Songes and sonettes, written by the right honorable Lorde Henry Haward late Earle of Surrey, and other

The louer describeth his whole state vnto his loue, and promising her his faith∣full good will: assureth him∣self of hers again.

THe Sunne when he hath spred his raies, And shewde his face ten thousand waies. Ten thousand thinges do then begin, To shew the life that they are in. The heauen shewes liuely art and hue, Of sundry shapes and colours new, And laughes vpon the earth anone. The earth as cold as any stone, Wet in the teares of her own kinde: Gins then to take a ioyfull minde. For well she feeles that out and out, The sunne doth warme her round about. And dries her children tenderly, And shewes them forth full orderly. The mountaines hye and how they stand, The valies and the great maine land. The trees, the herbes, the towers strong, The castels and the riuers long.

And euen for ••oy thus of this heate, She sheweth furth her pleasures great. And s••eepes no more but sendeth sorth Her c••ergions her own dere worth. To mount and flye vp to the ayre, Where then they ••ing in order fayre. And tell in sung ••••il merely, How they haue slept full quietly, That night about their mothers sides. And when they haue song more besides, Then fall they to their mothers breastes, Where els they fede or take their restes. The hunter then soundes out his horne, And rangeth straite through wood and corne. On hilles then shew the Ewe and Lambe, And euery yong one with his dambe. Then louers walke and tell their tale, Both of their blisse and of their bale. And how they serue, and how they do, And how their lady loues them to. Then tune the ••irdes their armonie. Then flocke the foule in companie. Then euery thing doth pleasure f••••de, In that that comfor••es all their kinde. No dreames do drench them of the night, Of foes that would them s••ea or bite. As Houndes to hunt them at the taile, Or men force them through hill and dale. The shepe then dreames not o•• the Woulf, The shipman forces not the goulf. The Lambe thinkes not the butchers knife. Should then bereue him of his life. For when the Sunne doth once run in, Then all their glad••es doth begin. And then their ski••s, and then their play So falles their sadnes the•• away. And thus all thinges haue comforting, In that that doth them comfort bring, Saue I alas, whom nei••her ••unne, Nor ought that God hath wrought and don, May comfort ought, as though I were A thing not made for comfort here.

For beyng absent from your sighte, Which are my ioy and whole delight My comfort and my pleasure to, How can I ioy how should I do? May sick men laugh that rore for paine? Ioy they in song that do complaine? Are martirs in their tormentes glad? Do pleasures please them that are mad? Then how may I in comfort be, That lacke the thing should comfort me. The blind man oft that lackes his sight, Complaines not most the lacke of light. But those that knewe their perfectnes, And then do misse ther blisfulnes. In martirs tunes they syng and waile, The want of that which doth them faile. And hereof comes that in my braines, So many fansies worke my paines For when I wayghe your worthynes, Your wisdome and your gentlnes, Your vertues and your sundry grace, And minde the countenaunce of your face, And how that you are she alone, To whom I must both plaine and mone. whom I do loue and must do still. whom I embrace and ay so wil, To serue and please you as I can, As may a wofull faithful man. And finde my selfe so far you fro. God knowes what torment, and what wo, My rufull hart doth then imbrace. The blood then chaungeth in my face. My synnewes dull, in ••ompes I stand. No life I fele in fo••e nor hand. As pale as any clout and ded, Lo sodenly the blood orespred, And gon againe it uill so bide. And thus from life to death I slide As colde sometymes as any stone, And then againe as hote anone. Thus comes and goes my sundry fits, To geue me sundri sortes of wits.

Till that a sigh becomes my frende, And then to all this wo doth ende. And sure I thinke that sigh doth roon, From me to you where ay you woon. For well I finde it easeth me, And cettes much it pleaseth me, To think that it doth come to you, As would to God it could so do. For then I know you would soone finde, By sent and sauour of the winde. That euen a martirs sigh it is, Whose ioy you are and all his blis. His comfort and his pleasure eke, And euen the same that he doth seke. The same that he doth wishe and craue, The same that he doth trust to haue. To tender you in all he may, And all your likinges to obey, As farre as in his powre shall lye: Till death shall darte him for to dye. But wealeaway mine owne most best, My ioy, my comfort, and my rest. The causer of my wo and smart, And yet the pleaser of my hart. And she that on the earth aboue: Is euen the worthiest for to loue. Heare now my plaint, heare now my wo. Heare now his paine that loues you so. And if your hart do pitie beare, Pitie the cause that you shall heare. A dolefull foe in all this doubt, Who leaues me not but sekes me out, Of wretched forme and lothsome face, While I stand in this wofull case: Comes forth and takes me by the hand, And saies frende harke and vnderstand. I see well by thy port and chere, And by thy lokes and thy manere, And by thy sadnes as thou goest, And by the sighes that thou outthrowes•••• That thou art stuffed full of wo, The cause I thinke I do well know.

