Wyatt Surrey Sidney Shakespeare Donne

 Wyatt Surrey Sidney Shakespeare Donne Francesco Petrarca (1304-­‐74) Canzoniere, CLXXXIX Passa la nave mia colma d' oblio Per aspro mare, a mezza notte, il verno E 'nfra Scilla e Cariddi; ed al governo Siede 'l signore, anzi 'l nimico mio: A ciascun remo un penser pronto e rio, Che la tempesta e 'l fin par ch' abbi a' scherno: La vela rompe un vento, umido, eterno, Di sospir, di speranze e di desio: Pioggia li lagrimar, nebbia di sdegni Bagna e rallenta le già stanche sarte, Che son d' error con ignoranzia attorto: Celansi i duo mei dolci usati segni; Morta fra l' onde è la ragion e l' arte: Tal ch' i' 'ncomincio a desperar del porto. Sir Thomas Wyatt (1503-­‐42) Sonnet XIV My galy charged with forgetfulnes, Thorrough sharpe sees, in wynter nyghtes doeth pas, Twene Rock and Rock : and eke myn enemy, alas, That is my Lorde, sterith with cruelnes. And every owre a thought in redines : As tho that deth were light in such a case ; An endles wynd doeth tere the sayll a pase, Of forced sightes and trusty ferefulnes. A rayn of teris : a clowde of derk disdain, Hath done the wered cordes great hinderaunce : Wrethed with error and eke with ignoraunce. The starres be hid that led me to this pain : Drowned is reason that should me comfort : And I remain dispering of the port. William Shakespeare (1564-­‐1616) Sonnet CXVI Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove: O, no! it is an ever-­‐fixed mark, That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved. Sonnet CXXXII Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me, Knowing thy heart torments me with disdain, Have put on black and loving mourners be, Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain. And truly not the morning sun of heaven Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east, Nor that full star that ushers in the even, Doth half that glory to the sober west, As those two mourning eyes become thy face: O! let it then as well beseem thy heart To mourn for me since mourning doth thee grace, And suit thy pity like in every part. Then will I swear beauty herself is black, And all they foul that thy complexion lack. Sir Philip Sidney (1554-­‐86), Astrophel and Stella (1580), LXXVII Those looks, whose beams be joy, whose motion is delight, That face, whose lecture shows what perfect beauty is: That presence, which doth give dark hearts a living light: That grace, which Venus weeps that she herself doth miss: That hand, which without touch holds more than Atlas might: Those lips, which make death's pay a mean price for a kiss: That skin, skin, whose passed-­‐praise hue scorns this poor term of white: Those words, which do sublime the quintessence of bliss: That voice, which makes the soul plant himself in the ears: That conversation sweet, where such high comforts be, As construed in true speech, the name of heav'n it bears, Makes me in my best thought and quiet'st judgment see, That in no more but these I might be fully blest: Yet ah, my maiden Muse doth blush to tell the rest. PETRARCA, SON. 140 WYATT Amor, che nel penser mio vive et regna e 'l suo seggio maggior nel mio cor tene, talor armato ne la fronte vène, ivi si loca, et ivi pon sua insegna. Quella ch'amare et sofferir ne 'nsegna e vòl che 'l gran desio, l'accesa spene, ragion, vergogna et reverenza affrene, di nostro ardir fra se stessa si sdegna. Onde Amor paventoso fugge al core, lasciando ogni sua impresa, et piange, et trema; ivi s'asconde, et non appar piú fore. Che poss'io far, temendo il mio signore, se non star seco infin a l'ora extrema? Ché bel fin fa chi ben amando more. The long love that in my heart doth harbor And in mine heart doth keep his residence, Into my face presseth with bold pretense, And there campeth, displaying his banner. She that me learneth to love and to suffer, And wills that my trust and lust's negligence Be reined by reason, shame, and reverence, With his hardiness taketh displeasure. Wherewith love to the heart's forest he fleeth, Leaving his enterprise with pain and cry, And there him hideth and not appeareth. What may I do when my master feareth But in the field with him to live and die? For good is the life ending faithfully. SURREY Love that doth reign and live within my thought And built his seat within my captive breast, Clad in arms wherein with me he fought, Oft in my face he doth his banner rest. But she that taught me love and suffer pain, My doubtful hope and eke my hot desire With shamefaced look to shadow and refrain, Her smiling grace converteth straight to ire. And coward Love, then, to the heart apace Taketh his flight, where he doth lurk and 'plain, His purpose lost, and dare not show his face. For my lord's guilt thus faultless bide I pain, Yet from my lord shall not my foot remove,-­‐-­‐ Sweet is the death that taketh end by love. John Donne (1572-­‐1631) The Good Morrow I wonder by my troth, what thou, and I Did, till we lov'd? Were we not wean'd till then? But suck'd on countrey pleasures, childishly? Or snorted we in the seaven sleepers den? T'was so; But this, all pleasures fancies bee. If ever any beauty I did see, Which I desir'd, and got, 'twas but a dreame of thee. And now good morrow to our waking soules, Which watch not one another out of feare; For love, all love of other sights controules, And makes one little roome, an every where. Let sea-­‐discoverers to new worlds have gone, Let Maps to other, worlds on worlds have showne, Let us possesse one world; each hath one, and is one. My face in thine eye, thine in mine appeares, And true plaine hearts doe in the faces rest, Where can we finde two better hemispheares Without sharpe North, without declining West? What ever dyes, was not mixed equally; If our two loves be one, or, thou and I Love so alike, that none doe slacken, none can die.