Two Pastoralls, made by Sir Philip Si [...] ney, neuer yet published.
Vpon his meeting with his two worthy Frien [...] and fellow-Poets, Sir Edward Die [...] and Maister Fulke Greuill.
IOYNE Mates in mirth to me,
Graunt pleasure to our meeting:
Let Pan our good God see,
How gratefull is our greeting.
Ioyne hearts and hands, so let it be,
Make but one Minde in Bodies three.
Ye Hymnes, and singing skill
Of God Apolloes giuing,
Be prest our reedes to fill,
With sound of musicke liuing.
Ioyne hearts and hands, &c.
Sweete Orpheus Harpe, whose sound
The stedfast mountaynes moued,
Let heere thy skill abound,
To ioyne sweete friends beloued.
Ioyne hearts and hands, &c.
[...] two and I be met,
[...] [...]appy blessed Trinitie;
[...] three most ioyntly set,
[...] firmest band of Vnitie.
Ioyne hands, &c.
[...] [...]elcome my two to me, E.D. F.G. P.S.
[...] number best beloued,
[...] [...]ithin my heart you be
[...] friendship vnremoued.
Ioyne hands, &c.
[...]iue leaue your flockes [...]o range,
[...]g [...]t vs the while be playing,
[...]ithin the Elmy grange,
[...]our flockes will not be straying.
Ioyne hands, &c.
[...]ause all the mirth you can,
[...]nce I am now come hether,
Who neuer ioy, but when
[...] am with you together.
Ioyne hands, &c.
[...]ike Louers do their Loue,
[...]o ioy I, in you seeing;
[...]et nothing mee remoue
[...]rom alwayes with you beeing.
Ioyne hands, &c.
And as the Turtle-Doue
To mate with whom he liueth,
Such comfort, feruent loue
Of you, to my hart giueth.
Ioyne hands, &c.
Now ioyned be our hands,
Let them be ne'r a sunder,
But linkt in binding bands
By metamorphoz'd wonder.
So should our seuer'd bodies three
As one for euer ioyned bee.
Disprayse of a Courtly life.
WALKING in bright Phoebus blaze
Where with heate opprest I was,
I got to a shady wood,
Where greene leaues did newly bud.
And of grasse was plenty dwelling,
Deckt with pyde flowers sweetely smelling.
In this wood a man I met,
On lamenting wholy set:
Rewing change of wonted state,
Whence he was transformed late,
Once to Shepheards God retayning,
Now in seruile Court remayning.
[...]here he wandring malecontent,
[...]p and downe perplexed went,
[...]aring not to tell to mee,
[...]ake vnto a sencelesse tree,
[...]ne among the rest electing
[...]hese same words, or this effecting:
[...]y old mates I grieue to see,
[...]oyde of me in field to bee,
Where we once our louely sheepe,
[...]ouingly like friends did keepe,
Oft each others friendship prouing,
Neuer striuing, but in louing.
[...]ut may Loue abiding bee
[...]n poore shepheards base degree?
[...]t belongs to such alone
To whom arte of Loue is knowne:
Seely shepheards are not witting
What in art of Loue is fitting.
Nay, what neede the Arte to those,
To whom we our loue disclose?
It is to be vsed then,
When we doe but flatter men:
Friendship true in hart assured,
Is by natures giftes procured.
Therefore shepheardes wanting skill,
Can Loues duties best fulfill:
Since they know not how to faine,
[Page]Nor with Loue to cloake Disdaine,
Like the wiser sorte, whose learning
Hides their inward will of harming.
Well was I, while vnder shade
Oten Reedes me musicke made,
Striuing with my Mates in Song,
Mixing mirth our Songs among,
Greater was that shepheards treasure,
Then this false, fine, Courtly pleasure.
Where, how many Creatures be,
So many pufft in minde I see,
Like to Iunoes birdes of pride,
Scarce each other can abide,
Friends like to blacke Swannes appearing▪
Sooner these than those in hearing.
Therefore Pan, if thou mayst be
Made to listen vnto me,
Grant, I say (if seely man
May make treaty to god Pan)
That I, without thy denying,
[...]lay be still to thee relying.
Only for my two loues sake, Sir Ed. D. and M.F. [...]
[...] whose loue I pleasure take,
[...]nly two do me delight
With their euer-pleasing sight,
[...]f all men to thee retaining,
[...]ant me with those two remaining.
[...] shall I to thee alwayes,
[...]ith my reedes, sound mighty praise;
[...]d first Lambe that shall befall,
[...]arely decke thine Altar shall:
[...]t please thee be reflected,
[...]d I from thee not reiected.
I left him in that place,
[...]king pitty on his case,
[...]arning this among the rest,
[...]hat the meane estate is best,
[...]tter filled with contenting,
[...]yde of wishing and repenting.
Fiction how Cupid made a Nymph wound her selfe with his Arrowes.
[...]T chaunst of late a Shepheards swaine,
That went to seeke a strayed sheepe,
Within a thicket on the plaine,
[...]pide a daintie Nymph asleepe.
[...]er golden Haire ore-spread her face,
[...]er carelesse Armes abroad were cast,
[...]er Quiuer had her Pillowes place,
[...]er breast lay bare to euery blast.
The Shepheard stood and gazde his fill,
Nought durst hee doo, nought durst he say:
When Chance or else perhaps his Will,
Did guide the God of Loue that way.
The crafty boy that sees her sleep,
Whom if shee wakte, he durst not see,
Behinde her closely seekes to creepe,
Before her nap should ended bee.
There come, he steales her shaftes away,
And puttes his owne into their place,
Ne dares he any longer stay,
But ere she wakes, hies thence apace.
Scarce was hee gone, when shee awakes,
And spies the Shepheard standing by;
Her bended Bowe in haste shee takes,
And at the simple Swaine let fly.
Foorth flew the shafte, and pierst his hart,
That to the ground hee fell with paine:
Yet vp againe forthwith hee start,
And to the Nymphe hee ran amaine:
Amaz'de to see so strange a sight,
She shot, and shot, but all in vaine,
The more his wounds, the more his might,
Loue yeeldeth strength in midst of paine.
Her angry Eyes are great with teares,
She blames her hands, she blames her skill;
The bluntnesse of her Shaftes she feares,
And try them on her selfe she will.
Take heed, sweet Nimph, try not the shaft,
Eache little touch will pricke the harte,
Alas, thou knowest not Cupids craft,
Reuenge is ioy, the End is smart.
Yet try she wil, and prick some bare,
Her Hands were glou'd, and next to hand
Was that faire Breast, that breast so rare,
That made the shepheard sencelesse stand.
That brest she prickt, and through that brest,
Loue findes an entry to her hart:
At feeling of this new-come Guest,
Lord how the gentle Nimph doth start!
Shee runnes not now, she shootes no more,
Away the throwes both shaftes and bowe,
Shee seekes for that she shun'd before,
She thinke the Shepheards haste too slowe.
Though mountaines meet not, Louers may:
So others doo, and so doo they.
The God of Loue sittes on a tree,
And laughes that pleasant sight to see.
DIALOGVE betweene two shepheards, Thenot and Piers, in praise of ASTREA, made by the excellent Lady, the Lady Mary Countesse of Pembrook at the Queenes Maiesties being at her house at Anno 15.
[...]hen.
I Sing diuine ASTREAS praise,
O Muses! help my wittes to raise,
And heaue my Verses higher.
Piers.
Thou needst the truth but plainely tell,
Which much I doubt thou canst not well,
Thou art so oft a lier.
[...]hen.
If in my Song no more I show,
Than Heau'n, and Earth, and Sea do know,
Then truely I haue spoken.
[...]iers.
Sufficeth not no more to name,
But being no lesse, the like, the same,
Else lawes of truth be broken.
[...]en.
Then say, she is so good, so faire,
With all the earth she may compare,
Not Momus selfe denying.
[...]ers.
Compare may thinke where likenesse holds,
Nought like to her the earth enfoldes,
I lookt to finde you lying.
Then.
[Page]ASTREA sees with Wisedoms sight,
Astrea workes by Vertues might,
And ioyntly both do stay in her.
[...]iers.
Nay take from them, her hand, her minde,
The one is lame, the other blinde,
Shall still your lying staine her?
[...]hen.
Soone as ASTREA shewes her face,
Strait euery ill auoides the place,
And euery good aboundeth.
Piers.
Nay long before her face doth showe,
The last doth come, the first doth goe,
How lowde this lie resoundeth!
[...]hen.
ASTREA is our chiefest ioy,
Our chiefest guarde against annoy,
Our chiefest wealth, our treasure.
Piers.
Where chiefest are, three others bee,
To vs none else but only shee;
When wilt thou speake in measure?
Then.
ASTREA may be iustly sayd,
A field in flowry Roabe arrayd,
In Season freshly springing.
Piers.
That Spring indures but shortest time,
This neuer leaues Astreas clime,
Thou liest, instead of singing.
Then.
As heauenly light that guides the day,
Right so doth thine each louely Ray,
That from Astrea flyeth.
Piers.
[Page]Nay, darknes oft that light enclowdes,
Astreas beames no darknes shrowdes;
How lowdly Thenot lyeth!
Then.
ASTREA rightly terme I may,
A manly Palme, a Maiden Bay,
Her verdure neuer dying.
Piers.
Palme oft is crooked, Bay is lowe,
Shee still vpright, still high doth growe,
Good Thenot leaue thy lying.
Then.
Then Piers, of friendship tell me why,
My meaning true, my words should ly,
And striue in vaine to raise her.
Piers.
Words from conceit do only rise,
Aboue conceit her honour flies;
But silence, nought can praise her.
Mary Countesse of Pembroke.
A Roun-de-lay in inuerted Rimes, betweene the twoo friendly Riuals, Strephon and Klaius, in the presence of VRANIA, Mistris to them both.
Strephon.
O Whither shall I turne mee,
From thine eies sight,
Whose sparkling light
With quenchles flames, present, & absent burne n
For I burne when as I view them,
And I burne when I eschew them.
Klaius.
P [...]nce I cannot eschew them,
But that their light
Is in my sight,
[...]oth when I view them not, and when I view the
Ere their flames will cease to burne me,
From my selfe my selfe must turne me.
Strephon.
When none are present by you,
I feele their might,
And your eies bright
[...]ppeare more glorious, others being nie you.
So alone, or else compared,
Wretch I am by them ensnared.
Klaius.
[Page] [...]ince that I am insnared
By your eies bright,
And feele their might,
Whether alone they be, or else compared,
Wheresoeuer I am nie you,
Loue I must, if I be by you.
Strephon.
When you looke kindely on me,
They loue incite:
And spite of Spite
I loue them likewise, when you frowne vpon me.
So, how e're your lookes are framed,
By your lookes I am inflamed.
Klaius.
[...]ince that I am inflamed,
Ee'n by their spite;
And they incite
[...]oul-warming flames whē they are mildly framed,
Howsoe're you looke vpon me,
Loue I must, if you looke on me.
Strephon.
[...] when shall I them banish,
Since against right,
Nor day nor night,
[...]hough absent from me, from me they do vanish?
So no respite Time doth graunt me,
But incessantly they haunt me.
Klaius.
[Page] [...]ince they (alas) do haunt me
Both day and night.
And wonted right
Obtain'd by absence, absence doth not grant me:
Night and day may sooner vanish,
Then from mee I can them banish.
Strephon.
They, when the Day doth leaue mee,
Lodge in my spirite;
And of their sight,
No sight by day discerned can bereaue mee.
So, nor Day ought else reuealeth,
Nor the Night the fame concealeth.
Klaius.
Since Day, like Night concealeth
Each other sight,
And to my spirite
Concealing Darknes; them like Day reuealeth.
Time of time must quite bereaue mee,
Ere your lookes, sweet lookes, will leaue me▪
STREPHONS PALINODE. Strephon, vpon some vnkindenes conceiued, hauing ma [...] shew to leaue VRANIA, and make loue to anoth [...] Nymph, was at the next solemne assembly of shepheard not onely frowned vpon by VRANIA, but command with great bitternesse out of her presence: Whereuppo [...] sory for his offence, and desirous to regaine her gra [...] whom he neuer had forsaken, but in shew, vpon his kne [...] he in this Song humbly craues pardon: and VRANI [...] finding his true penitence, and vnwilling to loose so wo [...] thy a seruant, receiues him againe into greater gra [...] and fauour than before.
