From “Astrophel and Stella” LOVING in truth, and fain in verse my love to show, That she, dear she, might take some pleasure of my pain,— Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know, Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain,— I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe; Studying inventions fine, her wits to entertain, Oft turning others’ leaves, to see if thence would flow Some fresh and fruitful showers upon my sun-burned brain. But words came halting forth, wanting Invention’s stay; Invention, Nature’s child, fled step-dame Study’s blows; And others’ feet still seemed but strangers in my way. Thus, great with child to speak, and helpless in my throes, Biting my truant pen, beating myself for spite; Fool, said my Muse to me, look in thy heart, and write.
Sonnet: “Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to show”
More from Poet
|
From “Astrophel and Stella” WITH how sad steps, O Moon! thou climb’st the skies, How silently, and with how wan a face! What may it be, that even in heavenly place That busy Archer his sharp arrows tries? Sure, if that long-with-love-acquainted eyes Can judge of love, thou feel’st a lover’s case... |
From “Astrophel and Stella” COME, Sleep, O Sleep, the certain knot of peace, The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe, The poor man’s wealth, the prisoner’s release, The indifferent judge between the high and low, With shield of proof shield me from out the prease 1 Of those fierce darts... |
From “Astrophel and Stella” LOVING in truth, and fain in verse my love to show, That she, dear she, might take some pleasure of my pain,— Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know, Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain,— I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of... |
My true-love hath my heart, and I have his, By just exchange one to the other given: I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss, There never was a better bargain driven: My true-love hath my heart, and I have his. His heart in me keeps him and me in one; My heart in him his thoughts and... |
|
Because I breathe not love to everie one, Nor do not use set colors for to weare, Nor nourish special locks of vowèd haire, Nor give each speech a full point of a groane,— The courtlie nymphs, acquainted with the moane Of them who on their lips Love’s standard beare, “What! he?” say they... |