love poetry

L OVE'S far more powerful than a king,
And wiser than most statesmen are:
For it commands him, and doth spring
In them strange thoughts; in both much care
(Beside th' affairs o' th' Commonwealth)

To crouch and to obey. Nay more;
It makes them lose all joy and health,
And not be the men they were before;
Until wise love, all powerful love,
The gracious physician prove.

Tell me, Jove, should she disdain,
Whether were it greater pain,
Silent in thy flames to die,
Or say I love, and she deny.

Flames suppressed do higher grow;
Should she scorn when she does know
Thy affection, thou shalt prove
A glorious martyrdom for love.

Better to Love's mercy bow,
She may burn as well as thou:
On then timorous heart proceed,
For wounds are death that inward bleed.

L AURINELLA {E GLOGUE I} OF TRUE AND CHAST L OUE

Colliden. Wilkin.

The Shepheard Colliden, who ere him know,
(Who know him not that Shepheards liues do fare?)
He that was wont with siluer sheep-hooke goe,
And by his belt the silken scrip to weare,
A iolly Shep-heard to the outward showe,
Till sadly crazed with loues youthfull care,
Low kept his flock in humble vale where hye
Upon a hill kept Laurinella by.

Scarce cou'd he looke so hye, so weake was he,

Half way the hill, near to those aged trees,
Whose insides are as hives for lab'ring bees,
(As who should say, before their roots were dead,
For good work's sake and alms they harboured
Those whom nought else did cover but the skies:)
A path, untrodden but of beasts, there lies,
Directing to a cave in yonder glade,
Where all this forest's citizens for shade
At noon-time come, and are the first, I think,
That (running through that cave) my waters drink:
Within this rock there sits a woful wight,

Come , lovely boy unto my court,
And leave these uncouth woods, and all,
That feed thy fancy with love's gall,
But keep away the honey and the sport. Chorus of Graces:

Come unto me,
And with variety
Thou shalt be fed; which Nature loves, and I.

There is no music in a voice
That is but one, and still the same.
Inconstancy is but a name
To fright poor lovers from a better choice. Chorus:

Shall I because my Love is gone,
Accuse those golden darts
Which to a blessed union
Struck our two loving hearts,
Since Fortune, and not Love hath caused my moan?

No, her pure image I shall prize,
Imprinted in my breast,
More than the fairest Mistress eyes
That ever swain possest,
Which in eternal bonds my fancy ties.

Come then your sharpest griefs, and try
If you can pierce my heart,
But use, if you would have me die,
The best you can of Art,
To wound a breast so arm'd with constancy.

Farewell this company,
If you love sadness,
For melancholy is
Nothing but madness;
Hang up proud costly clothes,
Pedlars and pack-toys;
Let's make the hogs-heads weep,
Claret and sack, boys.

If black doom by desert should go,
Then, Lord; my due desert is death;
Which robs from souls immortal joy,
And from their bodies mortal breath.

But in so great a Saviour,
Can e'er so base a worm's annoy
Add any glory to thy power,
Or any gladdness to thy joy?

Thou justly mayst me doom to death,
And everlasting flames of fire;
But on a wretch to pour thy wrath
Can ever sure be worth thine ire.

Since Jesus the atonement was,
Let tender mercy me release;
Let him be umpire of my cause,

Adieu , fond love; farewell, you wanton powers,
I am free again;
Thou dull disease of blood, and idle hours,
Bewitching pain,
Fly to the fools that sigh away their time.
My nobler love to heaven doth climb,
And there behold beauty still young
That time can ne'er corrupt nor death destroy;
Immortal sweetness by fair angels sung,
And honoured by eternity and joy.
There lives my love, thither my hopes aspire;
Fond love declines, this heavenly grows higher.

Sonet 1.

Much sorrowe in it selfe my loue doth move
More my dispayre to loue a hopelesse blisse
My follie most to loue where sure to misse
O helpe me but this last griefe to remoue.

All payne if yow command it, ioy doth proue
And wisdome to seeke ioy; then say but this
Because my pleasure in thy torment is
I doe command thee withoute hope to loue.

So when this thought my sorrowes shall augment
That myne owne follie did procure my payne