IX

THE LOVER'S OFFERING

ANG there, my verse, in witness of my love :

HANG

And thou, thrice-crownéd Queen of night,

survey

With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above, Thy huntress' name that my full life doth sway. O Rosalind! these trees shall be my books,

And in their barks my thoughts I'll character; That every eye which in this forest looks

Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where.
Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree
The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive She.

X

A SUPPLICATION

Sweet Mistress,-what your name is else, I

SWEET

know not,

Nor by what wonder you do hit of mine,

Less in your knowledge and your grace you show

not

Than our earth's wonder, more than earth, divine. Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak; Lay open to my earthy-gross conceit,

Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak,

The folded meaning of your words' deceit. Against my soul's pure truth why labour you To make it wander in an unknown field? Are you a god? would you create me new?

Transform me then, and to your power I'll yield!

XI

EROS AND ANTEROS

RT thou, god, to shepherd turn'd,

ART

That a maiden's heart hath burn'd?

Why, thy godhead laid apart,

Warr'st thou with a woman's heart?

Whiles the eye of man did woo me,
That could do no vengeance to me.
If the scorn of your bright eyne

Hath power to raise such love in mine,
Alack, in me what strange effect

Would they work in mild aspect !
Whiles you chid me, I did love;
How then might your prayers move!
He that brings this love to thee
Little knows this love in me :

And by him seal up thy mind;

Whether that thy youth and kind
Will the faithful offer take

Of me and all that I can make ;
Or else by him my love deny,
And then I'll study how to die.

XII

MORNING TEARS

So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not
To those fresh morning drops upon the rose,

As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote
The night of dew that on my cheeks down flows:

Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright
Through the transparent bosom of the deep,
As doth thy face through tears of mine give light;
Thou shinest in every tear that I do weep:

No drop but as a coach doth carry thee;
So ridest thou triumphing in my woe.
Do but behold the tears that swell in me,

And they thy glory through my grief will show :

But do not love thyself; then thou wilt keep
My tears for glasses, and still make me weep.
O Queen of queens! how far dost thou excel,
No thought can think, nor tongue of mortal tell.

XIII

PRAISE OF THE MISTRESS

IF love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to

love?

Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty

vow'd!

Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll faithful

prove;

Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like

osiers bow'd.

Study his bias leaves and makes his book thine

eyes,

Where all those pleasures live that art would

comprehend :

If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall

suffice;