Poems and Sonets.
A pleasant Poem
A| Angels haue not their honour for their
〈◊〉
,
N| No bewtie like the vertue of the minde,
N| No life to loue that cannot proue vntrue,
E| Esteeme the comfort of the highest kinde.
P| Pure is the minde that cannot meane amisse,
A| And sweete the life that is maintainde by loue,
R| Rare is the heart where such affection is,
K| Kinde the conceipt that dooth such honour proue,
E| Excellens rare that wit and reason winneth,
R| Read but each letter as the line beginneth.
A. P.
Finis.
Another.
T| Time made a stay when highest powers wrought,
R| Regard of loue where vertue had her grace,
E| Excellence rare of euerie beautie sought,
N| Notes of the heart where honour had her place,
T| Tried by the touch of most approued truth,
A| A worthie Saint to serue a heauenly Queene,
M| More faire then she that was the fame of youth,
E| Except but one, the like was neuer seene.
Trentame.
Finis.
Another.
G| Good is the best, the most can say no more,
A| And yet is good, and better, and the best,
R| Reason requires the best be set before,
R| Regard of loue findes reason in the rest,
E| Except the best in euerie good excepted,
T| Though better serue the good may be accepted.
Garet.
Finis.
A sweete Pastorall.
GOod Muse rocke me asseepe with some sweet harmonie,
This weary eie is not to keepe, thy warie companie.
Sweet Loue be gone a while, thou knowst my heauines▪
Bewtie is borne but to beguile my heart of happines.
See how my litle slocke that lou'd to feed on hie,
Do head-long
•…
umble downe the rocke, & in the vally die.
The bushes and the trees, that weare so fresh and greene,
Do all their daintie colours leese, and not a leafe is seene.
The Black-bird, & the Thrush, that made the woods to ring
With all the rest are now at hush, & not a note they sing.
Sweet Philomele the bird, that hath the heauenly throte,
Doth now (alas) not once afoord recording of a note.
The flowers haue had a frost, each hearbe hath lost her sauor,
And Phillida the faire hath lost, the comfort of her fauor.
Now all these carefull sights, so kill me in conceit,
That how to hope vpon delights, it is but meere deceit.
And therefore my sweet Muse, that knowst what help is best,
Do now thy heauenly cunning vse to set my heart at rest.
And in a dreame bewray, what fate shall be my friend,
Whether my life shall still decay, or when my sorow end.
A Sonet.
THe prettie Turtle-doue, that with no little mone,
When she hath lost her louing mate, sits mourning all alone,
The Swan that alwaies sings an houre before hir death,
Whose deadly gripes do giue the grones, yt draw away hir breath:
The Pellican that pecks the blood out of hir brest,
And by her death doth only feed her yong ones in the nest,
The Hart imparked close within a plot of ground,
Who dare not ouer-looke the pale, for feare of hūters
〈◊〉
.
The Hound in kenell tied, that heares the chase go by,
And bo
•…
tles wishing foot abrode, in vaine doth howle & cry:
The Tree with withered
•…
op, that hath his branches dead,
And hāgeth down his hiest bowes, while other hold vp head:
Endure not halfe the death, the sorow, nor disgrace,
That my poore wretched mind abides, where none cā wail my case.
For truth hath lost his trust, more deare then Turtle-doue,
And what a death to such a life, that such a pain doth proue:
The Swan for sorrow sings to see her death so
•…
e,
I die because I see my death, and yet I cannot die:
The Pellican doth feed their yong ones with their blood,
I bleed to death, to feed desires that neuer do me good.
My heart imparked round within the ground of griefe,
Is to beset with hounds of hate, it lookes for no reliefe.
And sweet desire my dogge, is clogged so with care,
He cries and dies to heare delights, & come not where they are.
My tree of true delight, is sabd with sorrow so,
As but the heauens do sooner helpe, will be his ouerthrow.
In summe, my dole, my death, and my disgrace is such,
As neuer man that euer liu'd, knew euer halfe so much.
A Poem.
GO Muse vnto the Bower, whereas my mistres dwels,
And tell her of her seruāts loue, but tel her nothing els.
And speake but in her eare, that none may heare but she,
That if she not the sooner helpe, there is no helpe for me.
Not that I
•…
eare to speake, but it is strange to heare,
That shee will neuer looke on him, that holds her loue so deare.
Perhaps she knowes it not, or if she do she will not,
Yet let her kindnes haue a care, that though she hurt she kil not.
And though it be to strange, yet let her this beleue me,
That dead mē liue, yet I am dead, yet liue if she releue me,
For yet are not so colde the coales of kinde desire,
But in the ashes liues a sparke, to kindle loue a fire.
Which fier his fuell hath, but from those fairest eies,
Where faith doth burne & fancie flame, & fauor neuer dies
A Poem.
PUre of the faire that neuer fadeth hue,
Exceeding sweet that euery sweet exceedeth:
Neere to the heauens where highest glaces growe'
Excellent fruit that such a fancie feedeth,
Loue in the eyes, and honour in the heart,
O Princes, Angelles Goddesse, heauenly feature,
Perfection farre aboue all natures arte,
Exception none, was euer such a creature.
Rich, vertuous, wise, faire, courteous, comely, kinde,
Ioy to the hearts of all that doo beholde her,
Courtly of grace, and of a princely minde,
High in the heauens, the Angels haue enrolde her.
A Pastorall.
MIne eyes haue seene the Idoll of my heart,
Mine eyes haue heard the wonder of the wise,
Mine heart hath toucht the comfort of mine eyes.
Nowe handes be true vnto your happie heart,
Tongue say thy heart shall all in silence serue,
Heart to thy head doo not thy thoughts impart,
Eyes see the sight that doth your sight preserue.
And nowe thou eye, thou tongue, thou hand and heart,
But looke, or speake, or touch, or turne awrie,
The heauens pronounce the due of your desart.
Be true and liue, but if a Traitor, die.
A Poem.
LIke to an Hermit poore in place obscure.
I meane to spende my dayes in endlesse doubt:
To waile such woes as time cannot recure,
Where none but loue shall euer finde me out.
My foode shall be of care and sorrow made,
My drinke nought else but teares falne from mine eyes,
And for my light in such obscured shade,
The flames shall scrue that from my heart arise.