SVVEETE, I doe not pardon craue,
Till I haue,
By deserts, this fault amended:
This, I onely this desire,
That your ire
May with penance be suspended.
Not my Wil, but Fate did fetch
Me poore wretch,
Into this vnhappy error.
Which to plague, no Tyrants minde
Paine can finde,
Like my hearts selfe-guiltie terror.
[...]hen, O then! let that suffize;
your deare Eies
Need not, need not more afflict me.
[...]or your sweet Tongue dipt in gall,
Need at all
[...]rom your presence interdict me.
[...]nto him that Hell sustaines,
No new paines
Need be sought for his tormenting.
O my paines helles paines surpas:
Yet alas!
You are still new paines inuenting.
W [...]y my Loue, long firme and true,
Borne to you.
[...]y these teares my greefe expressing.
T [...]y this Pipe which nights and daies
Sounds your praise,
[...]itty mee my fault confessing.
Or if I may not desire,
That their yre
[...]ay with pennance bee suspended;
[...]et let me full pardon craue,
When I haue,
With soone death my fault amended.
VRANIAES Answer in inuerted Rimes, Staffe for Staffe.
SInce true pennance hath suspended
Fained yre,
More Ile grant then you desire.
Faults confest are halfe amended,
And I haue,
In this halfe, al that I craue.
Therefore banish now the terror,
Which you finde
In your guiltlesse grieued minde.
For though you haue made an Error,
From mee wretch
First biginning it did fetch.
Ne're my sight Ile interdict thee
More at all.
Ne're speake words more dipt in gall.
Ne're ne're will I more afflict thee
With these Eies,
What is past, shal now suffize.
Now new Ioyes Ile be inuenting.
Which (alas)
May thy passed woes surpas.
[Page]Too long thou hast felt tormenting,
Too great paines
So great Loue and Faith sustaines:
Let these Eies (by thy confessing
worthy praise)
Neuer see more nights nor daies.
Let my woes be past expressing,
when to you
[...]t cease to be kind and true.
Thus are both our States amended,
For you haue
Fuller pardon then you craue,
And my feare is quite suspended,
Since mine ire
Wrought th'effect I most desire.
I. EGLOGVE.
A Shepheard poore, Eubulus call'd he was,
(Poore now alas, but erst had iolly beene)
[...]ne pleasant morne when as the Sunne did passe
[...]he fiery hornes of raging Bull betweene,
His little Flocke into a Meade did bring,
As soone as day-light did begin to spring.
[...]resh was the Meade, in Aprils liuerie dight,
[...]eckt with green Trees, bedewd with siluer Brooks,
[...]ut ah! all other was the shepheards plight,
[...]ll other were both sheepe and shepheards lookes.
For both did shew by their dull heauy cheere,
They tooke no pleasure of the pleasant yeere.
[...]e weeping went, ay me that he should weepe!
[...]hey hung their heads as they to weep would learn.
[...]is heauy Heart did send forth sighings deepe.
[...]hey in their bleating voyce did seeme to yearne.
He leane and pale, their fleece was rough & rent:
They pinde with paine, and he with dolors spent.
[...]is pleasant Pipe was broke, (alas the while)
[...]nd former meriment was banisht quite.
[...]is shepheards Crooke that him vpheld ere-while,
[...]e erst had throwne away with great despite.
Tho leaning gainst a shrubbe that him sustained,
To th'earth, sun, birds, trees, Eccho thus he plained
Thou all-forth-bringing earth, though winter ch [...]
With boystrous blasts blow off thy Mantle gree [...]
And with his Snowe and hoary Frosts doe spill,
Thy Flora-pleasing flowers, and kill them cleene:
Yet soone as Spring returnes againe
To driue away thy Winters paine,
Thy Frost and Snowe
Away doe goe.
Sweete Zephyres breath cold Boreas doth displace,
And fruitfull showers
Reuiue thy flowers,
And nought but Ioy is seene in euery place.
But ah! how long, alas, how long doth last
My endlesse Winter without hope of Spring?
How haue my sighes, my blustring sighes, defaste
The flowers and buds which erst my youth did br [...]
Alas the tops that did aspire,
Lie troaden now in filthy mire.
Alas! my head
Is all bespread
With too vntimely snow: and eke my hart
Al sence hath lost,
Through hardned frost,
Of colde Despaire, that long hath bred my smart.
What though Soone-rising Torrents ouerflow
With nought-regarding streams thy pleasant gree [...]
And with their furious force do [...]ay full lowe,
Thy drowned flowers, how euer sweet they be [...]
Soone fall those [...]ouds, as soone they rose,
[Page](For fury soone his force doth lose;)
And then full eath
Apolloes breath,
[...]he cold, yet drying North-wind, so doth warme,
That by and by
Thy Meades be dry,
[...]nd grow more fruitfull by their former harme.
[...] would the teares that Torrent-like do flowe
[...] downe my hollow cheekes with restlesse force,
[...]ould once (O that they could once) calmer grow!
[...]ould like to thine, once cease their ceasles course;
Thine last not long, mine still endure:
Thine cold, and so thy wealth procure:
Hot mine are still,
And so do kill
[...]oth flower and roote, with most vnkindely dew.
What Sun or Winde
A way can finde,
[...]he roote once dead, the flowers to renew?
Thou though the scorching heate of Summer Sun,
While ill-breath'd Dog the raging Lyon chaceth)
[...]ay peckled flower do make of colour dun,
[...]nd pride of all thy greeny haire defaceth;
And in thy moysture-wanting side
Deepe wounds do make, and gashes wide:
Yet as thy weate,
By Phoebus heate,
[...]o turne to wholsome drynesse is procured.
So Phoebus heate
Is soone asswaged, and all thy wounds recured.
Such heate as Phoebus hath me almost slaine.
As Phoebus heate? al [...] no; farre worse then his.
It is Astreas burning-hot Disdaine
That parched hath the roote of all my blis:
That hath (alas) my youth defaced,
That in my face deep wounds hath placed.
Ah that no Heate
Can dry the weate
The flowing weate of my still-weeping Eies!
Ah that no weate
Can quench the heate,
The burning heate within my Hart that lies!
Thou dost, poor Earth, beare many a bitter stound
While greedy Swaines forgetting former neede,
With crooked plowes thy tender backe do wound
With harrowes biting teeth do make thee bleede.
But earth (so may those greedy Swaines
With pitteous Eye behold thy paines)
O Earth, tel mee,
When thou dost see,
Thy fruitfull Back with golden Eares beset,
Doth not that ioy
Kil all annoy,
And make thee all thy former wounds forget?
And I, if once my tired Hart might gaine
The Haruest faire that to my faith is due:
[Page]I once I might ASTREAS grace regaine:
[...] once her hart would on my sorrows rue,
Alas, I could these plaints forgo,
And quite forget my former wo.
But (O! to speake
My Hart doth breake)
[...]r all my seruice, faith, and patient minde,
A crop of greefe,
Without releefe,
[...] crop of scorne, and of contemp [...], I finde.
[...]one as the Shepheards Star abroad doth wend
Nights harbinger) to shut in bright-some Day;
[...]nd gloomy Night, on whom black clouds attend,
[...]oth Tirant-like through skie vsurpe the sway,
Thou art (poore Earth) of Sunne depriued
Whose beames to thee all Ioy deriued:
But when Aurore
Doth ope her Dore,
[...]er purple dore to let in Phoebus waine,
The night giues place
Vnto his race,
[...]nd then, with ioy, thy Sun returnes againe.
[...] would my Sunne would once returne againe!
[...] turne and driue away th'infernall night,
[...] which I die, since she did first refraine
[...]er heauenly beames, which were mine only light
In her alone all my light shinde,
And since she shinde not, I am blinde.
Alas, on all,
Saue wretched me, whome she doth them deny.
And blessed day
She giues alway,
To all, but me, who still in darkenesse lie.
In mournefull darkenesse I alone doe lie,
And wish, but scarcely hope, bright day to see,
For hop'd so long, and wisht so long haue I,
As hopes and wishes both are gone from mee.
My night hath lasted fifteene yeeres,
And yet no glimpse of day appeeres.
O do not let,
Him that hath set,
His ioy, his light, his life in your sweete Grace!
Be vnrelieu'd,
And quite depriu'd
Of your deere sight, which may this night displace
Phoebus, although with firy-hoofed steedes,
Thou daily doe the steepy Welkin beate,
And from this painefull taske art neuer freed,
But daily bound to lend the world thy heate:
Though thou in fiery Chariot ride,
And burning heate thereof abide,
Yet soone as night
Doth dim the light,
And hale her sable Cloake through vaulted skie,
Thy iournie's ceast,
And thou doost rest,
In cooling waues of Tethis soueraigntie.
Thrice happy Sun, whose pains are eas'de by night,
O haplesse I, whose woes last night and day.
[...]y paines by day do make me wish for night,
[...]y woes by night do make me cry for day.
By day I turmoyle vp and downe,
By night in Seas of teares I drowne.
O painefull plight!
O wretched night,
Which neuer findes a morne of ioyfull light!
O sad decay,
O wretched day,
That neuer feeles the ease of silent night!
[...]e chirping Birds, whose notes might ioy my minde,
If to my minde one drop of ioy could sinke,)
Who erst, through Winters rage were almost pinde,
[...]nd kept through barren frost from meat or drinke,
A blessed change yee now haue seene,
That changed hath your woefull teene.
By day you sing,
And make to ring
[...]he neighbour groues with Eccho of your Song:
In silent night,
Full closely dight,
[...]ou soundly sleepe the bushes greene among.
[...]ut I, who erst (ah woefull worde to say)
[...]nioy'd the pleasant spring of her sweete grace,
[...]nd then could sing and dance, and sporte & play;
[...]nce her fierce anger did my Spring displace,
My nightly rest haue turn'd to detriment,
[Page]To plaints haue turn'd my wonted meriment
The Songs I sing
While day doth spring,
Are bootlesse plaints till I can plaine no more.
The rest I taste,
While night doth last,
Is broken sighes, til they my hart make sore.
Thou flowret of the field that erst didst fade,
And nipt with Northerne cold didst hang the head▪
Yee Trees whose bared bowes had lost their shade
Whose with'red leaues by western blasts were she [...]
Yee gin to bud and spring againe,
Winter is gone that did you straine.
But I, that late
With vpright gate
Bare vp my head, while happy fauour lasted;
Now olde am growne,
Now ouerthrowne,
With wo, with griefe, with wailing now am wasted
Your springing stalke with kindly iuice doth sprou [...]
My fainting legs do waste and fall away:
Your stretched armes are clad with leaues about,
My griefe-consumed armes do fast decay.
Yee gin againe your tops lift vp;
I downe to earth-ward gin to stoope.
Each bowe and twig
Doth waxe so big,
That scarce the rinde is able it to hide;
I so do faint,
That slops and Hose, and Galage wax too wide.
Eccho, how wel may she that makes me mone,
By thy example learne to rue my paine?
Thou hear'st my plaintes when as I waile alone,
And wailing accents answerest againe.
When as my brest through greefe I beate,
That wofull sound thou dost repeate.
When as I sob,
And hartly throb,
A dolefull sobbing sound againe thou sendest:
And when I weep,
And sigh full deep,
A weepy sighing Voice againe thou lendest.
But ah! how oft haue my sad plaints assaide
To pierce her Eares, deafe only vnto mee?
How oft my Woes in mournfull inke arraide
Haue tride to make her Eies my griefe to see?
And you, my Sighs and Teares, how often
Haue ye sought her hard hart to soften?
And yet her Eye,
Doth still denie
For all my Woes, one bitter teare to shed.
And yet her Hart
Will not impart,
One harty sigh, for griefe her self hath bred.
Nor I, alas, do wish that her faire Eyes,
Her blessed-making Eies should shed a teare,
[Page]Nor that one sigh from her deere Breast should rise,
For all the paines, the woes, the wrongs I beare.
First let this weight oppresse me still,
Ere shee, through mee taste any ill.
Ah if I might
But gaine her sight,
And shew hir, e're I die, my wretched case!
O then should I
Contented dy;
But ah I dy, and hope not so much grace.
