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A typical sonnet of the time which
uses lofty comparisons to praise a beloved idol is given below. There are many
others, and the tradition of fulsome praise in this vein stretches back to
Petrarch and his sonnets to Laura. E.g.
The way she walked was not the way of
mortals
but of angelic forms, and when
she spoke
more than an earthly voice it was
that sang:
a godly spirit and a living sun
was what I saw, and if she is not
now,
my wound still bleeds, although
the bow's unbent.
Canzoniere 90, trans. Mark Musa.
My Lady's hair is threads of beaten
gold;
Her front the purest crystal
eye hath seen;
Her eyes the brightest stars the heavens hold;
Her cheeks, red roses, such as
seld have been;
Her pretty lips of red vermilion dye;
Her hand of ivory the purest
white;
Her blush AURORA, or the morning sky.
Her body is the saint that I adore;
Her smiles and favours, sweet as honey be.
Her feet, fair THETIS praiseth evermore.
By Bartholomew Griffin. Published 1596
My
mistress' eyes are
nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red, than her lips red:
If
snow be white,
why then her breasts are dun;
If
hairs be wires,
black wires grow on her head.
I
have seen roses damasked,
red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And
in some perfumes
is there more delight
Than
in the breath that
from my mistress reeks.
I
love to hear her speak,
yet well I know
That
music hath a far
more pleasing sound:
I grant I never saw a goddess go,
My
mistress, when she walks,
treads on the ground:
And
yet by heaven,
I think my love as rare,
As any she belied with false compare.
My
mistress' eyes are
nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red, than her lips red:
If
snow be white,
why then her breasts are dun;
If
hairs be wires,
black wires grow on her head.
I
have seen roses damasked,
red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And
in some perfumes
is there more delight
Than
in the breath that
from my mistress reeks.
I
love to hear her speak,
yet well I know
That
music hath a far
more pleasing sound:
I grant I never saw a goddess go,
My
mistress, when she walks,
treads on the ground:
And
yet by heaven,
I think my love as rare,
As any she belied with false compare.
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A typical sonnet of the time which uses lofty comparisons to praise a beloved idol isgiven below. There are many others, and the tradition of fulsome praise in this vein stretches back to Petrarch and his sonnets to Laura. E.g. The way she walked was not the way of mortals but of angelic forms, and when she spoke more than an earthly voice it was that sang: a godly spirit and a living sun was what I saw, and if she is not now, my wound still bleeds, although the bow's unbent. Canzoniere 90, trans. Mark Musa. My Lady's hair is threads of beaten gold; Her front the purest crystal eye hath seen; Her eyes the brightest stars the heavens hold; Her cheeks, red roses, such as seld have been; Her pretty lips of red vermilion dye; Her hand of ivory the purest white; Her blush AURORA, or the morning sky. Her body is the saint that I adore; Her smiles and favours, sweet as honey be. Her feet, fair THETIS praiseth evermore. By Bartholomew Griffin. Published 1596
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