[Poem I]
When my Loue sweares that she is made of truth,
I doe beleeue her (though I know she lies)
That she might thinke me some vntutor'd youth,
Vnskilfull in the worlds false forgeries.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinkes me young,
Although I know my yeares be past the best:
I smiling, credite her false speaking toung,
Outfacing faults in Loue, with loues ill rest.
But wherefore sayes my Loue that she is young?
And wherefore say not I, that I am old?
O, Loues best habite is a soothing toung,
And Age (in Loue) loues not to haue yeares told.
  Therfore Ile lye with Loue, and Loue with me,
  Since that our faults in Loue thus smother'd be.

[Poem II]
Two Loues I haue, of Comfort, and Despaire,
That like two Spirits, do suggest me still:
My better Angell is a Man (right faire)
My worser spirite a Woman (colour'd ill.)
To winne me soone to hell, my Female euill
Tempteth my better Angell from my side,
And would corrupt my Saint to be a Diuell,
Wooing his purity with her faire pride.
And whether that my Angell be turnde feend,
Suspect I may (yet not directly tell:
For being both to me: both, to each friend,
I ghesse one Angell in anothers hell:
  The truth I shall not know, but liue in doubt,
  Till my bad Angell fire my good one out.

[Poem III]
Did not the heauenly Rhetorike of thine eie,
Gainst whom the world could not hold argum&ebar;t,
Perswade my hart to this false periurie:
Vowes for thee broke deserue not punishment.
A woman I forswore: but I will proue
Thou being a Goddesse, I forswore not thee:
My vow was earthly, thou a heauenly loue,
Thy grace being gainde, cures all disgrace in me.
My vow was breath, and breath a vapor is,
Then thou faire Sun, that on this earth doth shine,
Exhale this vapor vow, in thee it is:
If broken, then it is no fault of mine.
  If by me broke, what foole is not so wise
  To breake an Oath, to win a Paradise?

[Poem IV]
Sweet Cytherea, sitting by a Brooke,
With young Adonis, louely, fresh and greene,
Did court the Lad with many a louely looke,
Such lookes as none could looke but beauties queen.
She told him stories, to delight his eares:
She shew'd him fauors, to allure his eie:
To win his hart, she toucht him here and there,
Touches so soft still conquer chastitie.
But whether vnripe yeares did want conceit,
Or he refusde to take her figured proffer,
The tender nibler would not touch the bait,
But smile, and ieast, at euery gentle offer:
  Then fell she on her backe, faire queen, & toward
  He rose and ran away, ah foole too froward.

[Poem V]
If Loue make me forsworn, how shal I swere to loue?
O, neuer faith could hold, if not to beauty vowed:
Though to my selfe forsworn, to thee Ile constant proue,
those thoghts to me like Okes, to thee like Osiers bowed.
Studdy his byas leaues, and makes his booke thine eies,
where all those pleasures liue, that Art can comprehend:
If knowledge be the marke, to know thee shall suffice:
Wel learned is that toung that well can thee commend,
All ignorant that soule, that sees thee without wonder,
Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admyre:
Thine eye Ioues lightning seems, thy voice his dreadfull
which (not to anger bent) is musick & sweet fire (thunder
  Celestiall as thou art, O, do not loue that wrong:
  To sing heauens praise, with such an earthly toung.

[Poem VI]
Scarse had the Sunne dride vp the deawy morne,
And scarse the heard gone to the hedge for shade:
When Cytherea (all in Loue forlorne)
A longing tariance for Adonis made
Vnder an Osyer growing by a brooke,
A brooke, where Adon vsde to coole his spleene:
Hot was the day, she hotter that did looke
For his approch, that often there had beene.
Anon he comes, and throwes his Mantle by,
And stood starke naked on the brookes greene brim:
The Sunne look't on the world with glorious eie,
Yet not so wistly, as this Queene on him:
  He spying her, bounst in (whereas he stood)
  Oh Iove (quoth she) why was not I a flood?

[Poem VIII]
If Musicke and sweet Poetrie agree,
As they must needs (the Sister and the brother)
Then must the loue be great twixt thee and me,
Because thou lou'st the one, and I the other.
Dowland to thee is deere, whose heauenly tuch
Vpon the Lute, dooth rauish humane sense:
Spenser to me, whose deepe Conceit is such,
As passing all conceit, needs no defence.
Thou lou'st to heare the sweet melodious sound,
That Phœbus Lute (the Queene of Musicke) makes:
And I in deepe Delight am chiefly drownd,
When as himselfe to singing he betakes.
  One God is God of both (as Poets faine)
  One Knight loues Both, and both in thee remaine.

