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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/15448-8.txt b/15448-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1a5b23e --- /dev/null +++ b/15448-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3950 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Elizabethan Sonnet Cycles, by Michael +Drayton, Bartholomew Griffin, and William Smith, Edited by Martha Foote +Crow + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Elizabethan Sonnet Cycles + Idea, by Michael Drayton; Fidessa, by Bartholomew Griffin; Chloris, by William Smith + + +Author: Michael Drayton, Bartholomew Griffin, and William Smith + +Editor: Martha Foote Crow + +Release Date: March 24, 2005 [eBook #15448] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ELIZABETHAN SONNET CYCLES*** + + +E-text prepared by David Starner, Melissa Er-Raqabi, and the Project +Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net) + + + +ELIZABETHAN SONNET-CYCLES + +Edited by + +MARTHA FOOTE CROW + +Kegan Paul, Trench, Trübner and Co. +Paternoster House London W.C. + +1897 + + + + + + + +IDEA +by +MICHAEL DRAYTON + +FIDESSA +by +BARTHOLOMEW GRIFFIN + +CHLORIS +by +WILLIAM SMITH + + + + + + + + +IDEA +by +MICHAEL DRAYTON + + +The true story of the life of Michael Drayton might be told to +vindicate the poetic traditions of the olden time. A child-poet +wandering in fay-haunted Arden, or listening to the harper that +frequented the fireside of Polesworth Hall where the boy was a petted +page, later the honoured almoner of the bounty of many patrons, one +who "not unworthily," as Tofte said, "beareth the name of the chiefest +archangel, singing after this soule-ravishing manner," yet leaving but +"five pounds lying by him at his death, which was _satis viatici ad +coelum_"--is not this the panorama of a poetic career? But above +all, to complete the picture of the ideal poet, he worshipped, and +hopelessly, from youth to age the image of one, woman. He never +married, and while many patronesses were honoured with his poetic +addresses, there was one fair dame to whom he never offered dedicatory +sonnet, a silence that is full of meaning. Yet the praises of Idea, +his poetic name for the lady of his admiration and love, are written +all over the pages of his voluminous lyrical and chorographical and +historical poems, and her very name is quaintly revealed to us. Anne +Goodere was the younger daughter in the noble family where Drayton was +bred and educated; and one may picture the fair child standing +"gravely merry" by the little page to listen to "John Hews his lyre," +at that ancestral fireside. "Where I love, I love for years," said +Drayton in 1621. As late as 1627, but four years before his death, he +writes an elegy of his lady's not coming to London, in which he +complains that he has been starved for her short letters and has had +to read last year's over again. About the same time he is writing that +immortal sonnet, the sixty-first, the one that Rossetti, with perhaps +something too much of partiality, has declared to be almost, if not +quite, the best in the language. The tragedy of a whole life is +concentrated in that sonnet, and the heart-pang in it is +unmistakable. But Drayton had stood as witness to the will of Anne's +father, by which £1500 was set down for her marriage portion. She was +an heiress, he a penniless poet, and what was to be done? + +About 1590, when Drayton was twenty-eight, and Anne was probably +twenty-one years old, Drayton left Polesworth Hall and came to London. +Perhaps the very parting was the means of revealing his heart to +himself, for it is from near this time that, as he confesses later, he +dates the first consciousness of his love. He soon publishes _Idea, +the Shepherd's Garland, Rowland's Sacrifice to the Nine Muses_, where +we first see our poet, in his pastoral-poetic character, carving his +"rime of love's idolatry," upon a beechen tree. Thirteen stanzas of +these pastoral eclogues do not exhaust the catalogue of her beauties; +and when he praises the proportion of her shape and carriage, we know +that it was not the poet's frenzied eye alone that saw these graces, +for Dr. John Hall, of Stratford, who attended her professionally, +records in his case-book that she was "beautiful and of gallant +structure of body." Anne was married about 1595 to Sir Henry +Rainsford, who became Drayton's friend, host and patron. It is likely +that Lady Rainsford deserved a goodly portion of the praises bestowed +upon her beauty. And she need not have been ashamed of the devotion of +her knight of poesy; for Michael Drayton was, like Constable and +Daniel and Fletcher, a man good and true, and the chorus of +contemporaries that praise his character and his verse is led by pious +Meres himself, and echoed by Jonson. + +_Idea's Mirrour, Amours in Quatorzains_, formed the title under which +the sonnet-cycle appeared in 1594. _Idea_ was reprinted eight times +before 1637, the edition of 1619 being the chief and serving for the +foundation of our text. Many changes and additions were made by the +author in the successive editions; in fact only twenty of the +fifty-one "amours" in _Idea's Mirrour_ escaped the winnowing, while +the famous sixty-first appears for the first time in 1619. There is a +distinct progress manifest in the subdual of language and form to +artistic finish, and while the cycle in its unevenness represents the +early and late stages of poetic progress, the more delicate examples +of his work show him worthy of the praise bestowed by his latest +admirer and critic, + + "Faith, Michael Drayton bears the bell + For numbers airy." + +It will be noted that, while many rhyme-arrangements are experimented +upon, the Shakespearean or quatrain-and-couplet form predominates. In +the less praiseworthy sonnets he is found to lack grammatical clamping +and to allow frequent faults in rhythm, and he toys with the +glittering and soulless conceit as much as any; but where his +individuality has fullest sway, as in the picturesque Arden memory of +the fifty-third, the personal reminiscences of the Ankor sonnets, and +the vivid theatre theme of the forty-seventh, in what Main calls that +"magical realisation of the spirit of evening" in the thirty-seventh, +and above all in the naïve and passionate sixty-first, there is a rude +strength that pierces beneath the formalities and touches and moves +the heart. Drayton, like Sidney and Daniel and Shakespeare, draws +freely upon the general thought-storehouse of the Italianate +sonneteers: time and the transitoriness of beauty, the lover's +extremes, the Platonic ideas of soul-functions and of love-madness, +the phoenix and Icarus and all the classic gods, engage his fancy +first or last; and no sonnet trifler has been more attracted by the +great theme of immortality in verse than he. When honouring Idea in +the favourite mode he cries + + "Queens hereafter shall be glad to live + Upon the alms of thy superfluous praise." + +A late writer holds that years have falsified this prophecy. It is +true that Lamb valued Drayton chiefly as the panegyrist of his native +earth, and we would hardly venture to predict the future of our +sonneteer; but the fact remains that now three hundred years after his +time, his lifelong devotion to the prototype of Idea constitutes, as +he conventionally asserted it would, his most valid claim to interest, +and that the sonnets where this love has found most potent expression +mount the nearest to the true note of immortality. + + + + +TO THE READER OF THESE SONNETS + + + Into these loves who but for passion looks, + At this first sight here let him lay them by, + And seek elsewhere in turning other books, + Which better may his labour satisfy. + No far-fetched sigh shall ever wound my breast; + Love from mine eye a tear shall never wring; + Nor in "Ah me's!" my whining sonnets drest, + A libertine fantasticly I sing. + My verse is the true image of my mind, + Ever in motion, still desiring change; + To choice of all variety inclined, + And in all humours sportively I range. + My muse is rightly of the English strain, + That cannot long one fashion entertain. + + + + +IDEA + + + I + + Like an adventurous sea-farer am I, + Who hath some long and dang'rous voyage been, + And called to tell of his discovery, + How far he sailed, what countries he had seen, + Proceeding from the port whence he put forth, + Shows by his compass how his course he steered, + When east, when west, when south, and when by north, + As how the pole to every place was reared, + What capes he doubled, of what continent, + The gulfs and straits that strangely he had past, + Where most becalmed, where with foul weather spent, + And on what rocks in peril to be cast: + Thus in my love, time calls me to relate + My tedious travels and oft-varying fate. + + + II + + My heart was slain, and none but you and I; + Who should I think the murder should commit? + Since but yourself there was no creature by + But only I, guiltless of murdering it. + It slew itself; the verdict on the view + Do quit the dead, and me not accessary. + Well, well, I fear it will be proved by you, + The evidence so great a proof doth carry. + But O see, see, we need inquire no further! + Upon your lips the scarlet drops are found, + And in your eye the boy that did the murder, + Your cheeks yet pale since first he gave the wound! + By this I see, however things be past, + Yet heaven will still have murder out at last. + + + III + + Taking my pen, with words to cast my woe, + Duly to count the sum of all my cares, + I find my griefs innumerable grow, + The reck'nings rise to millions of despairs. + And thus dividing of my fatal hours, + The payments of my love I read and cross; + Subtracting, set my sweets unto my sours, + My joys' arrearage leads me to my loss. + And thus mine eyes a debtor to thine eye, + Which by extortion gaineth all their looks, + My heart hath paid such grievous usury, + That all their wealth lies in thy beauty's books. + And all is thine which hath been due to me, + And I a bankrupt, quite undone by thee. + + + IV + + Bright star of beauty, on whose eyelids sit + A thousand nymph-like and enamoured graces, + The goddesses of memory and wit, + Which there in order take their several places; + In whose dear bosom, sweet delicious love + Lays down his quiver which he once did bear, + Since he that blessèd paradise did prove, + And leaves his mother's lap to sport him there + Let others strive to entertain with words + My soul is of a braver mettle made; + I hold that vile which vulgar wit affords; + In me's that faith which time cannot invade. + Let what I praise be still made good by you; + Be you most worthy whilst I am most true! + + + V + + Nothing but "No!" and "I!"[A] and "I!" and "No!" + "How falls it out so strangely?" you reply. + I tell ye, Fair, I'll not be answered so, + With this affirming "No!" denying "I!" + I say "I love!" You slightly answer "I!" + I say "You love!" You pule me out a "No!" + I say "I die!" You echo me with "I!" + "Save me!" I cry; you sigh me out a "No!" + Must woe and I have naught but "No!" and "I!"? + No "I!" am I, if I no more can have. + Answer no more; with silence make reply, + And let me take myself what I do crave; + Let "No!" and "I!" with I and you be so, + Then answer "No!" and "I!" and "I!" and "No!" + + [Footnote A: The "I" of course equals "aye."] + + + VI + + How many paltry, foolish, painted things, + That now in coaches trouble every street, + Shall be forgotten, whom no poet sings, + Ere they be well wrapped in their winding sheet! + Where I to thee eternity shall give, + When nothing else remaineth of these days, + And queens hereafter shall be glad to live + Upon the alms of thy superfluous praise; + Virgins and matrons reading these my rhymes, + Shall be so much delighted with thy story, + That they shall grieve they lived not in these times, + To have seen thee, their sex's only glory. + So shalt thou fly above the vulgar throng, + Still to survive in my immortal song. + + + VII + + Love, in a humour, played the prodigal, + And bade my senses to a solemn feast; + Yet more to grace the company withal, + Invites my heart to be the chiefest guest. + No other drink would serve this glutton's turn, + But precious tears distilling from mine eyne, + Which with my sighs this epicure doth burn, + Quaffing carouses in this costly wine; + Where, in his cups, o'ercome with foul excess, + Straightways he plays a swaggering ruffian's part, + And at the banquet in his drunkenness, + Slew his dear friend, my kind and truest heart. + A gentle warning, friends, thus may you see, + What 'tis to keep a drunkard company! + + + VIII + + There's nothing grieves me but that age should haste, + That in my days I may not see thee old; + That where those two clear sparkling eyes are placed, + Only two loopholes that I might behold; + That lovely archèd ivory-polished brow + Defaced with wrinkles, that I might but see; + Thy dainty hair, so curled and crispèd now, + Like grizzled moss upon some agèd tree; + Thy cheek now flush with roses, sunk and lean; + Thy lips, with age as any wafer thin! + Thy pearly teeth out of thy head so clean, + That when thou feed'st thy nose shall touch thy chin! + These lines that now thou scornst, which should delight thee, + Then would I make thee read but to despite thee. + + + IX + + As other men, so I myself do muse + Why in this sort I wrest invention so, + And why these giddy metaphors I use, + Leaving the path the greater part do go. + I will resolve you. I'm a lunatic; + And ever this in madmen you shall find, + What they last thought of when the brain grew sick, + In most distraction they keep that in mind. + Thus talking idly in this bedlam fit, + Reason and I, you must conceive, are twain; + 'Tis nine years now since first I lost my wit. + Bear with me then though troubled be my brain. + With diet and correction men distraught, + Not too far past, may to their wits be brought. + + + X + + To nothing fitter can I thee compare + Than to the son of some rich penny-father, + Who having now brought on his end with care, + Leaves to his son all he had heaped together. + This new rich novice, lavish of his chest, + To one man gives, doth on another spend; + Then here he riots; yet amongst the rest, + Haps to lend some to one true honest friend. + Thy gifts thou in obscurity dost waste: + False friends, thy kindness born but to deceive thee; + Thy love that is on the unworthy placed; + Time hath thy beauty which with age will leave thee. + Only that little which to me was lent, + I give thee back when all the rest is spent. + + + XI + + You're not alone when you are still alone; + O God! from you that I could private be! + Since you one were, I never since was one; + Since you in me, myself since out of me. + Transported from myself into your being, + Though either distant, present yet to either; + Senseless with too much joy, each other seeing; + And only absent when we are together. + Give me my self, and take your self again! + Devise some means but how I may forsake you! + So much is mine that doth with you remain, + That taking what is mine, with me I take you. + You do bewitch me! O that I could fly + From my self you, or from your own self I! + + +TO THE SOUL + + XII + + That learned Father which so firmly proves + The soul of man immortal and divine, + And doth the several offices define + _Anima._ Gives her that name, as she the body moves. + _Amor._ Then is she love, embracing charity. + _Animus._ Moving a will in us, it is the mind; + _Mens._ Retaining knowledge, still the same in kind. + _Memoria._ As intellectual, it is memory. + _Ratio._ In judging, reason only is her name. + _Sensus._ In speedy apprehension, it is sense. + _Conscientia._ In right and wrong they call her conscience; + _Spiritus._ The spirit, when it to God-ward doth inflame: + These of the soul the several functions be, + Which my heart lightened by thy love doth see. + + +TO THE SHADOW + + XIII + + Letters and lines we see are soon defaced + Metals do waste and fret with canker's rust, + The diamond shall once consume to dust, + And freshest colours with foul stains disgraced; + Paper and ink can paint but naked words, + To write with blood of force offends the sight; + And if with tears, I find them all too light, + And sighs and signs a silly hope affords. + O sweetest shadow, how thou serv'st my turn! + Which still shalt be as long as there is sun, + Nor whilst the world is never shall be done; + Whilst moon shall shine or any fire shall burn, + That everything whence shadow doth proceed, + May in his shadow my love's story read. + + + XIV + + If he, from heaven that filched that living fire, + Condemned by Jove to endless torment be, + I greatly marvel how you still go free + That far beyond Prometheus did aspire. + The fire he stole, although of heavenly kind, + Which from above he craftily did take, + Of lifeless clods us living men to make + He did bestow in temper of the mind. + But you broke into heaven's immortal store, + Where virtue, honour, wit, and beauty lay; + Which taking thence, you have escaped away, + Yet stand as free as e'er you did before. + Yet old Prometheus punished for his rape; + Thus poor thieves suffer when the greater 'scape. + + +HIS REMEDY FOR LOVE + + XV + + Since to obtain thee nothing me will stead, + I have a med'cine that shall cure my love. + The powder of her heart dried, when she's dead, + That gold nor honour ne'er had power to move; + Mixed with her tears that ne'er her true love crost, + Nor at fifteen ne'er longed to be a bride; + Boiled with her sighs, in giving up the ghost, + That for her late deceasèd husband died; + Into the same then let a woman breathe, + That being chid did never word reply; + With one thrice married's prayers, that did bequeath + A legacy to stale virginity. + If this receipt have not the power to win me, + Little I'll say, but think the devil's in me! + + +AN ALLUSION TO THE PHOENIX + + XVI + + 'Mongst all the creatures in this spacious round + Of the birds' kind, the phoenix is alone, + Which best by you of living things is known; + None like to that, none like to you is found! + Your beauty is the hot and splend'rous sun; + The precious spices be your chaste desire, + Which being kindled by that heavenly fire, + Your life, so like the phoenix's begun. + Yourself thus burnèd in that sacred flame, + With so rare sweetness all the heavens perfuming; + Again increasing as you are consuming, + Only by dying born the very same. + And winged by fame you to the stars ascend; + So you of time shall live beyond the end. + + +TO TIME + + XVII + + Stay, speedy time! Behold, before thou pass + From age to age, what thou hast sought to see, + One in whom all the excellencies be, + In whom heaven looks itself as in a glass. + Time, look thou too in this translucent glass, + And thy youth past in this pure mirror see! + As the world's beauty in his infancy, + What it was then, and thou before it was. + Pass on and to posterity tell this-- + Yet see thou tell but truly what hath been. + Say to our nephews that thou once hast seen + In perfect human shape all heavenly bliss; + And bid them mourn, nay more, despair with thee, + That she is gone, her like again to see. + + + + +TO THE CELESTIAL NUMBERS + + XVIII + + To this our world, to learning, and to heaven, + Three nines there are, to every one a nine; + One number of the earth, the other both divine; + One woman now makes three odd numbers even. + Nine orders first of angels be in heaven; + Nine muses do with learning still frequent: + These with the gods are ever resident. + Nine worthy women to the world were given. + My worthy one to these nine worthies addeth; + And my fair Muse, one Muse unto the nine. + And my good angel, in my soul divine!-- + With one more order these nine orders gladdeth. + My Muse, my worthy, and my angel then + Makes every one of these three nines a ten. + + +TO HUMOUR + + XIX + + You cannot love, my pretty heart, and why? + There was a time you told me that you would, + But how again you will the same deny. + If it might please you, would to God you could! + What, will you hate? Nay, that you will not neither; + Nor love, nor hate! How then? What will you do? + What, will you keep a mean then betwixt either? + Or will you love me, and yet hate me too? + Yet serves not this! What next, what other shift? + You will, and will not; what a coil is here! + I see your craft, now I perceive your drift, + And all this while I was mistaken there. + Your love and hate is this, I now do prove you: + You love in hate, by hate to make me love you. + + + XX + + An evil spirit, your beauty, haunts me still, + Wherewith, alas, I have been long possessed! + Which ceaseth not to tempt me to each ill, + Nor give me once but one poor minute's rest. + In me it speaks whether I sleep or wake; + And when by means to drive it out I try, + With greater torments then it me doth take, + And tortures me in most extremity. + Before my face it lays down my despairs, + And hastes me on unto a sudden death; + Now tempting me to drown myself in tears, + And then in sighing to give up my breath. + Thus am I still provoked to every evil, + By this good wicked spirit, sweet angel-devil. + + + XXI + + A witless gallant a young wench that wooed-- + Yet his dull spirit her not one jot could move-- + Intreated me as e'er I wished his good, + To write him but one sonnet to his love. + When I as fast as e'er my pen could trot, + Poured out what first from quick invention came, + Nor never stood one word thereof to blot; + Much like his wit that was to use the same. + But with my verses he his mistress won, + Who doated on the dolt beyond all measure. + But see, for you to heaven for phrase I run, + And ransack all Apollo's golden treasure! + Yet by my troth, this fool his love obtains, + And I lose you for all my wit and pains! + + +TO FOLLY + + XXII + + With fools and children good discretion bears; + Then, honest people, bear with love and me, + Nor older yet nor wiser made by years, + Amongst the rest of fools and children be. + Love, still a baby, plays with gauds and toys, + And like a wanton sports with every feather, + And idiots still are running after boys; + Then fools and children fitt'st to go together. + He still as young as when he first was born, + Nor wiser I than when as young as he; + You that behold us, laugh us not to scorn; + Give nature thanks you are not such as we! + Yet fools and children sometimes tell in play; + Some wise in show, more fools indeed than they. + + + XXIII + + Love, banished heaven, in earth was held in scorn, + Wand'ring abroad in need and beggary; + And wanting friends, though of a goddess born, + Yet craved the alms of such as passèd by. + I, like a man devout and charitable, + Clothèd the naked, lodged this wandering guest; + With sighs and tears still furnishing his table + With what might make the miserable blest. + But this ungrateful for my good desert, + Enticed my thoughts against me to conspire, + Who gave consent to steal away my heart, + And set my breast, his lodging, on a fire. + Well, well, my friends, when beggars grow thus bold, + No marvel then though charity grow cold. + + + XXIV + + I hear some say, "This man is not in love!" + "Who! can he love? a likely thing!" they say. + "Read but his verse, and it will easily prove!" + O, judge not rashly, gentle Sir, I pray! + Because I loosely trifle in this sort, + As one that fain his sorrows would beguile, + You now suppose me all this time in sport, + And please yourself with this conceit the while. + Ye shallow cens'rers! sometimes, see ye not, + In greatest perils some men pleasant be, + Where fame by death is only to be got, + They resolute! So stands the case with me. + Where other men in depth of passion cry, + I laugh at fortune, as in jest to die. + + + XXV + + O, why should nature niggardly restrain + That foreign nations relish not our tongue? + Else should my lines glide on the waves of Rhine, + And crown the Pyren's with my living song. + But bounded thus, to Scotland get you forth! + Thence take you wing unto the Orcades! + There let my verse get glory in the north, + Making my sighs to thaw the frozen seas. + And let the bards within that Irish isle, + To whom my Muse with fiery wings shall pass, + Call back the stiff-necked rebels from exile, + And mollify the slaughtering gallowglass; + And when my flowing numbers they rehearse, + Let wolves and bears be charmèd with my verse. + + +TO DESPAIR + + XXVI + + I ever love where never hope appears, + Yet hope draws on my never-hoping care, + And my life's hope would die but for despair; + My never certain joy breeds ever certain fears. + Uncertain dread gives wings unto my hope; + Yet my hope's wings are laden so with fear + As they cannot ascend to my hope's sphere, + Though fear gives them more than a heavenly scope. + Yet this large room is bounded with despair, + So my love is still fettered with vain hope, + And liberty deprives him of his scope, + And thus am I imprisoned in the air. + Then, sweet despair, awhile hold up thy head, + Or all my hope for sorrow will be dead. + + + XXVII + + Is not love here as 'tis in other climes, + And differeth it as do the several nations? + Or hath it lost the virtue with the times, + Or in this island alt'reth with the fashions? + Or have our passions lesser power than theirs, + Who had less art them lively to express? + Is nature grown less powerful in their heirs, + Or in our fathers did she more transgress? + I am sure my sighs come from a heart as true + As any man's that memory can boast, + And my respects and services to you, + Equal with his that loves his mistress most. + Or nature must be partial in my cause, + Or only you do violate her laws. + + + XXVIII + + To such as say thy love I overprize, + And do not stick to term my praises folly, + Against these folks that think themselves so wise, + I thus oppose my reason's forces wholly: + Though I give more than well affords my state, + In which expense the most suppose me vain + Which yields them nothing at the easiest rate, + Yet at this price returns me treble gain; + They value not, unskilful how to use, + And I give much because I gain thereby. + I that thus take or they that thus refuse, + Whether are these deceivèd then, or I? + In everything I hold this maxim still, + The circumstance doth make it good or ill. + + +TO THE SENSES + + XXIX + + When conquering love did first my heart assail, + Unto mine aid I summoned every sense, + Doubting if that proud tyrant should prevail, + My heart should suffer for mine eyes' offence. + But he with beauty first corrupted sight, + My hearing bribed with her tongue's harmony, + My taste by her sweet lips drawn with delight, + My smelling won with her breath's spicery, + But when my touching came to play his part, + The king of senses, greater than the rest, + He yields love up the keys unto my heart, + And tells the others how they should be blest. + And thus by those of whom I hoped for aid, + To cruel love my soul was first betrayed. + + +TO THE VESTALS + + XXX + + Those priests which first the vestal fire begun, + Which might be borrowed from no earthly flame, + Devised a vessel to receive the sun, + Being stedfastly opposèd to the same; + Where with sweet wood laid curiously by art, + On which the sun might by reflection beat, + Receiving strength for every secret part, + The fuel kindled with celestial heat. + Thy blessèd eyes, the sun which lights this fire, + My holy thoughts, they be the vestal flame, + Thy precious odours be my chaste desires, + My breast's the vessel which includes the same; + Thou art my Vesta, thou my goddess art, + Thy hallowed temple only is my heart. + + +TO THE CRITICS + + XXXI + + Methinks I see some crooked mimic jeer, + And tax my Muse with this fantastic grace; + Turning my papers asks, "What have we here?" + Making withal some filthy antic face. + I fear no censure nor what thou canst say, + Nor shall my spirit one jot of vigour lose. + Think'st thou, my wit shall keep the packhorse way, + That every dudgeon low invention goes? + Since sonnets thus in bundles are imprest, + And every drudge doth dull our satiate ear, + Think'st thou my love shall in those rags be drest + That every dowdy, every trull doth wear? + Up to my pitch no common judgment flies; + I scorn all earthly dung-bred scarabies. + + +TO THE RIVER ANKOR + + XXXII + + Our floods' queen, Thames, for ships and swans is crowned, + And stately Severn for her shore is praised; + The crystal Trent for fords and fish renowned, + And Avon's fame to Albion's cliff is raised. + Carlegion Chester vaunts her holy Dee; + York many wonders of her Ouse can tell; + The Peak, her Dove, whose banks so fertile be; + And Kent will say her Medway