Gulling Sonnets.

“Mr Davyes.” (Sir John Davies)

To his good friend Sir Anthony Cooke.
Here my chameleon Muse herself doth change
To diverse shapes of gross absurdities,
And like an antick mocks with fashion strange
The fond admirers of lewd gulleries.
Your judgment sees with pity and with scorn
The bastard sonnets of these rhymers base,
Which in this whisking age are daily born
To their own shames and Poetry’s disgrace.
Yet some praise those, and some perhaps will praise
Even these of mine: and therefore these I send
To you that pass in Court your glorious days,
That if some rich, rash gull these rhymes commend,
Thus you may set his formal wit to school,
Use your owne grace, and beg him for a fool.
Gulling Sonnets.
The lover under burden of his mistress love,
Which like to Ætna did his heart oppress,
Did give such piteous groans that he did move
The heav’ns at length to pity his distress.
But for the fates in their high Court above
Forbad to make the grevious burden less,
The gracious powers did all conspire to prove
If miracle this mischief might redress.
Therefore regarding that the load was such
As no man might with one man’s might sustain,
And that mild patience imported much
To him that should endure an endless pain,
By their decree he soon transformed was:
Into a patient burden-bearing ass.
As when the bright Cerulian firmament
Hath not his glory with black clouds defac’d,
So were my thoughts void of all discontent
And with no mist of passions overcast;
They all were pure and clear, till at the last
An idle, carless thought forth wand’ring went,
And of that poisonous beauty took a taste
Which does the hearts of lovers so torment.
Then as it chanceth in a flock of sheep
When some contagious ill breeds first in one,
Daily it spreds, and secretly doth creep
Till all the silly troupe be overgone;
So by close neighborhood within my breast,
One scurvy thought infecteth all the rest.
What Eagle can behold her sunbright eye,
Her sunbright eye that lights the world with love,
The world of love wherein I live and die,
I live and die and diverse changes prove;
I changes prove, yet still the same am I,
The same am I and never will remove,
Never remove until my soul doth fly,
My soul doth fly and I surcease to move;
I cease to move which now am mov’d by you,
Am mov’d by you that move all mortal hearts,
All mortal hearts whose eyes your eyes doth view,
Your eyes doth view whence Cupid shoots his darts,
Whence Cupid shoots his darts and woundeth those
That honor you and never were his foes.
The hardness of her heart and truth of mine
When the all seeing eyes of heaven did see,
They straight concluded that by power divine
To other forms our hearts should turned be:
Then hers as hard as flint, a flint became,
And mine as true as steel, to steel was turned,
And then between our heart sprung forth the flame
Of kindest love which unextinguish’d burned.
And long the sacred lamp of mutual love
Incessantly did burn in glory bright,
Until my folly did her fury move
To recompense my service with despite,
And to put out, with snuffers of her pride,
The lamp of love which else had never died.
Mine Eye, mine eare, my will, my wit, my heart,
Did see, did hear, did like, discern, did love,
Her face, her speech, her fashion, judgment, art,
Which did charm, please, delight, confound and move.
Then fancy, humor, love, conceit, and thought
Did so draw, force, entice, persuade, devise,
That she was won, mov’d, carried, compass’d, wrought,
To think me kind, true, comely, valiant, wise.
That heaven, earth, hell, my folly and her pride
Did work, contrive, labor, conspire and swear
To make me scorn’d, vile, cast off, base, defied
With her my love, my light, my life, my dear;
So that my heart, my wit, will, ear, and eye
Doth grieve, lament, sorrow, despair and die.
The sacred Muse that first made love divine
Hath made him naked and without attire;
But I will clothe him with this pen of mine
That all the world his fashion shall admire:
His hat of hope, his band of beauty fine,
His cloak of craft, his doublet of desire;
Grief for a girdle shall about him twine;
His points of pride, his eyeletholes of ire,
His hose of hate, his codpiece of conceit,
His stockings of stern strife, his shirt of shame;
His garters of vain glory, gay and slight,
His pantofles of passions I will frame;
Pumps of presumption shall adorn his feet,
And socks of sullenness exceeding sweet.
Into the Middle Temple of my heart
The wanton Cupid did himself admit,
And gave for pledge your eagle-sighted wit
That he would play no rude uncivil part.
Longe time he cloak’d his nature with his art,
And sad, and grave, and sober he did sit;
But at the last he ’gan to revel it,
To break good rules, and orders to pervert.
Then love and his young pledge were both convented
Before sad Reason, that old bencher grave,
Who this sad sentence unto him presented
By diligence, that sly and secret knave:
That love and wit for ever should depart
Out of the Middle Temple of my heart.
My case is this, I love Zepheria bright.
Of her I hold my heart by fealty
Which I discharge to her perpetually,
Yet she thereof will never me accquite.
For now supposing I withhold her right,
She hath distrain’d my heart to satisfy
The duty which I never did deny,
And far away impounds it with despite.
I labor therefore justly to repleve
My heart which she unjustly doth impound,
But quick conceit which now is love’s high sh’riff
Returns it as esloign’d, not to be found;
Then, which the law affords, I only crave
Her heart for mine in withernam to have.
To Love my lord I do knight’s service owe,
And therefore now he hath my wit in ward;
But while it is in his tuition so
Me thinks he doth entreat it passing hard.
For though he hath it married long ago
To Vanity (a wench of no regard)
And now to full and perfect age doth grow,
Yet now of freedom, it is most debarr’d.
But why should Love, after minority,
When I am past the one and twentieth year,
Perclude my wit of his sweet liberty
And make it still the yoke of wardship bear?
I fear he hath another title got,
And holds my wit now for an Idiot.