The First Decade

Resolved to love, unworthy to obtain,I do no favour crave; but, humble wise,To thee my sighs in verse I sacrifice,Only some pity and no help to gain.Hear then, and as my heart shall aye remainA patient object to thy lightning eyes,A patient ear bring thou to thund'ring cries;Fear not the crack, when I the blow sustain.So as thine eye bred mine ambitious thought,So shall thine ear make proud my voice for joy.Lo, dear, what wonders great by thee are wrought,When I but little favour do enjoy!The voice is made the ear for to rejoice,And your ear giveth pleasure to my voice.

Blame not my heart for flying up so high,Sith thou art cause that it this flight begun;For earthly vapours drawn up by the sun,Comets become, and night suns in the sky.Mine humble heart, so with thy heavenly eyeDrawn up aloft, all low desires doth shun;Raise thou me up, as thou my heart hast done,So during night in heaven remain may I.I say again, blame not my high desire,Sith of us both the cause thereof depends.In thee doth shine, in me doth burn a fire,Fire draws up other, and itself ascends.Thine eye a fire, and so draws up my love;My love a fire, and so ascends above.

Fly low, dear love, thy sun dost thou not see?Take heed, do not so near his rays aspire;Lest, for thy pride, inflamed with wreakful ire,It burn thy wings, as it hath burned me.Thou haply sayst thy wings immortal be,And so cannot consumed be with fire;And one is hope, the other is desire,And that the heavens bestowed them both on thee.A muse's words made thee with hope to fly,An angel's face desire hath begot,Thyself engendered by a goddess' eye;Yet for all this, immortal thou art not.Of heavenly eye though thou begotten art,Yet art thou born but of a mortal heart.

A friend of mine, pitying my hopeless love,Hoping by killing hope my love to stay,"Let not," quoth he, "thy hope, thy heart betray;Impossible it is her heart to move."But sith resolved love cannot removeAs long as thy divine perfections stay,Thy godhead then he sought to take away.Dear, seek revenge and him a liar prove;Gods only do impossibilities."Impossible," saith he, "thy grace to gain."Show then the power of divinitiesBy granting me thy favour to obtain.So shall thy foe give to himself the lie;A goddess thou shall prove, and happy I!

Thine eye the glass where I behold my heart,Mine eye the window through the which thine eyeMay see my heart, and there thyself espyIn bloody colours how thou painted art.Thine eye the pile is of a murdering dart;Mine eye the sight thou tak'st thy level byTo hit my heart, and never shoot'st awry.Mine eye thus helps thine eye to work my smart.Thine eye a fire is both in heat and light;Mine eye of tears a river doth become.O that the water of mine eye had mightTo quench the flames that from thine eye doth come,Or that the fires kindled by thine eye,The flowing streams of mine eyes could make dry.

Mine eye with all the deadly sins is fraught.First proud, sith it presumed to look so high.A watchman being made, stood gazing by,And idle, took no heed till I was caught.And envious, bears envy that by thoughtShould in his absence be to her so nigh.To kill my heart, mine eye let in her eye;And so consent gave to a murder wrought.And covetous, it never would removeFrom her fair hair, gold so doth please his sight.Unchaste, a baud between my heart and love.A glutton eye, with tears drunk every night.These sins procured have a goddess' ire,Wherefore my heart is damned in love's sweet fire.

Falsely doth envy of your praises blameMy tongue, my pen, my heart of flattery,Because I said there was no sun but thee.It called my tongue the partial trump of fame,And saith my pen hath flattered thy name,Because my pen did to my tongue agree;And that my heart must needs a flatterer be,Which taught both tongue and pen to say the same.No, no, I flatter not when thee I callThe sun, sith that the sun was never such;But when the sun thee I compared withal,Doubtless the sun I flattered too much.Witness mine eyes, I say the truth in this,They have seen thee and know that so it is.

Much sorrow in itself my love doth move,More my despair to love a hopeless bliss,My folly most to love whom sure to missO help me, but this last grief to remove;All pains, if you command, it joy shall prove,And wisdom to seek joy. Then say but this,"Because my pleasure in thy torment is,I do command thee without hope to love!"So when this thought my sorrow shall augmentThat my own folly did procure my pain,Then shall I say to give myself content,"Obedience only made me love in vain.It was your will, and not my want of wit;I have the pain, bear you the blame of it!"

My lady's presence makes the roses red,Because to see her lips they blush with shame.The lily's leaves for envy pale became,And her white hands in them this envy bred.The marigold the leaves abroad doth spread,Because the sun's and her power is the same.The violet of purple colour came,Dyed in the blood she made my heart to shed.In brief, all flowers from her their virtue take;From her sweet breath their sweet smells do proceed;The living heat which her eyebeams doth makeWarmeth the ground and quickeneth the seed.The rain wherewith she watereth the flowers,Falls from mine eyes which she dissolves in showers.