doth excel. + Cotswold commends her Isis to the Thame; + Our northern borders boast of Tweed's fair flood; + Our western parts extol their Wilis' fame; + And the old Lea brags of the Danish blood. + Arden's sweet Ankor, let thy glory be, + That fair Idea only lives by thee! + + +TO IMAGINATION + + XXXIII + + Whilst yet mine eyes do surfeit with delight, + My woful heart imprisoned in my breast, + Wisheth to be transformèd to my sight, + That it like those by looking might be blest. + But whilst mine eyes thus greedily do gaze, + Finding their objects over-soon depart, + These now the other's happiness do praise, + Wishing themselves that they had been my heart, + That eyes were heart, or that the heart were eyes, + As covetous the other's use to have. + But finding nature their request denies, + This to each other mutually they crave; + That since the one cannot the other be, + That eyes could think of that my heart could see. + + +TO ADMIRATION + + XXXIV + + Marvel not, love, though I thy power admire, + Ravished a world beyond the farthest thought, + And knowing more than ever hath been taught, + That I am only starved in my desire. + Marvel not, love, though I thy power admire, + Aiming at things exceeding all perfection, + To wisdom's self to minister direction, + That I am only starved in my desire. + Marvel not, love, though I thy power admire, + Though my conceit I further seem to bend + Than possibly invention can extend, + And yet am only starved in my desire. + If thou wilt wonder, here's the wonder, love, + That this to me doth yet no wonder prove. + + +TO MIRACLE + + XXXV + + + Some misbelieving and profane in love, + When I do speak of miracles by thee, + May say that thou art flatterèd by me, + Who only write my skill in verse to prove + See miracles, ye unbelieving, see! + A dumb-born Muse made to express the mind, + A cripple hand to write, yet lame by kind, + One by thy name, the other touching thee. + Blind were mine eyes, till they were seen of thine; + And mine ears deaf by thy fame healèd be; + My vices cured by virtues sprung from thee; + My hopes revived which long in grave had lien. + All unclean thoughts, foul spirits, cast out in me, + Only by virtue that proceeds from thee. + + +CUPID CONJURED + + XXXVI + + Thou purblind boy, since thou hast been so slack + To wound her heart whose eyes have wounded me + And suffered her to glory in my wrack, + Thus to my aid I lastly conjure thee! + By hellish Styx, by which the Thund'rer swears, + By thy fair mother's unavoided power, + By Hecate's names, by Proserpine's sad tears, + When she was wrapt to the infernal bower! + By thine own lovèd Psyche, by the fires + Spent on thine altars flaming up to heaven, + By all true lovers' sighs, vows, and desires, + By all the wounds that ever thou hast given; + I conjure thee by all that I have named, + To make her love, or, Cupid, be thou damned! + + + XXXVII + + Dear, why should you command me to my rest, + When now the night doth summon all to sleep? + Methinks this time becometh lovers best; + Night was ordained together friends to keep. + How happy are all other living things, + Which though the day disjoin by several flight, + The quiet evening yet together brings, + And each returns unto his love at night! + O thou that art so courteous else to all, + Why shouldst thou, Night, abuse me only thus, + That every creature to his kind dost call, + And yet 'tis thou dost only sever us? + Well could I wish it would be ever day, + If when night comes, you bid me go away. + + + XXXVIII + + Sitting alone, love bids me go and write; + Reason plucks back, commanding me to stay, + Boasting that she doth still direct the way, + Or else love were unable to indite. + Love growing angry, vexèd at the spleen, + And scorning reason's maimèd argument, + Straight taxeth reason, wanting to invent + Where she with love conversing hath not been. + Reason reproachèd with this coy disdain, + Despiteth love, and laugheth at her folly; + And love contemning reason's reason wholly, + Thought it in weight too light by many a grain. + Reason put back doth out of sight remove, + And love alone picks reason out of love. + + +XXXIX + + Some, when in rhyme they of their loves do tell, + With flames and lightnings their exordiums paint. + Some call on heaven, some invocate on hell, + And Fates and Furies, with their woes acquaint. + Elizium is too high a seat for me, + I will not come in Styx or Phlegethon, + The thrice-three Muses but too wanton be, + Like they that lust, I care not, I will none. + Spiteful Erinnys frights me with her looks, + My manhood dares not with foul Ate mell, + I quake to look on Hecate's charming books, + I still fear bugbears in Apollo's cell. + I pass not for Minerva, nor Astrea, + Only I call on my divine Idea! + + +XL + + My heart the anvil where my thoughts do beat, + My words the hammers fashioning my desire, + My breast the forge including all the heat, + Love is the fuel which maintains the fire; + My sighs the bellows which the flame increaseth, + Filling mine ears with noise and nightly groaning; + Toiling with pain, my labour never ceaseth, + In grievous passions my woes still bemoaning; + My eyes with tears against the fire striving, + Whose scorching gleed my heart to cinders turneth; + But with those drops the flame again reviving, + Still more and more it to my torment burneth, + With Sisyphus thus do I roll the stone, + And turn the wheel with damnèd Ixion. + + +LOVE'S LUNACY + + XLI + + Why do I speak of joy or write of love, + When my heart is the very den of horror, + And in my soul the pains of hell I prove, + With all his torments and infernal terror? + What should I say? what yet remains to do? + My brain is dry with weeping all too long; + My sighs be spent in utt'ring of my woe, + And I want words wherewith to tell my wrong. + But still distracted in love's lunacy, + And bedlam-like thus raving in my grief, + Now rail upon her hair, then on her eye, + Now call her goddess, then I call her thief; + Now I deny her, then I do confess her, + Now do I curse her, then again I bless her. + + + XLII + + Some men there be which like my method well, + And much commend the strangeness of my vein; + Some say I have a passing pleasing strain, + Some say that in my humour I excel. + Some who not kindly relish my conceit, + They say, as poets do, I use to feign, + And in bare words paint out by passions' pain. + Thus sundry men their sundry minds repeat. + I pass not, I, how men affected be, + Nor who commends or discommends my verse! + It pleaseth me if I my woes rehearse, + And in my lines if she my love may see. + Only my comfort still consists in this, + Writing her praise I cannot write amiss. + + + XLIII + + Why should your fair eyes with such sov'reign grace + Disperse their rays on every vulgar spirit, + Whilst I in darkness in the self-same place, + Get not one glance to recompense my merit? + So doth the plowman gaze the wand'ring star, + And only rest contented with the light, + That never learned what constellations are, + Beyond the bent of his unknowing sight. + O why should beauty, custom to obey, + To their gross sense apply herself so ill! + Would God I were as ignorant as they, + When I am made unhappy by my skill, + Only compelled on this poor good to boast! + Heavens are not kind to them that know them most. + + + XLIV + + Whilst thus my pen strives to eternise thee, + Age rules my lines with wrinkles in my face, + Where in the map of all my misery + Is modelled out the world of my disgrace; + Whilst in despite of tyrannising times, + Medea-like, I make thee young again, + Proudly thou scorn'st my world-outwearing rhymes, + And murther'st virtue with thy coy disdain; + And though in youth my youth untimely perish, + To keep thee from oblivion and the grave, + Ensuing ages yet my rhymes shall cherish, + Where I intombed my better part shall save; + And though this earthly body fade and die, + My name shall mount upon eternity. + + + XLV + + Muses which sadly sit about my chair, + Drowned in the tears extorted by my lines; + With heavy sighs whilst thus I break the air, + Painting my passions in these sad designs, + Since she disdains to bless my happy verse, + The strong built trophies to her living fame, + Ever henceforth my bosom be your hearse, + Wherein the world shall now entomb her name. + Enclose my music, you poor senseless walls, + Sith she is deaf and will not hear my moans; + Soften yourselves with every tear that falls, + Whilst I like Orpheus sing to trees and stones, + Which with my plaint seem yet with pity moved, + Kinder than she whom I so long have loved. + + + XLVI + + Plain-pathed experience, the unlearnèd's guide, + Her simple followers evidently shows + Sometimes what schoolmen scarcely can decide, + Nor yet wise reason absolutely knows; + In making trial of a murder wrought, + If the vile actors of the heinous deed + Near the dead body happily be brought, + Oft 't hath been proved the breathless corse will bleed. + She coming near, that my poor heart hath slain, + Long since departed, to the world no more, + The ancient wounds no longer can contain, + But fall to bleeding as they did before. + But what of this? Should she to death be led, + It furthers justice but helps not the dead. + + + XLVII + + In pride of wit, when high desire of fame + Gave life and courage to my lab'ring pen, + And first the sound and virtue of my name + Won grace and credit in the ears of men, + With those the throngèd theatres that press, + I in the circuit for the laurel strove, + Where the full praise I freely must confess, + In heat of blood a modest mind might move; + With shouts and claps at every little pause, + When the proud round on every side hath rung, + Sadly I sit unmoved with the applause, + As though to me it nothing did belong. + No public glory vainly I pursue; + All that I seek is to eternise you. + + + XLVIII + + Cupid, I hate thee, which I'd have thee know; + A naked starveling ever mayst thou be! + Poor rogue, go pawn thy fascia and thy bow + For some poor rags wherewith to cover thee; + Or if thou'lt not thy archery forbear, + To some base rustic do thyself prefer, + And when corn's sown or grown into the ear, + Practice thy quiver and turn crowkeeper; + Or being blind, as fittest for the trade, + Go hire thyself some bungling harper's boy; + They that are blind are minstrels often made, + So mayst thou live to thy fair mother's joy; + That whilst with Mars she holdeth her old way, + Thou, her blind son, mayst sit by them and play. + + + XLIX + + Thou leaden brain, which censur'st what I write, + And sayst my lines be dull and do not move, + I marvel not thou feel'st not my delight, + Which never felt'st my fiery touch of love; + But thou whose pen hath like a packhorse served, + Whose stomach unto gall hath turned thy food, + Whose senses like poor prisoners, hunger-starved + Whose grief hath parched thy body, dried thy blood; + Thou which hast scornèd life and hated death, + And in a moment, mad, sober, glad, and sorry; + Thou which hast banned thy thoughts and curst thy birth + With thousand plagues more than in purgatory; + Thou thus whose spirit love in his fire refines, + Come thou and read, admire, applaud my lines! + + + L + + As in some countries far remote from hence, + The wretched creature destinèd to die, + Having the judgment due to his offence, + By surgeons begged, their art on him to try, + Which on the living work without remorse, + First make incision on each mastering vein, + Then staunch the bleeding, then transpierce the corse, + And with their balms recure the wounds again, + Then poison and with physic him restore; + Not that they fear the hopeless man to kill, + But their experience to increase the more: + Even so my mistress works upon my ill, + By curing me and killing me each hour, + Only to show her beauty's sovereign power. + + + LI + + Calling to mind since first my love begun, + Th'uncertain times, oft varying in their course, + How things still unexpectedly have run, + As't please the Fates by their resistless force; + Lastly, mine eyes amazedly have seen + Essex's great fall, Tyrone his peace to gain, + The quiet end of that long living Queen, + This King's fair entrance, and our peace with Spain, + We and the Dutch at length ourselves to sever; + Thus the world doth and evermore shall reel; + Yet to my goddess am I constant ever, + Howe'er blind Fortune turn her giddy wheel; + Though heaven and earth prove both to me untrue, + Yet am I still inviolate to you. + + + LII + + What dost thou mean to cheat me of my heart, + To take all mine and give me none again? + Or have thine eyes such magic or that art + That what they get they ever do retain? + Play not the tyrant but take some remorse; + Rebate thy spleen if but for pity's sake; + Or cruel, if thou can'st not, let us scorse, + And for one piece of thine my whole heart take. + But what of pity do I speak to thee, + Whose breast is proof against complaint or prayer? + Or can I think what my reward shall be + From that proud beauty which was my betrayer! + What talk I of a heart when thou hast none? + Or if thou hast, it is a flinty one. + + +ANOTHER TO THE RIVER ANKOR + + LIII + + Clear Ankor, on whose silver-sanded shore, + My soul-shrined saint, my fair Idea lives; + O blessèd brook, whose milk-white swans adore + Thy crystal stream, refinèd by her eyes, + Where sweet myrrh-breathing Zephyr in the spring + Gently distils his nectar-dropping showers, + Where nightingales in Arden sit and sing + Amongst the dainty dew-impearlèd flowers; + Say thus, fair brook, when thou shalt see thy queen, + "Lo, here thy shepherd spent his wand'ring years + And in these shades, dear nymph, he oft hath been; + And here to thee he sacrificed his tears." + Fair Arden, thou my Tempe art alone, + And thou, sweet Ankor, art my Helicon! + + + LIV + + Yet read at last the story of my woe, + The dreary abstracts of my endless cares, + With my life's sorrow interlinèd so, + Smoked with my sighs, and blotted with my tears, + The sad memorials of my miseries, + Penned in the grief of mine afflicted ghost, + My life's complaint in doleful elegies, + With so pure love as time could never boast. + Receive the incense which I offer here, + By my strong faith ascending to thy fame, + My zeal, my hope, my vows, my praise, my prayer, + My soul's oblations to thy sacred name; + Which name my Muse to highest heavens shall