With that his fainting legs to shrinke, begun,
And let him sinke with gastly look to ground
And there he lay as though his life were don,
Till that his Dog, seeing that wofull stound,
With pitteous howling, kissing & with scraping.
Brought him again from that sweet-sowre escaping.
Then gan his Teares so swiftly for to flow,
As forst his Ey-lids for to giue them way.
Then blust'ring sighes too boyst'rously gan blow,
As his weake lips could not their fury stay.
And inward griefe withall so hugely sweld,
As tears, sighes, griefe had soon al words expeld.
At last, when as his teares began to cease,
And weary sighes more calmely for to blowe:
As he began with words his griefe to ease,
And remnant of his broken plaint to show:
He spide the skie o're-spread with nightly clouds,
So home he went, his flocke and him to shrowde.
Eubulus his Embleme. VNI MIHI PERGAMA RESTANT. Francis Dauison.
III. EGLOGVE. Made long since vpon the death of Sir Phillip Sidney.
Thenot. Perin.
PERIN, arreed what new mischance betide,
Hath raft thee of thy wonted meriment?
Faire feeds thy flock this pleasant spring beside,
Nor Loue, I ween, hath made thee discontent,
[...]ild Age and Loue, to meet in one, consent.
Perin.
Ah Thenot, where the Ioy of hart doth faile,
What maruaile there, if mirth & musick quaile?
See how the flowrets of the field do spring,
The Purple Rose, the Lilly white as Snow;
With smell and colour for an Haruest King,
May serue to make vs yong againe, I trow:
Yet all this pride is quickly laid full low,
Soon as the root is nipt with northerne cold,
What smell, or beauty, can we then behold?
Thenot.
As good not heare, as heard, not vnderstand,
My borrell braines through eld beene all too dull,
[Page]Sike mister meaning nill by mee be scand,
All as my Face, so wrinckled is my skull:
Then say me Perin, by thy hope of wull,
And by thine Ewes blown bags and bagpipes sound,
So not one Aneling in thy flock be found,
Perin.
Ah Thenot, by thine alderliefest Lasse,
Or whatsoeuer is more deere to thee;
No Bagpipe name, let song and sollace passe,
Death hath vndon my flock, my pipe, and mee.
Dead is the Sheeps delight, and Shepheards glee,
Broke is my Pipe, and I my selfe forlorne,
My Sheep vnfed, their fleeces rent and torne.
Thenot.
I mickle muz'de such vncouth change to see,
My flockes refuz'de to feed, yet hale they weare:
The tender Birds sate drooping on the tree,
The carelesse Lambs went wandring here & there:
My selfe vnknowne a part of griefe did beare,
Ne wist I why, yet heauy was my hart,
Vntimely Death was cause of all this smart.
Vp Perin, vp, aduaunce thy mournfull layes,
Sound loud thy pipe, but sound in dolefull wise.
Perin.
Who else, but Thenot, can the Muses raise,
And teach them sing and dance in mournfull guis [...]
My fingers stiffe, my voice doth hoarsely rise.
Thenot.
[Page]Ah, where is Collin, and his passing skill?
For him it sits our sorrow to fulfill.
Perin.
Tway sore extreames our Collin presse so neere,
(Alas that such extreames should presse him so)
The want of wealth, and losse of loue so deere,
Scarse can he breathe from vnder heapes of woe,
He that beares heau'n, beares no such weight I trow.
Thenot.
Hath he such skill in making all aboue,
And hath no skill to get, or Wealth, or Loue?
Perin.
Praise is the greatest prise that Poets gaine,
A simple gaine that feeds them ne're a whit.
The wanton lasse for whom he bare such paine,
[...]ike running water loues to change and flit.
But if thee list to heare a sorry fit,
Which Cuddy could in dolefull verse endite,
Blow thou thy Pipe while I the same recite.
Thenot.
[...]inne when thou list, all-be my skill but small,
[...]y forward minde shall make amends for all.
Perin.
YEe Nimphs that bathe your bodies in this spring:
Your tender bodies white as driuen Snow:
[Page]Yee Virgins chaste which in this Groue doe sing,
Which neither griefe of Loue, nor Death do know:
So may your streames runne cleere for ay,
So may your trees giue shade alway.
Depart a space,
And giue me place,
To wayle with griefe my restlesse woe alone,
For feare my cries,
Constraine your eyes,
To shed forth teares, and help lament my mone.
And thou, my Muse, that whilome wont to ease,
Thy Maisters minde with layes of sweete delight,
Now change those tunes, no ioy my hart can please,
Gone is the day, come is the darkesome night,
Our Sunne close hid in cloudes doth lie,
We liue indeede, but liuing, die:
No light we see,
Yet wander wee,
We wander farre and neere without a guide:
And all astray,
We loose our way,
For in this world n'is such a Sunne beside.
Ye Shepheards Boyes that leade your flocks a field,
The whilst your sheepe feede safely round about,
[...]reake me your Pipes that pleasant sound did yeeld,
[...]ing now no more the Songs of Collin Clout:
Lament the end of all our ioy,
Lament the source of all annoy.
WILLY is dead,
Our flockes and vs in mirth and Shepheards glee:
Wel could he sing,
Wel dance, and spring;
Of all the Shepheards was none such as hee.
How often hath his skill in pleasant Song
Drawn al the water-nimphs from out their bowers?
How haue they laine the tender grasse along,
And made him Garlands gay of smelling flowers?
Phoebus himselfe that conquer'd Pan,
Striuing with Willy, nothing wan.
Ne thinkes I see,
The time when hee
[...]luckt from his golden lockes the Laurell crowne;
And so to raise
Our Willies praise,
[...]edeckt his head, and softly set him downe.
The learned Muses flockt to heare his skill,
[...]nd quite forgot their water, wood, and mount;
They thought his Songs were done too quickly stil,
Of none but Willies Pipe they made account.
Hee sung; they seemd inioy to flowe:
He ceast; they seemd to weep for woe;
The Rurall rout,
All round about,
[...]ike Bees came swarming thicke, to heare him sing:
Ne could they thinke,
On meate or drinke,
While Willies musicke in their eares did ring.
But now (alas) such pleasant mirth is past,
Apollo weepes, the Muses rend their haire.
No ioy on earth that any time can last,
See where his breathlesse corps lies on the beare.
That selfe same hand that reft his life,
Hath turned Shepheards peace to strife.
Our ioy is fled,
Our life is dead,
Our hope, our help, our glory all is gone:
Our Poets praise,
Our happy dayes,
And nothing left but griefe, to thinke ther [...]n.
What Thames, what Seuerne, or what westerne Se [...]
Shall giue me floods of trickling teares to shed?
What comfort can my restlesse griefe appease?
O that mine eies were Fountaines in my head!
Ah Collin! I lament thy case,
For thee remaines no hope of grace.
The best reliefe,
Of Poets griefe,
Is dead, and wraptfull colde in filthy clay,
And nought remaines,
To ease our paines,
But hope of death, to ridde vs hence away.
Phillis, thine is the greatest griefe aboue the rest:
Where beene thy sweetest Posies feately dight,
Thy Girlonds with a true-loues Knot addrest,
And all that erst, thou Willy, didst behight?
Thy labour all is lost in vaine,
[Page]The griefe whereof shall ay remaine.
The Sunne so bright,
That falles to night,
[...]o morrow from the East againe shall rise:
But we decay,
And waste away,
Without returne, alas, thy Willy dies.
[...]e how the drooping Flockes refuse to feede,
[...]e Riuers streame with teares aboue the bankes,
[...]e Trees do shed their leaues, to waile agreede,
[...]e beasts vnfed, go mourning all in rankes.
The Sunne denies the Earth his light,
The Spring is kill'd with winters might:
The flowers spill,
The birds are still:
[...] voyce of ioy is heard in any place.
The Meddows greene,
A change haue seene,
[...]d Flora hides her pale disfigur'd face.
[...]tch now, ye shepheards boyes, with waking [...],
[...] loose your time of sleepe, to learne to sing.
[...] happy skill, what good is got thereby,
[...] painted praise that can no profite bring?
If Skill could moue the Sisters three,
Our Willy still aliue should be.
The woolfe so wood,
Amazed stood,
[...]und of Willies pipe, and left his pray:
Both Pipe and Skill,
[...]o, worse then any wicked Wolfe are they.
O flatt'ring hope of mortall mens delight,
[...]o faire in outward shew, so foule within!
[...]he deepest streames do flow full calme to sight,
[...]he rau'ning Woolues do jet in Weathers skin;
Wee deem'd our Willy ay should liue,
So sweete a sound his Pipe could giue:
But cruel death
Hath stopt his breath:
[...]umbe lies his Pipe that wont so sweete to sound:
Our flockes lament
His life is spent,
[...]nd carelesse wander all the woods around.
[...]ome now, ye shepheards daughters, come no more
[...]o heare the Songs that Cuddy wont to sing:
[...]oarse is my Muse, my throate with crying, sore;
[...]hese woods with Eccho of my griefe doe ring.
Your Willies life was Cuddies ioy,
Your Willies death hath kill'd the Boy:
Broke lies my Pipe,
Till Reedes be ripe
[...]o make a new one, but a worse, I feare:
Saue yeere by yeere,
To waile my Deere.
[...] Pipe and Song I vtterly forsweare.
Thenot.
[...]cke and welladay may shepheards cry,
[Page]Our
Willy dead, our
Collin killd with care:
Who shall not loathe to liue, and long to die?
And will not griefe our little Cuddy spare,
But must he too of sorrow haue a share?
Ay, how his ruefull Verse hath prickt my hart!
How feelingly hath hee exprest my smart!
Perin.
Ah Thenot, hadst thou seene his sory looke,
His wringed hands, his eies to heau'n vpkest;
His teares, that stream'd like water in the Brooke;
His sighes, that made his Rimes seeme rudely drest,
To teares thou wouldst haue melted with the rest.
But hie we homeward, night approcheth neere,
And rainie cloudes in southerne skies appeere.
II. EGLOGVE.
Shepheard. Heard-man.
COme gentle Heard-man, sit by mee,
And tune thy Pipe by mine
Heere vnderneath this Willow tree,
To shield the hote Sunne-shine.
Where I haue made my Summer bower,
For proofe of Summer beames,
And deckt it vp with many a flower,
Sweete seated by the streames.
Where gentle Daphnee once a day,
These flowry bankes doth walke,
And in her bosome beares away
The pride of many a stalke.
But leaues the humble Heart behinde,
That should her Garland dight:
And she, sweete soule, the more vnkinde,
To set true loue so light.
But, whereas others beare the Bell,
As in her fauour blest;
Her shepheard loueth her as well,
As those whome she loues best.
Heard-man.
[Page]ALas, poore Pastor, I finde,
Thy loue is lodg'd so high,
That on thy flocke thou hast no minde,
But feedst a wanton Eie.
If dainty Daphnes lookes besot
Thy doating hearts desire,
Be sure, that farre aboue thy lot,
Thy liking doth aspire.
To loue so sweete a Nymph as shee,
And looke for loue againe:
Is fortune fitting high degree,
Not for a Shepheards swaine.
For she of lordly lads becoyd,
And sought of great estates,
Her fauour scornes to be enioyde
By vs poore lowly Mates.
Wherefore I warne thee to be wise,
Go with me to my walke,
Where lowly Lasses be not nice,
There like and chuse thy Make.
Where are no pearles nor Gold to view,
No pride of silken sight,
[...]ut Petticoates of scarlet hew,
Which vaile the skin snow-white.
[...]here truest Lasses beene to get
For loue and little cost:
[...]here sweet desire is payd his det,
And labour seldome lost.
Shepheard.
[Page]NO Heardman, no, thou rau'st too lowde,
Our trade so vile to hold.
My weede as great a Hart doth shrowde,
As his that's clad in gold:
And take the truth that I thee tell,
This Song faire Daphnee sings,
That Cupid will be seru'd as well,
Of Shepheards as of Kings.
For proofe whereof, old bookes recorde,
That Venus Queene of Loue,
Would sett aside her warlike Lorde,
And youthfull Pastors proue.
How Paris was as well belou'de,
A simple Shepheards Boy,
As after when that he was prou'de
King Priams Son of Troy.
