Seccombe and Arber, comps. Elizabethan Sonnets. 1904.
Parthenophil and ParthenopheMadrigal 16. Sleep Phœbus still, in glaucy Thetis’ lap!
Barnabe Barnes (1569?–1609)S
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Soft things whose touch is tickle to the mind,
Give no like touch, all joys in one to wrap.
All instruments, all birds and voices
Make no such heavenly music in their kind.
No fruits have such sweet sap,
No root such juices,
No balm so much rejoices.
O breath, exceeding every rich perfume!
For love, all pleasures in a Kiss did lap.
Her eyes did give bright glances.
Sight is no sight, all light with that consume.
She touched my cheek! at which touch, mine heart dances.
Mine eyes, in privy combat, did presume,
Charging my hands, to charge her middle;
Whilst they threw wounding darts, and healing lances.
She kissed and spoke, at once, a riddle,
But such sweet meaning in dark sense,
As shewed the drift of her dear sweet pretence,
More pleasing than the chord of harp or lute.
On heavenly cherries then I feed,
Whose sap deliciouser than angels’ food,
Whose breath more sweet than gum, herb, flower, or bood.
O kiss! that did all sense exceed!
No man can speak those joys! Then, Muse, be mute!
But say! for sight, smell, hearing, taste, and touch;
In any one thing, was there ever such?