The Works of Sir John Suckling in prose and verse/Sonnets

by John Suckling

SONNETS

I

1

Dost see how unregarded now

That piece of beauty passes?
There was a time when I did vow
To that alone;
But mark the fate of faces;5
The red and white works now no more on me
Than if it could not charm, or I not see.

2

And yet the face continues good,

And I have still desires,
Am still the selfsame flesh and blood,10
As apt to melt
And suffer from those fires;
O! some kind power unriddle where it lies,
Whether my heart be faulty, or her eyes?

3

She every day her man does kill,15

And I as often die;
Neither her power, then, nor my will
Can questioned be,
What is the mystery?
Sure Beauty's empires, like to greater states,20
Have certain periods set, and hidden fates.

II

1

Of thee, kind boy, I ask no red and white,

To make up my delight;
No odd becoming graces,
Black eyes, or little know-not-whats in faces;
Make me but mad enough, give me good store5
Of love for her I court:
I ask no more,
'Tis love in love that makes the sport.

2

There's no such thing as that we beauty call,

It is mere cosenage all;10
For though some long ago
Lik'd certain colours mingled so and so,
That doth not tie me now from choosing new:
If I a fancy take
To black and blue,15
That fancy doth it beauty make.

3

'Tis not the meat, but 'tis the appetite

Makes eating a delight,
And if I like one dish
More than another, that a pheasant is;20
What in our watches, that in us is found;
So to the height and nick
We up be wound,
No matter by what hand or trick.

III

1

O! for some honest lover's ghost,

Some kind unbodied post
Sent from the shades below!
I strangely long to know,
Whether the nobler chaplets wear,5
Those that their mistress' scorn did bear,
Or those that were us'd kindly.

2

For whatsoe'er they tell us here

To make those sufferings dear,
'Twill there I fear be found,10
That to the being crown'd
T' have loved alone will not suffice,
Unless we also have been wise,
And have our loves enjoy'd.

3

What posture can we think him in,15

That here unlov'd again
Departs, and 's thither gone
Where each sits by his own?
Or how can that elysium be,
Where I my mistress still must see20
Circled in others' arms?

4

For there the judges all are just,

And Sophonisba must
Be his whom she held dear,
Not his who lov'd her here:25
The sweet Philoclea, since she died,
Lies by her Pirocles his side,
Not by Amphialus.

5

Some bays, perchance, or myrtle bough,

For difference crowns the brow30
Of those kind souls that were
The noble martyrs here;
And if that be the only odds
(As who can tell?) ye kinder gods,
Give me the woman here.35