The Stoicks thinke, (and they come neere the truth,) That vertue is the chiefest good of all, The Academicks on _Idea_ call. The Epicures in pleasure spend their youth, The Perrepatetickes iudge felicitie, To be the chiefest good aboue all other, One man, thinks this: and that conceaues another: So that in one thing very few agree. Let Stoicks haue their Vertue if they will, And all the rest their chiefe-supposed good, Let cruell Martialists delight in blood, And Mysers ioy their bags with gold to fill: My chiefest good, my chiefe felicity, Is to be gazing on my loues faire eie. _SONNET. IIII._ [Illustration] Two stars there are in one faire firmament, (Of some intitled _Ganymedes_ sweet face), VVhich other stars in brightnes doe disgrace, As much as _Po_ in clearenes passeth _Trent_. Nor are they common natur'd stars: for why, These stars when other shine vaile their pure light, And when all other vanish out of sight, They adde a glory to the worlds great eie. By these two stars my life is onely led, In them I place my ioy, in them my pleasure, Loue's piercing Darts, and Natures precious treasure With their sweet foode my fainting soule is fed: Then when my sunne is absent from my sight How can it chuse (with me) but be dark night? _SONNET. V._ [Illustration] It is reported of faire _Thetis_ Sonne, (_Achilles_ famous for his chiualry, His noble minde and magnanimity,) That when the Troian wars were new begun, Whos'euer was deepe-wounded with his speare, Could neuer be recured of his maime, Nor euer after be made whole againe: Except with that speares rust he holpen were. Euen so it fareth with my fortune now, Who being wounded with his piercing eie, Must either thereby finde a remedy, Or els to be releeu'd, I know not how. Then if thou hast a minde still to annoy me, Kill me with kisses, if thou wilt destroy me. _SONNET. VI._ [Illustration] Sweet Corrall lips, where Nature's treasure lies, The balme of blisse, the soueraigne salue of sorrow, The secret touch of loues heart-burning arrow, Come quench my thirst or els poor _Daphnis_ dies. One night I dream'd (alas twas but a Dreame) That I did feele the sweetnes of the same, Where-with inspir'd, I young againe became, And from my heart a spring of blood did streame, But when I wak't, I found it nothing so, Saue that my limbs (me thought) did waxe more strong And I more lusty far, and far more yong. This gift on him rich Nature did bestow. Then if in dreaming so, I so did speede, What should I doe, if I did so indeede? _SONNET. VII._ [Illustration]