raise, + By chaste desire, true love, and virtuous praise. + + + LV + + My fair, if thou wilt register my love, + A world of volumes shall thereof arise; + Preserve my tears, and thou thyself shall prove + A second flood down raining from mine eyes; + Note but my sighs, and thine eyes shall behold + The sunbeams smothered with immortal smoke; + And if by thee my prayers may be enrolled, + They heaven and earth to pity shall provoke. + Look thou into my breast, and thou shalt see + Chaste holy vows for my soul's sacrifice, + That soul, sweet maid, which so hath honoured thee, + Erecting trophies to thy sacred eyes, + Those eyes to my heart shining ever bright, + When darkness hath obscured each other light. + + +AN ALLUSION TO THE EAGLETS + + LVI + + When like an eaglet I first found my love, + For that the virtue I thereof would know, + Upon the nest I set it forth to prove + If it were of that kingly kind or no; + But it no sooner saw my sun appear, + But on her rays with open eyes it stood, + To show that I had hatched it for the air, + And rightly came from that brave mounting brood; + And when the plumes were summed with sweet desire, + To prove the pinions it ascends the skies; + Do what I could, it needsly would aspire + To my soul's sun, those two celestial eyes. + Thus from my breast, where it was bred alone, + It after thee is like an eaglet flown. + + + LVII + + You best discerned of my mind's inward eyes, + And yet your graces outwardly divine, + Whose dear remembrance in my bosom lies, + Too rich a relic for so poor a shrine; + You, in whom nature chose herself to view, + When she her own perfection would admire; + Bestowing all her excellence on you, + At whose pure eyes Love lights his hallowed fire; + Even as a man that in some trance hath seen + More than his wond'ring utterance can unfold, + That rapt in spirit in better worlds hath been, + So must your praise distractedly be told; + Most of all short when I would show you most, + In your perfections so much am I lost. + + + LVIII + + In former times, such as had store of coin, + In wars at home or when for conquests bound, + For fear that some their treasure should purloin, + Gave it to keep to spirits within the ground; + And to attend it them as strongly tied + Till they returned. Home when they never came, + Such as by art to get the same have tried, + From the strong spirit by no means force the same. + Nearer men come, that further flies away, + Striving to hold it strongly in the deep. + Ev'n as this spirit, so you alone do play + With those rich beauties Heav'n gives you to keep; + Pity so left to th' coldness of your blood, + Not to avail you nor do others good. + + +TO PROVERBS + + LIX + + As Love and I late harboured in one inn, + With Proverbs thus each other entertain. + "In love there is no lack," thus I begin: + "Fair words make fools," replieth he again. + "Who spares to speak, doth spare to speed," quoth I. + "As well," saith he, "too forward as too slow." + "Fortune assists the boldest," I reply. + "A hasty man," quoth he, "ne'er wanted woe!" + "Labour is light, where love," quoth I, "doth pay." + Saith he, "Light burden's heavy, if far born." + Quoth I, "The main lost, cast the by away!" + "You have spun a fair thread," he replies in scorn. + And having thus awhile each other thwarted, + Fools as we met, so fools again we parted. + + + LX + + Define my weal, and tell the joys of heaven; + Express my woes and show the pains of hell; + Declare what fate unlucky stars have given, + And ask a world upon my life to dwell; + Make known the faith that fortune could no move, + Compare my worth with others' base desert, + Let virtue be the touchstone of my love, + So may the heavens read wonders in my heart; + Behold the clouds which have eclipsed my sun, + And view the crosses which my course do let; + Tell me, if ever since the world begun + So fair a rising had so foul a set? + And see if time, if he would strive to prove, + Can show a second to so pure a love. + + + LXI + + Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part, + Nay I have done, you get no more of me; + And I am glad, yea glad with all my heart, + That thus so cleanly I myself can free; + Shakes hands for ever, cancel all our vows, + And when we meet at any time again, + Be it not seen in either of our brows + That we one jot of former love retain. + Now at the last gasp of Love's latest breath, + When his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies, + When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death, + And Innocence is closing up his eyes: + Now if thou wouldst, when all have given him over, + From death to life thou might'st him yet recover! + + + LXII + + When first I ended, then I first began; + Then more I travelled further from my rest. + Where most I lost, there most of all I won; + Pinèd with hunger, rising from a feast. + Methinks I fly, yet want I legs to go, + Wise in conceit, in act a very sot, + Ravished with joy amidst a hell of woe, + What most I seem that surest am I not. + I build my hopes a world above the sky, + Yet with the mole I creep into the earth; + In plenty I am starved with penury, + And yet I surfeit in the greatest dearth. + I have, I want, despair, and yet desire, + Burned in a sea of ice, and drowned amidst a fire. + + + LXIII + + Truce, gentle Love, a parley now I crave, + Methinks 'tis long since first these wars begun; + Nor thou, nor I, the better yet can have; + Bad is the match where neither party won. + I offer free conditions of fair peace, + My heart for hostage that it shall remain. + Discharge our forces, here let malice cease, + So for my pledge thou give me pledge again. + Or if no thing but death will serve thy turn, + Still thirsting for subversion of my state, + Do what thou canst, raze, massacre, and burn; + Let the world see the utmost of thy hate; + I send defiance, since if overthrown, + Thou vanquishing, the conquest is mine own. + + + + +FIDESSA +MORE CHASTE THAN KIND +by +B. GRIFFIN, GENT. + + + + +BARTHOLOMEW GRIFFIN + + +The author of _Fidessa_ has gained undeserved notice from the fact +that the piratical printer W. Jaggard, included a transcript of one of +his sonnets in a volume that he put forth in 1599, under the name of +Shakespeare. It would be easy to believe, in spite of the doubtful +rimes characteristic of _Fidessa_, that sonnet three was not +Griffin's, for no singer in the Elizabethan choir was more skilful in +turning his voice to other people's melodies than was he. He has been +called "a gross plagiary;" yet it must be realised that the sonneteers +of that time felt they had a right, almost a duty, to take up the +poetic themes used by their models. Griffin shows great ingenuity in +the manipulation of the stock-themes, and the lover of Petrarch and +all the young Abraham-Slenders of the day must have been delighted +with the familiar "designs" as they re-appeared in _Fidessa_. + +Bartholomew Griffin was buried in Coventry in 1602. In 1596 he +dedicated his "slender work" _Fidessa_ to William Essex of Lamebourne +in Berkshire. He adds an address to the Gentlemen of the Inns of +Court, whom he begs to "censure mildly as protectors of a poor +stranger" and "judge the best as encouragers of a young beginner." Of +the poet little further is known. From the sonnets themselves we learn +that Fidessa was "of high regard," the child of a beautiful mother and +of a renowned father; she sprang in fact from the same root with the +poet himself, who writes "Gent." after his name on the title-page. She +had been kind to him in sickness and had "yielded to each look of his +a sweet reply." After giving these slight hints, he pushes forth from +the moorings of realism and sets sail on the ocean of the sonneteer's +fancy, meeting the usual adventures. His sonnets, while showing +versatility and ingenuity, lack spontaneous feeling and have serious +defects in form; yet these defects are in part offset by their +conversational ease and dramatic vividness. + + + + +TO FIDESSA + + + I + + _Fertur Fortunam Fortuna favere ferenti_ + + + Fidessa fair, long live a happy maiden! + Blest from thy cradle by a worthy mother, + High-thoughted like to her, with bounty laden, + Like pleasing grace affording, one and other; + Sweet model of thy far renownèd sire! + Hold back a while thy ever-giving hand, + And though these free penned lines do nought require, + For that they scorn at base reward to stand, + Yet crave they most for that they beg the least + Dumb is the message of my hidden grief, + And store of speech by silence is increased; + O let me die or purchase some relief! + Bounteous Fidessa cannot be so cruel + As for to make my heart her fancy's fuel! + + + II + + How can that piercing crystal-painted eye, + That gave the onset to my high aspiring. + Yielding each look of mine a sweet reply, + Adding new courage to my heart's desiring, + How can it shut itself within her ark, + And keep herself and me both from the light, + Making us walk in all misguiding dark, + Aye to remain in confines of the night? + How is it that so little room contains it, + That guides the orient as the world the sun, + Which once obscured most bitterly complains it, + Because it knows and rules whate'er is done? + The reason is that they may dread her sight, + Who doth both give and take away their light. + + + III + + Venus, and young Adonis sitting by her, + Under a myrtle shade, began to woo him; + She told the youngling how god Mars did try her, + And as he fell to her, so fell she to him. + "Even thus," quoth she, "the wanton god embraced me!" + And then she clasped Adonis in her arms; + "Even thus," quoth she, "the warlike god unlaced me!" + As if the boy should use like loving charms. + But he, a wayward boy, refused the offer, + And ran away the beauteous queen neglecting + Showing both folly to abuse her proffer, + And all his sex of cowardice detecting. + O that I had my mistress at that bay, + To kiss and clip me till I ran away! + + + IV + + Did you sometimes three German brethren see, + Rancour 'twixt two of them so raging rife, + That th' one could stick the other with his knife? + Now if the third assaulted chance to be + By a fourth stranger, him set on the three, + Them two 'twixt whom afore was deadly strife + Made one to rob the stranger of his life; + Then do you know our state as well as we. + Beauty and chastity with her were born, + Both at one birth, and up with her did grow. + Beauty still foe to chastity was sworn, + And chastity sworn to be beauty's foe; + And yet when I lay siege unto her heart, + Beauty and chastity both take her part. + + + V + + Arraigned, poor captive at the bar I stand, + The bar of beauty, bar to all my joys; + And up I hold my ever trembling hand, + Wishing or life or death to end annoys. + And when the judge doth question of the guilt, + And bids me speak, then sorrow shuts up words. + Yea, though he say, "Speak boldly what thou wilt!" + Yet my confused affects no speech affords, + For why? Alas, my passions have no bound, + For fear of death that penetrates so near; + And still one grief another doth confound, + Yet doth at length a way to speech appear. + Then, for I speak too late, the Judge doth give + His sentence that in prison I shall live. + + + VI + + Unhappy sentence, worst of worst of pains, + To be in darksome silence, out of ken, + Banished from all that bliss the world contains, + And thrust from out the companies of men! + Unhappy sentence, worse than worst of deaths, + Never to see Fidessa's lovely face! + O better were I lose ten thousand breaths, + Than ever live in such unseen disgrace! + Unhappy sentence, worse than pains of hell, + To live in self-tormenting griefs alone; + Having my heart, my prison and my cell, + And there consumed without relief to moan! + If that the sentence so unhappy be, + Then what am I that gave the same to me? + + + VII + + Oft have mine eyes, the agents of mine heart, + False traitor eyes conspiring my decay, + Pleaded for grace with dumb and silent art, + Streaming forth tears my sorrows to allay; + Moaning the wrong they do unto their lord, + Forcing the cruel fair by means to yield; + Making her 'gainst her will some grace t'afford, + And striving sore at length to win the field; + Thus work they means to feed my fainting hope, + And strengthened hope adds matter to each thought; + Yet when they all come to their end and scope + They do but wholly bring poor me to nought. + She'll never yield although they ever cry, + And therefore we must all together die. + + + VIII + + Grief-urging guest, great cause have I to plain me, + Yet hope persuading hope expecteth grace, + And saith none but myself shall ever pain me; + But grief my hopes exceedeth in this case; + For still my fortune ever more doth cross me + By worse events than ever I expected; + And here and there ten thousand ways doth toss me, + With sad remembrance of my time neglected. + These breed such thoughts as set my heart on fire, + And like fell hounds pursue me to my death; + Traitors unto their sovereign lord and sire, + Unkind exactors of their father's breath, + Whom in their rage they shall no sooner kill + Than they themselves themselves unjustly spill. + + + IX + + My spotless love that never yet was tainted, + My loyal heart that never can be moved, + My growing hope that never yet hath fainted, + My constancy that you full well have proved, + All these consented have to plead for grace + These all lie crying at the door of beauty;-- + This wails, this sends out tears, this cries apace, + All do reward expect of faith and duty; + Now either thou must prove th' unkindest one, + And as thou fairest art must cruelest be, + Or else with pity yield unto their moan, + Their moan that ever will importune thee. + Ah, thou must be unkind, and give denial, + And I, poor I, must stand unto my trial! + + + X + + Clip not, sweet love, the wings of my desire, + Although it soar aloft and mount too high: + But rather bear with me though I aspire, + For I have wings to bear me to the sky. + What though I mount, there is no sun but thee! + And sith no other sun, why should I fear? + Thou wilt not burn me, though thou terrify, + And though thy brightness do so great appear. + Dear, I seek not to batter down thy glory, + Nor do I envy that thy hope increaseth; + O never think thy fame doth make me sorry! + For thou must live by fame when beauty ceaseth. + Besides, since from