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The curious wits, seeing dull pensiveness Bewray itself in my long-settl'd eyes, Whence those same fumes of melancholy rise, With idle pains and missing aim do guess. Some, that know how my spring I did address, Deem that my Muse some fruit of knowledge plies; Others, because the prince my service tries, Think that I think state errors to redress; But harder judges judge ambition's ragei Scourge of itself, still climbing slipp'ry placei Holds my young brain captiv'd in golden cage. O fool or over-wise! alas, the race Of all my thoughts hath neither stop nor start But only Stella's eyes and Stella's heart.

The wisest scholar of the wight most wise By Phoebus’ doom, with sugared sentence says That Virtue, if it once met with our eyes, Strange flames of love it in our souls would raise; But, for that man with pain this truth descries, While he each thing in sense’s balance weighs, And so nor will nor can behold those skies Which inward sun to heroic mind displays, Virtue of late, with virtuous care to stir Love of herself, takes Stella’s shape, that she To mortal eyes might sweetly shine in her. It is most true, for since I her did see, Virtue’s great beauty in that face I prove, And find th’effect, for I do burn in love.

Let dainty wits cry on the sisters nine, That, bravely mask'd, their fancies may be told; Or, Pindar's apes, flaunt they in phrases fine, Enam'ling with pied flowers their thoughts of gold. Or else let them in statelier glory shine, Ennobling newfound tropes with problems old; Or with strange similes enrich each line, Of herbs or beasts which Ind or Afric hold. For me, in sooth, no Muse but one I know; Phrases and problems from my reach do grow, And strange things cost too dear for my poor sprites. How then? even thus: in Stella's face I read What love and beauty be; then all my deed But copying is, what in her Nature writes.

With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies! How silently, and with how wan a face! What, may it be that even in heav'nly place That busy archer his sharp arrows tries! Sure, if that long-with love-acquainted eyes Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case, I read it in thy looks; thy languish'd grace To me, that feel the like, thy state descries. Then, ev'n of fellowship, O Moon, tell me, Is constant love deem'd there but want of wit? Are beauties there as proud as here they be? Do they above love to be lov'd, and yet Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess? Do they call virtue there ungratefulness?

I might!—unhappy word—O me, I might, And then would not, or could not, see my bliss; Till now wrapt in a most infernal night, I find how heav'nly day, wretch! I did miss. Heart, rend thyself, thou dost thyself but right; No lovely Paris made thy Helen his, No force, no fraud robb'd thee of thy delight, Nor Fortune of thy fortune author is; But to myself myself did give the blow, While too much wit, forsooth, so troubled me That I respects for both our sakes must show: And yet could not by rising morn foresee How fair a day was near: O punish'd eyes, That I had been more foolish,—or more wise!

Come Sleep! O Sleep, the certain knot of peace, The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe, The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release, Th' indifferent judge between the high and low. With shield of proof shield me from out the prease Of those fierce darts despair at me doth throw: O make in me those civil wars to cease; I will good tribute pay, if thou do so. Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed, A chamber deaf to noise and blind to light, A rosy garland and a weary head: And if these things, as being thine by right, Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me, Livelier than elsewhere, Stella's image see.

What, have I thus betrayed my liberty? Can those black beams such burning marks engrave In my free side? or am I born a slave, Whose neck becomes such yoke of tyranny? Or want I sense to feel my misery? Or sprite, disdain of such disdain to have? Who for long faith, though daily help I crave, May get no alms but scorn of beggary. Virtue, awake! Beauty but beauty is; I may, I must, I can, I will, I do Leave following that which it is gain to miss. Let her go. Soft, but here she comes. Go to, Unkind, I love you not! O me, that eye Doth make my heart give to my tongue the lie!

Soul’s joy, bend not those morning stars from me, Where virtue is made strong by beauty’s might, Where love is chasteness, pain doth learn delight, And humbleness grows one with majesty. Whatever may ensue, O let me be Co-partner of the riches of that sight; Let not mine eyes be hell-driv’n from that light; O look, O shine, O let me die and see. For though I oft my self of them bemoan, That through my heart their beamy darts be gone, Whose cureless wounds even now most freshly bleed, Yet since my death wound is already got, Dear killer, spare not they sweet cruel shot; A kind of grace it is to slay with speed.

I on my horse, and Love on me, doth try Our horsemanships, while by strange work I prove A horseman to my horse, a horse to Love, And now man’s wrongs in me, poor beast, descry. The reins wherewith my rider doth me tie Are humbled thoughts, which bit of reverence move, Curbed in with fear, but with gilt boss above Of hope, which makes it seem fair to the eye. The wand is will; thou, fancy, saddle art, Girt fast by memory; and while I spur My horse, he spurs with sharp desire to my heart; He sits me fast, however I do stir; And now hath made me to his hand so right That in the manage myself takes delight.

It is most true, that eyes are formed to serve The inward light; and that the heavenly part Ought to be king, from whose rules who do swerve, Rebels to Nature, strive for their own smart. It is most true, what we call Cupid’s dart, An image is, which for ourselves we carve; And, fools, adore in temple of our heart, Till that good god make Church and churchman starve. True, that true beauty virtue is indeed, Whereof this beauty can be but a shade, Which elements with mortal mixture breed; True, that on earth we are but pilgrims made, And should in soul up to our country move; True; and yet true, that I must Stella love.