Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage
Thy merit hath my duty ftrongly knit,
To thee I fend this written ambassage,
To witness duty, not to show my wit:
Duty fo great, which wit so poor as mine
May make feem bare, in wanting words to fhow it,
But that I hope fome good conceit of thine
In thy foul'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 fweet respect :
Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee; Till then not show my head where thou mayst prove me.
Weary with toil, I hafte 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 fee:
Save that my foul's imaginary fight
Presents thy fhadow to my fightless view,
Which, like a jewel hung in ghaftly 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.
How can I then return in happy plight,
That am debarr'd the benefit of reft?
When day's oppression is not eased by night,
But day by night, and night by day, oppreff'd ;
And each, though enemies to either's reign,
Do in confent fhake hands to torture me,
The one by toil, the other to complain
How far I toil, ftill farther off from thee?
I tell the day, to please him, thou art bright
And doft him grace when clouds do blot the heaven:
So flatter I the fwart-complexion'd night;
When sparkling stars twire not thou gild'st the even.
But day doth daily draw my forrows longer,
And night doth nightly make grief's length seem
When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends poffeff'd,
Defiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I moft enjoy contented leaft;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despifing,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From fullen earth, fings hymns at heaven's gate:
For thy fweet love rememb'red fuch wealth brings
That then I fcorn to change my state with kings.
When to the feffions of fweet filent thought
I fummon up remembrance of things past,
I figh the lack of many a thing I fought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste : Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night, And weep afresh love's long fince cancell'd woe, And moan the expense of many a vanish'd fight: Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The fad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All loffes are restored and forrows end.
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