And yet, I do not fear,
(Though She, my meanness knows)
The willow branch to wear;
No, nor the yellow hose!
For if great Jove
Should sue for love,
She would not me forego.
Resort I may,
By night or day,
Which braver dare not do!
You Gallants, born to pelf!
To lands', to titles' store!
(I'm born but to Myself,
Nor do I care for more)
Add to your earth!
Wealth! honours! birth!
And all you can, thereto!
You cannot prove
That height of love
Which I, in meanness, do!
Great men have helps, to gain
Those favours they implore:
Which, though I win with pain,
I find my joys the more.
Each clown may rise
And climb the skies
When he hath found a stair;
But joy to him
That dares to climb,
And hath no help, but air!
Some say that "Love repents
Where fortunes disagree."
I know the high'st contents
From low beginnings be.
My love's unfeigned
To Her that deigned
From greatness, stoop thereto.
She loves, 'cause I
So mean, dared try
Her better worth to woo.
And yet although much joy,
My fortune seems to bless;
'Tis mixt with more annoy
That I shall e'er express.
For, with much pain
Did I obtain
The Gem I'll ne'er forego!
Which yet I dare
Nor shew, nor wear!
And that breeds all my woe.
But fie! my foolish tongue!
How losely now it goes!
First, let my knell be rung
Ere I do more disclose!
Mount thoughts on high!
Cease words! For why?
My meaning to divine;
To those I leave,
That can conceive
So brave a Love as mine.
And, now, no more I'll sing
Among my fellow swains;
Nor groves, nor hills shall ring
With echoes of my plains.
My Measures be
Confused, you see!
And will not suit thereto:
'Cause I have more
Brave thoughts in store
Than words can reach unto.
SONNET II.
Hence, away! you Syrens! Leave me!
And unclasp your wanton arms!
Sugared words shall ne'er deceive me,
Though thou prove a thousand charms.
Fie! fie! forbear!
No common snare
Could ever my affection chain.
Your painted baits
And poor deceits
Are all bestowed on me in vain!