I. Unquiet thoughts

Unquiet thoughts your civill slaughter stint, And wrap your wrongs within a pensive hart: And you my tongue that maks my mouth a minte, And stamps my thoughts to coyne them words by arte: Be still for if you ever doo the like, Ile cut the string that maks the hammer strike.

But what can staie my thoughts they may not start, Or put my tongue in durance for to dye? When as these eies the keyes of mouth and harte Open the locke where all my love doth lye; Ile seale them up within their lids for ever, So thoughts and words and looks shall dye together,

How shall I then gaze on my mistresse eies? My thoughts must have som vent els hart wil break, My tongue would rust as in my mouth it lies If eyes and thoughts were free and that not speake. Speake then and tell the passions of desire Wich turns mine eies to floods, my thoughts to fire.

II. Who ever thinks or hopes of love for love

Who ever thinks or hopes of love for love, or who belov'd in *Cupids* lawes doth glorie, who joyes in vowes or vowes not to remove, who by this light-god hath not ben made sorry: Let him see me ecclipsed from my son With darke clowdes of an earth: Quite over runne.

Who thonks that sorrowes felte, desires hidden, Or humble faith in constant honor arm'd, Can keepe love from the friut that is forbidden, Who thinks that change is by entreatie charm'd Looking on me let him know loves delights Are treasures hid in caves, but kept by Sprights.

III. My thoughts are wingde with hops

My thoughts are wingde with hops, my hops with love, mount love unto the moone in cleerest night, and say as she doth in the heavens moove in earth so wanes and waxeth my delight: And whisper this but softly in her eares, hope oft doth hang the head, and trust shed teares.

And you my thoughts that some mistrust do carry, If for mistrust my mistrisse do you blame, Say though you alter, yet you do not varry, As she doth change, and yet remaine the same: Distrust doth enter harts, but not infect, And love is sweetest seasned with suspect.

If she for this with cloudes do maske her eies, And make the heavens darke with her disdaine, With windie sighes disperse them in the skies, Or with thy teares dissolves them into raine: Thoughts, hopes, and love returne to me no more, Till *Cynthia* shine as she hath done before.

IV. If my complaints could passions moove

If my complaints could passions moove, or make love see wherein I suffer wrong: my passions weare enough to proove, that my despayrs had governd me to long, O love I live and dye in thee thy griefe in my deepe sighes still speakes, thy wounds do freshly bleed in mee my hart for thy unkindnes breakes, yet thou doest hope when I despaire, and when I hope thou makst me hope in vaine. Thou saist thou canst my harmes repaire, yet for redresse thou letst me still complaine.

Can love be ritch and yet I want, Is love my judge and yet am I condemn'd? Thou plenty hast, yet me dost scant, Thou made a god, and yet thy power contemn'd. That I do live it is thy power, That I desire it is thy worth, I love doth make mens lives too soure Let me not love, nor live hence forth Die shall my hopes, but not my faith That you that of my fall may hearers be May here despaire, wich truly saith I was more true to love, then love to me.

V. Can shee excuse my wrongs with vertues cloake

Can shee excuse my wrongs with vertues cloake: Shall I call her good she proves unkind. Are those cleere fiers which vannish in to smoake: must I praise the leaves where no fruit I find. No no where shadowes do for bodies stand, thou maist be abusde if thy sight be dime. Cold love is like to words written on sand, or to bubbles which on the water swim. Wilt thou be thus abused still, seeing that she will right thee never if thou canst not ore come her will, thy love will be thus fruitles ever.

Was I so base that I might not aspire Unto those high joyes which she houlds from me. As they are high so high is my desire, If she this deny what can granted be. If she will yeeld to that which reason is, It is reasons will that love should be just, Deare make me happie still by granting this Or cut of delayes if that dye I must. Better a thousand times to dye Then for to live thus still tormented, Deare but remember it was I Who for thy sake did dye contented.

VI. Now o now I needs must part

Now O now I needs must part, parting though I obsent mourne, absence can no joye empart, joye once fled can not returne. While I live I needs must love, love lives not when hope is gone, now at last despayre doth prove, love devided loveth none:

Sad dispaire doth drive me hence, this dispaire unkindnes sends, If that parting be offence, it is she which then offendes.

