Amour 15

Now, Loue, if thou wilt proue a Conqueror,
Subdue thys Tyrant euer martyring mee;
And but appoint me for her Tormentor,
Then for a Monarch will I honour thee.
My hart shall be the prison for my fayre;
Ile fetter her in chaines of purest loue,
My sighs shall stop the passage of the ayre:
This punishment the pittilesse may moue.
With teares out of the Channels of mine eyes
She'st quench her thirst as duly as they fall:
Kinde words vnkindest meate I can deuise,
My sweet, my faire, my good, my best of all.
Ile binde her then with my torne-tressed haire,
And racke her with a thousand holy wishes;
Then, on a place prepared for her there,
Ile execute her with a thousand kisses.
    Thus will I crucifie, my cruell shee;
    Thus Ile plague her which hath so plagued mee.

Michael Drayton

Michael Drayton was an English poet who produced a variety of work, including historical poems, sonnets, and a vast poem on the geography of England. His most significant contribution to poetry is the long historical epic "Poly-Olbion" which describes the topography and history of England and Wales. Drayton's poetry often reflects his staunch patriotism and deep scholarly interest in English history.

Michael Drayton

Sonnet 57

Michael Drayton, Simple Poetry

Sonnet 46

Michael Drayton, Simple Poetry

Amour 12

Michael Drayton, Simple Poetry

Sonnets: Idea LXII

Michael Drayton, Simple Poetry

English

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Amour 42

Plac'd in the forlorne hope of all dispayre
Against the Forte where Beauties Army lies,
Assayld with death, yet armed with gastly feare,
Loe! thus my loue, my lyfe, my fortune tryes.
Wounded with Arrowes from thy lightning eyes,
My tongue in payne my harts counsels bewraying,
My rebell thought for me in Ambushe lyes,
To my lyues foe her Chieftaine still betraying.
Record my loue in Ocean waues (vnkind)
Cast my desarts into the open ayre,
Commit my words vnto the fleeting wind,
Cancell my name, and blot it with dispayre;
    So shall I bee as I had neuer beene,
    Nor my disgraces to the world be seene.

Michael Drayton

Amour 43

Why doe I speake of ioy, or write of loue,
When my hart is the very Den of horror,
And in my soule the paynes of hell I proue,
With all his torments and infernall terror?
Myne eyes want teares thus to bewayle my woe,
My brayne is dry with weeping all too long;
My sighes be spent with griefe and sighing so,
And I want words for to expresse my wrong.
But still, distracted in loues lunacy,
And Bedlam like thus rauing in my griefe,
Now rayle vpon her hayre, now on her eye,
Now call her Goddesse, then I call her thiefe;
    Now I deny her, then I doe confesse her,
    Now I doe curse her, then againe I blesse her.

Michael Drayton

Amour 49

Define my loue, and tell the ioyes of heauen,
Expresse my woes, and shew the paynes of hell;
Declare what fate vnlucky starres haue giuen,
And aske a world vpon my life to dwell.
Make knowne that fayth vnkindnes could not moue;
Compare my worth with others base desert:
Let vertue be the tuch-stone of my loue,
So may the heauens reade wonders in my hart.
Behold the Clowdes which haue eclips'd my sunne,
And view the crosses which my course doth let;
Tell mee, if euer since the world begunne,
So faire a Morning had so foule a set?
    And, by all meanes, let black vnkindnes proue
    The patience of so rare, diuine a loue.

Michael Drayton

Amour 39

Die, die, my soule, and neuer taste of ioy,
If sighes, nor teares, nor vowes, nor prayers can moue;
If fayth and zeale be but esteemd a toy,
And kindnes be vnkindnes in my loue.
Then, with vnkindnes, Loue, reuenge thy wrong:
O sweet'st reuenge that ere the heauens gaue!
And with the swan record thy dying song,
And praise her still to thy vntimely graue.
So in loues death shall loues perfection proue
That loue diuine which I haue borne to you,
By doome concealed to the heauens aboue,
That yet the world vnworthy neuer knew;
    Whose pure Idea neuer tongue exprest:
    I feele, you know, the heauens can tell the rest.

Michael Drayton

Amour 35

See, chaste Diana, where my harmles hart,
Rouz'd from my breast, his sure and safest layre,
Nor chaste by hound, nor forc'd by Hunters arte,
Yet see how right he comes vnto my fayre.
See how my Deere comes to thy Beauties stand,
And there stands gazing on those darting eyes,
Whilst from theyr rayes, by Cupids skilfull hand,
Into his hart the piercing Arrow flyes.
See how he lookes vpon his bleeding wound,
Whilst thus he panteth for his latest breath,
And, looking on thee, falls vpon the ground,
Smyling, as though he gloried in his death.
    And wallowing in his blood, some lyfe yet laft;
    His stone-cold lips doth kisse the blessed shaft.

Michael Drayton

Sonet 29 To The Sences

When conquering loue did first my hart assaile,
Vnto mine ayde I summond euery sence,
Doubting if that proude tyrant should preuaile,
My hart should suffer for mine eyes offence;
But he with beauty, first corrupted sight,
My hearing bryb'd with her tongues harmony,
My taste, by her sweet lips drawne with delight,
My smelling wonne with her breaths spicerie;
But when my touching came to play his part,
(The King of sences, greater than the rest)
That yeelds loue up the keyes vnto my hart,
And tells the other how they should be blest;
    And thus by those of whom I hop'd for ayde,
    To cruell Loue my soule was first betrayd.

Michael Drayton