A gowne of griefe my bodie shall attire,
And broken hope the staffe of all my stay,
Of late repentance linkt with long desire,
The Couch is made whereon my bones to lay,
And at my gate Dispaire shall linger still,
To let in Death when Loue and Fortune will.
Of his Mistresse loue.
TO trie whose art and strength did most excell,
My Mistresse Loue and faire Diana met,
The Ladies three forthwith to shooting fell,
And for the prize the richest Iewell set.
Sweete Loue did both her bowe and arrowes gage,
Diana did her bewtie rare lay downe,
My Mistresse pawnde her crueltie and rage,
And she that wanne had all for her renowne:
It fell out thus when as the match was done,
My Mistresse gat the bewtie and the bowe,
And streight to trie the weapons she had wonne,
Upon my heart she did a shaft bestow.
By Bewtie bound, by Loue and Uigor slaine,
The losse is mine where hers was all the gaine.
Of a discontented minde.
POets come all, and each one take a penne,
Let all the heads that euer did indite,
Let Sorrow rise out of her darkest denne,
And helpe an heart an heauie tale to write.
And if all these or any one can touch,
The smallest part of my tormenting paine:
Then will I thinke my griefe is not so much,
But that in time it may be healde againe.
But if no one can once come neare the thought,
Of that I feele, and no man else can finde,
Then let him say that deare his cunning bought,
There is no death to discontented minde.
Of his Mistresse beautie.
WHat ailes mine eies, or are my wits distraught,
Do I not see; or know not what I see,
No maruell though to see that wonder wrought,
That on the earth an other cannot be.
What ment the gods when first they did creat you,
To make a face to mocke all other features,
Angels in heauen will surely deadly hate you,
To leaue the world so full of foolish creatures.
Cheeks, that en
•…
haine the highest harts in thrall,
Is it set downe such faire shall neuer fade you:
Hands, that the harts of highest thoughts appall,
Was not Minerua mad when she had made you,
Faire: looks on you, and fate well Bewties grace,
Wise: why your wits the wisest doth abash.
Sweet: where is sweet, but in your sweetest face,
Rich: to your will all treasure is but trash,
Oh how these hands, are catching at those eyes,
To feed this heart that onely liues vpon them,
Ah, of these hands what humors do arise,
To blind these eies that liue by looking on them.
But heart must faint that must be going frō you,
And eies must weepe that in you lose their seeing,
Heauens be your place, where Angels better knowe you,
And earth is too base for such a Goddesse beeing.
Yet where you come among those hiest powers,
Craue pardon then for all these great offences,
That when you dwelt among those harts of ours
Your only eies did blind our wits and senses.
New if you see my will aboue my wit,
Think of the good that all your graces yeeld you:
A mazed Muse must haue a madding fit,
Who is but mad that euer hath beheld you.
A Sonet.
THose eies that hold the hand of euery heare,
That hand that holds the heart of euery eye,
That wit that goes beyond all Natures art.
The sence too deepe for Wisedome to discrie.
That eye, that hand, that wit, that heauenly sence,
Doth shew my onely mistresse excellence.
Oh eyes that pearce into the purest heart,
Oh hands that hold the highest thoughts in thrall,
Oh wit that weyes the depth of all desart,
Oh sence that shewe the secret sweete of all.
The heauē of heauēs with heauenly powers preserue thee.
Loue but thy selfe, and giue me leaue to serue thee.
To serue, to liue, to looke vpon those eyes,
To looke, to liue, to kisse that heauenly hand,
To sound that wit that doth amaze the minde,
To know that sence, no sence can vnderstand.
To vnderstand that all the world may know,
Such wit, such sence, eyes, hands, there are no moe.
A pastorall of Phillis and Coridon.
ON a hill there growes a flower,
Faire befall the daintie sweete:
By that flower there is a bower,
Where the heauenly Muses meete.
In that Bower there is a Chaire,
Fringed all about with golde:
Where doth sit the fairest faire,
That did euer eye beholde.
It is Phyllis faire and bright,
She that is the shepheards ioy:
She that Venus did dispight,
And did blind her little boy.
This is she the wise, the rich,
And the world desires to see,
This is Ipsa quae the which,
There is none but onely shee.
Who would not this fact admire,
Who would not this Saint adore,
Who would not this sight desire,
Though he thought to see no more▪
Oh faire eyes yet let me see,
One good looke, and I am gon
•…
,
Looke on me for I am hee,
Thy poore sillie Corridon.
Thou that art the shepheards Queene,
Looke vpon thy sillie Swaine:
By t
•…
y comfort haue beene seene,
Dead men brought to life againe.
The complaint of a forsaken Louer.
LEt me go seeke some solitarie place,
In craggie rocks where cōfort is vnknowne:
Where I may sit and waile my heauy case,
And make the heauēs acquainted with my mo
•…
e.
Where onely Eccho with her hollow voice,
May sound the sorrow of my hidden sence:
And cruell chance the crosse of sweetest choise,
Doth breed the paine of this experience.
In mourning thoughts let me my mind attire,
And clad my care in weedes of deadly wo:
And make Disgrace the graue of my desire,
Which tooke his death wherby his life did grow.
And ere I die engraue vpon my
•…
ombe,
Take heed of Loue, for this is louers doome.
A prettie Fancie.
VVHo takes a friend and trus
•…
s him not,
Who hopes of good and hath it not,
Who hath a Item and keepes it not,
Who keepes a Ioy and loues it not.
The first wants wit, the second will,
Carelesse the third, the fourth dooth ill.
An Epitaph on the death of a noble Gentleman.
SOrrow come sit thee downe, and sigh and sob thy fill,
And let these bleeding bitter teares, be witnesse of thine ill.
See, see, how Vertue sits, what passions she doth proue,
To thinke vpon the losse of him, that was her dearest loue.
Come Pallas carefull Queene, let all thy Muses waite,
About the graue, where buried is the grace of your conceite.
Poets lay downe your pennes, or if you needes will write,
Confesse the onely day of loue hath lost her dawning light.
And you that know the Court and what beseemes the place,
With griefe engraue vpō his tombe, he gaue al Courts a grace.
And you that keepe the fields, and knowe what valure is,
Say all too soone was seene in this vntimely death of his.
Oh that he liud in earth, that could but halfe conceiue,
The honour that his rarest heart was worthie to receiue.
