No April can revive thy withered flowers LIV Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night, Brother to Death, in silent darkness born: Relieve my languish, and restore the light; With dark forgetting of my care, return! And let the day be time enough to mourn The shipwreck of my ill-adventured youth: Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn, Without the torment of the night's untruth. Cease, dreams, the images of day-desires, To model forth the passions of the morrow; Never let rising sun approve you liars, To add more grief to aggravate my sorrow. Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain; And never wake to feel the day's disdain. LV Let others sing of Knights and Paladins In aged accents and untimely words; Paint shadows in imaginary lines 12 II "O heavens," quoth he, "why do mine eyes behold The hateful rays of this unhappy sun? Why doth not black eternal darkness hide "What saw my life wherein my soul might joy? What had my days, whom troubles still afflicted, But only this, to counterpoise annoy? This joy, this hope, which Death hath interdicted; 830 Thus, as these passions do him overwhelm, "Pitiful mouth," saith he, "that living gavest 20 He looks upon the mightiest monarchs' wars To serve his ends, and make his courses hold. 30 Of tyrants' threats, or with the surly brow The storms of sad confusion, that may grow 40 Yet seeing thus the course of things must run, And for the few that only lend their ear, That few is all the world; which with a few Do ever live, and move, and work, and stir. This is the heart doth feel and only know. The rest of all, that only bodies bear, Roll up and down, and fill up but the row, 560 And serve as others members, not their own, The instruments of those that do direct. Then what disgrace is this, not to be known To those know not to give themselves respect? And though they swell with pomp of folly blown, They live ungrac'd, and die but in Neglect. And for my part, if only one allow He is to me a Theater large enow, And if some worthy spirits be pleased too, It shall more comfort breed, but not will. But what if none? It cannot yet undo 570 more Let those that know not breath, esteem of wind, And set t' a vulgar air their servile song; 580 Rating their goodness by the praise they find, Making their worth on others' fits belong; As Virtue were the hireling of the mind, And could not live if Fame had ne'er a tongue. Hath that all-knowing power that holds within The goodly prospective of all this frame, (Where, whatsoever is, or what hath been, Reflects a certain image of the same) No inward pleasures to delight her in, But she must gad to seek an alms of Fame? JOSHUA SYLVESTER (1563-1618) SONNET Were I as base as is the lowly plain, 589 And you, my Love, as high as heaven above, Yet should the thoughts of me, your humble swain, Ascend to heaven in honour of my love. Were I as high as heaven above the plain, And you, my Love, as humble and as low As are the deepest bottoms of the main, Whatsoe'er you were, with you my love should go! Were you the earth, dear Love! and I, the skies; My love should shine on you, like to the sun! And look upon you, with ten thousand eyes, 8 Till heaven waxed blind! and till the world were done! Wheresoe'er I am,- below, or else above, you, Wheresoe'er you are, my heart shall truly love you! THE FRUITS OF A CLEAR CONSCIENCE To shine in silk, and glister all in gold, To flow in wealth, and feed on dainty fare, To have thy houses stately to behold, Thy prince's favour, and the people's care: The groaning gout, the colic, or the stone, 5 TO THE READER OF THESE SONNETS My verse is the true image of my mind, My Muse is rightly of the English strain, IV 8 XX An evil Spirit (your Beauty) haunts me still, Wherewith, alas, I have been long possest; Which ceaseth not to attempt me to each ill, Nor give me once, but one poor minute's rest. In me it speaks, whether I sleep or wake; And when by means to drive it out I try, With greater torments then it me doth take, And tortures me in most extremity. Before my face, it lays down my despairs, And hastes me on unto a sudden death; Now tempting me, to drown myself in tears, And then in sighing to give up my breath. Thus am I still provoked to every evil, By this good-wicked Spirit, sweet Angel-Devil. XXIV ΤΟ Dear! why should you command me to my rest, Night was ordained together friends to keep. Which, through the day, disjoined by several flight, The quiet evening yet together brings, And each returns unto his Love at night! O thou that art so courteous else to all, Why shouldst thou, Night, abuse me only thus? 'That every creature to his kind dost call, And yet 'tis thou dost only sever us! Well could I wish it would be ever day; XLIV Whilst thus my pen strives to eternize thee, II Since there's no help, come, let us kiss and part! Nay, I have done; you get no more of me! And I am glad, yea, glad, with all my heart, That thus so cleanly I myself can free. Shake hands for ever! Cancel all our vows! And when we meet at any time again, Be it not seen in either of our brows, That we one jot of former love retain! Now at the last gasp of Love's latest breath, When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies; 10 When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death, And Innocence is closing up his eyes, Now, if thou wouldst, when all have given him over, From death to life thou might'st him yet recover! |