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| PASSIONS are likened best to floods and streams: | |
| The shallow murmur, but the deep are dumb; | |
| So, when affections yield discourse, it seems | |
| The bottom is but shallow whence they come. | |
| They that are rich in words, in words discover | 5 |
| That they are poor in that which makes a lover. | |
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| Wrong not, sweet empress of my heart, | |
| The merit of true passion, | |
| With thinking that he feels no smart, | |
| That sues for no compassion; | 10 |
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| Since, if my plaints serve not to approve | |
| The conquest of thy beauty, | |
| It comes not from defect of love, | |
| But from excess of duty. | |
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| For, knowing that I sue to serve | 15 |
| A saint of such perfection, | |
| As all desire, but none deserve, | |
| A place in her affection, | |
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| I rather choose to want relief | |
| Than venture the revealing; | 20 |
| Where glory recommends the grief, | |
| Despair distrusts the healing. | |
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| Thus those desires that aim too high | |
| For any mortal lover, | |
| When reason cannot make them die, | 25 |
| Discretion doth them cover. | |
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| Yet, when discretion doth bereave | |
| The plaints that they should utter, | |
| Then thy discretion may perceive | |
| That silence is a suitor. | 30 |
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| Silence in love bewrays more woe | |
| Than words, though ne’er so witty: | |
| A beggar that is dumb, you know, | |
| May challenge double pity. | |
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| Then wrong not, dearest to my heart, | 35 |
| My true, though secret, passion: | |
| He smarteth most that hides his smart, | |
And sues for no compassion.
Sr W. R. | |
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