Whose wisdome farre aboue the rule of Natures reach,
Whose workes are extant to the worlde, that all the world may teach.
Whose wit the wonder-stone, that did true wisdome tutch,
And such a sounder of conceipt, as few or neuer sutch.
Whose vertues did exceede in Natures highest vaine,
Whose life a lanthorne of the loue that surely liues againe.
Whose friendship faith so fast, as nothing could remoue him,
Whose honourable courtesie made all the world to loue him.
What language but he spake: what rule but he had read?
What thought so high? what sense so deep? but he had in his head.
A Phoenix of the world, whom fame doth thus commend,
Vertue his life, Valor his loue, and Honor was his end.
Upon whose tombe be writ, that may with teares be red,
Here lies the flower of chiualrie that euer England bred.
Oh heauens, vpon the earth was neuer such a day,
That all conceits of all contents should all consume away.
Me thinkes I see a Queene om
•…
e couer
•…
with a vasse,
The Court all stricken in a dumpe, t
•…
e
〈◊〉
weene &
〈◊〉
.
The knights in carefull sighs bewaile their secret losse,
And he that best conceales his griefe, b
•…
wrayes
•…
e hath a crosse.
Come scholers bring your bookes, let reason haue his right,
Do reuerence vnto the corse, in honour of the knight.
Come souldiers see the knight, that left his life so neere ye,
Giue him a volley of your harts, that all the world may heare ye.
And ye that liue at home, and passe your time in peace,
To helpe ye sing his
〈◊〉
〈◊〉
, let sorrow neuer cease.
Oh could I mou
•…
〈◊〉
, that all the world may see,
The griefe of
〈◊〉
〈◊〉
•…
losse; as greater cannot bee.
Our Court hath
〈◊〉
a
〈◊〉
, our Countrey such a knight,
As with the torment of the thought, hath turned day to nigh
•…
.
A man, so rare a man, did neuer England breed,
So excellent in euery thing, that all men did exceed.
So full of all effects that wit and since may scan,
As in his heart did want no part to make a perf
•…
ct man.
Perfection fa
•…
e aboue the rule of humaine sence,
Whose heart was euely set on heauen, and had his honor thence
Whose marke of hiest aime▪ was honour of the minde,
Who both at once did worldly fame, and heauenly fancur finde.
Whom Uertue so did loue, and learning so adore,
As commendation of a man, was neuer man had more.
Whom wise men did admire, whom good men did affect,
Whom honest men did loue and serue, and all men did respect.
Whose care his Countries loue whose loue his Countries care,
Whose carefull loue considered wel, his country could not spare,
Oh Christ what ruthfull cries, about the world do ring,
And to behold the heauie sighes it is a hellish thing.
The campe, the dolefull campe, comes home with all a Mort▪
To see the captaine of their care, come home in such a sort▪
The Court, the solemne Court, is in a sudden trance,
And what is he but is amazde to heare of this mischance,
The C
•…
tie shakes the head, as it had lost a piller,
And kind affect is in such care, a little more would kill her,
Sweet Oxford sits and weepes, and Cambridge
•…
ries outright.
To loose the honour of their loue, and loue of their
〈◊〉
〈◊〉
.
The Cleargie singing Psalmes, with teares be blot their book
•…
And all the schollers follow on with sad and heauy lookes.
The Muses and the Nymphes attired all in blacke.
With tearing heares & wringing hands, as if their harts would cracke.
The father, wife, and friends, and seruants in degrees,
With blubbred eies bewaile the life that faithfull loue did le
•…
se.
My selfe that leu'de him more, then he that knew him much,
Will leaue the honour of his worth, for better wits to tutch.
And said but what I thinke, and that a number know,
He was a Phoenix of a man I feare there are no mo.
To let him downe in praise with men of passed fame,
Let this suffice who more deserude: I neuer read his name▪
For this he was in right, in briefe to shew his pra
•…
se,
For Vertue, Learning, Valor, W
•…
t, the honor of our dayes.
And so with honor ende, let all the world go seeke,
So yong a man, so rare a man, the world hath not the like.
Whose onely cor
•…
s consumes, whose Vertue neuer dies,
Whose sweetest soule enioyes the sweet of highest Paradice.
The summe of the former in foure lines.
GRace, Uertue, Ualor, Wit, Experience Learning Loue,
Art, Reason, Time, Conceite, Deuise, Discretion, Truth,
All these in one, and but one onely prooue,
Sorrow in age, to see the end of youth.
In the praise of his Mistresse,
POets lay downe your pen
•…
es, let
•…
ancie leaue to
•…
aine,
Bid all the Muses go to bed, or get a be
•…
ter vaine.
Their Musicks are to base, to sound that sweet consaite,
That on the wonder of the world, with wonder may awaite.
But if as yet unknowne there be some daintie Muse,
That can do more then all the rest, and
〈◊〉
her
•…
nning vse.
Let her come whet her wits, to see what she can do,
To that the best that e
•…
er
•…
rote, came neuer neere vnto.
For Venus was a toy, an
•…
y s
•…
inned
〈◊〉
,
And Cressed but a Chawcers
•…
east, and H
•…
len but a bable.
My tale shall be of truth, that neuer Treason taught,
My Mistresse is the onely sweete, that euer Nature wrought.
Whose eyes are like those starres that keepe the hiest
〈◊〉
:
Whose beautie like the burning Sunne, that blinds the clearest
•…
ies.
Whose haires are like those beames, that hang about the Sunne,
When in the morning forth he steps, before his course be runne.
And let me touch those lips, by loue, by leaue, or lucke,
When sweet affect, by sweet aspect, may yet some fauour sucke.
They are those little foldes, of Natures finest wit,
That she sat smoothing while she wrought, & wilbe smacking yet.
And for that purest red, with that most perfect white,
That makes those cheekes the sweetest chains, of louers high delite.
What may be said but this Behold the onely feature,
That all the world that sees the face, may wōder at the creature.
I will not stand to muse as manie writers do,
To seeke out Natures finest stuffe to like her lims vnto.
For if thou wert on earth that could in part compare:
With euerie part of euerie part, wherein her prayses are.
Either for Natures gifts or Vertues sweetest grace▪
I would confesse a blinded heart, were in vnhappie case.
But where both Nature, Sense, and Reason doth approue,
She is the onely Saint on earth, whom God and man doth loue.
