Samuel Daniel

If so it hap this offspring of my care,
These fatal Anthems, sad and mournful Songs,
Come to their view, who like afflicted are;
Let them yet sigh their own, and moan my wrongs.

Fair is my love, and cruel as she's fair;
Her brow shades frowns, although her eyes are sunny;
Her smiles are lightning, though her pride despair;
And her disdains are gall, her favors honey.

Let others sing of Knights and Paladins In aged accents and untimely words,
Paint shadows in imaginary lines Which well the reach of their high wits records;
But I must sing of thee and those fair eyes;
Authentic shall my verse in…

Reign in my thoughts, fair hand, sweet eye, rare voice:
Possess me whole, my heart's triumvirate;
Yet heavy heart to make so hard a choice,
Of such as spoil thy poor afflicted stated.

Lo, here the impost of a faith unfeigning That love hath paid, and her disdain extorted,
Behold the message of my just complaining That shows the world how much my grief imported.
These tributary plaints fraught with desire,
I send…

Restore thy tresses to the golden ore,
Yield Citherea's son those arcs of love,
Bequeath the heav'ns the stars that I adore,
And to th'Orient do thy pearls remove.

These plaintive verses, the Posts of my desire,
Which haste for succour to her slow regard:
Bear not report of any slender fire,
Forging a grief to win a fame's reward.

If this be love, to draw a weary breath,
Paint on floods, till the shore, cry to th'air,
With downward looks still reading on the earth,
The sad memorials of my love's despair.

Come Time, the anchor-hold of my desire,
My last resort whereto my hopes appeal,
Cause once the date of her disdain t'expire;
Make her the sentence of her wrath repeal.

Let others sing of knights and paladins
In aged accents and untimely words;
Paint shadows in imaginary lines
Which well the reach of their high wits records:But I must sing of thee, and those fair eyes…

Look in my griefs, and blame me not to mourn,
From care to care that leads a life so bad;
Th'orphan of fortune, born to be her scorn,
Whose clouded brow doth make my days so sad.

Tears, vows, and prayers win the hardest heart:
Tears, vows, and prayers have I spent in vain;
Tears cannot soften flint, nor vows convert;
Prayers prevail not with a quaint disdain.

But love whilst that thou mayst be lov'd again,
Now whilst thy May hath fill'd thy lap with flowers;
Now, whilst thy beauty bears without a stain,
Now use thy Summer smiles ere Winter lours.

Look, Delia, how we 'steem the half-blown rose,
The image of thy blush and summer's honour,
Whilst in her tender green she doth enclose
That pure sweet beauty time bestows upon her.…

Whilst youth and error led my wand'ring mind And set my thoughts in heedless ways to range,
All unawares a goddes chaste I find,
Diana-like, to work my sudden change.
For her no sooner had my view bewray'd

VI
Let others sing of knights and paladines
In aged accents and untimely words;
Paint shadows in imaginary lines

Unto the boundless Ocean of thy beauty
Runs this poor river, charg'd with streams of zeal:
Returning thee the tribute of my duty,
Which here my love, my youth, my plaints reveal.…

O why doth Delia credit so her glass,
Gazing her beauty deign'd her by the skies,
And doth not rather look on him (alas) Whose state best shows the force of murd'ring eyes?
The broken tops of lofty trees declare The fury of a…

Those amber locks are those same nets, my dear,
Wherewith my liberty thou didst surprise;
Love was the flame that fired me so near;
The dart transpiercing were those crystal eyes.

O had she not been fair and thus unkind,
Then had no finger pointed at my lightness;
The world had never known what I do find,
And clouds obscure had shaded still her brightness.

Are they shadows that we see?
And can shadows pleasure give?
Pleasures only shadows be
Cast by bodies we conceive…

And yet I cannot reprehend the flight,
Or blame th'attempt presuming so to soar;
The mounting venture for a high delight Did make the honor of the fall the more.
For who gets wealth that puts not from the shore?

None other fame mine unambitious Muse Affected ever but t'eternize thee;
All other honors do my hopes refuse,
Which meaner priz'd and momentary be.
For God forbid I should my papers blot With mercenary lines, with servile pen

Like as the lute that joys or else dislikes As in his art that plays upon the same,
So sounds my Muse according as she strikes On my heart strings high tun'd unto her fame.
Her touch doth cause the warble of the sound Which here I yield…