S O N N E T S.

T Hat God forbid,that made me first your slaue,
I should in thought controule your times of pleasure,
Or at your hand th' account of houres to craue,
Being your vassail bound to staie your leisure.
Oh let me suffer(being at your beck)
Th' imprison'd absence of your libertie,
And patience tame,to sufferance bide each check,
Without accusing you of iniury.
Be where you list,your charter is so strong,
That you your selfe may priuiledge your time
To what you will,to you it doth belong,
Your selfe to pardon of selfe-doing crime.
   I am to waite,though waiting so be hell,
   Not blame your pleasure be it ill or well.
I F their bee nothing new,but that which is,
Hath beene before , how are our braines beguild,
Which laboring for inuention beare amisse
The second burthen of a former child ?
Oh that record could with a back-ward looke,
Euen of fiue hundreth courses of the Sunne,
Show me your image in some antique booke,
Since minde at first in carrecter was done.
That I might see what the old world could say,
To this composed wonder of your frame,
Whether we are mended,or where better they,
Or whether reuolution be the same.
   Oh sure I am the wits of former daies,
   To subiects worse haue giuen admiring praise.
L Ike as the waues make towards the pibled shore,
So do our minuites hasten to their end,
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toile all forwards do contend.
Natiuity once in the maine of light.
E Crawls

[ Prev ] [ Contents ] [ Next ]