Let this in summe suffice for my poore Muse and mee,
She is the Goddesse of the earth, and there is none but shee.
Of Truth and Loue.
TRuth shewes her selfe in secret of her trust,
Wisedome her grace in honour of her Loue:
Uertue her life where loue is not vniust,
Loue in his sweete that dooth
•…
o sorrow proue.
Truth hath in hate to heare a fained tale,
Wisedome dooth frowne where Follie is in place:
Honour is gone where Bewtie is too small,
And Uertue dyes where Loue is in disgrace.
I leaue your truth to your desired trust,
Your wisedome to the wonder of the wise:
Your highest ioy to iudgement of the iust,
Where Uertue liues, and Honour neuer dies.
And he vouchsafe you that all truth preserueth,
What Truth of Loue, and Loue of Truth deserueth.
Rare newes.
NEwes from the heauens, all warres are at an end,
Twixt higher powers, a happie peace concluded,
Fortune and Faith are sworne each others friend,
And Loues desire shall neuer be deluded.
Time hath set downe the compasse of his course,
Nature her worke, and Excellence her art:
Care his content, and Crueltie his curse,
Labour his desire, and Honour his desart.
Wordes shall be deedes, and men shall be diuine,
Women all Saints or Angels in degrees:
Cloudes shall away, the Sunne shall euer shine,
Heauens shall haue power to hinder none of these.
These are the Articles of the conclusion,
Which when they fa
•…
, then looke for a confusion.
Of a wearie life.
VVHo can delight in such a wofull sound,
Or loues to heare a Laie of dire lament,
What note is sweete when griefe is all the
•…
ound,
Discords can yeeld but onely discontent.
The wrest is wrung that straines each string too farre,
And strifes the stops that giue each stroke a iar
•…
Harsh is (alas) the harmonie God knowes,
When out of tune is almost euerie string:
That sound vnsweete that all of sorrow growes,
And sad the Muse that so is forst to sing.
But some doe sing but that for shame woulde crie,
So doth my Muse and so I sweare doe I.
Good Nature weepes to see her selfe abusde,
Ill Fortune shewes her furie in her face,
Poore Reason pines to see himselfe refusde,
And Dutie dies to see his sore disgrace.
Hope hangs his head to see Dispaire so neere,
And what but Death can end this heauie cheere▪
But hold, each teare no token of a toy,
But torment such as teare my heart asunder,
Each sobbing
•…
gh a signe of such annoy,
As how I liue, beleeue me t'is a wonder.
Each grone a gripe that makes me gaspe for breath,
And euery straine a bitter pangue of death.
Loe thus I liue, but looking still to die,
And still I looke, but still I see in vaine,
And still in vaine, alas, I lie and crie,
And still I crie, but haue no ease of paine.
So still in paine I liue, looke, lie and crie,
When Hope will helpe, or Death will let me die,
Of his vnhappie sta
•…
e of life.
IF euer man did liue in Fortunes scorne,
Whose ioyes do faile that feele distresse in minde:
Whose yeres with cares, whose eies with teares beswolne
That in each part, all parts of griefes doth find.
To grace his ill, send such a man to me,
That am more haplesse then himselfe can be.
For good desart that is vnkindly vsed,
For seruice, loue and faith that
•…
indeth hate:
Who in his Mistresse eyes is most refused,
Whose comforts falle, whose
〈◊〉
come too late.
If that man liue that in his
〈◊〉
findes this,
Know hee my
〈◊〉
, for my ha
•…
hard
•…
is.
If da
•…
ming vowes be but as dreames regarded,
And constant thoughts as shewes of custome taken:
If any man for loue be thus rewarded,
And hath his hopes for these vnrights forsaken.
Let him see me whose like hath neuer beene,
Kilde by these wrongs, and yet by death vnseene.
Then by this riuall of my such dispise,
With much desire shall seeke my name to know:
Tell him my lines Strange things may well suffice,
For him to beare, for me to seeke them so.
And t'was inough that I did finde such euils,
And t'were too much that Angels should be diue
•…
s.
His complaint against Loue and Fortune.
IF heauen and earth were both not fullie bent,
To plague a wretch with an infernall paine:
To robbe the heart of all his high content,
And leaue a wound that should not heale againe.
If cruell Fortune did not seeke to kill,
The carefull spirit of my kinde affect:
And care did not so crucifie me still,
That Loue had left no hope of his effect.
If she whom most my heart hath euer loued,
Were not vnkinde in care of my distresse:
And she by whom my griefe might be remoued,
Did not holde backe the meane of my redresse.
If all these thoughts and many thousands mo,
Too long to tell, too deadly to endure:
Did not consume my heart in sorrow so,
That care hath left no hope of any cure.
Then might I yet amid m
•…
greatest griefe,
Perswade my pacience with some heauenly power,
That when I most despaire of my reliefe,
My hopelesse heart might find some happie hower.
But since that Fortune so doth frowne vpon me,
That care hath thus of comfort all berest me:
Thinke it not strange to see me wo begone me,
Where no good hope of no good hap is left me.
And since I see all kindnesse so vnkinde,
And friendship growne to such contrarie thought
•…
And such a thought the torment of the minde,
That care and sorrow hath consumed to nought.
I will resolue (though pa
•…
ience be perforce)
To sit me downe, and thus in secret
•…
rie:
Dead is my heart, o
•…
earth receiue my corse,
Heauen be my life, for in the world I die.
In the praise of his Penelope.
WHen authors write god knowes what thing is true,
Old Homer wrote of fine Vlysses wit,
And Ouid wrote of Venus heauenly hue▪
And Ariosto of Orlandos fit.
One wrote his pleasure of Caliope,
I am to write of sweete Penelope.
And where each one did shewe a secret vaine,
And whether that Vlysses were or not,
And though that Ouid did but onely fai
•…
e,
And Ariosto set downe many a blot.
And some wrote loudly of Caliope,
I write but truth of sweete Penelope.
And if I had Vlysses skilfull sconce,
With Homers pen and Ouids heauenly voice,
I would set downe a wonder for the nouce,
To set them all a newe to worke againe.
And he that wrote of his Caliope.
Should hush to heare of this Penelope.
As true as she that was Vlysses wife,
As
•…
aire as she whom some a Goodesse faine,
A Saint of shape, and of more vertuous life,
Then she for whom Orlandos knight was slaine.