Deare when I from thee am gone, Gone are all my joyes at once, I loved thee and thee alone In whose love I joyed once: And although your sight I leave, Sight wherein my joyes doo lye Till that death do sence bereave, Never shall affection dye.

Sad dispaire doth drive me hence, this dispaire unkindnes sends, If that parting be offence, it is she which then offendes.

Deare if I doe not returne, Love and I shall die togither, For my absence never mourne Whom you might have joyed ever: Part we must though now I dye, Die I doe to part with you, Him despayre doth cause to lie, Who both lived and dieth true.

Sad dispaire doth drive me hence, this dispaire unkindnes sends, If that parting be offence, it is she which then offendes.

VII. Deare if you change ile never chuse againe

Deare if you change ile never chuse againe, sweet if you shrinke Ile never thinke of love, Fayre if you faile, ile judge all beauty vaine, wise if to weake moe wits ile never prove. Deare, sweet, faire, wise change shrinke nor be not weake, and on my faith, my faith shall never breake.

Earth with her flowers shall sooner heav'n adorne, Heaven her bright stars through earths dim globe shall move Fire heate shall loose and frosts of flames be borne, Ayre made to shine as blacke as hell shall prove: Earth, heaven, fire, ayre, the world transform'd shall vew, E're I prove false to faith, or strange to you.

VIII. Burst forth my teares

Burst forth my teares assist my forward griefe, And shew what paine imperious love provokes: Kind tender lambes lament loves scant reliefe, and pine, since pensive care my freedome yoaks. O pine to see me pine py tender flocks.

Sad pining care that never may have peace, At beauties gate in hope of pitty knocks: But mercy sleeps while deepe disdaine encrease, And beautie hope in her faire boosome yoaks, O greive to heare my griefe, my tender flocks.

Like to the windes my sighes have winged been Yet are my sighes and sutes repaide with mocks I pleade, yet she repineth at my teene: O ruthles rigor harder the the rocks, That both the Shephard kils, & his poore flocks.

IX. Go christall teares

Go christall teares, like to the morning showers And sweetly weepe in to thy Ladies brest, and as the deawes revive the dropping flowers, so let your drops of pittie be adrest: To quicken up the thoughts of my desert, which sleeps to sound whilst I from her departe.

Hast haplesse sighs and let your burning breath Dissolve the Ice of her indurate harte, Whose frosen rigor like forgetfull death, Feeles never any touch of my desarte: Yet sighs and teares to her I sacryfise, Both from a spotles hart and pacient eyes.

X. Thinkst thou then by thy fayning

Thinkst thou then by thy fayning Sleepe with a proude disdaining, Or with thy craftie closing, thy cruell eyes reposing, To drive me from thy sight, when sleepe yeelds more delight, such harmles beauty gracing. And while sleepe fayned is, may not I steale a kisse, thy quiet armes embracing.

O that thy sleepe dissembled, Were to a trance resembled, Thy cruell eies deceiving, Of lively sence bereaving: Then should my love requite, Thy loves unkind despite, While fury triumpht bouldly In beauties sweet disgrace: And liv'd in deepe embrace: Of her that lov'de so couldly.

Should then my love aspiring, Forbidden joyes desiring: So farre exceede the duty That vertue owes to beauty? No, Love seeke not thy blisse, Beyond a simple kisse, For such deceits are harmeles, Yet kisse athousand fould, For kisses may be bould When lovely sleepe is armlesse.

XI. Come away, come sweet love

Come away, come swet love, The goulden morning breakes All the earth, all the ayre Of love and pleasure speakes, Teach thine armes then to embrace, And sweet rosie lips to kisse, And mixe our soules in mutuall blisse. Eies were made for beauties grace, Vewing ruing Love long pains, Procurd by beauties rude disdaine.

Come awaie come sweet love, The goulden morning wasts, While the son from his sphere, His fierie arrows casts: Making all the shadowes flie, Playing, staying in the grove, To entertaine the stealth of love, Thither sweet love let us hie, Flying, dying, in desire, Wingd with sweet hopes and heav'nly fire.