And therefore haue I better hope,
As had those Lads of yore,
My courage takes as large a scope,
Although their haps were more.
And for thou shalt not deeme I iest,
And beare a mind more base;
No meaner hope shall haunt my brest,
Then deerest Daphnees grace.
My minde no other thought retaines,
Mine Eye nought else admiers:
My hart no other passion straines,
Nor other hap desiers.
[Page]My Muse of nothing else entreates,
My Pipe nought else doth sound,
My Veines no other seauer heates,
Such faith's in Shepheards found.
Heard-man.
AH Shepheard, then I see, with griefe
Thy care is past all cure,
No remedy for thy reliefe,
But patiently endure.
Thy wonted libertie is fled,
Fond fancie breeds thy bane,
Thy sence of folly brought a bed,
Thy wit is in the wane.
I can but sorrow for thy sake,
Since loue lulles thee asleepe.
And whilst out of thy dreame thou wake,
God shield thy straying sheepe.
Thy wretched Flocke may rue and curse
This proude desire of thine,
Whose woefull state from bad to wurse
Thy carelesse eye will pine.
And e'en as they, thy selfe likewise
With them shalt weare and waste,
To see the spring before thine eyes,
Thou thirsty canst not taste.
Content thee therefore with Conceit,
Where others gaine the grace,
And thinke thy fortune at the height,
To see but Daphnees face.
[Page]Although thy truth deserued well
Reward aboue the rest,
Thy haps shall be but meanes to tell
How other men are blest.
So gentle Shepheard, farewel now,
Bee warned by my reed,
For I see written in thy brow,
Thy Hart for loue doth bleed.
Yet longer with thee would I stay,
If ought would do thee good,
But nothing can the heate allay,
Where Loue enflames the blood.
Shepheard.
THen Heardman, since it is my lot,
and my good liking such,
Striue not to breake the faithfull kno [...]
That thinkes no paine too much.
For what contents my Daphnee best
I neuer will despise;
So she but wish my soule good rest
When death shall close mine eyes.
Then Heard-man, farewel once againe,
For now the day is fled:
So might thy cares, poore Shepheards Swaine,
Flie from thy carefull head.
IIII. EGLOGVE. Concerning olde Age. The beginning and end of this Eglogue are wanting.
Perin.
FOr when thou art not as thou wont of yore,
No cause why life should please thee any more.
Whilome I was (in course of former yeeres,
Ere freezing Eld had coolde my youthly rage)
Of mickle worth among my Shepheards Peeres.
Now for I am some-dele ystept in age,
For pleasance, strength, and beautie ginnes asswage.
Ech litle Heard-groom laughs my wrinkled face,
Ech bonny lasse for Cuddy shunnes the place;
For all this woe none can wee iustly twight,
But hatefull Eld, the foe to pleasant rest,
Which like a Theefe doth rob vs of delight.
Wrenock.
Perin, enough; few words beene alwayes best,
Needs must be borne that cannot be redrest.
Selfe am I as thou seest in thilke estate,
The griefe is eath to beare that haz a mate.
[...]ut sicker for to speake the truth indeed,
[...]hou seem'st to blame that blamelesse seems to me,
[Page]And hurtlesse Eld to sneb: (ill mought he speed,
That slayes the Dog, for Wolues so wicked bee)
The faults of men thou lay'st on Age I see,
For which if Eld were in it selfe too blame,
Then I and all my Peeres should taste the same.
Perin.
Wreenock, I weene thou doat'st through rusty Eld,
And think'st with fained words to bleare mine eie.
Thou for thy store art euer blissefull held,
Thy heapes of gold nill let thee sorrow spie,
Thy Flocks full safe here vnder shade doe lie,
Thy weanlings fat, thine ews with bladders blowne:
A iollier Shepheard haue we seldome knowne.
Wrenock.
For thilke my store, great Pan yherried be;
But if for thy, mine age with ioy I beare,
How falles it that thy selfe vnlike to me,
Art vexed so with griefe and bootlesse feare?
Thy store will let thee sleepe on either eare:
But neither want makes Age to wisemen hard,
Nor fools by welth from grieuous pains are bard.
Perin.
[Page]Seest not how free yond Lambkin skips and plaies;
And wrigs his tayle, and buts with tender head;
All for he feeles the heate of youngthly dayes,
Which secret law of kinde hath inly bred?
Thilke Ewe from whom all Ioy with youth is fled,
See how it hangs the head, as it would weep,
Whilome it skipt, vneathes now may it creep.
Wrenock.
No fellowship hath state of Beasts with man,
In them is nought but strength of lim and bone,
Which endes with age as it with age began.
But man they saine (as other Creature none)
Hath vncouth fire conuayd from Heau'n by one,
(His name I wist) that yeelds him inward light
Sike fire as Welkin showes in winter night.
Which neither Age nor Time can weare away,
Which waxeth bett for vse as Shepheards Crooke
That euer shineth brighter day by day:
Also though wrinkled seeme the aged looke,
Bright shines the fire that from the stars we tooke.
And sooth to say, thilke Ewe laments the paine,
That thilke same wanton Lamb is like sustaine.
Perin.
[Page]Ah Thenot, be not all thy teeth on edge,
To see youngths folke to sport in pastimes gay?
To pitch the Barre, to throwe the weightie sledge,
To dance with Phillis all the holli-day,
To hunt by day, the Fox, by night, the Gray;
Sike peerelesse pleasures wont vs for to queme,
Now lig we laide, as drownd in heauy dreame.
Sonnets, Odes, Elegies, and Madrigalls.
By
- Francis Dauison and
- Walter Dauison
Brethren.
SONET. I.
Dedication of these Rimes, to his first loue.
IF my harsh humble stile, and Rimes ill dressed,
Arriue not to your worth and beautie glorious
My Muses shoulders are with weight oppressed,
And heauenly beams are o're my sight victoriou [...]
If these dimme colours haue your worth expressed
Laide by Loues hand, and not by Arte laborious
Your Sun-like raies haue my wits haruest blesse [...]
Ennabling me to make your praise notorious.
But if alas! (alas the heauens defend it,)
My lines your eies, my loue your hart displeasing
Breed hate in you, and kill my hope of easing;
Say with your self, how can the wretch amend i [...]
I wondrous faire, he wondrous deerely louing,
How can his thoughts but make his pen be mouing
SONNET. II. That he cannot hide or dissemble his affection.
BEND my wits, and beate my wearie braine,
To keep my inward griefe from outward show.
Alas I cannot: now tis vaine I know,
To hide a fire, whose flame appeereth plaine.
force my will, my sences I constraine,
T'imprison in my heart my secret woe;
But musing thoghts, deep sighs, or tears that flow,
Discouer what my heart hides, al in vaine.
[...]et blame not (Deere) this vndissembled passion;
For wel may Loue, within small limits bounded,
Be wisely maskte in a disguized fashion.
But he, whose hart, like mine, is throghly woūded,
[...]an neuer faine, no though he were assured,
[...]hat Faining might haue greater grace procured.
SONNET III. Vpon his absence from her.
THE fairest Eies, (O Eies in blacknesse faire!)
That euer shinde, and the most heau'nly face,
The daintiest smiling, the most conquering grace
And sweetest breath that e're perfumde the ayre
The cherriest lippes, whose kisse might well repair
A dead mans state; that speech which did displac [...]
All meane desiers, and all affections base,
Clogging swift H [...], & winging dead Dispaire
That snow-white breast, & al those faultles feature
Which made her seeme a personage diuine,
And farre excelling fairest humane creatures,
Hath Absence banisht from my cursed Eine.
But in my Heart, as in a Mirrour cleere,
All these perfections to my thoughts appeere.
SONNET. IIII. Vpon presenting her with the speech of Grayes-Inne Maske at the Court 1594. consisting of three partes, The Story of Proteus Transformations, the wonders of the Adamantine Rocke, and a speech to her Maiestie.
WHo in these lines may better claime a parte,
That sing the praises of the Britton Queene;
Then you, faire sweet, that only Soueraign beene,
Of the poore Kingdome of my faithful Harte?
Or to whose vew should I this speech imparte,
Where th'adamātines rocks great powre is shown:
But to your cōq'ring eies, whose force once known
Makes euen Iron harts loath thence to parte?
Or who of Proteus sundry transformations,
May better send you the new-fayned Story,
Then I, whose loue vnfain'de felt no mutations,
Since to be yours I first receiu'de the glory?
Accept then of these lines, though meanely pend,
So fit for you to take, and me to send.
ELEGIE. I. He renounceth his food, and former delight in Musick [...], Poesie, and Painting.
SItting at board sometimes, preparde to eate,
Ift hap my minde on these my woes to thinke,
Sighs fill my mouth in steade of pleasant meate,
And teares do moist my lips in lieu of drinke:
But yet, nor sighs, nor tears, that rū amain
Can either starue my thoughts, or quench my paine
Another time with carefull thoughts o're-tane,
I thought these thoughts with musicks might to chac [...]
But as I gan to set my notes in frame,
A suddaine Passion did my song displace.
Instead of Rests, sighes from my hart did rise,
Instead of Notes, deep sobs and mournful crie
Then, when I saw, that these my thoughts increasd
And that my thoughts vnto my woes gaue fire,
I hopte both thoughtes and woes might be release
If to the Muses I did me retire.
Whose sweet delights were wont to ease my w [...]
But now (alas) they could do nothing so.
For trying oft (alas) yet still in vaine,
To make some pleasant numbers to arise,
And beating oft my dulled weary Braine,
In hope some sweete Conceit for to deuise:
Out of my mouth no wordes but groanes would come,
Out of my Pen no inke but teares would runne.
Of all my old Delights yet one was left,
Painting alone to ease my minde remain'd;
By which, whenas I look't to be bereft
Of these heart-vexing woes that still me strain'd,
From forth mine eies the blood for colours came,
And teares withall to temper so the same.
Adieu my foode that wontst my taste to please,
Adieu my Songs that bred mine eares delight,
Adieu sweete Muse that oft my minde didst ease,
Painting, Adieu, that oft refresht my sight,
Since neither taste, nor eares, nor sight, nor mind,
In your Delights can aught saue sorrow finde.
SONNET. V. To Pitty.
WAKE Pitty, wake, for thou hast slept too lon
Within the Tygrish hart of that fierce faire,
Who ruines most, where most she should repair
And wher she ows most right, doth greatest wrō
Wake Pitty, wake, O do no more prolong
Thy needeful help! but quickly heare my praye
Quickly (alas) for otherwise Despaire,
By guiltie death, will end my guiltlesse wrong.
Sweet Pitty wake, and tell my cruell Sweete,
That if my death her honour might encrease,
I would lay downe my life at her prowd feete,
And willing die, and dying, hold my peace.
Tell her I liue, and liuing, crie for grace,
Because my death her glory would deface.
ODE. I. That only her beauty and voice please him.
I.
[...]Assion may my Iudgement bleare,
Therfore sure I will not sweare,
That others are not pleasing:
[...]ut I speake it to my paine,
[...]nd my life shall it maintaine,
None else yeelds my hart easing.
II.
[...]adies I doo thinke there bee,
[...]ther some as faire as shee,
(Though none haue fairer features)
[...]ut my Turtle-like Affection,
[...]ince of her I made Election,
Scornes other fairest creatures.
III.
[...]urely I wil not deny,
[...]ut some others reach as high
With their sweet warbling voices;
[...]t since her Notes charmde mine Eare,
[...]en the sweetest Tunes I heare,
To mee seeme rude harsh noyses.
MADRIGAL I. To Cupid.
LOVE, if a God thou art,
Then euermore thou must,
Be mercifull and iust.
I [...] thou be iust; O wherefore doth thy Dart,
Wound mine alone, and not my Ladies Hart?
If mercifull, then why
Am I to paine reseru'd,
Who haue thee truely seru'd:
While she that by thy powre sets not a slie.
Laughs thee to scorne, and liues in libettie?
Then, if a God thou would'st accounted be,
Heale me like her, or else wound her like me.
MADRIGAL II. Vpon his Mistresse sickenes, and his owne health.
IN health and ease am I,
Yet, as I senslesse were, it nought contents mee.
You sicke in paine do lie,
And (ah) your paine exceedingly torments me
Whereof, his only is the reason true,
That dead vnto my selfe, I liue in you.