A fantaser thou art of some, By whom thy wits are ouercome. But hast thou red old pamphlets ought? Or hast thou known how bokes haue taught That loue doth vse to such as thow, When they do thinke them safe ••now. And certain of their ladies grace: Hast thou not sene oft tunes the case, That sodenly there hap hath turnde, As thinges in flame consumde and burnde? Some by disceite forsaken right. Some likwise changed of fansy light. And some by absence sone forgot. The lottes in loue, why knowest thou not? And tho that she be now thine own: And knowes the well as may be knowne. And thinkes the to be such a one, As she likes best to be her own. Thinkes thou that others haue not grace, To shew and plain their wofull case. And chose her for their lady now, And swere her trouth as well as thow. And what if she do alter minde? Where is the loue that thou wouldest finde? Absence my frende workes wonders oft. Now bringes full low that lay full loft. Now turnes the minde now to and fro, And where art thou if it were so? If basence (quod I) be marueilous, I finde her not so dangerous. For she may not remoue me fro, The ••••ore good will that I do owe To her, whom vnneth I loue and shall. And chosen haue aboue them all, To serue and be her own as far, As any man may offer her. And will her serue, and will her loue, As lowly as it shall behoue. And dye her own if fate be so. Thus shall my hart nay part her fr••. And wilnes shall my good will be, That absence takes her not from me.

But that my loue doth still encrease, To minde her still and neuer cease. Aud what I feele to be in me, The same good will I think hath she, As firme and fast to biden ay, Till death depart vs both away. And as I haue my tale thus told, S••••ps vnto me with countenance bold: A stedfast frende a counsellour, And namde is Hope my comfortour. And stoutly then he speakes and saies: Thou hast sayde trouth withouten nayes. For I assure thee euen by othe, And theron take my hand and trothe. That she is one the worthiest, The truest and the faithfullest. The gentlest and the meekest of minde: That here on earth a man may finde, And if that loue and trouth were gone, In her it might be found alone. For in her minde no thought there is, But how she may be true ••wis. And tenders thee and all thy heale, And wisheth both thy health and weale. And loues thee euen as farforth than, As any woman may a man, And is thine own and so she saies, And cares for thee ten thousand waies. On thee she speakes, on thee she thinkes, With thee she eates, with thee she drinkes. With thee she talkes, with thee she mones, With thee she sighes, with thee she grones. With thee she saies farewell mine own. When thou God knowes full farre art gon. And euen to tell thee all aright, To thee she saies full oft good night. And names thee oft, her owne most dere, Her comfort weale and al her chere. And telles her pelow al the tale, How thou hast doon her wo and bale, And how she longes and plaines for the, And saies why art thou so from me?

Am I not she that loues the best? Do I not wish thine ease and test? Seke I not how I may the please? Why art thou then so from thine ease? If I be she for whom thou carest, For whom in tormentes so thou farest: Alas thou knowest to finde me here, Where I remaine thine owne most dere, Thine own most true thine owne most iust, Thine own that loues the styl and must. Thine own that cares alone for the, As thou I thinke dost care for me. And euen the woman she alone, That is full bent to be thine owne. What wilt thou more? what cāst thou craue? Since she is as thou wouldest her haue. Then set this driuell out of dore, That in thy braines such tales doth poore. Of absence and of chaunges straunge, Send him to those that vse to chaunge. For she is none I the auowe, And well thou maiest beleue me now. When hope hath thus his reason said, Lord how I fele me well apaide. A new blood then orespredes my bones, That al in ioy I stand at ones. My handes I throw to heuen aboue, And humbly thank the god of loue. That of his grace I should bestow, My loue so well as I it owe. And al the planets as they stand, I thanke them to with hart and hand. That their aspectes so frendly were, That I should so my good will bere. To you that are the worthiest, The fairest and the gentillest. And best can say, and best can do, That longes me thinkes a woman to. And therfore are most worthy far, To be beloued as you ar. And so saies hope in all his tale, Wherby he easeth all my bale.

For I beleue and thinke it true, That he doth speake or say of you. And thus contented lo I stand, With that that hope beares me in hand: That I am yours and shall so be, Which hope I kepe full sure in me. As he that all my comfort is, On you alone which are my blis. My pleasure chief which most I finde, And euen the whole ioy of my minde. And shall so be vntill the death, Shall make me yeld vp life and breath. Thus good mine own, lo here my trust. Lo here my truth and seruice iust. Lo in what case for you I stand. Lo how you haue me in your hand. And if you can requite a man, Requite me as you finde me than.