Sonnet 15 His Remedie for Loue

Since to obtaine thee, nothing me will sted,
I haue a Med'cine that shall cure my Loue,
The powder of her Heart dry'd, when she is dead,
That Gold nor Honour ne'r had power to moue;
Mix'd with her Teares, that ne'r her true-Loue crost,
Nor at Fifteene ne'r long'd to be a Bride,
Boyl'd with her Sighes, in giuing vp the Ghost,
That for her late deceased Husband dy'd;
Into the same then let a Woman breathe,
That being chid, did neuer word replie,
With one thrice-marry'd's Pray'rs, that did bequeath
A Legacie to stale Virginitie.
    If this Receit haue not the pow'r to winne me,
    Little Ile say, but thinke the Deuill's in me.

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

Sonet 14 To The Soule

Michael Drayton, Simple Poetry

Sonnets: Idea XXXVI Cupid Conjured

Michael Drayton, Simple Poetry

Sonnet 63 To the high and mighty Prince, James, King of Scots

Michael Drayton, Simple Poetry

Amour 2

Michael Drayton, Simple Poetry

English

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Sonnets: Idea XV His Remedy For Love

Since to obtain thee nothing me will stead,
I have a med'cine that shall cure my love.
The powder of her heart dried, when she's dead,
That gold nor honour ne'er had power to move;
    Mixed with her tears that ne'er her true love crost,
Nor at fifteen ne'er longed to be a bride;
Boiled with her sighs, in giving up the ghost,
That for her late deceasèd husband died;
    Into the same then let a woman breathe,
That being chid did never word reply;
With one thrice married's prayers, that did bequeath
A legacy to stale virginity.
    If this receipt have not the power to win me,
    Little I'll say, but think the devil's in me!

Michael Drayton

Sonnet 50

As in some Countries far remote from hence,
The wretched creature destined to die,
Hauing the iudgement due to his offence,
By Surgeons begg'd, their Art on him to trie:
Which on the liuing worke without remorce,
First make incision on each maistring vaine,
Then stanch the bleeding, then transperce the coarse,
And with their balmes recure the wounds againe,
Then poison and with Phisicke him restore,
Not that they feare the hopelesse man to kill,
But their experience to encrease the more;
Euen so my Mistresse works vpon my ill,
    By curing me, and killing me each howre,
    Onely to shew her beauties soueraigne powre.

Michael Drayton

Sonnet 21

A witlesse Gallant, a young Wench that woo'd,
(Yet his dull Spirit her not one iot could moue)
Intreated me, as e'r I wish'd his good,
To write him but one Sonnet to his Loue:
When I, as fast as e'r my Penne could trot,
Powr'd out what first from quicke Inuention came;
Nor neuer stood one word thereof to blot,
Much like his Wit, that was to vse the same:
But with my Verses he his Mistres wonne,
Who doted on the Dolt beyond all measure.
But soe, for you to Heau'n for Phraze I runne,
And ransacke all APOLLO'S golden Treasure;
    Yet by my Troth, this Foole his Loue obtaines,
    And I lose you, for all my Wit and Paines.

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

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 plagu...

Michael Drayton

Sonnet 27

I heare some say, this man is not in loue,
Who, can he loue? a likely thing they say:
Reade but his verse, and it will easily proue;
O iudge not rashly (gentle Sir) I pray,
Because I loosely tryfle in this sort,
As one that faine his sorrowes would beguile:
You now suppose me, all this time in sport,
And please your selfe with this conceit the while.
You shallow censures; sometime see you not
In greatest perills some men pleasant be,
Where fame by death is onely to be got,
They resolute, so stands the case with me;
    Where other men, in depth of passion cry,
    I laugh at fortune, as in iest to die.

Michael Drayton