In euerie thing aboue Caliope,
There is none such as sweete Penelope.
And for this time go looke the world that will
For constant faire, for vertue and good grace,
For euery part in whom no part is ill,
For perfect shape, and for a heauenly face,
Angellica, Venus, Caliope,
All are but blows vnto Penelope.
A Poem.
LOoke not too long vpō those looks, y• blinds the ouerlooker sore,
& if you speak, speak not to much, lest speaking once y• speak no more▪
think not but what it is to think, to reach beyōd the reach of thought▪
And if you do, do what you can, when you haue don you can do nought.
But if you see against your will, looke but away and be not slaine,
And if a worde go vnawares, with care it may be calde againe.
And for a thought it is not hurt, except it grow vnto a thing,
But to vndo that hath bene done, is onely conquest of a king.
But since in thee O silly wretch, both sight, & speach, & thought and deed
By reason of a wrong conceit, do but thine owne confusion breed.
Shut vp thy eies, seale vp thy tongue, lock vp thy thought, lay downe thy head
And let thy mistres see by this, how loue hath strock her seruant dead.
And that but in her heauenly eye, her worde, her thought, and onely will
Doth rest the dead, to kill the quite, or else to cure thee of this ill,
A Poem.
POwre downe poore eies the teares of true distresse▪
Heare but (oh heauens) the horror of my crie,
Iudge of the care that can haue no redrresse,
Let me not liue to see my louer di
•…
▪
In sorrowes rules, like sorrow neuer read,
Phillip sweet-knight, sweete Phillip Sidney dead.
Paine more then art, or Nature can expresse,
Hell to the world to loose a heauenly friend,
Ioy is become but sorrow and distresse;
Life with my Loue let death and dolor end.
In bitter teares hath hart of honor blead,
Past hope of helpe to see perfection dead.
A Poem.
PEace all the world, your weeping is but vaine,
Heauen hath the h
•…
pe of honor all away:
Ioy but in heauen to meet that hope againe,
Lincke with the life that neuer can decay.
In this alone all hope of comfort lies,
Perfection onely liues in Paradice.
A Poem.
PErfection
•…
eereles, Uertue without pride,
Honor and learning linckt with highest Loue,
Ioy of the thought in true discretion tride,
Loue of the life that highest honors proue.
In Angels armes with heauenly hands embraced▪
Paradice pleased, and all the world disgraced.
Seeke all the world, oh seeke and neuer finde,
In earthly mould the mount of such a minde:
Diuinest gifts that God on man bestoweth,
No glory such as of such glory groweth.
End of the ioyes that hath all griefe begun,
Yet let me weepe when all the world is done.
Vpon a scoffing laughter giuen by a Gentlewoman.
LAugh not too much, perhaps you are deceyued,
All are not fooles that haue but simple faces:
Mists are abroad, things may be misconceyued,
Frumps and disdaines are fauours in disgraces.
Now if you do not know what meane these speeches,
Fooles haue long cotes, and Monkies haue no breeches.
T
•…
hee againe, why what a grace is this,
Laugh a man out before he can get in:
Fortune so crosse, and fauour so amis,
Doomsday at hand before the world begin.
Marie sir then but if the weather holde,
Bewtie may laugh, and Loue may be a colde.
Yet leaue betimes your laughing tootoo mutch,
Or find the Foxe, and then begin the chase:
Shut not a Rat within a sugar hutch,
And thinke you haue a Squirrell in the place.
But when you laugh let this go for a iest,
Seeke not a Woodcocke in a Swallowes nest.
A sweete contention betweene Loue, his Mistresse, and Bewtie.
LOue & my Mistres were at strife who had the greater power on me,
Betwixt them both oh what a life, nay what a death is this to be.
She said she did it with her eie
•…
he said he did it with his dart,
Betwixt them both (a sillie wretch) t'is I that haue the wounded hart.
She said she only spake the word, that did enchant my pearing sence,
He said, he onely gaue the sound, that entred hart without defence,
She said they were her onely heares, on which the daintie Muses waite:
He said he was the onely meane, that entred Muses in conceite.
She said her Bewtie was the marke, that did amaze the highest mind:
He said he onely made the mist, whereby the sences grew so blind.
She said, that onely for her sake, the best would venture life and lim:
He said she was too much deceiu'd, they honoured her because of him.
Long while (alas) she would not yeeld, but it was she that rul'de the rost,
Untill by proofe she did confesse, if he were gone her ioy was lost▪
And then she cried, oh daintie Loue, I now do find it is for thee,
That I am lou'd and honored both, & thou hast power to conquer me▪
But when I heard her yeeld to Loue, oh how my hart did leape for ioy,
That now I had some little hope, to haue an end of mine annoy.
For though that Fancie Bewtie found, a power all to pitilesse,
Yet Loue would neuer haue the hart, to leaue his seruant comfortles:
But as too soone before the field, the
•…
pet sounds the ouerthrow,
So all too soone I ioyed too much, for I awaked and nothing so.
A Sonet to the tune of a hone a hone
COme solemne Muse and helpe me
•…
ing,
A dolefull note, a dying song,
What wretched cares my heart do wring,
To see howe death hath done me wrong.
For I haue lost (oh deadly wo)
My iem, my ioy, my life, my loue,
And in the world their is no mo,
Can heale the paine that I do proue.
My sweete affections all are fled,
Desires, delights, and all are gone,
My heart is sicke, my hope is dead,
And onely death to looke vpon.
These secrete cares so kill my heart,
With inward gripes of endlesse griefe,
That how can sorrow euer part.
Where is no hope to haue reliefe.
But helpelesse hopelesse still I lie.
consuming so in secret care:
That who doth liue and would not die,
To looke vpon my heauie farr.
But all in vaine I make this mone,
Where nothing can my griefe release,
For I am onely left alone,
To sorrow still and neuer cease.
But sorrow now euen do thy wurst,
For death in fine will be a friend:
For I do know my heart will burst,
And then thy force will haue an end.
In commendation of the maides of Honour.
FAire, is to base for Natures excellence,
Rich, all too meane for such a mind of treasure:
All, but too few to do her reuerence,
Uertue her selfe doth loue her out of measure.
