R. L[inche?]

1596.

42

DIELLA.

SONNET XXVII.

HE heaven's herald may not make compare
of working words, which so abound in thee.
Thy honey-dewed tongue exceeds his far,

in sweet discourse and tuneful melody.
Th' amber-coloured tress which BERENICE
for her true-loving PTHOLOMEUS, vowed
Within IDALEA's sacred Aphrodrice,

203

is worthless, with thy locks to be allowed. To thee, my thoughts are consecrate, dear Love! my words and phrases bound to please thine ears! My looks are such, as any heart could move :

I still solicit thee with sighs and tears!

O let not hate eclipse thy beauty's shine!
Then none would deem thee earthly, but divine.

W

SONNET XXVIII.

EARY with serving, where I naught could get;
I thought to cross great NEPTUNE's greatest seas,
To live in exile: but my drift was let

by cruel Fortune, spiteful of such ease.
The ship I had to pass in, was my Mind;
greedy Desire was topsail of the same,
My Tears were surges, Sighs did serve for wind,
of all my ship, Despair was chiefest frame;
Sorrow was Master, Care, the cable rope;

Grief was the mainmast, Love, the captain of it;
He that did rule the helm was foolish Hope,
but Beauty was the rock that my ship split,
Which since hath made such shipwreck of my Joy,
That still I swim in th' ocean of Annoy.

204

DIELLA.

SONNET XXIX.

R. L[inche?]

EASE, Eyes, to cherish with still flowing tears,
the almost withered roots of dying grief!

1596.

Dry up your running brooks! and dam your meres! and let my body die for moist relief!

But DEATH is deaf! for well he knows my pain,

my slackless pain, hell's horror doth exceed. There is no hell so black as her disdain !

whence cares, sighs, sorrows, and all griefs do breed. Instead of sleep, when day incloistered is

in dusty prison of infernal night,

With broad-waked eyes, I wail my miseries;
and if I wink, I fear some ugly sight,

Such fearful dreams do haunt my troubled mind:
My Love's the cause, 'cause She is so unkind.

SONNET XXX.

E THAT can count the candles of the sky,
reckon the sands whereon Pactolus flows,

Or number numberless small atomie[s],

what strange and hideous monsters Nilus shows,
What mis-shaped beasts vast Africa doth yield,
what rare-formed fishes live in the ocean,
What coloured flowers do grow in Tempe's field,
how many hours are since the world began:
Let him, none else, give judgement of my grief!
let him declare the beauties of my Love!
And he will say my pains pass all relief:

and he will judge her for a Saint above!
But, as those things, there's no man can unfold
So, nor her Fair, nor my Grief may be told !

R. L[inche?] 1596.

DIELLA.

SONNET XXXI.

205

AIR ivory Brow, the board LOVE banquets on!
sweet Lips of coral hue, but silken softness!
Fair Suns that shine, when PHŒBUS' eyes are gone!
sweet Breath that breathes incomparable sweet-
ness!

Fair Cheeks of purest roses red and white!

sweet Tongue containing sweeter thing than sweet! O that my Muse could mount a lofty flight, and were not all so forceless, and unmeet To blaze the beauty of thy several shine, And tell the sweetness of thy sundry taste! Able of none but of the Muses nine,

to be arightly honoured and graced.

The first so fair, so bright, so purely precious!
The last so sweet, so balmy, so delicious!

SONNET XXXII.

HE last so sweet, so balmy, so delicious!
lips, breath, and tongue, which I delight to
drink on:

The first so fair, so bright, so purely precious!
brow, eyes, and cheeks, which still I joy to
think on ;

But much more joy to gaze, and aye to look on.

those lily rounds which ceaseless hold their moving, From whence my prisoned eyes would ne'er be gone; which to such beauties are exceeding loving.

O that I might but press their dainty swelling!

and thence depart, to which must now be hidden,
And which my crimson verse abstains from telling;
because by chaste ears, I am so forbidden.
There, in the crystal-pavèd Vale of Pleasure,
Lies locked up, a world of richest treasure.

and stop the sluice of their uncessant flowing;
I laid me down; when each one 'gan to rise:
new risen Sol his flame-like countenance shewing.
But Grief, though drowsy ever, yet never sleeps ;
but still admits fresh intercourse of thought:
Duly the passage of each hour he keeps,

nor would he suffer me with sleep be caught.
Some broken slumbers, MORPHEUS had lent
(who greatly pitièd my want of rest);

Whereat my heart, a thousand thanks him sent :
and vowed, to serve him he was ready prest.
Let restless nights, days, hours do their spite;
I'll love her still! and Love for me shall fight!

SONNET XXXIV.

Hy should a Maiden's heart be of that proof
as to resist the sharp-pointed dart of Love?
My Mistress' eye kills strongest man aloof;
methinks, he's weak, that cannot quail a Dove!
A lovely Dove so fair and so divine,

able to make what cynic soe'er liveth,

Upon his knees, to beg of their bright eyen,

one smiling look, which life from death reviveth. The frozen heart of cold ZENOCRATES

had been dissolvèd into hot Desire,

Had PHRYNE cast such sunbeams from her eyes
(such eyes are cause that my heart flames in fire!):

And yet with patience I must take my woe;
In that my dearest Love will have it so.

R. L[inche?] 1596

E

DIELLA.

SONNET XXXV

ND this enchantment, Love! of my desires!
let me no longer languish for thy love!
Joy not, to see me thus consume in fires!
but let my cruel pains, thy hard heart move!
And now, at last, with pitiful regard,

eye me, thy lover! 'lorn for lack of thee!
Which, dying, lives in hope of sweet reward,
which hate hath hitherto withheld from me.
Constant have I been, still in Fancy fast,
ordained by heavens to doat upon my Fair,
Nor will I e'er, so long as life shall last,

say any "'s fairer ! breathing vital air."
But when the ocean sands shall lie unwet;
That shall my soul, to love thee, Dear! forget!

207

SONNET XXXVI.

JONG did I wish, before I could attain

the looked-for sight, I so desired to see; Too soon, at last I saw what bred my bane, and ever since hath sore tormented me.

I saw Herself, whom had I never seen,

my wealth of bliss had not been turned to bale.
Greedy regard of Her, my heart's sole queen,
hath changed my summer's sun to winter's hail.
How oft have I, since that first fatal hour,

beheld her all-fair shape with begging eye,
Till She, unkind, hath killed me with a lower,
and bade my humble-suing looks look by.
O pity me, fair Love! and highest fame
Shall blazèd be, in honour of thy name.