this written embassage,
To witness duty, not to show my wit:

Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine

May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it, But that I hope some good conceit of thine

In thy soul's thought, all naked, will bestow it;

Till whatsoever star that guides my moving
Points on me graciously with fair aspect,
And puts apparel on my tatter'd loving,
To show me worthy of thy sweet respect :

Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee; Till then not show my head where thou mayst

prove me.

G

82

SONGS AND SONNETS

THE LOVER'S NIGHT THOUGHTS

WEARY with toil, I haste me to my bed,

The dear repose for limbs with travel tired;

But then begins a journey in my head,

To work my mind, when body's work's expired:

For then my thoughts, from far where I abide,
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,

And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,
Looking on darkness which the blind do see:

Save that my soul's imaginary sight
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,

Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night,

Makes black night beauteous and her old face new.

Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind
For thee and for myself no quiet find.

OF SHAKESPEARE

BY NIGHT AND BY DAY

OW can I then return in happy plight

How

That am debarr'd the benefit of rest? When day's oppression is not eased by night, But day by night, and night by day, oppress'd?

And each, though enemies to either's reign,
Do in consent shake hands to torture me;
The one by toil, the other to complain
How far I toil, still farther off from thee.

83

I tell the day, to please him thou art bright, And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven:

So flatter I the swart-complexion'd night,

When sparkling stars twire not, thou gild'st the

even.

But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer, And night doth nightly make grief's strength

seem stronger.