Come away, come sweet love, Doe not in vaine adorne, Beauties grace that should rise, Like to the naked morne: Lillies on the rivers side, And faire Cyprian flowers new blowne, Desire no beauties but their owne, Ornament is nurce of pride, Pleasure, measure, loves delight, Hast then sweet love our wished flight.

XII. Rest a while you cruell cares

Rest a while you cruell cares, be not more severe then love beauty kils and beautie spares, and sweet smiles sad sighs remove: Laura fayre queen, of my delight, Come grant me love in loves despite, and if I ever faile to honor thee: Let this heavenly sight I see, Be as darke as hel to me.

If I speake my words want waite, Am I mute, my hart doth breake, If I sigh she feares deceit, Sorrow then for me must speake: Cruel, unkind, with favour view, The wound that first was made by you: And if my torments fained be, Let this heavenly light I see, Be as darke as bell to me.

Never houre of pleasing rest, Shall revive my dying ghost, Till my soule hath repossest, The sweet hope which love hath lost: Laura redeeme the soule that dies, By fury of thy murdering eies, And if it proves unkind to thee, Let this heavenly light I see, Be as darke as bell to me.

XIII. Sleep wayward thoughts

Sleep wayward thoughts, and rest you with my love, Let not my love, be with my love diseads. Touch not proud hands, lest you her anger move, But pine you with my longings long displeasd. Thus wile she sleeps I sorrow for her sake, So sleeps my love, and yet my love doth wake.

But o the fury of my restles feare, The hidden anguish of my flesh desires, The glories and the beauties that appeare, Between her browes neere *Cupids* closed fires Thus while she sleeps moves sighing for hir sake So sleepes my love, and yet my love doth wake.

My love doth rage, and yet my love doth rest, Feare in my love, and yet my love secure, Peace in my love, and yet my love opprest, Impatient yet of perfect temprature, Sleepe dainty love, while I sigh for thy sake, So sleepes my love, and yet my love doth wake.

XIV. Al ye whom love or fortune hath betraide

Al ye whom love or fortune hath betraide, All ye that dreame of blisse but live in greif, Al ye whose hopes are evermore delaid, Al ye whose sighes or sicknes wants releife: Lend eares and teares to me most haples man, that sings my sorrewes like the dying Swanne.

Care that consumes the heart with inward paine, Paine that presents sad care in outward vew, Both tyrant like enforce me to complaine, But still in vaine, for none my plaints will rue, Teares, sighes and ceaseles cries alone I spend, My woe wants comfort, and my sorrow end.

XV. Wilt thou unkind thus reave me

Wilt thou unkind thus reave me of my harte, of my harte, and so leave me: Farewell. but yet or ere I part (O cruell) kiss me sweete sweete my Jewell.

Hope by disdayne growes chereles feare doth love, love doth feare, beautie peareles. Farewell. but yet or ere I part (O cruell) kiss me sweete sweete my Jewell.

If no delayes can move thee, life shall dye, death shall live still to love thee. Farewell. but yet or ere I part (O cruell) kiss me sweete sweete my Jewell.

Yet be thou mindfull ever, heate from fire, fire from heat none can sever. Farewell. but yet or ere I part (O cruell) kiss me sweete sweete my Jewell.

True love cannot be chainged, though delight from desert be estranged. Farewell. but yet or ere I part (O cruell) kiss me sweete sweete my Jewell.

XVI. Would my conceit that first enforst my woe

Would my conceit that first enforst my woe, or els mine eyes which still the same encrease, might be extinct, to end my sorrowes so which nowe are such as nothing can release: Whose life is death, whose sweet each change of sowre And eke whose hell renueth every houre.

Each houre amidst the deepe of hell I frie, Each houre I wast and wither where I sit, But that sweet houre wherein i wish to die, My hope alas may not enjoy it yet, Whose hope is such bereaved, of the blisse, Which unto all save me allotted is.

To all save me is free to live or die, To all save me remaineth hap or hope, But all perforce, I must abandon I, Sith Fortune still directs my hap a slope, Wherefore to neither hap nor hope I trust, But to my thralles I yelled, for so I must.