No earthly coast containeth such a creature,
Those by the heauens, to shew the earth a wonder:
Ioy of the earth, the miracle of Nature,
Sent to the wise to set all wits asunder,
How farre she is aboue all humane sence,
Aske of the Gods for men cannot discerne:
When such I find her secret excellence,
As wit and reason are too weake to learne.
Rare is the worke that Nature thus hath ended.
Daintie the end that cannot be amended.
Diana virgin, her complaint to the Goddesse Diana.
OH sweet Diana that dwelst amōg the nimphs,
In whom the fire of Nature hath no force:
Whose heauenly eye beholds those silly imps,
Whose ruthfull harts do sue for thy remorce.
Uouchsafe, oh saint, from that pure hand of thine,
Some pities helpe, to this poore hart of mine.
Was it my fault that Cupid found the meane,
First to creepe in, into thy quiet Court,
My hope was cleare, my comfort had bene cleane,
From any hap of such vnhappie hurt:
But well I see amid the greatest cares,
A sudden heart may slippe in vnawares.
Alas, alas, full little did I thinke,
The little thing had had so great a power:
I thought him blind when he did onely winke,
And sweet his thoughts, that fall out deadly sower.
But since I was thus trapped in this traine,
Once set my heart at libertie againe.
But Ladie say, is Loue of such a force,
That onely death must heale the desperate wound
•…
In heauenly thoughts hath Reason no remorce.
In cure of loue was neuer comfort found.
Hath Cupid force to come and coniure thee,
Oh no, alas, it is to conquer mee.
T'was I, t'was I that onely had the hap,
To take the hurt the wretched Traitor wrought:
T'was onely I, that caught the secret clap,
While carefull faith with cruell fancie fought.
T'was I Diana, and t'is onely I,
Whom thou must helpe, or els I yeeld to die.
Pastorals and Sonets.
A deuice of Diogenes Tubbe.
DIo
•…
enes was tearmed but a Dogge,
Tide to a Tubbe where lay but little treasure:
Who for his life was counted but a Hogge,
That knewe no part of any worldly pleasure.
What said the king yet in his greatest throne,
Either himselfe Dogenes, or none.
For when the king did bid him aske and haue,
His minde was not of any masse of wealth:
He askt no more then other creatures haue,
The chiefest comfort of his happie health.
Take not away (quoth he) thou canst not giue,
Out of the Sunne, for by the same I liue.
The good poore soule doth thinke no creature harme,
Onely he liues obscurely in his Tunne,
Most is his care to keepe his carkas warme,
All his delight to looke vpon the Sunne:
And could the heauens but make the Sunne to know him
He should not liue should keepe his shining fro him.
A Metaphor.
A Little fire doth make the faggot burne,
When blowing much will put the fire out:
Silence but s
•…
ld doth serue the lo
•…
re turne,
And too much su
•…
e, for fauour hath a flouce.
Then let thus much suffice for my desire,
The smallest blowing make the greatest fire.
Concei
•…
e is quicke, would so were sweete content,
Eyes hath a glaunce of too too great a grace:
Spirits do speake in silence of intent,
And thoughts are spirites of a setret place.
In silence then let heart in sunder breake,
Eyes shall behold, but spirites shall not speake.
Of the birth and bringing vp of desire.
VVHen wert thou born Desire? in pompe and prime of May:
By whō sweet boy wert thou begot? by good cōceit mē say
Tell me who was thy nurse? fresh youth in sugred ioy:
What was thy meat and dayly food? sore sighes with great annoy.
What had you then to drinke? vnfained louers teares:
What cradle were you rocked in? in hope deuoide of feares.
What brought you then a sleepe▪ sweet speach that liked men best:
And where is now your dwelling place? in gentle hearts I rest.
Doth companie displease? it doth in many one:
Where would Desire then choose to be? he likes to muse alone.
What feedeth most your sight? to gaze on fauour still:
Who find you most to be your foe? Disdaine of my good will.
Will euer age or death bring you vnto decay?
No, no, Desire both liues and dies ten thousand times a day.
E. of Ox.
Finis.
A pleasant Sonet.
I Will forget that ere I sawe thy face,
I will forget thou art so braue a wight:
I will forget thy stately comely grace,
I will forget thy hue that is so bright:
I will forget thou art the fairest of all,
I will forget thou winnest the golden ball.
I will forget thy forehead fea
•…
ly framde,
I will forget thy Christall eyes so cleere:
I will forget that no part may be blamde,
I will forget that thou hadst nere thy yeere▪
I will forget Uermelion is thy hue.
I will forget there is no Saint but thou.
I will forget thy dimpled chin so fine.
I will forget to approch thy seemely sight:
I will forget throughout the world so wide,
I will forget nones bewtie halfe so bright:
I will forget thou stainst the brightest starr.
I wil forget thou passest Cynthea farre.
I will forget that feature is thy pheere,
I will forget thy bewtie dims the Sunne:
I will forget that hue not comes thee neere,
I will forget thy fame will nere be donne.
I will forget thou art the fairest of all,
That euer was, or is, or euer shall.
And then
I will forget when grew my withered stalke,
I will forget to eate, to drinke, or sleepe:
I will forget to see, to speake, to walke,
I will forget to mourne, to laugh, to weepe.
I will forget to heare, to feele, or taste,
I will forget my life and all at last.
And now
I will forget the place where thou dost dwell,
I will forget thy selfe, and so fare well.
Another sweete Sonet.
I Seeke the thing that I do dayly see,
And faine would gaine that is already wonne,
I follow that which doth not from me flee:
Nor neuer seekes my companie to shuune.
I granted am what I do seeme to craue,
Yet so I want, that fainest I would haue.
Hard is my hap since I am f
•…
rst to i
•…
y▪
Where as there doth no ioy at all remaine:
And secke for blisse where rests nought but annoy,
And for good will reape nought but deepe disdaine:
Lucklesse my lot. I labour but in vaine,
I seeke to winne what I see others gaine.
Seeing hope, and hap, and all at once doth faile,
And that despaire is nowe my chiefest guide:
Whereby I see no ransome will me baile,
Out of the bondes wherein I now am tide.
I am content in bondage for to serue,
Untill my faith my freedome doe deserue.
A Poem.