[Poem IX]
Faire was the morne, when the faire Queene of loue,
Paler for sorrow then her milke white Doue,
For Adons sake, a youngster proud and wilde,
Her stand she takes vpon a steepe vp hill.
Anon Adonis comes with horne and hounds,
She silly Queene, with more then loues good will,
Forbad the boy he should not passe those grounds,
Once (quoth she) did I see a faire sweet youth
Here in these brakes, deepe wounded with a Boare,
Deepe in the thigh a spectacle of ruth,
See in my thigh (quoth she) here was the sore,
  She shewed hers, he saw more wounds then one,
  And blushing fled, and left her all alone.

[Poem X]
Sweet Rose, faire flower, vntimely pluckt, soon faded,
Pluckt in the bud, and vaded in the spring.
Bright orient pearle, alacke too timely shaded,
Faire creature kilde too soon by Deaths sharpe sting:
  Like a greene plumbe that hangs vpon a tree:
  And fals (through winde) before the fall should be.
I weepe for thee, and yet no cause I haue,
For why: thou lefts me nothing in thy will.
And yet thou lefts me more then I did craue,
For why; I craued nothing of thee still:
  O yes (deare friend I pardon craue of thee,
  Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me.

[Poem XI]
Venus with Adonis sitting by her,
Vnder a Mirtle shade began to wooe him,
She told the youngling how god Mars did trie her,
And as he fell to her, she fell to him.
Euen thus (quoth she) the warlike god embrac't me:
And then she clipt Adonis in her armes:
Euen thus (quoth she) the warlike god vnlac't me,
As if the boy should vse like louing charmes:
Euen thus (quoth she) he seized on my lippes,
And with her lips on his did act the seizure:
And as she fetched breath, away he skips,
And would not take her meaning nor her pleasure.
  Ah, that I had my Lady at this bay:
  To kisse and clip me till I run away.

[Poem XII]
Crabbed age and youth cannot liue together,
Youth is full of pleasance, Age is full of care,
Youth like summer morne, Age like winter weather,
Youth like summer braue, Age like winter bare.
Youth is full of sport, Ages breath is short,
Youth is nimble, Age is lame
Youth is hot and bold, Age is weake and cold,
Youth is wild, and Age is tame.
  Age I doe abhor thee, Youth I doe adore thee,
    O my loue my loue is young:
  Age I doe defie thee. Oh sweet Shepheard hie thee:
    For me thinks thou staies too long.

[Poem XIII]
Beauty is but a vaine and doubtfull good,
A shining glosse, that vadeth sodainly,
A flower that dies, when first it gins to bud,
A brittle glasse, that's broken presently.
  A doubtfull good, a glosse, a glasse, a flower,
  Lost, vaded, broken, dead within an houre.
And as goods lost, are seld or neuer found,
As vaded glosse no rubbing will refresh:
As flowers dead, lie withered on the ground,
As broken glasse no symant can redresse.
  So beauty blemisht once, for euer lost,
  In spite of phisicke, painting, paine and cost.

[Poem XIV]
Good night, good rest, ah neither be my share,
She bad good night, that kept my rest away,
And daft me to a cabben hangde with care:
To descant on the doubts of my decay.
  Farewell (quoth she) and come againe to morrow
  Fare well I could not, for I supt with sorrow.
Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile,
In scorne or friendship, nill I conster whether:
'Tmay be she ioyd to ieast at my exile,
'Tmay be againe, to make me wander thither.
  Wander (a word) for shadowes like my selfe,
  As take the paine but cannot plucke the pelfe.

Lord how mine eies throw gazes to the East,
My hart doth charge the watch, the morning rise
Doth scite each mouing scence from idle rest,
Not daring trust the office of mine eies.
  While Philomela sits and sings, I sit and mark,
  And wish her layes were tuned like the larke.
For she doth welcome daylight with her ditte,
And driues away darke dreaming night:
The night so packt, I post vnto my pretty,
Hart hath his hope, and eies their wished sight,
  Sorrow changd to solace, and solace mixt with sorrow,
  For why, she sight, and bad me come to morrow.

Were I with her, the night would post too soone,
But now are minutes added to the houres.
To spite me now, ech minute seemes an houre,
Yet not for me, shine sun to succour flowers.
  Pack night, peep day, good day of night now borrow
  Short night to night, and length thy selfe to morrow.

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