DEath, in a rage, assaulted once my heart With love of her, my love that doth deny. I scorned his force, and wished him to depart, I heartless was, and therefore could not die. I live in her. In her I placed my life. She guides my soul, and her I honour must. Nor is this life; but yet a living strife: A thing unmeet, and yet a thing most just. Cupid, enraged, did fly to make me love; My heart lay guarded with those burning eyes, The sparks whereof denied him to remove: So conquered now, he like a captive lies. Thus two at once by love are both undone: My heart not loved; and armless Venus' son.
SONNET VIII.
HArd are the rocks, the marble, and the steel, The ancient oak with wind and weather tosst; But you, my Love, far harder do I feel Than flint, or these, or is the winter's frost. My tears too weak, your heart they cannot move; My sighs, that rock, like wind it cannot rent; Too tiger-like, you swear you cannot love: But tears and sighs you fruitless back have sent. The frost too hard, not melted with my flame; I cinders am, and yet you feel no heat: Surpass not these, sweet Love, for very shame! But let my tears, my vows, my sighs entreat! Then shall I say, as I by trial find, These all are hard; but you, my Love, are kind.
SONNET IX.
LOve was laid down, all weary, fast asleep; Whereas my Love his armour took away. The boy awaked, and straight began to weep; But stood amazed, and knew not what to say. "Weep not, my boy," said Venus to her son, "Thy weapons none can wield but thou alone. Licia the Fair, this harm to thee hath done; I saw her here, and presently was gone. She will restore them, for she hath no need To take thy weapons, where thy valour lies. For men to wound, the Fates have her decreed With favour, hands, with beauty, and with eyes." No, Venus, no! She scorns them, credit me! But robbed thy son, that none might care for thee!