XVII. Come againe: sweet love doth now envite

Come againe: sweet love doth now envite, thy graces that refraine, to do me due delight, to see, to heare, to touch to kisse, to die, with thee againe in sweetest simphathy.

Come againe that I may cease to mourne, Through thy unkind disdaine, For now left and forlorne, I sit, I sigh, I weepe, I faind, I die, In deadly paine, and endless miserie.

All the day the sun that lends me shine, By frownes do cause me pine, And feeds me with delay: Her smiles, my springs, that makes my joies to grow, Her frowes the winters of my woe.

All the night, my sleepes are full of dreames, My eies are full of streames, My hart takes no delight: To see the fruits and joies that some do find, And marke the stormes are me asignd.

Out alas, my faith is ever true, Yet will she never rue, Wor yeeld me any grace: Her eies of fire, her hart of flint is made, Whom teares nor truth may once invade.

Gentle love draw forth thy wounding dart, Thou canst not pearce her hart, For I that do approve By sighs and teares more hote then are thy shafts: Did tempt while she for triumps laughs.

XVIII. His golden looks time hath to silver turnde

His golden looks time hath to siver turnde, O time too swift, O swiftnes never ceasing, his youth gainst time and age hath ever spurnd, but spurnd in vaine, youth waneth by encreasing: Beautie, strenght, youth are flowers but fading seene, Duty, Faith, Love are roots and ever greene.

His helmet now shall make a hive for bees, And lovers sonets turne to holy psalmes: A man of armes must now serve on his knees, And feed on prayers which are ages almes, But though from court to cotage he departe His saint is sure of his unspotted hart.

And when he saddest sits in homely Cell, Hele teach his swaines this Caroll for a songe, Blest be the harts that wish my soveraigne well, Curst be the soule that thinke her any wrong Goddes allow this aged man his right, To be your beadsman now that was your knight.

XIX. Awake sweet love thou art returnd

Awake sweet love thou art returnd, my hart which long in absence mournd lives nowe in perfect joy, Let love which never absent dies, now live for ever in her eyes when came my first annoy, only her selfe hath seemed faire, she only I could love, the onely drave me to dispaire when she unkind did prove. Dispayer did make me wish to die That I my joyes might end, she onely which did make me flie my state may now amend.

If she esteeme thee now ought worth, She will not grieve thy love henceforth, Which so dispaire hath proved, Dispaire hath proved now in me, That love will not unconstant be, Though long in vaine I loved. If she at last reward thy love. And all thy harmes repaire, Thy happinesse will sweeter prove, Raisde up from deepe dispaire. And if that now thou welcome be, When thou with her dost meete, She al this while but plaide with thee: To make thy joies more sweet.

XX. Come heavy sleepe

Come heavy sleepe, the Image of true death: And close up these my weary weeping eyes, whose spring of tears doth stop my vitall breath, And tears my hart with sorrows sigh swoln crys: Com and posses my tired thoghts, worne soule, that living dies, till thou one me bestoule.

Come shadow of my end: and shape of rest, Alied to death, child to this black fast night, Come thou and charme these rebels in my brest, Whose waking fancies doth my mind affright. O come sweet sleepe, come or I die for ever, Come ere my last sleepe, coms or come never.

XXI. Away with these selfe loving lads

Away with these selfe loving lads, whom *Cupids* arrowe never glads: Away poore soules that sigh and weepe In love of them that lie and sleepe, For *Cupid* is a medooe god, and forceth none to kisse the rod.

God *Cupids* shaft like destinie, Doth either good or ill decree: Desert is borne out of his bow, Reward upon his feet doth go, What fooles are they that have not knowne That love likes no lawes but his owne?

My song they be of Cyntihas praise, I weare her rings on hollidaies, On every tree I write her name, And every day I reade the same: Where honor, *Cupids* rivall is, There miracles are seene of his:

If *Cinthia* crave her ring of me, I blot her name out of the tree, If doubt do darken things held deere, Then well fare nothing once a yeere: For many run, but one must win, Fooles only hedge the Cuckoo in.

The worth that worthinesse should move Is love, which is the bowe of love, And love as well the foster can, As can the mighty Noble-man: Sweet Saint, tis true you worthie be, Yet without love nought worth to me.