Chapter I: HAD thought, courteous and gentle Reader, not to have troubled thy

patience with these lines: but that, in the neglect thereof, I should either scorn thee, as careless of thine opinion, a thing savouring of a proud humour; or despair to obtain thy favour, which I am loath to conceive of thy good nature.

If I were known, I would entreat in the best manner; and speak for him whom thou knewest. But being not known, thou speakest not against me; and therefore I much care not. For this kind of poetry wherein I wrote, I did it only to try my humour. And for the matter of Love, it may be I am so devoted to some one into whose hands these may light by chance, that she may say, which thou now sayest "That surely he is in love:" which if she do, then have I the full recompence of my labour; and the Poems have dealt sufficiently for the discharge of their own duty.

This Age is learnedly wise, and faultless in this kind of making their wits known: thinking so basely of our bare English, wherein thousands have travailed with such ill luck, that they deem themselves barbarous and the island barren, unless they have borrowed from Italy, Spain, and France their best and choicest conceits. For my own part, I am of this mind that our nation is so exquisite (neither would I overweeningly seem to flatter our home-spun stuff, or diminish the credit of our brave travellers) that neither Italy, Spain, nor France can go beyond us for exact invention. For if anything be odious amongst us, it is the exile of our old manners, and some base-born phrases stuft up with such new terms, as a man may sooner feel us to flatter by our incrouching eloquence than suspect it from the ear.

* * * * *

And for the matter of Love, where every man takes upon himself to court exactly; I could justly grace (if it be a grace to be excellent in that kind) the Inns of Court, and some Gentlemen like[wise] Students in both Universities: whose learning and bringing up together with their fine natures make so sweet a harmony as, without partiality, the most injurious will prefer them before all others; and therefore they only are fitted to write of Love.

For others, for the most part, are men of mean reach, whose debased minds prey upon every bad dish. Men unfit to know what Love means; deluded fondly with their own conceit, misdeeming so divine a fancy; taking it to be the contentment of themselves, the shame of others, the wrong of virtue; and the refiner of the tongue, boasting of some few favours. These and such like errors (errors hateful to an upright mind) commonly by learnless heads are reputed for Love's Kingdom. But vain men, naturally led; deluded themselves, [they] deceive others.

For Love is a goddess (pardon me though I speak like a Poet) not respecting the contentment of him that loves but the virtues of the beloved, satisfied with wondering, fed with admiration, respecting nothing but his Lady's worthiness, made as happy by love as by all favours, chaste by honour, far from violence: respecting but one; and that one in such kindness honesty truth constancy and honour, as were all the World offered to make a change, yet the boot were too small, and therefore bootless. This is Love, and far more than this; which I know a vulgar head, a base mind, an ordinary conceit, a common person will not, and cannot, have. Thus do I commend that love wherewith, in these Poems, I have honoured the worthy LICIA.

But the love wherewith VENUS' son hath injuriously made spoil of thousands, is a cruel Tyrant: occasion of sighs, oracle of lies, enemy of pity, way of error, shape of inconstancy, temple of treason, faith without assurance, monarch of tears, murderer of ease, prison of hearts, monster of Nature, poisoned honey, impudent courtezan, furious bastard: and in one word, not Love.

Thus, Reader, take heed thou err not! Esteem Love as thou ought[est]!

* * * * *

If thou muse, What my LICIA is? Take her to be some DIANA, at the least chaste; or some MINERVA: no VENUS, fairer far. It may be she is Learning's Image, or some heavenly wonder: which the Precisest may not mislike. Perhaps under that name I have shadowed "[The Holy] Discipline." It may be, I mean that kind courtesy which I found at the Patroness of these Poems, it may be some College. It may be my conceit, and pretend nothing. Whatsoever it be; if thou like it, take it! and thank the worthy Lady MOLLINEUX, for whose sake thou hast it: worthy indeed, and so not only reputed by me in private affection of thankfulness; but so equally to be esteemed by all that know her.

For if I had not received of her and good Sir RICHARD, of kind and wise Master LEE, of courteous Master HOUGHTON, all matchless, matched in one kindred, those unrequitable favours; I had not thus idly toyed.

If thou mislike it; yet she, or they, or both, or divine LICIA shall patronize it: or if none; I will, and can, do it myself. Yet I wish thy favour. Do but say, Thou art content; and I rest thine. If not, Farewell! till we both meet. September 8. 1593.

_To LICIA, the wise, kind, virtuous, and fair._

BRIGHT matchless Star, the honour of the sky!
From whose clear shine heaven's vault hath all his light.
I send these Poems to your graceful eye.
Do you but take them, and they have their right.
I build besides a Temple to your name,
Wherein my thoughts shall daily sing your praise;
And will erect an Altar for the same,
Which shall, your virtues and your honour raise.
But heaven, the Temple of your honour is;
Whose brazen tops your worthy self made proud:
The ground an Altar, base for such a bliss,
With pity torn, because I sighed so loud.
And since my skill no worship can impart;
Make you an incense of my loving heart!

SONNET I.

