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566 AMGRETTI
W
SONNET XXI
SONNET XXIIII
W
As it the worke of nature or of Art,
Hen I behold that beauties wonderment,
which tempred so the feature of her face, And rare perfection of each goodly part
that pride and meeknesse mixt byequall part, of natures skill the onely complement,
doe bothappeare t'adorne her beauties grace ? I honor and admire the makers art
For with mild pleasance, which doth pride But when I feele the bitter balefull smart,
displace,
which her fayre eyes vnwares doe worke m
she to her loue doth lookers eyes allure mee
and with sterne countenance back again doth that death out of theyr shiny beames doe
chace
dart,
their looser lookes that stir vp lustes impure I thmke that I a new Pandora see,
With such strange termes her eyes she doth Whom all the Gods in counccll did agree,
inure,
into this smfull world from heauen to send
that with one looke she doth my life dismay that she to wicked men a scourge should bee,
and with another doth it streight recure, for all their faults with which they did offend
her smile me drawes, her frowne me driues But since ye are my scourge I will intreat,
away
thai for my faults ye will me gently beat
Thus doth she traine and teach me with her
lookes,
such art of eyes I neuer read in bookes
SONNET XXV
T
H SONNET XXII
Ow long shall this lyke dying lyfe endure,
His holy season fit to fast and pray,
And know no end of her owne mysery
Men to deuotion ought to be mclynd but wast and weare away in termes vnsure,
therefore, I lykewise on so holy day, twixt feare and hope depending doubtfully
for my sweet Saynt some seruice fit will find Yet better were attonce to let me die,
Her temple fayre is built within my mind, and shew the last ensample of your pride
in which her glorious ymage placed is, then to torment me thus with cruelty,
on which my thoughts doo day and night to proue your powre, which I too wel haue
attend
tnde
lyke sacred priests that neuer thmke amisse But yet if in your hardned brest ye hide,
There I to her as th'author of my blisse, a close intent at last to shew me grace
will builde an altar to appease her yre then all the woes and wrecks which I abide,
and on the same my hart will sacnfisc, as meanes of blisse I gladly wil embrace
burning m flames of pure and chast desyre And wish that more and greater they might be,
The which vouchsafe 0 goddesse to accept, that greater meede at List may turne to mee
amongst thy deerest rehcks to be kept
P
SONNET XXIII
SONNET XXVI
S Enelope for her Vltsses sake,
Weet is the Rose, but grow cs vpon a brere ,
Deuiz'd a Web her wooers to deceaue Sweet is the Iunipere, but sharpe his bough,
in which the worke that she all day did make sweet is the Eglantine, but pnckcth nere,
the same at night she did againe vnreaue sweet is the nrbloome, but his braunchcs
Such subtile craft my Damzell doth conceaue, rough
th'importune suit of my desire to shonne Sweet is the Cyprcsse, but his rynd is tough,
for all that I in many dayes doo weaue, sweet is the nut, but bitter is his pill,
in one short houre I find by her vndonne sweet is the broome flowre, but yet sowrc
So when I thmke to end that I begonne, enough,
I must begin and neuer bring to end and sweet is Moly, but his root is ill
for with one lookeshespils that long I sponne, So euery sweet with soure is tempred still,
and with one word my whole yeares work that maketh it be coueted the more
doth rend
for easie things that may be got at will,
Such labour like the Spyders web I fynd, most sorts of men doe set but little store
whose fruitlesse worke is broken with least Why then should I accoumpt of little pame,
wynd
that endlesse pleasure shall vnto me game