I live, sweet love, whereas the gentle wind Murmurs with sport in midst of thickest boughs, Where loving woodbine doth the harbor bind, And chirping birds do echo forth my vows; Where strongest elm can scarce support the vine, And sweetest flowers enameled have the ground; Where Muses dwell; and yet hereat repine That on the earth so rare a place was found. But winds delight, I wish to be content; I praise the woodbine, but I take no joy; I moan the birds that music thus have spent; As for the rest, they breed but mine annoy. Live then, fair Licia, in this place alone; Then shall I joy though all of these were gone.
The crystal stream wherein my love did swim, Melted in tears as partners of my woe; Her shine was such as did the fountain dim, The pearl-like fountain whiter than the snow; Then like perfume, resolvèd with a heat, The fountain smoked, as if it thought to burn; A wonder strange to see the cold so great, And yet the fountain into smoke to turn. I searched the cause, and found it to be this: She touched the water, and it burned with love. Now by her means it purchased hath that bliss, Which all diseases quickly can remove. Then if by you these streams thus blessèd be, Sweet, grant me love, and be not worse to me.
In time the strong and stately turrets fall, In time the rose and silver lilies die, In time the monarchs captive are and thrall, In time the sea and rivers are made dry; The hardest flint in time doth melt asunder; Still living fame in time doth fade away; The mountains proud we see in time come under; And earth for age we see in time decay; The sun in time forgets for to retire From out the east where he was wont to rise; The basest thoughts we see in time aspire, And greedy minds in time do wealth despise. Thus all, sweet fair, in time must have an end, Except thy beauty, virtues, and thy friend.
Why died I not whenas I last did sleep? O sleep too short that shadowed forth my dear! Heavens, hear my prayers, nor thus me waking keep! For this were heaven, if thus I sleeping were. For in that dark there shone a princely light; Two milk-white hills, both full of nectar sweet, Her ebon thighs, the wonder of my sight, Where all my senses with their objects meet,-- I pass these sports, in secret that are best, Wherein my thoughts did seem alive to be; We both did strive, and weary both did rest; I kissed her still, and still she kissèd me. Heavens, let me sleep, and shows my senses feed, Or let me wake and happy be indeed!