SAD, all alone, not long I musing sat
But that my thoughts compelled me to aspire.
A laurel garland in my hand I gat,
So the Muses I approached the nigher.
My suit was this, A Poet to become;
To drink with them, and from the heavens be fed.
PHŒBUS denied; and sware, "There was no room
Such to be Poets as fond Fancy led."
With that I mourned, and sat me down to weep.
VENUS she smiled, and smiling to me said,
"Come drink with me, and sit thee still and sleep!"
This voice I heard, and VENUS I obeyed.
That poison, Sweet, hath done me all this wrong;
For now of Love must needs be all my Song.

SONNET II.

WEARY was LOVE, and sought to take his rest.
He made his choice upon a Virgin's lap;
And slyly crept from thence into her breast,
Where still he meant to sport him in his hap.
The Virgin frowned, like PHŒBUS in a cloud,
"Go pack, sir boy, here is no room for such!
My breast, no wanton foolish boys must shroud!"
This said, my Love did give the Wag a touch.
Then as the foot, that treads the stinging snake,
Hastes to be gone, for fear what may ensue:
So LOVE, my Love was forced for to forsake;
And, for more speed, without his arrows flew.
"Pardon!" he said, "for why you seemed to me,
My mother VENUS in her pride to be."

SONNET III.

THE heavens beheld the beauty of my Queen;
And all amazed, to wonder thus began:
"Why dotes not JOVE, as erst we all have seen,
And shapes himself like to a seemly man?
Mean are the matches which he sought before;
Like bloomless buds, too base to make compare:
And she alone hath treasured Beauty's store;
In whom all gifts and princely graces are."
CUPID replied, "I posted with the sun
To view the Maids that lived in all those days:
And none there was that might not well be won,
But She; most hard, most cold, made of delays."
Heavens were deceived, and wrong they do esteem;
She hath no heat, although She living seem.

SONNET IV.

LOVE and my Love did range the forest wild,
Mounted alike upon swift coursers both.
LOVE her encountered, though he was a child,
"Let's strive!" said he. Whereat my Love was wroth;
And scorned the boy, and checked him with a smile.
"I mounted am, and armèd with my spear.
Thou art too weak! Thyself do not beguile!
I could thee conquer, if I naked [_unarmed_] were!"
With this LOVE wept, and then my Love replied:
"Kiss me, sweet boy, so! Weep, my boy, no more!"
Thus did my Love, and thus her force she tried:
LOVE was made ice, that fire was before.
A kiss of hers (as I, poor soul, do prove)
Can make the hottest, freeze; and coldest love.

SONNET V.

LOVE, with her hair, my Love by force hath tied;
To serve her lips, her eyes, her voice, her hand.
I smiled for joy when I the boy espied
To lie unchained, and live at her command.
She, if She look, or kiss, or sing, or smile;
CUPID withal doth smile, doth sing, doth kiss.
Lips, hands, voice, eyes, all hearts that may beguile;
Because She scorns, all hearts but only this.
VENUS for this in pride began to frown,
That CUPID, born a god, inthralled should be:
She, in disdain, her pretty son threw down;
And in his place, with love she chainèd me.
So now, sweet Love, tho' I myself be thrall;
Not her a goddess, but thyself, I call.

SONNET VI.

MY Love, amazed, did blush herself to see,
Pictured by Art, all naked as she was.
"How could the Painter know so much by me,
Or Art effect what he hath brought to pass?
It is not like, he naked me hath seen;
Or stood so nigh for to observe so much."
No, Sweet, his eyes so near have never been;
Nor could his hands by Art have cunning such:
I showed my heart, wherein you printed were;
You, naked you, as here you painted are.
In that, my Love, your picture I must wear;
And show 't to all, unless you have more care:
Then take my heart, and place it with your own!
So shall you naked never more be known.

SONNET VII.

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!

SONNET X.

A PAINTER drew the image of the boy,
Swift LOVE, with wings, all naked, and yet blind;
With bow and arrows bent for to destroy.
I blamed his skill; and fault I thus did find:
"A needless task I see thy cunning take:
Misled by love, thy fancy thee betrayed.
Love is no boy, nor blind, as men him make;
Nor weapons wears, whereof to be afraid:
But if thou Love wilt paint with greatest skill;
A Love, a Maid, a goddess, and a Queen!
Wonder and view at LICIA's picture still!
For other Love, the World hath never seen.
For She alone, all hope, all comfort, gives:
Men's hearts, souls all, led by her favour, live."

SONNET XI.

IN Ida Vale three Queens, the Shepherd saw;
Queens of esteem, divine, they were all three.
A sight of worth, but I a wonder show:
Their virtues all in one alone to be.
LICIA the Fair surpassing VENUS's pride,
(The matchless Queen, commander of the gods,
When, drawn with doves, she in her pomp doth ride)
Hath far more beauty and more grace by odds:
JUNO, JOVE's wife, unmeet to make compare;
I grant a goddess, but not half so mild:
MINERVA wise, a virtue; but not rare.
Yet these are mean, if that my Love but smiled.
She them surpasseth, when their prides are full,
As far as they surpass the meanest trull.

SONNET XII.