Seccombe and Arber, comps. Elizabethan Sonnets. 1904.
A Lover’s Maze Giles Fletcher (1586?–1623)
T
Blind are my eyes:
New is my love:
Kind is that Fair:
Thus eyes and thoughts, that fairest Fair, my love;
Blind and untrue, unkind, unconstant prove.
Untrue my thoughts:
Blind are my eyes:
Not blind my eyes:
Thus eyes and thoughts, my dearest Fair, may view
In sight, in love, nor blind, nor yet untrue.
Old is my love:
Kind is that Fair:
Unkind that Fair:
Thus new my love, and still that Fair unkind,
Renews my love; and I no favour find.
Long are the nights:
Meet are the pangs:
Wronged is my heart:
Thus dreams and night, my heart, my pangs, and all,
In taste, in length, conspire to work my fall.
Unsweet my dreams:
Long are the nights:
Meet are the nights:
Thus dreams and nights, wherein my Love takes sport,
Are sweet, unsweet; are long, and yet too short.
Unmeet my pangs:
Wronged was my heart:
Not wronged. For why?
Thus you, my Love, unkindly cause this smart;
That will not love to ease my pangs and heart.
Done all my days:
Loud are my sighs:
Begun my death:
Thus looks and days, and sighs and death, might move
So kind, so fair, to give consent to love.
Not proud her look:
Done are my days:
Not done my days:
Thus looks and days increase this loving strife;
Not proud, not done, nor dead, nor giving life.
Not loud my sighs:
My death begun:
But not begun:
Thus sighs and death my heart no comfort give:
Both life deny, and both do make me live.
Wise are her words:
Cold are her lips:
Ice are those hands:
Thus smiles and words, her lips, her hands, and She
Bold, wise, cold, ice, love’s cruel torments, be.
Not bold her smiles:
Wise are her words:
Not wise her words:
Thus smiles and words, so cruel and so bold,
So blushing wise, my thoughts in prison hold.
Not cold her lips:
Ice are her hands:
Not ice her hands:
Thus lips and hands, cold ice, my sorrow bred;
Hands, warm white snow; and lips, cold cherry red.
Gold was her hair:
Tall was her shape:
Folding the arms:
Thus hair and shape, those folding arms and waist,
Did make me love; and loving made me waste.
Not small her waste:
Gold was her hair:
Not gold her hair:
Thus smallest waist, the greatest waste doth make;
And finest hair, most fast a lover take.
Not tall her shape:
Folding her arms:
Not folded arms:
Thus shape, and arms, with love my heart did fly;
That hers I am, and must be till I die.
Short was her stay:
Glad was her speech:
Sporting those toys:
Thus was my heart, with joy, speech, toys, and stay,
Possessed with love; and so stolen quite away.
Not sad her joy:
Short was her stay:
Long was her stay:
Thus joy and stay both crossed a lover’s sport;
The one was sad, the other too too short.
Not glad her speech:
Sporting her toys:
Not toys in sport:
Thus speech and toys my love began in jest:
Sweet, yield to love! and make thy servant blest!
Mark but the steps, which I imprinted have.
End but your love, whereas my thoughts begun:
So shall I joy, and you a Servant have.
If not, sweet Love, then this my suit deny:
So shall you live, and so your Servant die.