H| Honour of loue, when loue in honour is,
O| Olde men admire, and yong men are amazed:
P| Perfection rare where nothing is amisse,
T| The glasse of grace where eyes are ouer-gazed:
O| Onely the face of such a heauenly feature,
N| Not on the earth can be a fairer creature.
A Sonet.
EYe lie awake in hope of blessed seeing,
Hope thought that happe was ouer-long in lingring:
In came the Lasse, oh my thrise happie beeing,
Sences thought long vntill they were a fingring.
Tongue spar'd to speake, least it should speake too sparing▪
Hart drownd in feare rauisht, denied her honour:
Handes sawe the price, and long to be a sharing,
Pittie said, holde, but Courage cried, vpon her.
Silent she stood, yet in her silent speaking,
Wordes of more force then is great loue his thunder:
Ioyes weare her eyes, sorrowes asunder breaking,
Sweete was her face, each member was a wonder.
Heauen is hers, to her by heauens assigned,
Skies are her thoughts where pleasant Planets raigned,
Franke is her minde, to no ill craft inclined,
Loue is the crosse wherein her heart is chained.
Blisse was to see her steps to bedward bending,
Musicke to heare herselfe, herselfe vnlacing,
Straunge the aspect of two sonnes then discending,
Sweete was the kisse, but sweeter the imbracing.
Another fine Sonet.
VVHo deales with fire may burne his fingers ends,
And water drownes the foote that goes too deepe:
A lauish tongue will quickly loose his friends,
And he a foole that can no counsell keepe.
Yet where desire doth egge the tongue to speake,
Somewhat must out, or else the heart will breake.
To speake but truth deserue no deadly blame,
Though truth mistane sometime be pettie treason:
Yet causelesse death deserueth no defame,
Though ruthlesse rage will neuer yeeld to reason:
Then since desire doth egge me on so
•…
ore,
Truth will I speake although I speake no more.
The truth is this, there is no fire to loue,
Nor water like to Bewties heauenly bro
•…
kes,
No friend to faith, to talke for hearts behoue,
Nor wit so wise to liue by onely lookes:
Nor sweet desire by silence entertained,
Nor kind Aspect, that euer loue disdained.
A Pastorall.
SWeet birds that sit and sing amid the shadie vallies,
And see how sweetly Phillis walks amid her gardē allies▪
Go round about her bower and sing, as ye are bidden,
To her is only knowne his faith, that frō the world is hidden.
And she among you all that hath the sweetest voice,
Go chirpe of him that neuer told, yet neuer changd his choise.
And not forget his faith, that liu'd for euer lou'd,
Yet neuer made his fancie knowne, nor euer fauour mou'
•…
.
And euer let your ground of all your grace be this,
To you, to you, to you the due of loue and honour is.
On you, on you, on you▪ our musicke all attendeth,
For as on you our Muse begun, in you all musicke endeth.
Coridons supplication to Phillis.
SWeet Phillis if a sillie Swaine,
may sue to thee for grace:
See not thy louing shepheard slaine,
With looking on thy face.
But thinke what power thou hast got,
Upon my flocke and mee:
Thou feest they now regard me not,
but all doe follow thee.
And if I haue so farre presumed,
With prying in thine eyes:
Yet let not comfort be consumed,
That in thy pitie lyes.
But as thou art that Phillis faire,
That fortune fauour giues,
So let not loue die in dispaire,
That in thy fauour liues.
The Deere do bruise vpon the brier,
The birds do pricke the cheries,
And will not Bewtie grunnt Desire,
One handfull of her berries.
If so it be that thou hast sworne,
That none shall looke on thee:
Yet let me know thou dost not scorns,
To cast a looke on mee.
But if thy Brwtie make thee prowde,
Thinke then what is ordained:
The heauens haue neuer yet allowed,
That Loue should be disdained.
Then least the Fates that fauour Loue,
Should curse thee for vnkinde.
Let m
•…
report for thy behoue,
The honour of thy minde.
Let Coridon with full consent,
Set downe what he hath seene:
That Phillida with Loues content,
Is sworne the Shepheards Queene.
A Sonet.
HEr face, her tongue, her wit,
So faire, so sweete, so sharpe:
First bent, then drew, then hit,
Mine cye, mine eare, mine hart.
Mine eye, mine eare, mine heart,
To like, to learne, to loue:
Your face, your tongue, your wit,
Doth lead, doth teach, doth moue,
Her face, her tongue her wit,
With beame, with sound, with art:
Doth binde, doth charme, doth rule,
Mine eye, mine eare, mine heart.
Mine eye, mine eare, mine heart,
With life, with hope, with skill,
Your face, your tongue, your wit.
Doth feed, doth feast, doth fill.
Oh face, oh tongue, oh wit,
With frownes, with checks, with smart:
Wring not, vex not, moue not,
Mine eye, mine eare, mine hart.
This eye, this eare, this heart▪
Shall ioy, shall bind, shall sweare:
Your face, your tongue, your wit,
To serue, to loue, to feare.
A Louers complaint.
WHo knowes his cause of griefe,
And can the same descrie:
And yet finds no reliefe,
Poore wretch but onely I.
What foule will seeke the snare,
That he be caught thereby:
If thereof he be ware,
Poore wretch but onely I.
What fish will bite the baite,
If he the hooke espie:
Or if he see deceite,
Poore wretch but onely I,
Who's hee will seeke to mount,
The toppe of Turrets hie,
To fall that makes account,
Poore wretch but onely I.
Who shee will scale the height,
Of A Etna hill to frie:
So deare to bie delight,
Poore wretch but onely I.
The Hart will shunne the toyle,
If he perceiue it lie:
No one would take such foyle,
Poore wretch but onely I.
Who seckes to get and gaine,
The things that fates denie:
Must liue and die in paine,
Poore wretch as now do I.
And heart my plaints to finish.
In Lymbo lake I lie:
My griefe you must diminish,
Poore wretch, or else I die.
A Shepheards dreame.
A Sillie Shepheard lately sate,
among a flocke of sheepe:
Where musing long on this and that,
At last he fell a sleepe.
And in the slumber as he lay,
He gaue a piteous grone:
He thought his sheepe were runne away,
And he was left alone.
He whopt, he whistled, and he calde,
But not a sheepe came neere him:
Which made the shepheard sore appalde,
to see that none would heare him.
But as the Swaine amazed stood,
In this most solemne vaine:
Came Phillida out of the wood,
And stood before the Swaine.