MADRIGAL III. He begs a Kisse.
SORROVV seldome killeth any,
Sodaine Ioy hath murthered many.
Then (Sweete) if you would end mee,
Tis a fond course with lingring griefe to spend met.
For, quickly to dispatch me,
[...]our onely way is, in your armes to catch mee,
And giue me a sweete Kisse:
[...]or such excessiue and vnlookt for blisse,
Would so much ouer-ioy mee,
As it would strait destroy mee.
MADRIGAL IIII. Vpon a Kisse receiued.
[...]INCE your sweete cherry lippes I kist,
No want of foode I once haue mist.
[...] stomach now no meate requires:
[...] throate no drinke at all desires.
[...] by your breath which then I gained,
[...]melion-like my life's maintained.
[...]en grant me (Deere) those cherries still,
[...]et me feede on them my fill.
[...]y a surfet death I get,
[...]n my Tombe let this be set;
[...]eere lieth hee whome Cherries two,
[...]lade both to liue, and life forgo.
ODE II. Vpon her protesting, that now hauing tried his sincere affection, she loued him.
I
LADIE, you are with beauties so enriched,
Of body and of minde,
As I can hardly finde,
Which of them all hath most my heart bewitched.
2
Whether your skin so white, so smoothe, so tender,
Or Face so louely faire,
Or long hart-binding haire,
Or dainty Hand, or Legge, and Foote so slender.
3
Or whether your sharpe wit and liuely spirit,
Where Pride can finde no place;
Or your most pleasing grace,
Or speech, which doth true eloquence inherit.
4
[...]ost louely all, and each of them do moue mee,
More then words can expresse;
But yet I must confesse,
loue you most, because you please to loue mee.
ODE II. His restlesse estate.
Your Presence breedes my anguish,
Your absence makes me languish:
Your sight with woe doth fill mee,
And want of your sweete sight alas doth kill mee.
If those deere Eyes that burne mee,
With milde aspect you turne mee,
For life my weake hart panteth:
If frovvningly, my Spirit and Life-blood fainteth.
If you speake kindly to mee,
Alas, kind words vndoo mee:
Yer silence doth dislike mee,
And one vnkind il word stark dead would strike m [...]
Thus Sunne, nor shade doth ease mee,
Nor speach, nor silence please mee:
Fauours and frownes annoy mee,
Both want and plentie equally destroy me.
ELEGIE II. Or Letter in Verse.
MY deerest Sweete, if these sad lines do happe
The raging fury of the Sea to scape,
O be not you more cruell then the Seas;
Let Pitty now your angry Minde appease,
So that your Hand may bee their blessed Port,
From whence they may vnto your Eyes resort,
And at that Throane pleading my wretched case,
May moue your cruell Hart to yeeld mee grace.
So may no Cloudes of elder yeeres, obscure
Your Sun-like Eyes, but stil as bright endure,
As then they shone when with one piercing Ray,
They made my selfe their slaue, my hart their pray:
So may no Sicknesse nippe those flowers sweet,
Which euer slowring on your Cheekes doo meet:
Nor all-defacing Time haue power to rase,
The goodly building of that heauenly Face.
Fountaine of Blisse, yet well-spring of my woe,
(O would I might not iustly terme you so!)
Alas, your cruell dealing, and my Fate
Haue now reduc'de mee to that wretched state,
That I know not how I my style may frame
To thanks, or grudging, or to praise, or blame;
And where to write, I al my powers do bend,
There wot I not how to beginne or ende.
And now my drisling teares trill downe apace,
As if the latter would the former chace,
Whereof some few on my pale Cheekes remaine,
Like wither'd flowers, bedewd with drops of rain [...]
[Page]The otherr falling, in my Paper sinke,
Or dropping in my Pen, increase my inke.
Which suddaine Passions Cause if you would find,
A trembling feare doth now possesse my minde,
That you will not vouchsafe these lines to reede,
Lest they some pitty in your harte might breede:
But or with angry frownes refuse to take them,
Or taking them, the fires fewell make them,
Or with those hands (made to a milder end)
These guiltlesse leaues all into peeces rend.
O Cruell Tyrant! (yet beloued still,)
Wherein haue I deseru'de of you so ill,
That all my loue you should with hate requite,
And all my paines reward with such despight?
Or if my faulte be great (which I protest
Is only Loue, too great to be exprest,)
What, haue these Lines so harmelesse innocent
Deseru'd to feele their Masters punishment?
These Leaues are not vnto my fault consenting:
And therefore ought not haue the same tormenting
When you haue read them, vse them as you list,
For by your sight they shall be fully blist;
But till you reade them, let the woes I haue
This harmelesse Paper from your fury saue.
Cleere vp mine eyes, & drie your selues, my Teares
And thou my Harte bannish these deadly feares;
Perswade thy selfe, that though her harte disdaine,
Either to loue thy loue, or rue thy paine,
Yet her faire Eyes will not a booke denie,
To this sad Story of thy Miserie.
[Page]O then, my Deere, behold the Portraiture
Of him that doth all kinde of woes endure,
Of him whose Head is made a Hiue of woes,
Whose swarming number dayly greater growes:
Of him whose Sences like a Racke are bent,
With diuerse motions my poore soule to rent;
Whose Minde a Mirrour is, which only showes,
The ougly Image of my present woes:
Whose Memorie's a poyson'd Knife to teare
The euer-bleeding wound my Breast doth beare,
(The euer-bleeding wound not to be cured,
But by those Eyes that first the same procured.)
And that poore Harte, so faithfull, constant, true,
That only loues, and serues, and honours you,
Is like a feeble Ship, which torne and rent,
The Mast of Hope being broke, and tackling spent,
Reason the Pilot dead, the Starres obscured,
By which alone to saile it was enured,
No Porte, no Land, no Comfort once expected,
All hope of Safety vtterly neglected,
With dreadfull terror tumbling vp and downe,
Passions vncertaine, waues with hideous sound,
Doth daily, hourely, minutely expect,
When either it should runne, and so be wreckt
Vpon Despaires sharpe Rocke, or be o'rethrowne,
With Storme of your Disdaine so fiercely blowne.
But yet, of al the woes that doe torment my hart,
Of all the Torments that do dayly rent my hart,
There's none so great (although I am assured,
That euen the least can not bee long endured:)
[Page]As that so many weekes (nay months, nay yeares,
Nay tedious Ages, (for it so appeares)
My trembling Hart (besides so many anguishes,)
Twixt hope & feare vncertaine howerly languishes,
Whether your hands, your Eyes, your Hart of stone
Did take my lines, and reade them, and bemone
With one kind word, one sigh, one pittying teare,
Th'unfained griefe which for your loue I beare;
Whether y'accepted that last Monument
Of my deere Loue, the Booke (I meane) I sent
To your deare selfe, when the respectlesse winde
Bare me away, leauing my hart behinde.
And daigne sometimes when you the same do view,
To thinke on him, who alwayes thinks on you.
Or whether you (as Oh I feare you doo)
Hate both my selfe, and Giftes and Letters too.
I must confesse, that when I do consither,
How ill, alas, how ill agree together,
So peerelesse beautie, to so fierce a minde,
So hard an inside to so faire a rinde,
A Hart so bloody to so white a brest,
So proud disdaine, with so milde lookes supprest;
And how my deere (Oh would it had beene neuer,
Accursed word, nay would it might be euer)
How once I say, till your Hart was estranged,
(Alas how soone my day to night was changed)
You did vouchsafe my poore Eyes so much grace,
Freely to viewe the Riches of your face,
And did so high exalte my lowly Hart,
To call it yours, and take it in good part▪,
[Page]And (which was greatest blisse) did not disdaine,
For boundlesse loue to yeeld some loue againe.
When this, I say, I call vnto my minde,
And in my Harte and Soule no cause can finde,
No fact, no word, whereby my Hart hath merited,
Of your sweete loue to be thus disinherited,
Dispaire it selfe cannot make mee dispaire,
But that you'le prooue as kinde, as you are faire,
And that my lines, & booke, (O would twere true)
Are, though I know't not yet, receiu'de by you,
And often haue your cruelty repented,
Whereby my guiltlesse Heart is so tormented,
And now at length in liew of passed woe,
Will pitty, grace, and loue, and fauour shoe.
But when againe my cursed Memory,
To my sad thoughts confounded diuersly,
Presents the time, the teare procuring time,
That wither'd my yong Ioyes before their prime;
The time when I with tedious absence tired,
With restlesse loue, and rackt desire inspired,
Comming to finde my Earthly paradise,
To glasse my sight in your two heauenly Eyes,
(On which alone my Earthly Ioyes depended:
And wanting which, my ioy and life were ended)
From your sweete Rosie lippes, the springs of blisse
To draw the Nectar of a sweetest Kisse;
My greedy Eares on your sweete wordes to feede,
Which canded in your sweetest breath proceede,
In daintiest accents through that Currall dore,
Guarded with pretious Pearle, and Rubies store:
[Page]To touch your Hand so white, so moist, so soft,
And with a rauisht kisse redoubled oft,
Reuenge with kindest spight the bloody theft,
Whereby it closely mee my Hart bereft:
And of all blisse to taste the Consummation,
In your sweete, gracefull, heauenly Conuersation,
By whose sweet charms the soules you do inchaunt,
Of all that doo your louely presence haunt;
In stead in all these Ioyes I did expect,
Found nought but frownes, vnkindnes, and neglect.
Neglect, vnkindnes, frownes? nay plaine contempt,
And open Hate, from no disdaine exempt,
No bitter words, side lookes, nor aught that might
Engreeue, encrease so vndeseru'd despight.
When this (I say) I thinke, and thinke withall,
How, nor those showers of Teares mine Eies let fall
Nor winde of blustring Sighes with all their force,
Could moue your rocky Heart once to remorce;
Can I expect that letters should finde grace,
Or pitty euer in your harte haue place?
No no; I thinke, and sad Dispaire sayes for mee,
You hate, disdaine, and vtterly abhorre mee.
Alas, my deere, if this you doe deuise,
To try the virtue of your murthering Eyes,
And in the Glasse of bleeding harts, to vew
The glorious splendour of your Beauties hew,
Ah trie it, trie it on rebellious sprights,
That doe withstand the power of sacred lights,
And make them feele (if any such be found)
How deepe and curelesly your Eyes can wound.
[Page]But spare, O spare my yeelding Hart, and saue
Him, whose cheefe glory is to be your slaue:
Make mee, the matter of your Clemencie,
And not, the subiect of your Tyrannie.
ODE IIII. Being depriued of her sweete lookes, wordes, and gestures, by his absence in Italie, he desires her to write vnto him.
I.
MY onely starre,
Why, why are your deere Eyes,
Where all my life's peace lies,
With me at warre?
Why to my Ruine tending,
Do they still lighten woe,
On him that loues you so,
That all his thoughts, in you haue birth and ending?
II.
Hope of my Hart,
O wherefore do the wordes,
[Page]Which your sweet tongue affoordes,
No hope impart?
But cruell without measure,
To my eternall paine,
Still thunder forth Disdaine,
On him whose life depends vpon your pleasure.
III.
Sunne-shine of Ioy,
Why doe your Gestures, which
All Eies and Hearts bewitch,
My blisse destroy?
And Pities skie o're-clowding
Of Hate an endlesse showre,
On that poore heart still powre,
Which in your bosome seekes his onely shrowding.
IIII.
Balme of my wound,
Why are your lines, whose sight
Should cure me with delight,
My poyson found?
Which through my veines dispersing,
Doth make my heart and minde,
And all my senses finde,
A liuing death in torments past rehersing.
V.
Alas, my Fate
Hath of your Eies depriu'd mee,
Which both kill'd and reuiu'd me,
[...]our sweet Voice, and sweet Graces,
Which cloathde in louely weedes,
Your cruell wordes and deedes,
[...]re intercepted by farre distant places.
VI.
But O the Anguish,
Which Presence still pretended,
[...]bsence hath not absented,
Nor made to languish.
[...]o, no, t'encrease my paining,
The cause being (ah) remoued,
For which th'effect I loued,
[...]h'effect is still in greatest force remaining.
VII.