one root we both did spring, + Why should not I thy fame and beauty sing? + + + XI + + Winged with sad woes, why doth fair zephyr blow + Upon my face, the map of discontent? + Is it to have the weeds of sorrow grow + So long and thick, that they will ne'er be spent? + No, fondling, no! It is to cool the fire + Which hot desire within thy breast hath made. + Check him but once and he will soon retire. + O but he sorrows brought which cannot fade! + The sorrows that he brought, he took from thee, + Which fair Fidessa span and thou must wear! + Yet hath she nothing done of cruelty, + But for her sake to try what thou wilt bear. + Come, sorrows, come! You are to me assigned; + I'll bear you all, it is Fidessa's mind. + + + XII + + O if my heavenly sighs must prove annoy, + Which are the sweetest music to my heart, + Let it suffice I count them as my joy, + Sweet bitter joy and pleasant painful smart! + For when my breast is clogged with thousand cares, + That my poor loaded heart is like to break, + Then every sigh doth question how it fares, + Seeming to add their strength, which makes me weak; + Yet for they friendly are, I entertain them, + And they too well are pleasèd with their host. + But I, had not Fidessa been, ere now had slain them; + It's for her cause they live, in her they boast; + They promise help but when they see her face; + They fainting yield, and dare not sue for grace. + + + XIII + + Compare me to the child that plays with fire, + Or to the fly that dieth in the flame, + Or to the foolish boy that did aspire + To touch the glory of high heaven's frame; + Compare me to Leander struggling in the waves, + Not able to attain his safety's shore, + Or to the sick that do expect their graves, + Or to the captive crying evermore; + Compare me to the weeping wounded hart, + Moaning with tears the period of his life, + Or to the boar that will not feel the smart, + When he is stricken with the butcher's knife; + No man to these can fitly me compare; + These live to die, I die to live in care. + + XIV + + When silent sleep had closèd up mine eyes, + My watchful mind did then begin to muse; + A thousand pleasing thoughts did then arise, + That sought by slights their master to abuse. + I saw, O heavenly sight! Fidessa's face, + And fair dame nature blushing to behold it; + Now did she laugh, now wink, now smile apace, + She took me by the hand and fast did hold it; + Sweetly her sweet body did she lay down by me; + "Alas, poor wretch," quoth she, "great is thy sorrow; + But thou shall comfort find if thou wilt try me. + I hope, sir boy, you'll tell me news to-morrow." + With that, away she went, and I did wake withal; + When ah! my honey thoughts were turned to gall. + + + XV + + Care-charmer sleep! Sweet ease in restless misery! + The captive's liberty, and his freedom's song! + Balm of the bruisèd heart! Man's chief felicity! + Brother of quiet death, when life is too too long! + A comedy it is, and now an history; + What is not sleep unto the feeble mind! + It easeth him that toils and him that's sorry; + It makes the deaf to hear, to see the blind; + Ungentle sleep, thou helpest all but me! + For when I sleep my soul is vexèd most. + It is Fidessa that doth master thee; + If she approach, alas, thy power is lost! + But here she is! See how he runs amain! + I fear at night he will not come again. + + XVI + + For I have lovèd long, I crave reward; + Reward me not unkindly, think on kindness; + Kindness becometh those of high regard; + Regard with clemency a poor man's blindness; + Blindness provokes to pity when it crieth; + It crieth "Give!" Dear lady, shew some pity! + Pity or let him die that daily dieth; + Dieth he not oft who often sings this ditty? + This ditty pleaseth me although it choke me; + Methinks dame Echo weepeth at my moaning, + Moaning the woes that to complain provoke me. + Provoke me now no more, but hear my groaning, + Groaning both day and night doth tear my heart, + My heart doth know the cause and triumphs in the smart. + + + XVII + + Sweet stroke,--so might I thrive as I must praise-- + But sweeter hand that gives so sweet a stroke! + The lute itself is sweetest when she plays. + But what hear I? A string through fear is broke! + The lute doth shake as if it were afraid. + O sure some goddess holds it in her hand, + A heavenly power that oft hath me dismayed, + Yet such a power as doth in beauty stand! + Cease lute, my ceaseless suit will ne'er be heard! + Ah, too hard-hearted she that will not hear it! + If I but think on joy, my joy is marred; + My grief is great, yet ever must I bear it; + But love 'twixt us will prove a faithful page, + And she will love my sorrows to assuage. + + + XVIII + + O she must love my sorrows to assuage. + O God, what joy felt I when she did smile, + Whom killing grief before did cause to rage! + Beauty is able sorrow to beguile. + Out, traitor absence! thou dost hinder me, + And mak'st my mistress often to forget, + Causing me to rail upon her cruelty, + Whilst thou my suit injuriously dost let; + Again her presence doth astonish me, + And strikes me dumb as if my sense were gone; + Oh, is not this a strange perplexity? + In presence dumb, she hears not absent moan; + Thus absent presence, present absence maketh, + That hearing my poor suit, she it mistaketh. + + + XIX + + My pain paints out my love in doleful verse, + The lively glass wherein she may behold it; + My verse her wrong to me doth still rehearse, + But so as it lamenteth to unfold it. + Myself with ceaseless tears my harms bewail, + And her obdurate heart not to be moved; + Though long-continued woes my senses fail, + And curse the day, the hour when first I loved. + She takes the glass wherein herself she sees, + In bloody colours cruelly depainted; + And her poor prisoner humbly on his knees, + Pleading for grace, with heart that never fainted. + She breaks the glass; alas, I cannot choose + But grieve that I should so my labour lose! + + + XX + + Great is the joy that no tongue can express! + Fair babe new born, how much dost thou delight me! + But what, is mine so great? Yea, no whit less! + So great that of all woes it doth acquite me. + It's fair Fidessa that this comfort bringeth, + Who sorry for the wrongs by her procured, + Delightful tunes of love, of true love singeth, + Wherewith her too chaste thoughts were ne'er inured. + She loves, she saith, but with a love not blind. + Her love is counsel that I should not love, + But upon virtues fix a stayèd mind. + But what! This new-coined love, love doth reprove? + If this be love of which you make such store, + Sweet, love me less, that you may love me more! + + + XXI + + He that will Cæsar be, or else not be-- + Who can aspire to Cæsar's bleeding fame, + Must be of high resolve; but what is he + That thinks to gain a second Cæsar's name? + Whoe'er he be that climbs above his strength, + And climbeth high, the greater is his fall! + For though he sit awhile, we see at length, + His slippery place no firmness hath at all, + Great is his bruise that falleth from on high. + This warneth me that I should not aspire; + Examples should prevail; I care not, I! + I perish must or have what I desire! + This humour doth with mine full well agree + I must Fidessa's be, or else not be! + + + XXII + + It was of love, ungentle gentle boy! + That thou didst come and harbour in my breast; + Not of intent my body to destroy, + And have my soul, with restless cares opprest. + But sith thy love doth turn unto my pain, + Return to Greece, sweet lad, where thou wast born. + Leave me alone my griefs to entertain, + If thou forsake me, I am less forlorn; + Although alone, yet shall I find more ease. + Then see thou hie thee hence, or I will chase thee; + Men highly wrongèd care not to displease; + My fortune hangs on thee, thou dost disgrace me, + Yet at thy farewell, play a friendly part; + To make amends, fly to Fidessa's heart. + + + XXIII + + Fly to her heart, hover about her heart, + With dainty kisses mollify her heart, + Pierce with thy arrows her obdurate heart, + With sweet allurements ever move her heart, + At midday and at midnight touch her heart, + Be lurking closely, nestle about her heart, + With power--thou art a god!--command her heart, + Kindle thy coals of love about her heart, + Yea, even into thyself transform her heart! + Ah, she must love! Be sure thou have her heart; + And I must die if thou have not her heart; + Thy bed if thou rest well, must be her heart; + He hath the best part sure that hath her heart; + What have I not, if I have but her heart! + + + XXIV + + Striving is past! Ah, I must sink and drown, + And that in sight of long descrièd shore! + I cannot send for aid unto the town, + All help is vain and I must die therefore. + Then poor distressèd caitiff, be resolved + To leave this earthly dwelling fraught with care; + Cease will thy woes, thy corpse in earth involved, + Thou diest for her that will no help prepare. + O see, my case herself doth now behold; + The casement open is; she seems to speak;-- + But she has gone! O then I dare be bold + And needs must say she caused my heart to break. + I die before I drown, O heavy case! + It was because I saw my mistress' face. + + + XXV + + Compare me to Pygmalion with his image sotted, + For, as was he, even so am I deceived. + The shadow only is to me allotted, + The substance hath of substance me bereaved. + Then poor and helpless must I wander still + In deep laments to pass succeeding days, + Welt'ring in woes that poor and mighty kill. + O who is mighty that so soon decays! + The dread Almighty hath appointed so + The final period of all worldly things. + Then as in time they come, so must they go; + Death common is to beggars and to kings + For whither do I run beside my text? + I run to death, for death must be the next. + + + XXVI + + The silly bird that hastes unto the net, + And flutters to and fro till she be taken, + Doth look some food or succour there to get, + But loseth life, so much is she mistaken. + The foolish fly that fleeth to the flame + With ceaseless hovering and with restless flight, + Is burnèd straight to ashes in the same, + And finds her death where was her most delight + The proud aspiring boy that needs would pry + Into the secrets of the highest seat, + Had some conceit to gain content thereby, + Or else his folly sure was wondrous great. + These did through folly perish all and die: + And though I know it, even so do I. + + + XXVII + + Poor worm, poor silly worm, alas, poor beast! + Fear makes thee hide thy head within the ground, + Because of creeping things thou art the least, + Yet every foot gives thee thy mortal wound. + But I, thy fellow worm, am in worse state, + For thou thy sun enjoyest, but I want mine. + I live in irksome night, O cruel fate! + My sun will never rise, nor ever shine. + Thus blind of light, mine eyes misguide my feet, + And baleful darkness makes me still afraid; + Men mock me when I stumble in the street, + And wonder how my young sight so decayed. + Yet do I joy in this, even when I fall, + That I shall see again and then see all. + + + XXVIII + + Well may my soul, immortal and divine, + That is imprisoned in a lump of clay, + Breathe out laments until this body pine, + That from her takes her pleasures all away. + Pine then, thou loathèd prison of my life, + Untoward subject of the least aggrievance! + O let me die! Mortality is rife; + Death comes by wounds, by sickness, care, and chance. + O earth, the time will come when I'll resume thee, + And in thy bosom make my resting-place; + Then do not unto hardest sentence doom me; + Yield, yield betimes; I must and will have grace! + Richly shalt thou be entombed, since, for thy grave, + Fidessa, fair Fidessa, thou shalt have! + + + XXIX + + Earth, take this earth wherein my spirits languish; + Spirits, leave this earth that doth in griefs retain you; + Griefs, chase this earth that it may fade with anguish; + Spirits, avoid these furies which do pain you! + O leave your loathsome prison; freedom gain you; + Your essence is divine; great is your power; + And yet you moan your wrongs and sore complain you, + Hoping for joy which fadeth every hour. + O spirits, your prison loathe and freedom gain you; + The destinies in deep laments have shut you + Of mortal hate, because they do disdain you, + And yet of joy that they in prison put you. + Earth, take this earth with thee to be enclosed; + Life is to me, and I to it, opposed! + + + XXX + + Weep now no more, mine eyes, but be you drowned + In your own tears, so many years distilled. + And let her know that at them long hath frowned, + That you can weep no more although she willed; + This hap her cruelty hath her allotten, + Who whilom was commandress of each part; + That now her proper griefs must be forgotten + By those true outward signs of inward smart. + For how can he that hath not one tear left him, + Stream out those floods that are due unto her moaning, + When both of eyes and tears she hath bereft him? + O yet I'll signify my grief with groaning; + True sighs, true groans shall echo in the air + And say, Fidessa, though most cruel, is most fair! + + + XXXI + + Tongue, never cease to sing Fidessa's praise; + Heart, however she deserve conceive the best; + Eyes, stand amazed to see her beauty's rays; + Lips, steal one kiss and be for ever blest; + Hands, touch that hand wherein your life is closed; + Breast, lock up fast in thee thy life's sole treasure; + Arms, still embrace and never be disclosed; + Feet, run to her without or pace or measure; + Tongue, heart, eyes, lips, hands, breast, arms, feet, + Consent to do true homage to your Queen, + Lovely, fair, gentle, wise, virtuous, sober, sweet, + Whose like shall never be, hath never been! + O that I were all tongue, her praise to shew; + Then surely my poor heart were freed from woe! + + + XXXII + + Sore sick of late, nature her due would have, + Great was my pain where still my mind did rest; + No hope but heaven, no comfort but my grave, + Which is of comforts both the last and least; + But on a sudden, the Almighty sent + Sweet ease to the distressed and comfortless, + And gave me longer time for to repent, + With health and strength the foes of feebleness; + Yet I my health no sooner 'gan recover, + But my old thoughts, though full of cares, retained, + Made me, as erst, become a wretched lover + Of her that love and lovers aye disdained. + Then was my pain with ease