That Ivorie hand a Fanne most white doth hold,
And to the milkie Brest blowes winde apace:
(And yet is full of chilly yce most cold)
Disgrace to others, to her selfe a grace.
But I who wistly marke these whitenes three,
Vouchsafe (sweet love) this boone to graunt to mee.
Distill within the rouling of mine eyes
(By vertue of thy power) such hidden flame:
And let it tempred be in such strange wise,
That as I cast my looke upon the same,
It quite may take away her crueltie,
Melt straight the Ice, and Fanne burne suddenly.

If (Cruell) thou desirous art of blood,
Behold how I doo bleed in streaming wise:
Glut then thy selfe therewith if thou thinke good,
And doo content with blood thy bloodie eyes.
From brest it comes, where fainting hart doth lye,
And (for a gift) I it present to thee,
Although I know (through this) I soone shall dye:
(And yet to die it little grieveth mee)
Since tis my wish, my blood with soule as one
May rest, and that's with thee, or els with none.

A gentle tame Deere am I, cald a HART,
The cruell Huntresse fierce my Mistres is:
With crosse-bow bent she comes to me in Parke,
Palde in with pleasant thoughts of wanton wish:
Shee shootes and hits mee, takes me for her pray;
And having shot, hit, taken, flies her way.
Backe she retires from mee with pleasant smile,
Unloosing mee, and heales my wound and paine;
When as afresh incenst (alacke the while)
Gainst mee, desirous me to plague againe:
She turnes towards me, ore-takes me, strikes me sore;
And binding up my wounds, makes deadly more.

With gold and rubies glistereth her small hand:
But if you match them with her lips or haire,
They seeme withouten brightnes for to stand,
The other have such lively colours faire.
O worthie Beautie, peerlesse A PERSE,
To whom all other Beauties are most vile.
O fairnes such, as fairer none can bee,
Thou Grace it selfe of graciousnes doost spoyle.
With Rubies, thou right Rubies doost disgrace,
With Gold bright Gold thou stainest in his place.

Painter, in lively colours draw Disdaine.
Doost aske how that may rightly shadowed bee?
Ile tell thee, if thou (fine) wilt doo the same,
My Ladie paint, and thou Disdaine shalt see.
Fond man, dost not beleeve? or thinkst I jest?
If doubtfull thou remaine, then heare the rest.
Marke her but well, and thou shalt in her face
See right Disdaine, which comming from her eyes,
Makes her to looke with most disdainfull grace:
Then if thou seest it in so plaine a guise,
Straight shadow her: for this one Counterfaite

Joy of my soule, my blindfold eyes cleere light,
Cordiall of hart, right Methridate of love,
Faire orient Pearle, bright shining Margarite,
Pure Quintessence of heavens delight above,
When shall I taste what favour graunts me tuch,
And ease the rage of mine so sharpe desire?
When shall I free enjoy what I so much
Doo covet, (but I doubt in vaine) to aspire?
Ah doo not still my Soule thus Tantalize,
But once (through grace) the same imparadize.

In silver streame, on shallow fountaines shelfe,
The lively image saw he in the same,
Who was in love with shadow of himselfe,
Through pride, forgetfull how his likenes came:
Such one my selfe (by chance) I see to bee,
When as in River I my selfe did see.
Yet I, my selfe in sted of loving hate,
And such strange hatred is this, and so strong,
That while he (loving) dyde by justest Fate
Himselfe by seeing, (whilst he himselfe did wrong):
I die will unto him contrarie cleene,
Cause I (hating my self) my self too much have seene.

In Love his Kingdome great, two Fooles there bee;
My Ladie's one, my selfe the other am:
The fond behaviour of both which to see,
Who so but nicely markes, will say the same:
Foolish our thoughts are, foolish our desire,
Foolish our harts in Fancies flame to frie,
Foolish to burne in Loves hot scortching fire.
But what? Fooles are we none, my tung dooth lie:
For who most foolish is and fond in love,
More wiser farre than others, oft doth prove.

The flaming Torch (a shadow of the light)
Put out by hastie hand, doth colour change,
And blacke becomes, which seemd before most bright:
Nor so to show is anie mervaile strange:
So was I long a lively fire of love,
The heate whereof my Bodie oft did prove,
But I, at last (by one who moand my woe)
Extinguisht was, by Pitifull Disdaine:
Then if my colour blacke in face doo show,
You need not much to wonder at the same,
Since tis a Signe (by part to know the whole)
That Love made mee a Fire, Disdaine a Cole.

Who joyes in Love? the Hart alone, to see.
Who languisheth in Love? the Hart alone.
Then ist a thing impossible for mee
To joy or languish, since I Hart have none.
Withouten Hart? then tel me, what am I?
Even bones and flesh united cunningly.
The Soule, where ist? Love that hath tane away,
My Bodie onely resteth in his place.
Depriv'd of Soule and Hart, how live? I say,
I live (maintaind by Love) in this strange case.
O wonder strange, the Bodie live to see,
The Hart and Soule in other place to bee.