O cruell Tyger,
[...] to your hard harts Center,
[...]eares, Vowes, and Prayers may enter,
Desist your rigour:
[...]nd let kind lines assure mee,
(Since to my deadly wound,
No salue else can be found)
[...]hat you that kill me, yet at length will cure mee.
MADRIGAL V. Allusion to the Confusion of Babell.
THe wretched life I liue
In my weake Sences such confusion maketh,
That like th'accursed Rabble
That built the Towre of Babble,
My wit mistaketh,
And vnto nothing a right name doth giue.
I terme her my deere loue, that deadly hates m [...],
My cheefest Good, her that's my cheefest euill;
Her Saint and Goddesse, who's a Witch, a Deuill;
Her my sole Hope, that with despaire amates mee,
My Balme I call her, that with poyson fills m [...]
And her I terme my life, that daily kills mee.
SONNET. VI. Vpon her acknowledging his Desarte, yet reiecting his Affection.
IF Loue conioyn'd with worth and great desarte,
Merit like loue in euery noble minde:
Why then doo I you still so cruell finde,
To whom you do such praise of worth imparte?
And if (my Deere) you speake not from your harte,
Two haynous wrongs you do together binde:
To seeke with glozing words mine eies to blinde,
And yet my Loue with hateful deedes to thwarte.
To want what one deserues, engreeues his paine,
Because it takes away all selfe-accusing,
And vnder kindest words to maske disdaine,
Is to a vexed Soule too much abusing.
[...]hen ift bee false, such glosing words refraine,
[...] true, O then let worth his due obtaine!
SONNET. VII. Her Answere, in the same Rimes.
IF your fond Loue want worth and great desarte,
Then blame your selfe, if you me cruell finde:
If worth alone moue euery noble minde,
Why to no worth should I my loue imparte?
And if the lesse to greeue your wounded harte,
I seeke your dazled eies with words to blinde,
To iust disfauour I great fauor binde,
With deeds, and not with words your loue to thwarte
The freeing of your minde from selfe-accusing,
By granting your deserts should ease your paine
And since your fault's but loue, t'were some abu [...] sin
With bitter words t'enuenom iust disdaine.
Then ift bee true, all glozing I refraine;
If false, why should no worth, worths due obtaine
ODE V. His Farewell to his Vnkinde and Vnconstant Mistresse.
SVVEETE, if you like and loue mee still,
And yeelde me loue for my good will.
And do not from your promise start,
When your faire hand gaue me your hart.
If deere to you I bee,
As you are deere to mee.
Then yours I am, and will be euer,
Nor time, nor place my loue shall seuer,
But faithfull still I will perseuer,
Like constant marble stone,
Louing but you alone.
But if you fauour moe than mee,
(Who loue thee still, and none but thee.)
If others doe the Haruest gaine
That's due to me for all my paine.
If that you loue to range,
And oft to choppe and change:
Then get you some new-fangled Mate,
My doating Loue shall turne to Hate,
Esteeming you (though too too late)
Not worth a pebble stone,
Louing not me alone.
A Prosopopoeia: Wherein his Hart speakes to his second Ladies Breast.
Dare not in my masters bosome rest,
That flaming Etna would to Ashes burne mee:
[...]or dare I harbour in his Mistris brest,
[...]he frosty Clymate into yce would turne mee:
So, both from her and him I do retyre mee,
Lest th'one should freeze me, & the other fire me.
Wing'd with true Loue, I flie to this sweet Brest,
Whose Snow, I hope, wil cool but t'yce not turn me:
Where fire and snow, I trust, so tempred rest,
[...]s gentle heate will warme, and yet not burne mee:
But (O deere Brest) from thee Ile ne're retire me,
Whether thou cool, or warm, or freeze, or fire me.
ODE VI. Vpon her giuing him backe the Paper wherein the former Song was written, as though it had beene an answere thereunto.
LAdy of matchlesse beauty;
[...]hen into your sweet Bosome I deliuered
[...] paper, with wan lookes, and hand that quiuered
Twixt hope, feare, loue, and duety;
[Page]Thought you it nothing else contain'd,
But written words in Ryme restraind?
O then your thought abused was,
My Hart close wrapt therein, into your Brest infuse wa [...]
When you that Scroule restor'de me,
With grateful words, kind grace, & smiling merrily
My brest did swell with ioy, supposing verily,
You, answer did afford mee.
But finding only that I writt,
I hop't to finde my Hart in it:
But you my hope abused had,
And poison of Dispaire in stead thereof infused had
Why, why did you torment mee,
With giuing back my humble Rymes so hatefully
You should haue kept both hart & paper gratefully;
Or both you should haue sent mee.
Hope you my Hart thence to remoue
By scorning mee, my Lines, my Loue?
No, no; your hope abused is,
Too deepe to be remou'd it in your Brest infused is
O shall I hide or tell it?
Deere with so spotlesse, zealous, firme Affection,
I loue your Beauty, Vertue, and perfection,
As nothing can expell it.
Scorne you my Rimes, my Loue despight?
Pull out my Hart, yea kill me quite
Yet will your hate abused bee,
For in my very soule, your loue & lookes infused be.
ODE VII. Commendation of her Beauty, Stature, Behauiour and Witt.
[...]Ome there are as faire to see too;
But by Art and not by Nature.
[...]me as tall and goodly bee too;
[...]t want Beauty to their stature.
[...]me haue gratious kinde behauour,
[...]t are fowle, or simple Creatures:
[...]me haue witt, but want sweet fauour,
[...]r are proud of their good features.
Only you in Court or Citty,
Are both fayre, Tall, Kinde, and Witty.
MADRIGALL VI. To her hand, vpon her giuing him her Gloue.
O Hand of all handes liuing,
The softest, moistest, whitest,
[...]ore skild then Phoebus on a Lute in running;
[...]ore then Minerua, with a Needle cunning;
Then Mercury more wily,
In stealing Harts most sliely.
[Page]Since thou, deere Hand, in theft so much delightest,
Why fall'st thou now a giuing?
Ay mee! thy gifts are thefts, and with strange Art,
In giuing me thy Gloue, thou stealst my Hart.
MADRIGALL. VII. Cupid proued a Fenser.
AH Cupid I mistooke thee;
I for an Archer, and no Fenser tooke thee.
But as a Fenser oft faines blowes and thrusts,
Where hee doth meane no harme;
Then turnes his balefull Arme,
And wounds his foe whereas hee least mistrusts:
So thou with fencing Art,
Fayning to wound mine Eyes, hast hit my hart.
SONNET VIII. Vpon her commending (though most vndeseruedly) his Verses to his first Loue.
PRaise you those barren Rimes long since cōposed?
Which my great Loue, her greater Cruelty,
My constant faith, her false Inconstancy,
My praiseles stile, her o're-praisd worth disclosed.
O if I lou'd a scornefull Dame so deerely;
If my wilde yeeres did yeeld so firme affection;
If her Moon-beams, short of your Suns perfectiō,
Taught my hoars Muse to sing (as you say) cleerly
How much, how much should I loue & adore you,
(Diuinest Creature) if you deign'd to loue me:
What beauty, fortune, time should euer moue me
In these staid yeeres to like aught els before you?
And O! how should my Muse, by you inspired,
Make Heauen & Earth resound your praise admired.
MADRIGAL VIII. Hee compares himselfe to a Candle-flie.
LIke to the seely flie,
To the deere light I flie
Of your disdainfull Eyes,
But in a diuerse wise.
Shee with the flame doth play
By night alone; and I both night and day.
Shee to a Candle runnes;
I to a light, far brighter then the Sunne's.
Shee neere at hand is fyred;
I both neere hand, and far-away retyred.
She fondly thinkes, nor dead, nor burnt to bee,
But I my burning, and my death foresee.
MADRIGAL IX. Answere to her question, what loue was.
IF I behold your Eyes,
Loue is a Paradize.
But if I veiw my Hart,
Ti's an infernall smart.
ODE VIII. That all other Creatures haue their abiding in heauen, hell, earth, ayre, water, or fire; but he in all of them.
IN Heau'n the blessed Angels haue their beeing;
In hel the Fiends appointed to damnation.
To men and beasts Earth yeelds firme habitation:
The wing'd Musitians in the Aire are fleeing.
With finnes the people gliding,
Of Water haue th'enioying.
In Fire (all else destroying.)
The Salamander findes a strange abiding:
But I, poore wretch, since I did first aspier,
To loue your beauty, Beauties all excelling,
Haue my strange diuerse dwelling,
In heau'n, hell, earth, water, ayre, and Fier.
Mine Eare, while you do sing, in Heau'n remaineth
My mind in hell, through hope & feares contention
Earth holds my drossy wit and dull inuention.
Th'ill foode of airie sighes my life sustaineth.
To streames of teares stil flowing
My weeping Eies are turned.
My constant Heart is burned
In quenchlesse fire within my bosome glowing.
O foole, no more, no more so high aspier;
In Heau'n is no beauty more excelling,
In Hell no such pride dwelling,
Nor heart so hard in earth, ayre, water, fier.
MADRIGAL X. Vpon his time rous silence in her presence.
ARE Louers full of fier?
How comes it then my Verses are so colde?
And how, when I am nie her,
And fit occasion wills me to be bolde,
The more I burne, the more I do desier,
The lesse I dare requier?
Ah Loue! this is thy wondrous Art,
To freeze the tongue, and fire the hart.
MADRIGAL XI. Vpon her long Absence.
IF this most wretched and infernall Anguish,
Wherin so long your absence makes me languish
My vitall spirits spending,
Do not worke out my ending.
Nor yet your long-expected safe returning,
To heau'nly ioy my hellish torments turning,
With ioy so ouer-fill me,
As presently it kill mee;
I wil conclude, hows'euer Schooles deceaue a man
No Ioy, nor Sorrow, can of life bereaue a man.
Vpon seeing his Face in her Eie.
FAirest and kindest of all woman-kinde:
Since you did me the vndeserued grace,
[...]n your faire Eye to shew me my bad face,
With loane Ile pay you in the selfe same kinde;
Looke in mine Eie, and I will shew to you,
The fairest face that Heau'ns Eie doth view.
But the small worthlesse Glasse of my dimme Eie,
Scarce shewes the Picture of your heau'nly face,
Which yet each slightest turne doth strait deface.
But could, O could you once my Heart espie,
Your forme at large you there engrav'd shuld see,
Which, nor by Time, nor Death can razed bee.
MADRIGAL XII. Vpon her hiding her face fom him.
GOE wayling Accents, goe,
With my warm teares & scalding teares attended,
To th'Author of my woe,
[...]nd humbly aske her, why she is offended.
Say, Deere, why hide you so,
From him your blessed Eyes,
[Page]Where he beholdes his earthly Paradise,
Since he hides not from you
His heart, wherein Loues heau'n you may view?
MADRIGAL XIII. Vpon her Beauty and Inconstancie.
Whosoeuer longs to trie,
Both Loue and Iealousie,
My faire vnconstant Ladie let him see,
And he will soone a iealous Louer bee.
Then he by proofe shall know,
As I doe to my woe,
How they make my poore heart at once to dwell,
[...]n fire and frost, in heau'n and in hell.
A Dialogue betweene a Louers flaming Heart, and his Ladies frozen Breast.
Hart
Shut not (sweet Breast) to see me all of fire.
Breast
Flie not (deere Hart) to find me al of snowe.
Hart
Thy snow inflames these flames of my desire.
Breast
And I desire, Desiers sweet flames to know.
Hart
Thy Snow n'ill hurt me.
Breast
Nor thy Fire will harme me.
Hart
This cold will coole me.
Breast
And this heate wil warme me.
Hart
Take this chaste fire to that pure virgin snow▪
B.
Being now thus warm'd, Ile n'ere seek other fire▪
H
Thou giu'st more blis thā mortal harts may know
Breast
More blisse I take than Angells can desire.
Both together Let one griefe harme vs;
And let one ioy fill vs:
Let one loue warme vs;
And let one death kill vs.
ELEGIE. III. For what cause he obtaines not his Ladies fauour.
Deere, why hath my long loue, and faith vnfained,
At your faire hands no grace at all obtained?
Ist, that my [...]ocke-hol'd face doth beauty lacke?
No: Your sweet Sex, sweet beauty praiseth;
Ours, wit and valour chiefly raiseth.
