‘ “Among the many that mine eyes have seen,

Not one whose flame my heart so much as warmed

Or my affection put to th’ smallest teen,

Or any of my leisures ever charmed.

Harm have I done to them, but ne’er was harmed;

Kept hearts in liveries, but mine own was free,

And reigned commanding in his monarchy.

‘ “Look here what tributes wounded fancies sent me

Of pallid pearls and rubies red as blood,

Figuring that they their passions likewise lent me

Of grief and blushes, aptly understood

In bloodless white and the encrimsoned mood—

Effects of terror and dear modesty,

Encamped in hearts, but fighting outwardly.

‘ “And lo, behold, these talents of their hair,

With twisted mettle amorously impleached,

I have received from many a several fair,

Their kind acceptance weepingly beseeched,

With th’annexations of fair gems enriched,

And deep-brained sonnets that did amplify

Each stone’s dear nature, worth, and quality.

‘ “The diamond?—why, ’twas beautiful and hard,

Whereto his invised properties did tend;

The deep-green em’rald, in whose fresh regard

Weak sights their sickly radiance do amend;

The heaven-hued sapphire and the opal blend

With objects manifold; each several stone,

With wit well blazoned, smiled or made some moan.

‘ “Lo, all these trophies of affections hot,

Of pensived and subdued desires the tender,

Nature hath charged me that I hoard them not,

But yield them up where I myself must render—

That is to you, my origin and ender;

For these of force must your oblations be,

Since I their altar, you enpatron me.

‘ “O then advance of yours that phraseless hand

Whose white weighs down the airy scale of praise.

Take all these similes to your own command,

Hallowed with sighs that burning lungs did raise.

What me, your minister for you, obeys,

Works under you, and to your audit comes

Their distract parcels in combined sums.

‘ “Lo, this device was sent me from a nun,

A sister sanctified of holiest note,

Which late her noble suit in court did shun,

Whose rarest havings made the blossoms dote;

For she was sought by spirits of richest coat,

But kept cold distance, and did thence remove

To spend her living in eternal love.

‘ “But O, my sweet, what labour is’t to leave

The thing we have not, mast’ring what not strives,

Planing the place which did no form receive,

Playing patient sports in unconstrained gyves!

She that her fame so to herself contrives

The scars of battle scapeth by the flight,

And makes her absence valiant, not her might.

‘ “O, pardon me, in that my boast is true!

The accident which brought me to her eye

Upon the moment did her force subdue,

And now she would the caged cloister fly.

Religious love put out religion’s eye.

Not to be tempted would she be immured,

And now, to tempt, all liberty procured.

‘ “How mighty then you are, O hear me tell!

The broken bosoms that to me belong

Have emptied all their fountains in my well,

And mine I pour your ocean all among.

I strong o’er them, and you o’er me being strong,

Must for your victory us all congest,

As compound love to physic your cold breast.

‘ “My parts had power to charm a sacred nun,

Who disciplined, ay dieted in grace,

Believed her eyes when they t’ assail begun,

All vows and consecrations giving place.

O most potential love: vow, bond, nor space

In thee hath neither sting, knot, nor confine,

For thou art all, and all things else are thine.

‘ “When thou impressest, what are precepts worth

Of stale example? When thou wilt inflame,

How coldly those impediments stand forth

Of wealth, of filial fear, law, kindred, fame.

Love’s arms are peace, ’gainst rule, ‘gainst sense,

’gainst shame;

And sweetens in the suff’ring pangs it bears

The aloes of all forces, shocks, and fears.

‘ “Now all these hearts that do on mine depend,

Feeling it break, with bleeding groans they pine,

And supplicant their sighs to you extend

To leave the batt’ry that you make ’gainst mine,

Lending soft audience to my sweet design,

And credent soul to that strong-bonded oath

That shall prefer and undertake my troth.”

‘This said, his wat’ry eyes he did dismount,

Whose sights till then were levelled on my face.

Each cheek a river running from a fount

With brinish current downward flowed apace.

O, how the channel to the stream gave grace,