Vpon her looking secretly out at a window as he passed by.
Once did my Philomel reflect on me,
Her Cristall pointed eyes as I past by;
Thinking not to be seene, yet would me see:
But soone my hungry eies their food did spy.
Alas, my deere, couldst them suppose, that face
Which needs not enuy Phœbus chiefest pride,
Could secret be, although in secret place,
And that transparent glasse such beames could hide?
But if I had been blinde, yet Loues hot flame,
Kindled in my poore heart by thy bright eye,
Did plainly shew when it so neere thee came,
By more the vsuall heate then cause was nie,
So though thou hidden wert, my heart and eye
Did turne to thee by mutuall Sympathy.
When time nor place would let me often view
Natures chiefe Mirror, and my sole delight;
Her liuely picture in my heart I drew,
That I might it behold both day and night;
But she, like Philips Sonne, scorning that I
Should portraiture, which wanted Apelles Art,
Commanded Loue (who nought dare her deny)
To burne the picture which was in my heart.
The more loue burn'd, the more her Picture shin'd:
The more it shin'd, the more my heart did burne:
So what to hurt her Picture was assign'd,
To my hearts ruine and decay did turne.
Loue could not burne the Spirit, it was divine,
And therefore fir'd my heart, the Saints poor shrine.
To the Sunne of his Mistresse beauty eclipsed with frownes.
When as the Sunne eclipsèd is, some say
It thunder, lightning, raine, and wind portendeth;
And not vnlike but such things happen may,
Sith like effects my Sunne eclipsèd sendeth!
Witnesse my throat made hoarse with thundring cries,
And heart with loues hot flashing lightnings fired:
Witnesse the showers which still fall from mine eies,
And breast with sighes like stormy winds neare riued.
O shine then once againe sweet Sunne on me,
And with thy beames dissolue clouds of despaire,
Whereof these raging Meteors framèd be,
In my poore heart by absence of my faire.
So shalt thou prooue thy beames, thy heate, thy light,
To match the Sunne in glory, grace, and might.
Vpon sending her a gold ring with this Posie.
Pure and Endlesse.
If you would know the love which I you beare,
Compare it to the Ring which your faire hand
Shall make more precious, when you shall it weare:
So my loues nature you shall vnderstand.
Is it of mettall pure? so you shall proue
My loue, which ne're disloyall thought did staine.
Hath it no end? so endlesse is my loue,
Vnlesse you it destroy with your disdaine.
Doth it the purer waxe the more tis tride?
So doth my loue: yet herein they dissent,
That whereas gold the more t'is purifide
By waxing lesse, doth shew some part is spent:
My loue doth waxe more pure by your more trying,
And yet encreaseth in the purifying.
The hearts captivitie.