She said, that only for her sake, The best would venture life and limb: He said, she was too much deceiv'd; They honour'd her because of him. Long while, alas, she would not yield, But it was she that rul'd the roost;[1] Until by proof, she did confess, If he were gone, her joy was lost. And then she cried, "Oh, dainty love, I now do find it is for thee, That I am lov'd and honour'd both, And thou hast power to conquer me." But, when I heard her yield to love, Oh! how my heart did leap for joy! That now I had some little hope To have an end to mine annoy! But, as too soon, before the field The trumpets sound the overthrow, So all too soon I joy'd too much, For I awaked, and nothing saw.[2] [Transcriber's note 1: The original had 'roast'] [Footnote 2: Ellis reads _so_.] Love Foolish love is only folly; Wanton love is too unholy; Greedy love is covetous; Idle love is frivolous; But the gracious love is it That doth prove the work of it. Beauty but deceives the eye; Flattery leads the ear awry; Wealth doth but enchant the wit; Want, the overthrow of it; While in Wisdom's worthy grace, Virtue sees the sweetest face. There hath Love found out his life, Peace without all thought of strife; Kindness in Discretion's care; Truth, that clearly doth declare Faith doth in true fancy prove, Lust the excrements of Love. Then in faith may fancy see How my love may constru'd be; How it grows and what it seeks; How it lives and what it likes; So in highest grace regard it, Or in lowest scorn discard it. _The Passionate Shepherd._ Those eyes that hold the hand of every heart, That hand that holds the heart of every eye, That wit that goes beyond all Nature's art, The sense too deep for Wisdom to descry; That eye, that hand, that wit, that heavenly sense Doth show my only mistress' excellence. O eyes that pierce into the purest heart! O hands that hold the highest thoughts in thrall! O wit that weighs the depth of all desert! O sense that shews the secret sweet of all! The heaven of heavens with heavenly power preserve thee, Love but thyself, and give me leave to serve thee. To serve, to live to look upon those eyes, To look, to live to kiss that heavenly hand, To sound that wit that doth amaze the mind, To know that sense, no sense can understand, To understand that all the world may know, Such wit, such sense, eyes, hands, there are no moe. Sonnet