None other fame mine unambitious Muse Affected ever but t'eternise thee; All other honours do my hopes refuse, Which meaner prized and momentary be. For God forbid I should my papers blot With mercenary lines with servile pen, Praising virtues in them that have them not, Basely attending on the hopes of men. No, no, my verse respects not Thames, nor theatres; Nor seeks it to be known unto the great; But Avon, poor in fame, and poor in waters, Shall have my song, where Delia hath her seat. Avon shall be my Thames, and she my song; No other prouder brooks shall hear my wrong. LVI Unhappy pen, and ill-accepted lines That intimate in vain my chaste desire, My chaste desire, which from dark sorrow shines, Enkindled by her eyes' celestial fire; Celestial fire, and unrespecting powers Which pity not the wounds made by their might, Showed in these lines, the work of careful hours, The sacrifice here offered to her sight. But since she weighs them not, this rests for me: I'll moan myself, and hide the wrong I have, And so content me that her frowns should be To m'infant style the cradle and the grave. What though my Muse no honour get thereby; Each bird sings to herself, and so will I. LVII Lo here the impost of a faith entire, That love doth pay, and her disdain extorts; Behold the message of a chaste desire That tells the world how much my grief imports. These tributary passions, beauty's due, I send those eyes, the cabinets of love; That cruelty herself might grieve to view Th'affliction her unkind disdain doth move. And how I live, cast down from off all mirth, Pensive, alone, only but with despair; My joys abortive perish in their birth, My griefs long-lived and care succeeding care. This is my state, and Delia's heart is such; I say no more, I fear I said too much. REJECTED SONNETS [The following four sonnets were Numbers 3, 10, 12 and 16 in Newman's edition of 1591. They do not appear in any other editions.] I The only bird alone that nature frames, When weary of the tedious life she lives, By fire dies, yet finds new life in flames, Her ashes to her shape new essence gives. When only I, the only wretched wight, Weary of life that breathes but sorrow's blast, Pursue the flame of such a beauty bright, That burns my heart, and yet my life still lasts. O sovereign light, that with thy sacred flame Consumes my life, revive me after this! And make me, with the happy bird, the same That dies to live, by favour of thy bliss! This deed of thine will show a goddess' power, In so long death to grant one living hour. II