of pain increased, + And I ne'er sick until my sickness ceased. + + + XXXIII + + He that would fain Fidessa's image see, + My face of force may be his looking-glass. + There is she portrayed and her cruelty, + Which as a wonder through the world must pass. + But were I dead, she would not be betrayed; + It's I, that 'gainst my will, shall make it known. + Her cruelty by me must be bewrayed, + Or I must hide my head and live alone. + I'll pluck my silver hairs from out my head, + And wash away the wrinkles of my face; + Closely immured I'll live as I were dead, + Before she suffer but the least disgrace. + How can I hide that is already known? + I have been seen and have no face but one. + + + XXXIV + + Fie pleasure, fie! Thou cloy'st me with delight; + Sweet thoughts, you kill me if you lower stray! + O many be the joys of one short night! + Tush, fancies never can desire allay! + Happy, unhappy thoughts! I think, and have not. + Pleasure, O pleasing pain! Shows nought avail me! + Mine own conceit doth glad me, more I crave not; + Yet wanting substance, woe doth still assail me. + Babies do children please, and shadows fools; + Shows have deceived the wisest many a time. + Ever to want our wish, our courage cools. + The ladder broken, 'tis in vain to climb. + But I must wish, and crave, and seek, and climb; + It's hard if I obtain not grace in time. + + + XXXV + + I have not spent the April of my time, + The sweet of youth in plotting in the air, + But do at first adventure seek to climb, + Whilst flowers of blooming years are green and fair. + I am no leaving of all-withering age, + I have not suffered many winter lours; + I feel no storm unless my love do rage, + And then in grief I spend both days and hours. + This yet doth comfort that my flower lasted + Until it did approach my sun too near; + And then, alas, untimely was it blasted, + So soon as once thy beauty did appear! + But after all, my comfort rests in this, + That for thy sake my youth decayèd is. + + + XXXVI + + O let my heart, my body, and my tongue + Bleed forth the lively streams of faith unfeigned, + Worship my saint the gods and saints among, + Praise and extol her fair that me hath pained! + O let the smoke of my suppressed desire, + Raked up in ashes of my burning breast, + Break out at length and to the clouds aspire, + Urging the heavens to afford me rest; + But let my body naturally descend + Into the bowels of our common mother, + And to the very centre let it wend, + When it no lower can, her griefs to smother! + And yet when I so low do buried lie, + Then shall my love ascend unto the sky. + + + XXXVII + + Fair is my love that feeds among the lilies, + The lilies growing in that pleasant garden + Where Cupid's mount, that well beloved hill is, + And where that little god himself is warden. + See where my love sits in the beds of spices, + Beset all round with camphor, myrrh, and roses, + And interlaced with curious devices, + Which her from all the world apart incloses. + There doth she tune her lute for her delight, + And with sweet music makes the ground to move; + Whilst I, poor I, do sit in heavy plight, + Wailing alone my unrespected love, + Not daring rush into so rare a place, + That gives to her, and she to it, a grace. + + + XXXVIII + + Was never eye did see my mistress' face, + Was never ear did hear Fidessa's tongue, + Was never mind that once did mind her grace, + That ever thought the travail to be long. + When her I see, no creature I behold, + So plainly say these advocates of love, + That now do fear and now to speak are bold, + Trembling apace when they resolve to prove. + These strange effects do show a hidden power, + A majesty all base attempts reproving, + That glads or daunts as she doth laugh or lower; + Surely some goddess harbours in their moving + Who thus my Muse from base attempts hath raised, + Whom thus my Muse beyond compare hath praised. + + + XXXIX + + My lady's hair is threads of beaten gold, + Her front the purest crystal eye hath seen, + Her eyes the brightest stars the heavens hold, + Her cheeks red roses such as seld have been; + Her pretty lips of red vermillion die, + Her hand of ivory the purest white, + Her blush Aurora or the morning sky, + Her breast displays two silver fountains bright + The spheres her voice, her grace the Graces three: + Her body is the saint that I adore; + Her smiles and favours sweet as honey be; + Her feet fair Thetis praiseth evermore. + But ah, the worst and last is yet behind, + For of a griffon she doth bear the mind! + + + XL + + Injurious Fates, to rob me of my bliss, + And dispossess my heart of all his hope! + You ought with just revenge to punish miss, + For unto you the hearts of men are ope. + Injurious Fates, that hardened have her heart, + Yet make her face to send out pleasing smiles! + And both are done but to increase my smart, + And entertain my love with falsèd wiles. + Yet being when she smiles surprised with joy, + I fain would languish in so sweet a pain, + Beseeching death my body to destroy, + Lest on the sudden she should frown again. + When men do wish for death, Fates have no force; + But they, when men would live, have no remorse. + + + XLI + + The prison I am in is thy fair face, + Wherein my liberty enchainèd lies; + My thoughts, the bolts that hold me in the place; + My food, the pleasing looks of thy fair eyes. + Deep is the prison where I lie enclosed, + Strong are the bolts that in this cell contain me; + Sharp is the food necessity imposed, + When hunger makes me feed on that which pains me. + Yet do I love, embrace, and follow fast, + That holds, that keeps, that discontents me most; + And list not break, unlock, or seek to waste + The place, the bolts, the food, though I be lost; + Better in prison ever to remain, + Than being out to suffer greater pain. + + + XLII + + When never-speaking silence proves a wonder, + When ever-flying flame at home remaineth, + When all-concealing night keeps darkness under, + When men-devouring wrong true glory gaineth, + When soul-tormenting grief agrees with joy, + When Lucifer foreruns the baleful night, + When Venus doth forsake her little boy, + When her untoward boy obtaineth sight, + When Sisyphus doth cease to roll his stone, + When Otus shaketh off his heavy chain, + When beauty, queen of pleasure, is alone, + When love and virtue quiet peace disdain; + When these shall be, and I not be, + Then will Fidessa pity me. + + + XLIII + + Tell me of love, sweet Love, who is thy sire, + Or if thou mortal or immortal be? + Some say thou art begotten by desire, + Nourished with hope, and fed with fantasy, + Engendered by a heavenly goddess' eye, + Lurking most sweetly in an angel's face. + Others, that beauty thee doth deify;-- + O sovereign beauty, full of power and grace!-- + But I must be absurd all this denying, + Because the fairest fair alive ne'er knew thee. + Now, Cupid, comes thy godhead to the trying; + 'Twas she alone--such is her power--that slew me; + She shall be Love, and thou a foolish boy, + Whose virtue proves thy power is but a toy. + + + XLIV + + No choice of change can ever change my mind; + Choiceless my choice, the choicest choice alive; + Wonder of women, were she not unkind, + The pitiless of pity to deprive. + Yet she, the kindest creature of her kind, + Accuseth me of self-ingratitude, + And well she may, sith by good proof I find + Myself had died, had she not helpful stood. + For when my sickness had the upper hand, + And death began to show his awful face, + She took great pains my pains for to withstand, + And eased my heart that was in heavy case. + But cruel now, she scorneth what it craveth; + Unkind in kindness, murdering while she saveth. + + + XLV + + Mine eye bewrays the secrets of my heart, + My heart unfolds his grief before her face; + Her face--bewitching pleasure of my smart!-- + Deigns not one look of mercy and of grace. + My guilty eye of murder and of treason,-- + Friendly conspirator of my decay, + Dumb eloquence, the lover's strongest reason!-- + Doth weep itself for anger quite away, + And chooseth rather not to be, than be + Disloyal, by too well discharging duty; + And being out, joys it no more can see + The sugared charms of all deceiving beauty. + But, for the other greedily doth eye it, + I pray you tell me, what do I get by it? + + + XLVI + + So soon as peeping Lucifer, Aurora's star, + The sky with golden periwigs doth spangle; + So soon as Phoebus gives us light from far, + So soon as fowler doth the bird entangle; + Soon as the watchful bird, clock of the morn, + Gives intimation of the day's appearing; + Soon as the jolly hunter winds his horn, + His speech and voice with custom's echo clearing; + Soon as the hungry lion seeks his prey + In solitary range of pathless mountains; + Soon as the passenger sets on his way, + So soon as beasts resort unto the fountains; + So soon mine eyes their office are discharging, + And I my griefs with greater griefs enlarging. + + + XLVII + + I see, I hear, I feel, I know, I rue + My fate, my fame, my pain, my loss, my fall, + Mishap, reproach, disdain, a crown, her hue, + Cruel, still flying, false, fair, funeral, + To cross, to shame, bewitch, deceive, and kill + My first proceedings in their flowing bloom. + My worthless pen fast chainèd to my will, + My erring life through an uncertain doom, + My thoughts that yet in lowliness do mount, + My heart the subject of her tyranny; + What now remains but her severe account + Of murder's crying guilt, foul butchery! + She was unhappy in her cradle breath, + That given was to be another's death. + + + XLVIII + + "Murder! O murder!" I can cry no longer. + "Murder! O murder!" Is there none to aid me? + Life feeble is in force, death is much stronger; + Then let me die that shame may not upbraid me; + Nothing is left me now but shame or death. + I fear she feareth not foul murder's guilt, + Nor do I fear to lose a servile breath. + I know my blood was given to be spilt. + What is this life but maze of countless strays, + The enemy of true felicity, + Fitly compared to dreams, to flowers, to plays! + O life, no life to me, but misery! + Of shame or death, if thou must one, + Make choice of death and both are gone. + + + XLIX + + My cruel fortunes clouded with a frown, + Lurk in the bosom of eternal night; + My climbing thoughts are basely haulèd down; + My best devices prove but after-sight. + Poor outcast of the world's exilèd room, + I live in wilderness of deep lament; + No hope reserved me but a hopeless tomb, + When fruitless life and fruitful woes are spent. + Shall Phoebus hinder little stars to shine, + Or lofty cedar mushrooms leave to grow? + Sure mighty men at little ones repine, + The rich is to the poor a common foe. + Fidessa, seeing how the world doth go, + Joineth with fortune in my overthrow. + + + L + + When I the hooks of pleasure first devoured, + Which undigested threaten now to choke me, + Fortune on me her golden graces showered; + O then delight did to delight provoke me! + Delight, false instrument of my decay, + Delight, the nothing that doth all things move, + Made me first wander from the perfect way, + And fast entangled me in the snares of love. + Then my unhappy happiness at first began, + Happy in that I loved the fairest fair; + Unhappily despised, a hapless man; + Thus joy did triumph, triumph did despair. + My conquest is--which shall the conquest gain?-- + Fidessa, author both of joy and pain! + + + LI + + Work, work apace, you blessed sisters three, + In restless twining of my fatal thread! + O let your nimble hands at once agree, + To weave it out and cut it off with speed! + Then shall my vexèd and tormented ghost + Have quiet passage to the Elysian rest, + And sweetly over death and fortune boast + In everlasting triumphs with the blest. + But ah, too well I know you have conspired + A lingering death for him that loatheth life, + As if with woes he never could be tired. + For this you hide your all-dividing knife. + One comfort yet the heavens have assigned me; + That I must die and leave my griefs behind me. + + + LII + + It is some comfort to the wrongèd man, + The wronger of injustice to upbraid. + Justly myself herein I comfort can, + And justly call her an ungrateful maid. + Thus am I pleased to rid myself of crime + And stop the mouth of all-reporting fame, + Counting my greatest cross the loss of time + And all my private grief her public shame. + Ah, but to speak the truth, hence are my cares, + And in this comfort all discomfort resteth; + My harms I cause her scandal unawares; + Thus love procures the thing that love detesteth. + For he that views the glasses of my smart + Must need report she hath a flinty heart. + + + LIII + + I was a king of sweet content at least, + But now from out my kingdom banished; + I was chief guest at fair dame pleasure's feast, + But now I am for want of succour famished; + I was a saint and heaven was my rest, + But now cast down into the lowest hell. + Vile caitiffs may not live among the blest, + Nor blessed men amongst cursed caitiffs dwell. + Thus am I made an exile of a king; + Thus choice of meats to want of food is changed; + Thus heaven's loss doth hellish torments bring; + Self crosses make me from myself estranged. + Yet am I still the same but made another; + Then not the same; alas, I am no other! + + + LIV + + If great Apollo offered as a dower + His burning throne to beauty's excellence; + If Jove himself came in a golden shower + Down to the earth to fetch fair Io thence; + If Venus in the curlèd locks was tied + Of proud Adonis not of gentle kind; + If Tellus for a shepherd's favour died, + The favour cruel Love to her assigned; + If Heaven's winged herald Hermes had + His heart enchanted with a country maid; + If poor Pygmalion was for beauty mad; + If gods and men have all for beauty strayed: + I am not then ashamed to be included + 'Mongst those that love, and be with love deluded. + + + LV + + O, No, I dare not! O, I may not speak! + Yes, yes, I dare, I can, I must, I will! + Then heart, pour forth thy plaints and do not break; + Let never fancy manly courage kill; + Intreat her mildly, words have pleasing charms + Of force to move the most obdurate heart, + To take relenting pity of my harms, + And with unfeignèd tears to wail my smart. + Is she a stock, a block, a stone, a flint? + Hath she nor ears to hear nor eyes to see? + If so my cries, my prayers, my tears shall stint! + Lord! how