Ist, that my musk lesse cloaths are plaine & blacke?
No: What wise Ladie loues fine noddies,
With poore-clad mindes, and rich-clad bodies?
Ist, that no costly gifts mine Agents are?
No: My true Heart which I present you,
Should more than golde or pearle content you.
Ist, That my Verses want inuention rare?
No: I was neuer skilfull Poet,
I truely loue, and plainely show it.
[...]st, That I vaunt, or am effeminate?
O scornefull vices! I abhorre you,
Dwell still in Court, the place fit for you.
[...]st, That you feare my loue soone turnes to hate?
No: Though disdain'd, I can hate neuer,
But lou'd, where once I loue, loue euer.
[Page]Ist, That your fauours iealous Eies suppresse?
No: onely Virtue neuer-sleeping,
Hath your faire Mindes and Bodies keeping.
Ist, That to many moe I loue professe?
Goddesse, you haue my Hearts oblation,
And no Saint else lippes inuocation.
No, none of these: The cause I now discouer;
No woman loues a faithfull worthy Louer.
A Quatrain.
IF you reward my loue with loue againe,
My blisse, my life, my heau'n I will deeme you,
But if you prowdly quite it with disdaine,
My curse, my death, my hell I must esteeme you.
SONNET IX. To a worthy Lord (now dead) vpon presenting him for a New-yeers-gift, with Caesars Commentaries and Cornelius Tacitus.
WOrthily, famous Lord, whose Virtues rare,
Set in the golde of neuer-stain'd Nobilitie,
And noble minde shining in true humilitie,
Make you admir'de of all that vertuous are:
[...]f as your Sword with enuy imitates
Great Caesars Sword in all his deedes victorious,
So your learn'd Pen would striue to be glorious,
And write your Acts perform'd in forrein States;
Or if some one with the deepe wit inspir'd,
Of matchles Tacitus would them historifie,
Thē Caesars works so much we should not glorifie,
And Tacitus would be much lesse desir'd.
[...]ut till your selfe, or some such put them forth,
[...]ccept of these as Pictures of your worth.
To SAMVEL DANIEL Prince of Englist Poets. Vpon his three seuerall sortes of Poesie, • Liricall, in his Sonnets. , • Tragicall, in Rosamond and Cleopatra. ,
and • Heroicall, in his Ciuill Warres.
OLympiaes matchlesse Son, whenas he knew
How many crowns his fathers sword had gaind,
With smoaking sighs, and deep-fetcht sobs did rew,
And his braue cheekes with scalding teares bedew,
[...] that kingdomes now so few remain'd,
[...]y his victorious Arme to bee obtain'd.
So (Learned Daniel) when as thou didst see,
That Spenser erst so far had spred his fame,
That hee was Monark deem'd of Poesie,
Thou didst (I gesse) eu'n burne with Iealousie,
Lest Lawrell were not left enough to frame,
A neast sufficient for thine endlesse Name.
But as that Pearle of Greece, soone after past
In wondrous conquests his renowned sire,
And others all, whose names by Fame are plac'te
In highest seate: So hath thy Muse surpast
Spenser, and all that doe with hot desire,
To the Thunder-scorning Lawrel-crown aspire
And as his Empires linked force was knowne,
When each of those that did his Kingdoms share,
The mighti'st Kings in might did match alone:
[...]o of thy skill the greatnes thus is showne,
That each of those, great Poets deemed are,
Who may in no one kinde with thee compare.
One sharde out Greece, another Asia held,
And fertile Egypt to a third did fall,
[...]ut only Alexander all did wield.
[...]o in soft pleasing Liricks some are skild,
In Tragicke some, some in Heroicall,
But thou alone art matchlesse in them all.
Non equidem inuideo, miror magit
Three Epitaphs vpon the death of a rare Child of six yeares old.
1
WIts perfection, Beauties wonder,
Natures pride, the Graces treasure,
Vertues hope, his friends sole pleasure,
This small Marble Stone lies vnder.
Which is often moyst with teares,
For such losse in such yong yeares.
2
Louely Boy, thou art not dead,
[...]ut from Earth to Heauen fled,
For base Earth was far vnfit,
For thy Beautie, Grace, and Wit.
3
Thou aliue on Earth sweete Boy,
Had'st an Angels wit, and face:
And now dead, thou dost enioy
In high Heauen an Angels place.
An Inscription for the Statue of DIDO.
O most vnhappy DIDO,
[...]nhappy Wife, and more vnhappy Widow!
[...]nhappy in thy Mate,
[...]nd in thy Louer most vnfortunate.
[...] treason th'one was rest thee,
[...] treason th'other left thee.
[...]hat left thee meanes to flie with,
[...]his left thee meanes to die with.
[...]he former being dead,
[...]om Brothers sword thou fliest;
[...]e latter being fled,
[...]n Louers sword thou diest.
Piu meritare, che conseguire. FRA. DAVISON
SONNET. I. Hee demaunds pardon, for looking, louing, and writing.
LEt not (sweet Saint) let not these lines offend you,
Nor yet the Message that these lines imparte;
The Message my vnfained Loue doth send you,
Loue, which your selfe hath planted in my harte.
For beeing charm'd by the bewitching arte
Of those inveagling graces which attend you,
Loues holy fire makes mee breathe out in parte,
The neuer-dying flames my brest doth lend you.
Then if my Lines offend, let Loue be blamed.
And if my Loue displease, accuse mine Eies,
If mine Eies sinne, their sinnes cause onely lies
On your brite eies, which haue my hart inflamed
Since eies, loue, lines, erre then by your direction;
Excuse mine Eies, my Lines, and my Affection.
SONNET. II. Loue in Iustice punnishable only with like Loue.
BVt if my Lines may not be held excused,
Nor yet my Loue finde fauour in your Eyes,
But that your Eyes as Iudges shall be vsed,
Euen of the fault which frō themselues doth rise,
Yet this my humble suite do not despise,
Let mee bee iudged as I stand accused,
If but my fault my doome doe equalise,
What er'e it bee, it shal not be refused.
And since my Loue already is expressed,
And that I cannot stand vpon deniall,
I freely put my selfe vpon my triall,
Let Iustice doome mee as I haue confessed.
For in my Doome if Iustice bee regarded,
My Loue with Loue againe shall bee rewarded.
SONET. III. Hee calls his Eares, Eyes, and Hart as witnesses of her sweet voyce, beauty, and inward vertuous perfections.
FAyre is thy face, and great thy wits perfection,
So fayre alas, so hard to bee exprest,
That if my tyred pen should neue [...] rest,
It should not blaze thy worth, but my affection.
Yet let me say, the Muses make election
Of your pure minde, there to erect their neast,
And that your face is such a flint-hard breast,
By force thereof, without force feeles subiection.
Witnes mine Eare, rauisht when you it heares,
Witnesse mine Eyes rauisht when you they see,
Beauty and Vertue, witnesse Eyes and Eares,
In you (sweet Saint) haue equall soueraingntie.
But if, nor Eyes, nor Eares, can prooue it true,
Witnesse my Hart, their's none that equalls you.
SONNET. V. Prayse of her Eyes, excelling all Comparisons.
I Bend my wit, but wit cannot deuise,
Words fit to blaze the worth, your Eies cōtains,
Whose nameles woorth their worthles name disdains
For they in worth exceed the name of eies.
Eyes they be not, but worldes in which these lies,
More blisse then this wide world besides cōtains;
Worlds they be not, but starres, whose influence raignes,
Ouer my Life and Lifes felicities.
Stars they bee not, but Suns, whose presence driues
Darknes from night, and doth bright day impart;
Suns they be not, which outward heate deriues,
But these do inwardly inflame my hart.
Since then in Earth, nor Heau'n, they equal'd are,
I must confesse they be beyond compare.
ODE I. His Lady to bee condemned of Ignorance or Crueltie.
AS shee is faire, so faithfull I,
My seruice shee, her grace I merit,
Her beautie doth my Loue inherit,
But Grace shee doth deny.
O knowes shee not how much I loue?
Or doth knowledge in her moue
No small Remorce?
For the guilt thereof must lie
Vpon one of these of force,
Her Ignorance, or Cruelty
As shee is faire, so cruell shee.
I sowe true loue, but reape disdaining;
Her pleasure springeth from my paining,
Which Pitties source should bee.
Too well shee knowes how much I loue,
Yet doth knowledge in her moue,
No small remorce.
Then the guilt thereof must lie
Vpon this a lone of force,
Her vndeserued Cruelty.
As shee is faire, so were shee kinde:
Or beeing cruel, could I wauer,
Soone should I, either win her fauer,
Or a new Mistresse finde.
[Page]But neyther out alas may bee,
Scorne in her, and loue in mee,
So fixed are.
Yet in whom most blame doth lie
Iudge shee may, if shee compare
My loue vnto her Crueltie.
SONNET VI. Contention of Loue and Reason for his Hart.
REason and Loue lately at strife, contended,
Whose Right it was to haue my minds protectiō,
Reason on his side, Natures wil pretended,
Loues Title was, my Mistresse rare perfection.
Of power to ende this strife, each makes election,
Reasons pretence discoursiue thoughts defended;
But loue soon broght those thoghts into subiectiō
By Beauties troopes, which on my saint depended.
Yet, since to rule the minde was Reasons dutie,
On this Condition it by loue was rendred,
That endles Praise by Reason should be tendred,
As a due Tribute to her conquering Beautie.
Reason was pleasde withall, and to loues Royalty,
He pledg'de my Hart, as Hostage for his Loyalty.
SONNET IIII. That she hath greater power ouer his happines and life, then either Fortune, Fate, or Starres.
LEt Fate, my Fortune, and my Starres conspire,
Io [...]ntly to poure on me their worst disgrace;
So I be graeious in your heauenly Face,
I wey not Fates, nor Starres, nor Fortunes yre.
T'is not the influence of Heauens Fire,
Hath power to make me blessed in my Race,
Nor in my happinesse hath Fortune place,
Nor yet can Fate my poore lifes date expyre.
T'is your faire Eyes (my Starres) all blisse doo giue,
Tis your disdaine (my Fate) hath power to kill,
T'is you (my Fortune) make me happy liue,
Though Fortune, Fate, & Stars conspyre mine ill.
Then (blessed Saint) into your fauour take mee,
[...]ortune, nor Fate, nor Stars can wretched make me.
SONNET. VII. Of his Ladies weeping.
WHat need I say, how it doth wound my brest,
By fate to bee thus banisht from thine Eyes,
Since your own Tears with me doo Sympathize,
Pleading with slow departure there to rest?
For when with floods of teares they were opprest,
Ouer those Iuory banks they did not rise,
Till others enuying their felicities,
Did presse thē forth, that they might there be blest.
Some of which, Teares prest forth by violence,
Your lippes with greedy kissing strait did drinke:
And other some vnwilling to part thence,
Inamourd on your cheekes in them did sincke.
And some which from your Face were forc'd away,
In signe of Loue did on your Garments stay.
SONNET. VIII. Hee paints out his Torments.
SWeet, to my cursed life some fauour showe,
Or let me not (accurst) in life remaine,
Let not my Senses sence of life retaine,
Since sence doth only yeeld mee sence of woe.
For now mine Eyes only your frownes doo know;
Mine Eeares heare nothing els but your disdaine,
My lips taste nought but teares: and smel is paine,
Banisht your lips, where Indian Odours grow.
And my deuoted Hart your Beauties slaue,
Feeles nought but scorne, oppression, & distresse,
Made eu'n of wretchednes the wretched Caue,
Nay, too too wretched for vilde wretchednesse.
For euen sad sighes, as loathing there to rest,
Struggle for passage from my Greefe-swolne brest.
ODE II. A dialogue betweene him and his Hart.
AT her faire hands how haue I grace intreated,
With prayers oft repeated,
Yet still my loue is thwarted:
Hart let her goe, for shee'le not be conuarted.
Say, shal shee goe?
Oh no, no, no, no, no.
Shee is most faire, though shee be marble harted.
How often haue my sighs declar'de mine anguish?
Wherein I dayly languish,
Yet doth shee still procure it:
Hart let her goe, for I can not endure it.
Say, shal shee goe?
Oh no, no, no, no, no.
Shee gaue the wound, and shee alone must cure it.
