Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Seccombe and Arber, comps. Elizabethan Sonnets. 1904.

A Lover’s Maze

Giles Fletcher (1586?–1623)

[It will be seen that Three of these Stanzas go together, rhyming in their first words: True, True, New.—Sweet, Sweet, Meet, &c.]

TRUE are my thoughts:my thoughts that are untrue.

Blind are my eyes:my eyes that are not blind.

New is my love:my love that is not new.

Kind is that Fair:that Fair that is not kind.

Thus eyes and thoughts, that fairest Fair, my love;

Blind and untrue, unkind, unconstant prove.

True are my thoughts:because they never flit.

Untrue my thoughts:because they me betrayed.

Blind are my eyes:because in clouds I sit.

Not blind my eyes:because I looks obeyed.

Thus eyes and thoughts, my dearest Fair, may view

In sight, in love, nor blind, nor yet untrue.

New is my love:because it never dies.

Old is my love:because it ever lives.

Kind is that Fair:because it hate denies.

Unkind that Fair:because no hope it gives.

Thus new my love, and still that Fair unkind,

Renews my love; and I no favour find.

Sweet are my dreams:my dreams that are not sweet.

Long are the nights:the nights that are not long.

Meet are the pangs:these pangs that are unmeet.

Wronged is my heart:my heart that hath no wrong.

Thus dreams and night, my heart, my pangs, and all,

In taste, in length, conspire to work my fall.

Sweet are my dreams:because my Love they show.

Unsweet my dreams:because but dreams they are.

Long are the nights:because no help I know.

Meet are the nights:because they end my care.

Thus dreams and nights, wherein my Love takes sport,

Are sweet, unsweet; are long, and yet too short.

Meet are my pangs:because I was too bold.

Unmeet my pangs:because I loved so well.

Wronged was my heart:because my grief it told.

Not wronged. For why?My grief it could not tell.

Thus you, my Love, unkindly cause this smart;

That will not love to ease my pangs and heart.

Proud is her look:her look that is not proud.

Done all my days:my days that are not done.

Loud are my sighs:my sighs that are not loud.

Begun my death:my death not yet begun.

Thus looks and days, and sighs and death, might move

So kind, so fair, to give consent to love.

Proud is her look:because she scorns to see.

Not proud her look:for none dare say so much.

Done are my days:because they hapless be.

Not done my days:because I wish them such.

Thus looks and days increase this loving strife;

Not proud, not done, nor dead, nor giving life.

Loud are my sighs:because they pierce the sky.

Not loud my sighs:because they are not heard.

My death begun:because I heartless cry.

But not begun:because I am debarred.

Thus sighs and death my heart no comfort give:

Both life deny, and both do make me live.

Bold are her smiles:her smiles that are not bold.

Wise are her words:those words that are not wise.

Cold are her lips:those lips that are not cold.

Ice are those hands:those hands that are not ice.

Thus smiles and words, her lips, her hands, and She

Bold, wise, cold, ice, love’s cruel torments, be.

Bold are her smiles:because they anger slay.

Not bold her smiles:because they blush so oft.

Wise are her words:because they wonders say.

Not wise her words:because they are not soft.

Thus smiles and words, so cruel and so bold,

So blushing wise, my thoughts in prison hold.

Cold are her lips:because they breathe no heat.

Not cold her lips:because my heart they burn.

Ice are her hands:because the snow ’s so great.

Not ice her hands:that all to ashes turn.

Thus lips and hands, cold ice, my sorrow bred;

Hands, warm white snow; and lips, cold cherry red.

Small was her waist:the waist that was not small.

Gold was her hair:the hair that was not gold.

Tall was her shape:the shape that was not tall.

Folding the arms:the arms that did not fold.

Thus hair and shape, those folding arms and waist,

Did make me love; and loving made me waste.

Small was her waist:because I could it span.

Not small her waste:because she wasted all.

Gold was her hair:because a crown it wan.

Not gold her hair:because it was more pale.

Thus smallest waist, the greatest waste doth make;

And finest hair, most fast a lover take.

Tall was her shape:because she touched the sky.

Not tall her shape:because she comely was.

Folding her arms:because she hearts could tie,

Not folded arms:because all bands they pass.

Thus shape, and arms, with love my heart did fly;

That hers I am, and must be till I die.

Sad was her joy:her joy that was not sad.

Short was her stay:her stay that was not short.

Glad was her speech:her speech that was not glad.

Sporting those toys:those toys that were not sport.

Thus was my heart, with joy, speech, toys, and stay,

Possessed with love; and so stolen quite away.

Sad was her joy:because she did suspect.

Not sad her joy:because her joy she had.

Short was her stay:because to small effect.

Long was her stay:because I was so sad.

Thus joy and stay both crossed a lover’s sport;

The one was sad, the other too too short.

Glad was her speech:because she spake her mind.

Not glad her speech:because afraid to speak.

Sporting her toys:because my love was kind.

Not toys in sport:because my heart they break.

Thus speech and toys my love began in jest:

Sweet, yield to love! and make thy servant blest!

Tread you the Maze, sweet Love, that I have run:

Mark but the steps, which I imprinted have.

End but your love, whereas my thoughts begun:

So shall I joy, and you a Servant have.

If not, sweet Love, then this my suit deny:

So shall you live, and so your Servant die.