can lovers so bewitchèd be! + I took her to be beauty's queen alone; + But now I see she is a senseless stone. + + + LVI + + Is trust betrayed? Doth kindness grow unkind? + Can beauty both at once give life and kill? + Shall fortune alter the most constant mind? + Will reason yield unto rebelling will? + Doth fancy purchase praise, and virtue shame? + May show of goodness lurk in treachery? + Hath truth unto herself procurèd blame? + Must sacred muses suffer misery? + Are women woe to men, traps for their falls? + Differ their words, their deeds, their looks, their lives? + Have lovers ever been their tennis balls? + Be husbands fearful of the chastest wives? + All men do these affirm, and so must I, + Unless Fidessa give to me the lie. + + + LVII + + Three playfellows--such three were never seen + In Venus' court--upon a summer's day, + Met altogether on a pleasant green, + Intending at some pretty game to play. + They Dian, Cupid, and Fidessa were. + Their wager, beauty, bow, and cruelty; + The conqueress the stakes away did bear. + Whose fortune then was it to win all three? + Fidessa, which doth these as weapons use, + To make the greatest heart her will obey; + And yet the most obedient to refuse + As having power poor lovers to betray. + With these she wounds, she heals, gives life and death; + More power hath none that lives by mortal breath. + + + LVIII + + O beauty, siren! kept with Circe's rod; + The fairest good in seem but foulest ill; + The sweetest plague ordained for man by God, + The pleasing subject of presumptuous will; + Th' alluring object of unstayèd eyes; + Friended of all, but unto all a foe; + The dearest thing that any creature buys, + And vainest too, it serves but for a show; + In seem a heaven, and yet from bliss exiling; + Paying for truest service nought but pain; + Young men's undoing, young and old beguiling; + Man's greatest loss though thought his greatest gain! + True, that all this with pain enough I prove; + And yet most true, I will Fidessa love. + + + LIX + + Do I unto a cruel tiger play, + That preys on me as wolf upon the lambs, + Who fear the danger both of night and day + And run for succour to their tender dams? + Yet will I pray, though she be ever cruel, + On bended knee and with submissive heart. + She is the fire and I must be the fuel; + She must inflict and I endure the smart. + She must, she shall be mistress of her will, + And I, poor I, obedient to the same; + As fit to suffer death as she to kill; + As ready to be blamed as she to blame. + And for I am the subject of her ire, + All men shall know thereby my love entire. + + + LX + + O let me sigh, weep, wail, and cry no more; + Or let me sigh, weep, wail, cry more and more! + Yea, let me sigh, weep, wail, cry evermore, + For she doth pity my complaints no more + Than cruel pagan or the savage Moor; + But still doth add unto my torments more, + Which grievous are to me by so much more + As she inflicts them and doth wish them more. + O let thy mercy, merciless, be never more! + So shall sweet death to me be welcome, more + Than is to hungry beasts the grassy moor, + As she that to affliction adds yet more, + Becomes more cruel by still adding more! + Weary am I to speak of this word "more;" + Yet never weary she, to plague me more! + + + LXI + + Fidessa's worth in time begetteth praise; + Time, praise; praise, fame; fame, wonderment; + Wonder, fame, praise, time, her worth do raise + To highest pitch of dread astonishment. + Yet time in time her hardened heart bewrayeth + And praise itself her cruelty dispraiseth. + So that through praise, alas, her praise decayeth, + And that which makes it fall her honour raiseth! + Most strange, yet true! So wonder, wonder still, + And follow fast the wonder of these days; + For well I know all wonder to fulfil + Her will at length unto my will obeys. + Meantime let others praise her constancy, + And me attend upon her clemency. + + + LXII + + Most true that I must fair Fidessa love. + Most true that fair Fidessa cannot love. + Most true that I do feel the pains of love. + Most true that I am captive unto love. + Most true that I deluded am with love. + Most true that I do find the sleights of love. + Most true that nothing can procure her love. + Most true that I must perish in my love. + Most true that she contemns the god of love. + Most true that he is snarèd with her love. + Most true that she would have me cease to love. + Most true that she herself alone is love. + Most true that though she hated, I would love. + Most true that dearest life shall end with love. + + +FINIS + + _Talis apud tales, talis sub tempore tali: + Subque meo tali judice, talis ero._ + + + + +CHLORIS +OR, THE COMPLAINT OF THE PASSIONATE DESPISED SHEPHERD +by +WILLIAM SMITH + + + + +WILLIAM SMITH + + +The sub-title of _Chloris_ arouses an expectation that is gratified in +the pastoral modishness of the sonnets. Corin sits under the "lofty +pines, co-partners of his woe," with oaten reed at his lips, and calls +on sylvans, lambkins and all Parnassans to testify to the beauty and +cruelty of Chloris. The attitude is a self-conscious one, yet the poem +reveals little of the personality of the author beyond the facts of +his youthfulness and of his devotion to "the most excellent and +learned Shepheard, Colin Cloute." It was in 1595, but one year before +the publication of _Chloris_, that Spenser had sung his own sonnets of +true love, and it is perhaps on this account that William Smith finds +him in a mood favourable to the defence of a young aspirant. At any +rate, the language of the dedication rings with something more than +mere desire for distinguished patronage. The youth looks with a +beautiful humility upward toward the greater but "dear and most entire +beloved" poet. His own sonnets, he says, are "of my study the budding +springs"; they are but "young-hatched orphan things." He nowhere +boasts that they will give immortal renown to the scornful beauty, but +modestly promises that if her cruel disdain does not ruin him, the +time shall come when he "more large" her "praises forth shall pen." +Chloris had once been favourable, as sonnet forty-eight distinctly +shows, but the cycle does not bring any happy conclusion to the story. +Corin is left weeping but faithful, and the picture of Chloris is +composed of such faint outlines only as the sonneteer's conventions +can delineate. Beyond this no certain information in regard to poet or +honoured lady has yet been unearthed. + +For all its formality, however, the sonnet-cycle is not wanting in +touches of real feeling and lines of musical sweetness; the writer +shows considerable skill in the management of rime, and in structure +he adopts the form preferred by Shakespeare, whose "sugared sonnets" +may by this date have passed beneath his eye. The melodies piped by +other sonnet-shepherds re-echo with a great deal of distinctness in +Covin's strains; nevertheless he has himself taken a draught from the +true Elizabethan fount of lyric inspiration, and the nymph Chloris +with her heart-robbing eye well deserves a place on the snow-soft +downs where the sonneteering shepherds were wont to assemble. + + + + +TO THE MOST EXCELLENT AND LEARNED SHEPHERD COLIN CLOUT + + + I + + Colin my dear and most entire beloved, + My muse audacious stoops her pitch to thee, + Desiring that thy patience be not moved + By these rude lines, written here you see; + Fain would my muse whom cruel love hath wronged, + Shroud her love labours under thy protection, + And I myself with ardent zeal have longed + That thou mightst know to thee my true affection. + Therefore, good Colin, graciously accept + A few sad sonnets which my muse hath framed; + Though they but newly from the shell are crept, + Suffer them not by envy to be blamed, + But underneath the shadow of thy wings + Give warmth to these young-hatchèd orphan things. + + + II + + Give warmth to these young-hatchèd orphan things, + Which chill with cold to thee for succour creep; + They of my study are the budding springs; + Longer I cannot them in silence keep. + They will be gadding sore against my mind. + But courteous shepherd, if they run astray, + Conduct them that they may the pathway find, + And teach them how the mean observe they may. + Thou shalt them ken by their discording notes, + Their weeds are plain, such as poor shepherds wear; + Unshapen, torn, and ragged are their coats, + Yet forth they wand'ring are devoid of fear. + They which have tasted of the muses' spring, + I hope will smile upon the tunes they sing. + + + TO ALL SHEPHERDS IN GENERAL + + You whom the world admires for rarest style, + You which have sung the sonnets of true love, + Upon my maiden verse with favour smile, + Whose weak-penned muse to fly too soon doth prove; + Before her feathers have their full perfection, + She soars aloft, pricked on by blind affection. + + You whose deep wits, ingine, and industry, + The everlasting palm of praise have won, + You paragons of learnèd poesy, + Favour these mists, which fall before your sun, + Intentions leading to a more effect + If you them grace but with your mild aspect. + + And thou the Genius of my ill-tuned note, + Whose beauty urgèd hath my rustic vein + Through mighty oceans of despair to float, + That I in rime thy cruelty complain: + Vouchsafe to read these lines both harsh and bad + Nuntiates of woe with sorrow being clad. + + +CHLORIS + + I + + Courteous Calliope, vouchsafe to lend + Thy helping hand to my untunèd song, + And grace these lines which I to write pretend, + Compelled by love which doth poor Corin wrong. + And those thy sacred sisters I beseech, + Which on Parnassus' mount do ever dwell, + To shield my country muse and rural speech + By their divine authority and spell. + Lastly to thee, O Pan, the shepherds' king, + And you swift-footed Dryades I call; + Attend to hear a swain in verse to sing + Sonnets of her that keeps his heart in thrall! + O Chloris, weigh the task I undertake! + Thy beauty subject of my song I make. + + + II + + Thy beauty subject of my song I make, + O fairest fair, on whom depends my life! + Refuse not then the task I undertake, + To please thy rage and to appease my strife; + But with one smile remunerate my toil, + None other guerdon I of thee desire. + Give not my lowly muse new-hatched the foil, + But warmth that she may at the length aspire + Unto the temples of thy star-bright eyes, + Upon whose round orbs perfect beauty sits, + From whence such glorious crystal beams arise, + As best my Chloris' seemly face befits; + Which eyes, which beauty, which bright crystal beam, + Which face of thine hath made my love extreme. + + + III + + Feed, silly sheep, although your keeper pineth, + Yet like to Tantalus doth see his food. + Skip you and leap, no bright Apollo shineth, + Whilst I bewail my sorrows in yon wood, + Where woeful Philomela doth record, + And sings with notes of sad and dire lament + The tragedy wrought by her sisters' lord; + I'll bear a part in her black discontent. + That pipe which erst was wont to make you glee + Upon these downs whereon you careless graze, + Shall to her mournful music tunèd be. + Let not my plaints, poor lambkins, you amaze; + There underneath that dark and dusky bower, + Whole showers of tears to Chloris I will pour. + + + IV + + Whole showers of tears to Chloris I will pour, + As true oblations of my sincere love, + If that will not suffice, most fairest flower, + Then shall my sighs thee unto pity move. + If neither tears nor sighs can aught prevail, + My streaming blood thine anger shall appease, + This hand of mine by vigour shall assail + To tear my heart asunder thee to please. + Celestial powers on you I invocate; + You know the chaste affections of my mind, + I never did my faith yet violate; + Why should my Chloris then be so unkind? + That neither tears, nor sighs, nor streaming blood, + Can unto mercy move her cruel mood. + + + V + + You fawns and silvans, when my Chloris brings + Her flocks to water in your pleasant plains, + Solicit her to pity Corin's strings, + The smart whereof for her he still sustains. + For she is ruthless of my woeful song; + My oaten reed she not delights to hear. + O Chloris, Chloris! Corin thou dost wrong, + Who loves thee better than his own heart dear. + The flames of Aetna are not half so hot + As is the fire which thy disdain hath bread. + Ah cruel fates, why do you then besot + Poor Corin's soul with love, when love is fled? + Either cause cruel Chloris to relent, + Or let me die upon the wound she sent! + + + VI + + You lofty pines, co-partners of my woe, + When Chloris sitteth underneath your shade, + To her those sighs and tears I pray you show, + Whilst you attending I for her have made. + Whilst you attending, droppèd have sweet balm + In token that you pity my distress, + Zephirus hath your stately boughs made calm. + Whilst I to you my sorrows did express, + The neighbour mountains bended have their tops, + When they have heard my rueful melody, + And elves in rings about me leaps and hops, + To frame my passions to their jollity. + Resounding echoes from their obscure caves, + Reiterate what most my fancy craves. + + + VII + + What need I mourn, seeing Pan our sacred king + Was of that nymph fair Syrinx coy disdained? + The world's great light which comforteth each thing, + All comfortless for Daphne's sake remained. + If gods can find no help to heal the sore + Made by love's shafts, which pointed are with fire, + Unhappy Corin, then thy chance deplore, + Sith they despair by wanting their desire. + I am not Pan though I a shepherd be, + Yet is my love as fair as Syrinx was. + My songs cannot with Phoebus' tunes agree, + Yet Chloris' doth his Daphne's far surpass. + How much more fair by so much more unkind, + Than Syrinx coy, or Daphne, I her find! + + + VIII + + No sooner had fair Phoebus trimmed his car, + Being newly risen from Aurora's bed, + But I in whom despair and hope did war, + My unpenned flock unto the mountains led. + Tripping upon the snow-soft downs I spied + Three nymphs more fairer than those beautys three + Which did appear to Paris on mount Ide. + Coming more near, my goddess I there see; + For she the field-nymphs oftentimes doth haunt, + To hunt with them the fierce and savage boar; + And having sported virelays they chaunt, + Whilst I unhappy helpless cares deplore. + There did I call to her, ah too unkind! + But tiger-like, of me she had