Sonnets: Idea LIX To Proverbs

As Love and I late harboured in one inn,
With Proverbs thus each other entertain.
"In love there is no lack," thus I begin:
"Fair words make fools," replieth he again.
    "Who spares to speak, doth spare to speed," quoth I.
"As well," saith he, "too forward as too slow."
"Fortune assists the boldest," I reply.
"A hasty man," quoth he, "ne'er wanted woe!"
    "Labour is light, where love," quoth I, "doth pay."
Saith he, "Light burden's heavy, if far born."
Quoth I, "The main lost, cast the by away!"
    "You have spun a fair thread," he replies in scorn.
    And having thus awhile each other thwarted,
    Fools as we met, so fools again we parted.

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 1

Michael Drayton, Simple Poetry

Sonnets: Idea XLIX

Michael Drayton, Simple Poetry

Sonnets: Idea XVIII To The Celestial Numbers

Michael Drayton, Simple Poetry

To Himselfe And The Harpe

Michael Drayton, Simple Poetry

English

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Sonnet 58 To Prouerbe

As Loue and I, late harbour'd in one Inne,
With Prouerbs thus each other intertaine;
In loue there is no lacke, thus I beginne?
Faire words makes fooles, replieth he againe?
That spares to speake, doth spare to speed (quoth I)
As well (saith he) too forward as too slow.
Fortune assists the boldest, I replie?
A hasty man (quoth he) nere wanted woe.
Labour is light, where loue (quoth I) doth pay,
(Saith he) light burthens heauy, if farre borne?
(Quoth I) the maine lost, cast the by away:
You haue spunne a faire thred, he replies in scorne.
    And hauing thus a while each other thwarted,
    Fooles as we met, so fooles againe we parted.

Michael Drayton

Sonnets: Idea XXI

A witless gallant a young wench that wooed--
Yet his dull spirit her not one jot could move--
Intreated me as e'er I wished his good,
To write him but one sonnet to his love.
    When I as fast as e'er my pen could trot,
Poured out what first from quick invention came,
Nor never stood one word thereof to blot;
Much like his wit that was to use the same.
    But with my verses he his mistress won,
Who doated on the dolt beyond all measure.
But see, for you to heaven for phrase I run,
And ransack all Apollo's golden treasure!
    Yet by my troth, this fool his love obtains,
    And I lose you for all my wit and pains!

Michael Drayton

Sonnets: Idea LI

Calling to mind since first my love begun,
Th'uncertain times, oft varying in their course,
How things still unexpectedly have run,
As't please the Fates by their resistless force;
    Lastly, mine eyes amazedly have seen
Essex's great fall, Tyrone his peace to gain,
The quiet end of that long living Queen,
This King's fair entrance, and our peace with Spain,
    We and the Dutch at length ourselves to sever;
Thus the world doth and evermore shall reel;
Yet to my goddess am I constant ever,
Howe'er blind Fortune turn her giddy wheel;
    Though heaven and earth prove both to me untrue,
    Yet am I still inviolate to you.

Michael Drayton

Sonnets: Idea XXIV

I hear some say, "This man is not in love!"
"Who! can he love? a likely thing!" they say.
"Read but his verse, and it will easily prove!"
O, judge not rashly, gentle Sir, I pray!
    Because I loosely trifle in this sort,
As one that fain his sorrows would beguile,
You now suppose me all this time in sport,
And please yourself with this conceit the while.
    Ye shallow cens'rers! sometimes, see ye not,
In greatest perils some men pleasant be,
Where fame by death is only 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 jest to die.

Michael Drayton

Sonnets: Idea X

To nothing fitter can I thee compare
Than to the son of some rich penny-father,
Who having now brought on his end with care,
Leaves to his son all he had heaped together.
    This new rich novice, lavish of his chest,
To one man gives, doth on another spend;
Then here he riots; yet amongst the rest,
Haps to lend some to one true honest friend.
    Thy gifts thou in obscurity dost waste:
False friends, thy kindness born but to deceive thee;
Thy love that is on the unworthy placed;
Time hath thy beauty which with age will leave thee.
    Only that little which to me was lent,
    I give thee back when all the rest is spent.

Michael Drayton

Sonnets: Idea XXVIII

To such as say thy love I overprize,
And do not stick to term my praises folly,
Against these folks that think themselves so wise,
I thus oppose my reason's forces wholly:
    Though I give more than well affords my state,
In which expense the most suppose me vain
Which yields them nothing at the easiest rate,
Yet at this price returns me treble gain;
    They value not, unskilful how to use,
And I give much because I gain thereby.
I that thus take or they that thus refuse,
Whether are these deceivèd then, or I?
    In everything I hold this maxim still,
    The circumstance doth make it good or ill.

Michael Drayton