As good to write, as for to lie and groan:

O Stella dear, how much thy power hath wrought, That hast my mind, none of the basest, brought My still kept course, while others sleepe, to moan! Alas! if from the height of Virtue's throne,

Thou canst vouchsafe the influence of a thought
Upon a wretch that long thy grace hath sought;
Weigh then how I by thee am overthrown:
And then, think thus, although thy beauty be
Made manifest by such a victory,

Yet noble conquerors do wrecks avoid:
Since then thou hast so far subdued me,
That in my heart I offer still to thee,
O do not let thy temple be destroyed!

O KISS, which dost those ruddy gems impart,
Or gems, or fruits of new-found Paradise,
Breathing all bliss, and sweetening to the heart,
Teaching dumb lips a nobler exercise!

O kiss, which souls, even souls, together ties
By links of love, and only nature's art!
How fain would I paint thee to all men's eyes,

Or of thy gifts at least shade out some part!
But she forbids; with blushing words, she says,
She builds her fame on higher-seated praise :

But my heart burns, I cannot silent be. Then since, dear life, you fain would have me peace, And I, mad with delight, want wit to cease,

Stop you my mouth with still, still kissing me.

WHEN far-spent night persuades each mortal eye,
To whom nor art nor nature granteth light,
To lay his then mark-wanting shafts of sight,
Closed with their quivers, in sleep's armoury;
With windows ope, then most my mind doth lie,
Viewing the shape of darkness and delight;
Takes in that sad hue, which with th' inward night
Of his mazed powers keeps perfect harmony:
But when birds charm, and that sweet air which is
Morn's messenger, with rose-enamelled skies,
Calls each wight to salute the flower of bliss ;
In tomb of lids then buried are mine eyes.
Forced by their lord, who is ashamed to find
Such light in sense, with such a darkened mind.

HIGH-WAY, since you my chief Parnassus be;
And that my Muse, to some ears not unsweet,
Tempers her words to trampling horses' feet,
More soft than to a chamber melody.
Now, blessed you, bear onward, blessed me

To Her, where I my heart safe left shall meet,
My Muse and I must you of duty greet
With thanks and wishes, wishing thankfully,
Be you still fair, honoured by public heed,
By no encroachment wronged, or time forgot;
Nor blamed for blood, nor shamed for sinful deed.
And that you know, I envy you no lot

Of highest wish, I wish you so much bliss
Hundreds of years you Stella's feet may kiss.

Or 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 get mad Mars so tame, That balance weighed, what sword did late obtain. Nor that he made the Floure-de-luce so 'fraid, Though strongly hedged of bloody Lion's paws, That witty Lewis to him a tribute paid. Nor this, nor that, nor any such small cause. But only for this worthy knight doth prove To lose his crown rather than fail his love

O HAPPY Thames! that didst my Stella bear I saw thyself, with many a smiling line

Upon thy cheerful face, joy's livery wear,
While those fair planets on thy streams did shine.
The boat for joy could not to dance forbear,
While wanton winds, with beauty so divine
Ravished, stayed not, till in her golden hair
They did themselves (O sweetest prison!) twine.
And fain those Æol's youth there would their stay
Have made; but, forced by nature still to fly,
First did with puffing kiss those locks display.
She, so dishevelled, blushed: from window I

With sight thereof cried out, O fair disgrace,
Let honour's self to thee grant highest place!

In martial sports I had my cunning tried,

And yet to break more staves did me address,
While with the people's shouts (I must confess)

Youth, luck, and praise, e'en filled my veins with pride;
When Cupid having me (his slave) descried

In Mars' livery prancing in the press,

"What now, Sir Fool!" said he; "I could no less: Look here, I say." I looked, and Stella spied, Who hard by mode a window send forth light. My heart then quaked, then dazzled were mine eyes; One hand forgot to rule, th' other to fight; Nor trumpet's sound I heard, nor friendly cries. My foe came on, and beat the air for me-"Till that her blush made me my shame to see.

No more, my dear, no more these counsels try;
O give my passions leave to rnn 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 thy love to fly.

I do not envy Aristotle's wit,

Nor do aspire to Cæsar's bleeding fame;
Nor aught do care, though some above me sit,
Nor hope, nor wish, another course to frame,
But that which once may win thy cruel heart:
Thou art my wit, and thou my virtue art.

Love, still a boy, and oft a wanton is, Schooled only by his mother's tender eye; What wonder then, if he his lesson miss, When for so soft a rod dear play he try?

And yet my Star, because a sugared kiss In sport I sucked, while she asleep did lie,

Doth lour, nay, chide, nay, threat, for only this;— Sweet, it was saucy Love, not humble I.

But no 'scuse serves; she makes her wrath appear In beauty's throne-see, now who dares come near Those scarlet judges, threatening bloody pain? O heavenly fool! thy most kiss-worthy face Anger invests with such a lovely grace,

That anger's self I needs must kiss again.

I NEVER drank of Aganippe's well, Nor ever did in shade of Tempe sit,

And Muses scorn with vulgar brains to dwell;

Poor lay-man I, for sacred rites unfit.

Some do I hear of poet's fury tell,

But (God wot) wot not what they mean by it;
And this I swear, by blackest book of hell,

I am no pick-purse of another's wit.

How falls it then, that with so smooth an ease My thoughts I speak, and what I speak doth flow In verse, and that my verse best wits doth please? Guess me the cause-what, is it thus?-fye, no. Or so?-much less. How then?-sure thus it is, My lips are sweet inspired with Stella's kiss.