The trickling tears that down my cheeks haue flowed,
My loue haue often showed;
Yet still vnkind I proue her:
Hart, let her goe, for nought I do can moue her.
Say, shal shee goe?
Oh no, no, no no, no.
Though mee shee hate, I can not chuse but loue her.
[Page]But shall I still a true affection owe her,
Which prayers, sighs, teares do shew her;
And shall shee still disdaine mee?
Hart, let her goe, if they no grace can gaine mee.
Say, shal shee goe?
Oh no, no, no, no, no.
Shee made mee hers, and hers shee will retaine mee
But if the Loue that hath, and still doth burne mee,
No loue at length returne mee,
Out of my thoughts Ile set her:
Hart, let her goe, oh hart, I pray thee let her.
Say, shal shee goe?
Oh no, no, no, no, no:
Fixt in the hart, how can the hart forget her.
But if I weepe and sigh, and often waile mee,
Till teares, sighes, prayers fayle mee,
Shall yet my Loue perseuer?
Hart, let her goe, if shee will right thee neuer.
Say, shal shee goe?
Oh no, no, no, no▪, no
Teares, sighs, praiers faile, but true loue lasteth eue [...]
SONNET. IX. His Sighes and Teares are bootlesse.
I Haue entreated, and I haue complained,
I haue disprays'd, and prayse I like wise gaue,
All meanes to win her Grace I tryed haue,
And still I loue, and still I am disdained.
So long I haue my Tongue and Pen constrained,
To praise, dispraise, complaine, and pitty craue,
That now, nor Tongue, nor Pen, to me her slaue
Remaines, whereby her Grace may be obtained.
Yet you (my Sighs) may purchace mee releefe,
And yee (my Teares) her rocky hart may moue;
Therefore my sighes sigh in her eares my greefe,
And in her Hart my Teares imprint my Loue.
But cease vaine sighes, cease cease yee fruitles teares,
Teares cannot pierce her Hart, nor sighes hir Eares.
SONNET. X. Her Beautie makes him loue, euen in despaire.
WOunded with Greefe, I weepe, & sigh, & plaine,
Yet neither plaints, nor sighs, nor tears do good;
But all in vaine I striue against the flood,
Gaining but greefe for greefe, & paine for paine.
Yet though in vaine my teares my cheekes distain;
Leauing ingrauen Sorrow where they stood;
And though my sighs consuming vp my blood,
For Loue deseru'd, reape vndeseru'd Disdaine:
And though in vaine I know I beg remorce
At your remorcelesse harte, more hard then steele;
Yet, such (alas) such is your Beauties force,
Charming my Sence, that though this h [...]ll I feele,
Though neither plaints, nor sighs, nor tears cā moue you,
Yet must I still persist euer to loue you.
SONNET XI. Why her Lips yeeld him no words of Comfort.
OFt doo I plaine, and shee my plants doth reede
Which in black colors do paint forth my, wo
So that of force she must my sorrow know;
And know, for her disdaine my hart doth bleede.
And knowledge must of Force some pitty breede,
Which makes me hope, she wil some fauour show
And from her sugred lippes cause comfort flowe
Into mine Eares, my hart with ioy to feede.
Yet though she reads, and reading knowes my griefe,
And knowledge moues her pitie my distresse,
Yet do her lips, sweet lips, yeeld no releefe.
Much do I muse, but find no cause but this,
That in her lips, her heauenly lips that blisse them,
Her words loth thence to part, stay there to kisse thē.
SONNET. XII. Comparison of his Hart to a Tempest-beaten Ship.
LIke a Sea-tossed Barke with tackling spent,
And Starres obscur'd his watry iornies guide
By lowd tempestuous windes and raging tide,
From waue to waue with dreadfull fury sent,
Fares my poore Hart; my Hart-strings being rent,
And quite disabled your fierce wrath to bide,
Since your faire eies my Stars thēselues do hide
Clouding their light in frownes and discontent.
For from your frowns do spring my sighes & teares
Teares flow like seas, & sighes like winds do bloe
Whose ioyned rage most violently beares
My Tempest-beaten hart from woe to woe.
And if your Eyes shine not that I may shun it,
On Rocke, despaire, my sighes, and teares wil run it
ELEGIE. To his Lady, who had vowel Virginitie.
EV'N as my hand my Pen on Paper laies,
My trembling hand my Pen from Paper staies,
[...]est that thine eies which shining made me loue you
Should frowning on my sute, bid cease to moue you,
So that I fare like one at his wits end,
Hoping to gaine, and fearing to offend.
What pleaseth Hope, the same Dispaire mislikes,
What hope sets down, those lines despair outstrikes,
So that my nursing-murthering Pen affords,
A Graue and Cradle to my new-borne words.
But whil'st like clowds tosst vp and downe the ayre,
[...] racked hang twixt Hope and sadde Despaire,
Despaire is beaten vanquisht from the field,
And vnto conq'ring Hope my Hart doth yeeld.
For when mine eies vnpartially are fixed,
On thy Rose cheekes with Lillies intermixed,
And on thy forehead like a cloude of snow,
From vnder which thine eies like Sunnes do show,
And all those partes which curiously do meete,
Twixt thy large-spreading haire and pretty feete,
Yet looking on them all, discerne no one,
That owes not homage vnto Cupids Throne;
Then Chastitie (me thinkes) no claime should lay
To this faire Realme, vnder Loues Scepters sway.
For onely to the Queene of amorous pleasure
Belongs thy Beauties tributary treasure;
Treasure, which doth more than those riches please
For which men plow long furrowes in the Seas.)
If you were wrinckled olde, or Natures scorne,
Or time your beauties colours had out-worne;
Or were you mewed vp from gazing eies,
Like to a cloystred Nunne, which liuing, dies:
Then might you waite on Chastities pale Queene,
Not being faire, or being faire, not seene.
But you are faire, so passing passing faire,
That loue I must, though louing I despaire,
For when I saw your eies (O cursed blisse!)
Whose light I would not laue, nor yet would misse,
(For tis their light alone by which I liue,
And yet their sight alone my deaths wound giue.)
Looking vpon your heart-entangling looke,
I like a heedelesse Bird was snar'de and tooke.
It lies not in our will to hate or loue,
For Natures influence our will doth moue.
And loue of Beauty Nature hath innated,
In Harts of men when first they were created.
For eu'n as Riuers to the Ocean runne,
Returning backe, from whence they first begunne:
Or as the Skie about the Earth doth wheele,
Or giddy ayre like to a Drunkard reele,
So with the course of Nature doth agree,
That Eies which Beauties Adamant do see,
Should on Affections line trembling remayne,
True-subiect-like eying their Soueraigne.
If of mine Eies you also could bereaue me,
As you already of my hart deceiue me,
Or could shut vp my rauisht eares, through which
[Page]You likewise did m'inchaunted Heart bewitch,
Or had in Absence both these illes combinde;
(For by your Absence I am deafe and blinde,
And, neither Eares, nor Eies in aught delight,
But in your charming speach, and gratious sight)
To roote out Loue all meanes you can inuent,
Were all but labour lost, and time ill spent,
For as the sparkes being spent, which fier procure,
The fire doth brightly-burning still endure:
Though Absence so your sparkling Eies remoue,
My Hart still burnes in endles flames of Loue.
Then striue not gainst the streame, to none effect,
But let due Loue yeeld Loue a due respect.
Nor seeke to ruine what your selfe begunne,
Or loose a Knot that cannot be vndone.
But vnto Cupids bent conforme your will,
For will you, nill you, I must loue you sti [...]l.
But if your Will did swimme with Reasons tide,
Or followed Natures neuer-erring guide,
It cannot chuse but bring you vnto this,
To tender that which by you gotten is.
Why were you faire to be besought of many,
If you liue chaste, not to be wonne of any?
For if that Nature loue to Beautie offers,
And Beauty shunne the loue that Nature proffer's
Then, either vniust Beauty is too blame,
With scorne to quench a lawfull kindled flame,
Or else vnlawfully if loue we must,
And be vnlou'de, then Nature is vniust.
Vniustly then Nature hath heartes created,
[Page]There to loue most, where most their loue is hated,
And flattering them with a faire-seeming ill,
To poyson them with Beauties sugred Pill.
Thinke you that Beauties admirable worth
Was to no end, or idle end brought forth?
No, no; from Nature neuer deede did passe,
But it by wisedomes hand subscribed was.
But you in vaine are faire, if faire, not viewed,
Or being seene, mens hearts be not subdewed,
Or making each mans heart your Beauties thrall
You be enioyed of no one at all.
For as the Lions strength to seize his pray,
And fearefull Hares light foote to runne away,
Are as an idle Talent but abused,
And fruitlesse had, if had, they be not vsed,
So you in vaine haue Beauties bonds to show,
By which, mens Eies engaged Hearts do owe,
If Time shall cancell them before you gaine
Th'indebted Tribute to your Beauties raigne.
But if (these Reasons being vainely spent)
You fight it out to the last Argument;
Tell me but how one Body can enclose,
As louing friends two deadly hating foes.
But when as Contraries are mixt together,
The colour made, doth differ much from either.
Whil'st mutually at strife they doe impeach
The glosse and lustre proper vnto each.
So, where one body ioyntly doth inuest
An Angells face, and cruell Tygres brest,
[Page]There dieth both Allegeance and Command,
For self-deuided kingdomes cannot stand.
But as a Child that knowes not what is what,
Now craueth this, and now affecteth that,
And hauing, weyes not that which he requires,
But is vnpleasde, euen in his pleasde desires:
Chaste Beauty so, both will, and will not haue,
The self-same thing it childishly doth craue:
And wanton-like, now Loue, now Hate affecteth,
And Loue, or Hate obtain'd as fast neglecteth.
So (like the Webb Penelope did weaue,
Which made by day, shee did at night vnreaue)
Fruitlesse Affections endlesse threede is spunne,
At one selfe instant twisted, and vndone.
Nor yet is this chaste Beauties greatest ill,
For where it speaketh faire, it there doth kill.
A Marble hart vnder an amorous looke,
Is of a flattering baite the murthering hooke:
For from a Ladies shining-frowning Eyes,
Deaths sable Darte, and Cupids Arrow flies.
Since then, from Chastity and Beauty spring,
Such muddy streams, where each doth raign as king;
Let Tyrant Chastities vsurped Throane,
Bee made the seate of Beauties grace alone;
And let your Beauty bee with this suffiz'd,
That my harts Cittie is by it surpriz'd:
Raze not my Hart, nor to your Beauty raise,
Blood-guilded Trophees of your Beauties praise;
For wisest Conquerors doo Townes desire,
On honourable termes and not with fyre.
SONNET. XIII. That he cannot leaue to loue, though commanded.
HOw can my Loue in equitie bee blamed,
Still to importune though it ne'r obtayne;
Since though her face and voice will me refraine,
Yet by her Voyce and Face I am inflamed?
For when (alas) her face with frownes is framed,
To kill my Loue, but to reuiue my payne;
And when her voice commands, but all in vayne,
That loue both leaue to be, and to bee named.
Her Syren voyce doth such enchantment moue,
And thogh she frown, eu'n frowns so louely make her.
That I of force am forced still to loue;
Since then I must, and yet can not forsake her,
My fruitles praiers shall cease in vaine to moue her,
But my deuoted Hart ne're cease to moue her.
SONNET. XIIII. He desires leaue to write of his Loue.
MVst my deuoted Heart desist to loue her?
No, loue I may, but I may not confesse it.
What harder thing than loue, and yet depresse it?
Loue most conceal'd, doth most it selfe discouer.
Had I no pen to shew that I approue her,
Were I tongue-tide that I might not addresse it,
In Plaints and Prayr'es vnfained to expresse it,
Yet could I not my deepe affection couer.
Had I no pen, my very teares would show it,
Which write my true affection in my face.
Were I tong-tide, my sighs wold make her know it,
Which witnes that I grieue at my disgrace.
Since then, though silent, I my loue discouer,
O let my pen haue leaue to say, I loue her!
Quid pluma leuius? Puluis. Quid puluere? Ventus.
Quid vento? Mulier. Quid muliere? Nihil.
Translated thus;
DVst is lighter than a Feather,
And the Winde more light than eather.
But a Womans fickle minde,
More than Feather, Dust, or Winde.