Sweete, sleepe so arm’d with Beauties arrowes darting,
    Sleepe in thy Beauty, Beauty in sleepe appeareth;
    Sleepe lightning Beauty, Beauty sleepes, darknes cleereth,
    Sleepes wonder Beauty, wonders to worlds imparting. 
    Sleep watching Beauty, Beauty waking, sleepe guarding
    Beauty in sleepe, sleepe in Beauty charmed,
    Sleepes aged coldnes with Beauties fire warmed,
    Sleepe with delight, Beauty with loue rewarding. 
    Sleepe and Beauty, with equall forces stryuing,
    Beauty her strength vnto sleepes weaknes lending,
    Sleepe with Beauty, Beauty with sleepe contending,
    Yet others force the others force reuiuing,
      And others foe the others foe imbrace. 
      Myne eyes beheld thys conflict in thy face.

Amour 37

    I euer loue where neuer hope appeares,
    Yet hope drawes on my neuer-hoping care,
    And my liues hope would die but for dyspaire;
    My neuer certaine ioy breeds euer-certaine feares. 
    Vncertaine dread gyues wings vnto my hope,
    Yet my hopes wings are loden so with feare,
    As they cannot ascend to my hopes spheare,
    Yet feare gyues them more then a heauenly scope. 
    Yet this large roome is bounded with dyspaire,
    So my loue is still fettered with vaine hope,
    And lyberty depriues him of hys scope,
    And thus am I imprisond in the ayre: 
      Then, sweet Dispaire, awhile hold vp thy head,
      Or all my hope for sorrow will be dead.

Amour 38

    If chaste and pure deuotion of my youth,
    Or glorie of my Aprill-springing yeeres,
    Vnfained loue in naked simple truth,
    A thousand vowes, a thousand sighes and teares;
    Or if a world of faithful seruice done,
    Words, thoughts, and deeds deuoted to her honor,
    Or eyes that haue beheld her as theyr sunne,
    With admiration euer looking on her: 
    A lyfe that neuer ioyd but in her loue,
    A soule that euer hath ador’d her name,
    A fayth that time nor fortune could not moue,
    A Muse that vnto heauen hath raised her fame. 
      Though these, nor these deserue to be imbraced,
      Yet, faire vnkinde, too good to be disgraced.

Amour 39

    Die, die, my soule, and neuer taste of ioy,
    If sighes, nor teares, nor vowes, nor prayers can moue;
    If fayth and zeale be but esteemd a toy,
    And kindnes be vnkindnes in my loue. 
    Then, with vnkindnes, Loue, reuenge thy wrong: 
    O sweet’st reuenge that ere the heauens gaue! 
    And with the swan record thy dying song,
    And praise her still to thy vntimely graue. 
    So in loues death shall loues perfection proue
    That loue diuine which I haue borne to you,
    By doome concealed to the heauens aboue,
    That yet the world vnworthy neuer knew;
      Whose pure Idea neuer tongue exprest: 
      I feele, you know, the heauens can tell the rest.