Come, Sleep; O Sleep! the certain knot of peace,The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe,The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release,Th' indifferent judge between the high and low;With shield of proof shield me from out the preaseOf those fierce darts Despair at me doth throw.
But hereto is replied that the poets give names to men they write of, which argueth a conceit of an actual truth, and so, not being true, proveth a falsehood. And doth the lawyer lie then, when, under the names of John of the Stile, and John of the Nokes, he putteth his case? But that is easily answered: their naming of men is but to make their picture the more lively, and not to build any history. Painting men, they cannot leave men nameless. We see we cannot play at chess but that we must give names to our chess-men; and yet, me thinks, he were a very partial champion of truth that would say we lied for giving a piece of wood the reverend title of a bishop.
Stella, the only planet of my light,Light of my life, and life of my desire,Chief good, whereto my hope doth only aspire,World of my wealth, and heav'n of my delight:Why dost thou spend the treasure of thy sprite,With voice more fit to wed Amphion's lyre,Seeking to quench in me the noble fireFed by thy worth, and kindled by thy sight?And all in vain, for while thy breath most sweet,With choicest words, thy words with reasons rare,Thy reasons firmly set on Virtue's feet,Labor to kill in me this killing care:Oh, think I then, what paradise of joyIt is, so fair a Virtue to enjoy.
Leave me, O Love, which reachest but to dust,And thou, my mind, aspire to higher things!Grow rich in that which never taketh rust:Whatever fades, but fading pleasure brings.Draw in thy beams, and humble all thy mightTo that sweet yoke where lasting freedoms be;Which breaks the clouds, and opens forth the light,That doth both shine, and give us sight to see.