An Ocean sea of water calme am I,
Wherein kinde Love the forme of fish doth take,
Leaping alongst the shore most wantonly:
Then Ladie, of a Fisher d'on the shape;
Ah, what sweete fishing shall you have to like,
If Love you chance to catch, while he doth bite?
Come then, and nak't into this water hie,
He cannot scape, but (here) perforce must bide,
(Lesse to my hart to save himselfe he flie)
Then quickly strip thy selfe, lay feare aside:
For of this daintie pray, which thou shalt take,
Both Sea, Fish, and thy Selfe, thou glad shalt make.

Such is the vertue of the Sunnie heate,
As seazing on the cockle shell, which lies
On seaish shore, whereon his beames doo beate,
It makes it brightly shine, in orient wise:
So that through secret power of radiant Sunne,
Of worthlesse shell, a Pearle it doth become.
So Ladie, you through force of Beauties power,
If you shall deigne to glaunce on me your eye,
And raine with grace on me a smiling shower,
A Jewell rich you make me by and by:
And if no Pearle, at least a precious Stone;
This (onely) can you doo, or els can none.

Rivers unto the Sea doo tribute pay:
A most unconstant mooving Sea art thou,
And I within mine eyes (bedeawed ay)
A River hold of bitter teares as now.
Receive then from these moystned cheekes of mine
Into thy lap the water I foorth powre,
Of dutie mine and of thy Debt a signe,
And mixt together with my sweet thy sowre:
So shall the water to the water bee
More precious, and the Sea more rich to th'Sea.

If love (wherein I burne) were but a fire,
I quencht it had with water of my plaints;
If water, these my plaints, I this Desire
Had dryde through inward heate, my hart that taints:
But Love that in my griefes doth take delight,
Both fire and water turnes to worke mee spite.
Flie then this Love, since such is his great power,
As waves to fire, and fire to waves he turnes,
And with an absent Beautie everie hower,
My fainting hart with Fancies fuell burnes,
And gainst all sense makes mee of CARe and IL,
More than of good and ComfoRT to have will.

Both jemmes and pearles their proper value have,
But yet unlike, for not alike's their prise;
Some sought for are, and each one doth them crave,
Others (more base) doo passe in worthlesse wise.
A Juell rich and princelike Jemme is she
Whom I esteeme, and such account of make,
Yet in her selfe no price hath for to see,
For it is holden at so high a rate:
As all the gold nor silver which doth ly
In th'earth or sea, the same (at worth) can by.

Unto an Image may I right compare
My Mistres, since so cruell shee's to mee;
Which standeth for a signe or shadow faire,
To which the simple ignorant bow with knee:
And though with eyes, mouth, eares, and feet it show,
Yet dooth it neither see, talke, heare or goe.
So playes my Choyce, when I appeare in sight,
Nor see, nor speake, nor heare, nor stay she will,
So as an Idoll she resembleth right,
Blinde, mute, deafe, movelesse, senselesse standing still:
Then am not I worse than a livelesse Blocke,
To worship such a painted coloured Stocke?

The blazing Starre foretells the haplesse fall
And sudden death of others, soone to come:
To me a Face (brighter than Comets all)
Doth with her lookes my fortune hard forerunne:
And with her shooting darts from glauncing eye,
Presageth that ere long I needs must dye.
The blazing Starre death onely prophecies,
This doth foreshew to mee a harder fate,
And dares me to mine end in warlike wise,
Nor how this Challenge know I to escape.
Ah cruell Starre, of death not onely signe,
But murtherer th'art of this poore life of mine.

Say (gentle frend) tell me in curtesie
Before what was I? and what am I now?
A senselesse shadow? or a bodie, I?
Neither of both: marke, and Ile tell thee how.
No bodie now, for that by proud disdaine
Of scornfull Shee, disliv'd was: shadow none,
For that did under-ground goe with the same,
Unwilling it should wander all alone.
What am I then? Even one that doth not know
What now he is, or what he was can show.

No sooner doo I earnest fix mine eyes
On my faire Sunne, but that I her perceave
To vanish like a clowd in darkest wise,
As if (eclypst) her light it did bereave:
I know not if shee's troubled thus, because
She doth disdaine I should behold her so;
Or if for feare this shadow to her drawes,
Least mee her beames should hurt, which glistring show.
Say then sweet Love (for thou knowst best) if still
I shall behold her, or no more, thou will.

One lovely glaunce which from the eyes did passe
Of Ladie mine, hath changd my gentle hart
From hardest Diamond to brittle glasse:
And now againe (unto my bitter smart
Through dreadfull frowne) she turnes it suddenly
As twas before, from glasse to Diamond.
So if she will, she may (and presently
As likes her) change me, who to her am bound:
If cruell shee, my hart is hard to breake:
If pittifull, tis gentle, brittle, weake.