Sonnet XI – Edmund Spenser

DAyly when I do seeke and sew for peace, 

And hostages doe offer for my truth: 

she cruell warriour doth her selfe addresse, 

to battell, and the weary war renew’th. 

Ne wilbe moou’d with reason or with rewth, 

to graunt small respit to my restlesse toile: 

but greedily her fell intent poursewth, 

Of my poore life to make vnpitteid spoile. 

Yet my poore life, all sorrowes to assoyle, 

I would her yield, her wrath to pacify: 

but then she seekes with torment and turmoyle, 

to force me liue and will not let me dy. 

All paine hath end and euery war hath peace, 

but mine no price nor prayer may surcease.

Sonnet LXXXII – Edmund Spenser

Ioy of my life, full oft for louing you 

I blesse my lot, that was so lucky placed: 

but then the more your owne mishap I rew, 

that are so much by so meane loue embased. 

For had the equall heuens so much you graced 

in this as in the rest, ye mote inuent 

som heuenly wit, whose verse could haue enchased 

your glorious name in golden moniment. 

But since ye deignd so goodly to relent 

to me your thrall, in whom is little worth, 

that little that I am, shall all be spent, 

in setting your immortall prayses forth. 

Whose lofty argument vplifting me, 

shall lift you vp vnto an high degree.

Sonnet LXXXV  – Edmund Spenser

THe world that cannot deeme of worthy things, 

when I doe praise her, say I doe but flatter: 

so does the Cuckow, when the Mauis sings, 

begin his witlesse note apace to clatter. 

But they that skill not of so heauenly matter, 

all that they know not, enuy or admyre, 

rather then enuy let them wonder at her, 

but not to deeme of her desert aspyre. 

Deepe in the closet of my parts entyre, 

her worth is written with a golden quill: 

that me with heauenly fury doth inspire, 

and my glad mouth with her sweet prayses fill. 

Which when as fame in her shrill trump shal thunder 

let the world chose to enuy or to wonder.

Sonnet XlIIII – Edmund Spenser

When those renoumed noble Peres of Greece, 

thrugh stubborn pride amongst the[m]selues did iar 

forgetfull of the famous golden fleece, 

then Orpheus with his harp theyr strife did bar. 

But this continuall cruell ciuill warre, 

the which my selfe against my selfe doe make: 

whilest my weak powres of passions warreid arre. 

no skill can stint nor reason can aslake. 

But when in hand my tunelesse harp I take, 

then doe I more augment my foes despight: 

and griefe renew, and passions doe awake, 

to battaile fresh against my selfe to fight. 

Mongst whome the more I seeke to settle peace, 

the more I fynd their malice to increace.

Sonnet XIX – Edmund Spenser

THe merry Cuckow, messenger of Spring, 

His trompet shrill hath thrise already sounded: 

that warnes al louers wayt vpon their king, 

who now is comming forth with girland crouned. 

With noyse whereof the quyre of Byrds resounded 

their anthemes sweet devized of loues prayse, 

that all the woods theyr ecchoes back rebounded, 

as if they knew the meaning of their layes. 

But mongst them all, which did Loues honor rayse 

no word was heard of her that most it ought, 

but she his precept proudly disobayes, 

and doth his ydle message set at nought. 

Therefore O loue, vnlesse she turne to thee 

ere Cuckow end, let her a rebell be.

Sonnet X – Edmund Spenser

VNrighteous Lord of loue what law is this, 

That me thou makest thus tormented be: 

the whiles she lordeth in licentious blisse 

of her freewill, scorning both thee and me. 

See how the Tyrannesse doth ioy to see 

the huge massacres which her eyes do make: 

and humbled harts brings captiues vnto thee, 

that thou of them mayst mightie vengeance take. 

But her proud hart doe thou a little shake 

and that high look, with which she doth comptroll 

all this worlds pride bow to a baser make, 

and al her faults in thy black booke enroll. 

That I may laugh at her in equall sort, 

as she doth laugh at me & makes my pain her sport.

Sonnet XIVIII – Edmund Spenser

INnocent paper whom too cruell hand, 

Did make the matter to auenge her yre: 

and ere she could thy cause wel vnderstand, 

did sacrifize vnto the greedy fyre. 

Well worthy thou to haue found better hyre, 

then so bad end for hereticks ordayned: 

yet heresy nor treason didst conspire, 

but plead thy maisters cause vniustly payned. 

Whom all the carelesse of his griefe constrayned 

to vtter forth th’anguish of his hart: 

and would not heare, when he to her complayned, 

the piteous passion of his dying smart. 

Yet liue for euer, though against her will, 

and speake her good, though she requite it ill.