Astrophil and
Stella, Sonnet
92
Be your words made, good sir, of Indian ware,
That you
allow me them by so small
rate?
Or do
you cutted Spartans
imitate?
Or do you mean my tender ears to spare
That to my questions you so total are?
When I
demand of Phoenix Stella's
state,
You say,
forsooth, you left her well
of late:
O God, think you that satisfies my care?
I would
know whether she did sit or
walk;
How clothed, how waited on? Sighed
she
or smiled?
Whereof, with whom, how often did she talk?
With what pastime time's journey she beguiled?
If her
lips deigned to sweeten my
poor name?
Say all, and all well said, still say the same.
O dear life, when shall it be
Or if I myself find not,
After
parting, aught forgot,
Nor debarred from
beauty’s
treasure,
Let no
tongue aspire to tell,
In
what high joys I shall dwell;
Only
thought aims at the pleasure.
Thought, therefore, I will send thee
To
take up the place for me;
Long I
will not after tarry.
There
unseen thou may’st be
bold
Those
fair wonders to behold
Which
in them my hopes do carry.
Thought, see thou no place forbear,
Enter
bravely everywhere,
Seize
on all to her belonging;
But if
thou wouldst guarded be,
Fearing
her beams, take with thee
Strength
of liking, rage of longing.
Think of that most grateful time
When
my leaping heart will climb
In her
lips to have his biding:
There
those roses for to kiss,
Which
do breath a sugared bliss,
Opening
rubies, pearls dividing.
Think of my most princely power,
When I
blessed shall devour
With
my greedy lickerous senses
Beauty,
music, sweetness, love,
While
she doth against me prove
Her
strong darts but
weak defenses.
Think, think of those dallyings,
When
with dove-like murmurings,
With
glad moaning passed anguish,
We
change eyes, and heart for heart,
Each
to other do impart,
Joying till
joy make us
languish.
O my thought, my thoughts surcease;
Thy
delights my woes increase,
My
life melts with too much
thinking.
Think
no more, but die in me,
Till
thou shalt revived be
At her
lips my nectar drinking.