Whom when the Shepheard did behold,
He straight began to weepe,
And at the heart he grew a cold,
To thinke vpon his sheepe.
For wel he knew where came the Queene
The Shepheard durst not stay.
And where that he durst not be seene,
The sheepe must needes away.
To aske her if she saw his flocke,
Might happen pacience moue:
And haue an answere with a mocke,
That such demaunders proue.
Yet for because he saw her come,
Alone out of the wood:
He thought he would not stand as dumbe,
when speach might do him goo.
And therefore falling on his knees,
To aske but for his sheepe.
He did awake and so did leese,
The honour of his sleepe.
A pleasant sweet song.
LAid in my restlesse bed,
In dreame of my desire:
I sawe within my troubled head,
A heape of thoughts appeare.
And each of them so strange,
In sight before mine eyes:
That now I sigh and then I smile,
As cause thereby doth rise.
I see how that the little boy,
In thought how oft that he:
Doth wish of God to scape the rod,
a tall yong man to be,
I saw the yong man trauelling,
From sport to paines opprest:
How he would be a rich olde man,
To liue and lie at rest.
The olde man too, who seeth,
His age to drawe on sore:
Would be a little boy againe,
To liue so long the more.
Where at I sigh and smile,
How Nature craues her fee:
From boy to man, from man to boy,
Would chop and change degree.
A Sonet of Time and Pleasure.
TIme is but short, and short the course of time.
Pleasures do passe but as a puffe of winde:
Care hath account to make for euerie crime,
And peace abides but with the setled minde.
Of little paine doth pacience great proceede,
And after sicknesse, health is daintie sweet:
A friend is best approued at a neede,
And sweet the thought where care & kindnes meet.
Then thinke what comfort doth of kindnes breed,
To know thy sicknesse, sorrow to thy friend:
And let thy faith vpon this fauour feed,
That loue shall liue when death shall haue an end▪
And he that liues assured of thy loue,
Prayes for thy life, thy health, and highest hap,
And hopes to see the height of thy behoue,
Lulde in the sweet of Loues desired lap.
Till when, take paines to make thy pillow soft,
And take a nap for Natures better rest:
He liues below that yet doth look
•…
aloft,
And of a friend do not
〈◊〉
the least.
Of a Louer in dispaire.
THough froward fate hath forst my griefe,
And blacke dispaire this deadly paine:
Yet time I trust will bring reliese,
When loyall faith shall haue her gaine.
Till then the stormes of banisht state,
And penance in this Hermits Cell:
Shall trie her cause of wrong full hate,
Whose malice lo keepes me in hell,
A Sonet of faire womens ficklenesse in loue.
IF women would be faire, and yet not fond,
Or that their loue were firme not fickle still:
I would not wonder that they make mē bond,
By seruice long to purchase their good will:
But when I see how firme these creaturs are,
I laugh that men forget themselues so farre.
To marke their choise they make and how they chaunge,
How oft from Venus they do cleaue to Pan:
Unsetled still like haggards vile they raunge,
These gentle birds that flie from man to man:
Who would not scorn & shake them frō his fist,
And let thē go (faire fooles) which way they list.
If for disport we faine and flatter both,
To passe the time when nothing can displease:
And traine them still vnto our subtill oth,
Till wearie of their wits our selues we ease.
〈◊〉
then we say, when we their fancies trie,
To play with fooles, oh what a dolt was I.
Of the foure Elements.
T
•…
e Aire with sweet my sences do delight,
The Earth with flowers doth glad my heauie
•…
ie,
The Fire with warmth reuiues my dying spirit,
The Water cooles that is too hote and drie:
The Aire, the Earth, the Water, and the fire,
All doe me good, what can I more desire.
Oh no, the Aire infected sore I finde,
The Earth, her flowers do wither and decay:
The Fire so whote it doth inflame the minde,
And Water washeth white and all away.
The Aire, the Earth, Fire, Water, all annoy me,
How can it be but they must needes destroy me.
Sweete Aire do yet a while thy sweetnesse holde,
Earth, let thy flowers not fall away in prime:
Fire do not burne, my heart is not a colde,
Water, drie vp vntill another time,
Or Aire, or Earth, Fire, Water, heare my prayer,
Or sla
•…
e me once, Fire, Water, Earth, or Aire,
Hearke in the Aire what deadly thunder threateth,
See on the Earth how euerie flower falleth,
Oh with the Fire how euery sinewe sweateth.
Oh howe the Water my p
•…
nting heart appalleth.
The Aire, the Earth, Fire, Water, all do grieue me.
Heauens shew your power yet some way to relieue me.
This is not Aire that euerie creature feedeth,
Nor this the Earth where euerie flower groweth:
Nor this the Fire, that cole and bauen breedeth,
Nor this the Water, that both ebth and floweth.
These Elements are in a worde enclosed,
Where happie heart hath heauenly rest reposed.
Brittons farewell to Hope.
MY Hope farewell, leaue off thy lingring stay,
Nowe yeeld thy selfe as prisoner vnto thrall:
Pricke on thy wings, make now no more delay,
Be set thou art with Enuies furies all.
Oh Follie flie, fond Fancie leaue thy roome,
Thou art condemde, Dispaire hath giuen thy doome.
Thy threed whereon thy hope did hang so long,
Dame Enuies rust hath fretted quite in twaine:
And spitefull spite hath gnawne thee to the bone,
That sue thou maist, but all is spent in vaine.
She is reuert, and giues me still the nay,
And keepes me like the Spaniell all the day.
When caught I was, I was content to yeeld,
My loue was lim'd and linked to her will:
And prisoner I was brought out of the field,
Of libertie to serue in thraldome still.
There lost I ioyes, my toiles did then beginne,
When as I sought a froward heart to winne.
I sought, I sued, I was at becke and bay,
I crept, I kneelde, a heauen it was to please:
I thought my selfe the happiest man that day,
If one faire worde I caught my heart to ease:
But when that deeds of wordes should then ensue,
All then was turn'd like vnto Cresseds crew.
Thus do I sue and serue, but all in vaine,
With lingring on my loathsome life in wo:
Thus do I seeke to winne, but losse I gaine,
And for a friend obtaine a spitefull fo:
Then farewell hope the gaine of my desart,
Dispaire doth grow within my pensiue hart.