no mind. + + + IX + + Unto the fountain where fair Delia chaste + The proud Acteon turnèd to a hart, + I drove my flock, that water sweet to taste, + 'Cause from the welkin Phoebus 'gan depart. + There did I see the nymph whom I admire, + Rememb'ring her locks, of which the yellow hue + Made blush the beauties of her curlèd wire, + Which Jove himself with wonder well might view; + Then red with ire, her tresses she berent, + And weeping hid the beauty of her face, + Whilst I amazèd at her discontent, + With tears and sighs do humbly sue for grace; + But she regarding neither tears nor moan, + Flies from the fountain leaving me alone. + + + X + + Am I a Gorgon that she doth me fly, + Or was I hatchèd in the river Nile? + Or doth my Chloris stand in doubt that I + With syren songs do seek her to beguile? + If any one of these she can object + 'Gainst me, which chaste affected love protest, + Then might my fortunes by her frowns be checked, + And blameless she from scandal free might rest. + But seeing I am no hideous monster born, + But have that shape which other men do bear, + Which form great Jupiter did never scorn, + Amongst his subjects here on earth to wear, + Why should she then that soul with sorrow fill, + Which vowèd hath to love and serve her still? + + + XI + + Tell me, my dear, what moves thy ruthless mind + To be so cruel, seeing thou art so fair? + Did nature frame thy beauty so unkind? + Or dost thou scorn to pity my despair? + O no, it was not nature's ornament, + But wingèd love's unpartial cruel wound, + Which in my heart is ever permanent, + Until my Chloris make me whole and sound. + O glorious love-god, think on my heart's grief; + Let not thy vassal pine through deep disdain; + By wounding Chloris I shall find relief, + If thou impart to her some of my pain. + She doth thy temples and thy shrines abject; + They with Amintas' flowers by me are decked. + + + XII + + Cease, eyes, to weep sith none bemoans your weeping; + Leave off, good muse, to sound the cruel name + Of my love's queen which hath my heart in keeping, + Yet of my love doth make a jesting game! + Long hath my sufferance laboured to inforce + One pearl of pity from her pretty eyes, + Whilst I with restless oceans of remorse + Bedew the banks where my fair Chloris lies, + Where my fair Chloris bathes her tender skin, + And doth triumph to see such rivers fall + From those moist springs, which never dry have been + Since she their honour hath detained in thrall; + And still she scorns one favouring smile to show + Unto those waves proceeding from my woe. + + + XIII + + _A Dream_ + + What time fair Titan in the zenith sat, + And equally the fixèd poles did heat, + When to my flock my daily woes I chat, + And underneath a broad beech took my seat, + The dreaming god which Morpheus poets call, + Augmenting fuel to my Aetna's fire, + With sleep possessing my weak senses all, + In apparitions makes my hopes aspire. + Methought I saw the nymph I would imbrace, + With arms abroad coming to me for help, + A lust-led satyr having her in chase + Which after her about the fields did yelp. + I seeing my love in perplexèd plight, + A sturdy bat from off an oak I reft, + And with the ravisher continue fight + Till breathless I upon the earth him left. + Then when my coy nymph saw her breathless foe, + With kisses kind she gratifies my pain, + Protesting never rigour more to show. + Happy was I this good hap to obtain; + But drowsy slumbers flying to their cell, + My sudden joy converted was to bale; + My wonted sorrows still with me do dwell. + I lookèd round about on hill and dale, + But I could neither my fair Chloris view, + Nor yet the satyr which erstwhile I slew. + + + XIV + + Mournful Amintas, thou didst pine with care, + Because the fates by their untimely doom + Of life bereft thy loving Phillis fair, + When thy love's spring did first begin to bloom. + My care doth countervail that care of thine, + And yet my Chloris draws her angry breath; + My hopes still hoping hopeless now repine, + For living she doth add to me but death. + Thy Phinis, dying, lovèd thee full dear; + My Chloris, living, hates poor Corin's love, + Thus doth my woe as great as thine appear, + Though sundry accents both our sorrows move. + Thy swan-like songs did show thy dying anguish; + These weeping truce-men show I living languish. + + + XV + + These weeping truce-men show I living languish, + My woeful wailings tells my discontent; + Yet Chloris nought esteemeth of mine anguish, + My thrilling throbs her heart cannot relent. + My kids to hear the rimes and roundelays + Which I on wasteful hills was wont to sing, + Did more delight the lark in summer days, + Whose echo made the neighbour groves to ring. + But now my flock all drooping bleats and cries, + Because my pipe, the author of their sport, + All rent and torn and unrespected lies; + Their lamentations do my cares consort. + They cease to feed and listen to the plaint + Which I pour forth unto a cruel saint. + + + XVI + + Which I pour forth unto a cruel saint, + Who merciless my prayers doth attend, + Who tiger-like doth pity my complaint, + And never ear unto my woes will lend! + But still false hope dispairing life deludes, + And tells my fancy I shall grace obtain; + But Chloris fair my orisons concludes + With fearful frowns, presagers of my pain. + Thus do I spend the weary wand'ring day, + Oppressèd with a chaos of heart's grief; + Thus I consume the obscure night away, + Neglecting sleep which brings all cares relief; + Thus do I pass my ling'ring life in woe; + But when my bliss will come I do not know. + + + XVII + + The perils which Leander took in hand + Fair Hero's love and favour to obtain, + When void of fear securely leaving land, + Through Hellespont he swam to Cestos' main, + His dangers should not counterpoise my toil, + If my dear love would once but pity show, + To quench these flames which in my breast do broil, + Or dry these springs which from mine eyes do flow. + Not only Hellespont but ocean seas, + For her sweet sake to ford I would attempt, + So that my travels would her ire appease, + My soul from thrall and languish to exempt. + O what is't not poor I would undertake, + If labour could my peace with Chloris make! + + + XVIII + + My love, I cannot thy rare beauties place + Under those forms which many writers use: + Some like to stones compare their mistress' face; + Some in the name of flowers do love abuse; + Some makes their love a goldsmith's shop to be, + Where orient pearls and precious stones abound; + In my conceit these far do disagree + The perfect praise of beauty forth to sound. + O Chloris, thou dost imitate thyself, + Self's imitating passeth precious stones, + Or all the eastern Indian golden pelf; + Thy red and white with purest fair atones; + Matchless for beauty nature hath thee framed, + Only unkind and cruel thou art named! + + + XIX + + The hound by eating grass doth find relief, + For being sick it is his choicest meat; + The wounded hart doth ease his pain and grief + If he the herb dictamion may eat; + The loathsome snake renews his sight again, + When he casts off his withered coat and hue; + The sky-bred eagle fresh age doth obtain + When he his beak decayed doth renew. + I worse than these whose sore no salve can cure, + Whose grief no herb nor plant nor tree can ease; + Remediless, I still must pain endure, + Till I my Chloris' furious mood can please; + She like the scorpion gave to me a wound, + And like the scorpion she must make me sound. + + + XX + + Ye wasteful woods, bear witness of my woe, + Wherein my plaints did oftentimes abound; + Ye careless birds my sorrows well do know, + They in your songs were wont to make a sound! + Thou pleasant spring canst record likewise bear + Of my designs and sad disparagement, + When thy transparent billows mingled were + With those downfalls which from mine eyes were sent! + The echo of my still-lamenting cries, + From hollow vaults in treble voice resoundeth, + And then into the empty air it flies, + And back again from whence it came reboundeth. + That nymph unto my clamors doth reply, + Being likewise scorned in love as well as I. + + + XXI + + Being likewise scorned in love as well as I + By that self-loving boy, which did disdain + To hear her after him for love to cry, + For which in dens obscure she doth remain; + Yet doth she answer to each speech and voice, + And renders back the last of what we speak, + But specially, if she might have her choice, + She of unkindness would her talk forth break. + She loves to hear of love's most sacred name, + Although, poor nymph, in love she was despised; + And ever since she hides her head for shame, + That her true meaning was so lightly prised; + She pitying me, part of my woes doth bear, + As you, good shepherds, listening now shall hear. + + + XXII + + O fairest fair, to thee I make my plaint, + (_my plaint_) + To thee from whom my cause of grief doth spring; + (_doth spring_) + Attentive be unto the groans, sweet saint, + (_sweet saint_) + Which unto thee in doleful tunes I sing. + (_I sing_) + My mournful muse doth always speak of thee; + (_of thee_) + My love is pure, O do it not disdain! + (_disdain_) + With bitter sorrow still oppress not me, + (_not me_) + But mildly look upon me which complain. + (_which complain_) + Kill not my true-affecting thoughts, but give + (_but give_) + Such precious balm of comfort to my heart, + (_my heart_) + That casting off despair in hope to live, + (_hope to live_) + I may find help at length to ease my smart. + (_to ease my smart_) + So shall you add such courage to my love, + (_my love_) + That fortune false my faith shall not remove. + (_shall not remove_) + + + XXIII + + The phoenix fair which rich Arabia breeds, + When wasting time expires her tragedy, + No more on Phoebus' radiant rays she feeds, + But heapeth up great store of spicery; + And on a lofty towering cedar tree, + With heavenly substance she herself consumes, + From whence she young again appears to be, + Out of the cinders of her peerless plumes. + So I which long have frièd in love's flame, + The fire not made of spice but sighs and tears, + Revive again in hope disdain to shame, + And put to flight the author of my fears. + Her eyes revive decaying life in me, + Though they augmenters of my thraldom be. + + + XXIV + + Though they augmenters of my thraldom be, + For her I live and her I love and none else; + O then, fair eyes, look mildly upon me, + Who poor, despised, forlorn must live alone else, + And like Amintas haunt the desert cells, + And moanless there breathe out thy cruelty, + Where none but care and melancholy dwells. + I for revenge to Nemesis will cry; + If that will not prevail, my wandering ghost, + Which breathless here this love-scorched trunk shall leave, + Shall unto thee with tragic tidings post, + How thy disdain did life from soul bereave. + Then all too late my death thou wilt repent, + When murther's guilt thy conscience shall torment. + + + XXV + + Who doth not know that love is triumphant, + Sitting upon the throne of majesty? + The gods themselves his cruel darts do daunt, + And he, blind boy, smiles at their misery. + Love made great Jove ofttimes transform his shape; + Love made the fierce Alcides stoop at last; + Achilles, stout and bold, could not escape + The direful doom which love upon him cast; + Love made Leander pass the dreadful flood + Which Cestos from Abydos doth divide; + Love made a chaos where proud Ilion stood, + Through love the Carthaginian Dido died. + Thus may we see how love doth rule and reigns, + Bringing those under which his power disdains. + + + XXVI + + Though you be fair and beautiful withal, + And I am black for which you me despise, + Know that your beauty subject is to fall, + Though you esteem it at so high a price. + And time may come when that whereof you boast, + Which is your youth's chief wealth and ornament, + Shall withered be by winter's raging frost, + When beauty's pride and flowering years are spent. + Then wilt thou mourn when none shall thee respect; + Then wilt thou think how thou hast scorned my tears; + Then pitiless each one will thee neglect, + When hoary grey shall dye thy yellow hairs; + Then wilt thou think upon poor Corin's case, + Who loved thee dear, yet lived in thy disgrace. + + + XXVII + + O Love, leave off with sorrow to torment me; + Let my heart's grief and pining pain content thee! + The breach is made, I give thee leave to enter; + Thee to resist, great god, I dare not venter! + Restless desire doth aggravate mine anguish, + Careful conceits do fill my soul with languish. + Be not too cruel in thy conquest gained, + Thy deadly shafts hath victory obtained; + Batter no more my fort with fierce affection, + But shield me captive under thy protection. + I yield to thee, O Love, thou art the stronger, + Raise then thy siege and trouble me no longer! + + + XXVIII + + What cruel star or fate had domination + When I was born, that thus my love is crossed? + Or from what planet had I derivation + That thus my life in seas of woe is crossed? + Doth any live that ever had such hap + That all their actions are of none effect, + Whom fortune never dandled in her lap + But as an abject still doth me reject? + Ah tickle dame! and yet thou constant art + My daily grief and anguish to increase, + And to augment the troubles of my heart + Thou of these bonds wilt never me release; + So that thy darlings me to be may know + The true idea of all worldly woe. + + + XXIX + + Some in their hearts their mistress' colours bears; + Some hath her gloves, some other hath her garters, + Some in a bracelet wears her golden hairs, + And some with kisses seal their loving charters. + But I which never favour reapèd yet, + Nor had one pleasant look from her fair brow, + Content myself in silent shade to sit + In hope at length my cares to overplow. + Meanwhile mine eyes shall feed on her fair face, + My sighs shall tell to her my sad designs, + My painful pen shall ever sue for grace + To help my heart, which languishing now pines; + And I will triumph still amidst my woe + Till mercy shall my sorrows overflow. + + + XXX + + The raging sea within his limits lies + And with an ebb his flowing doth discharge; + The rivers when beyond their bounds they rise, + Themselves do empty in the ocean large; + But my love's sea which never limit keepeth, + Which never ebbs but always ever floweth, + In liquid salt unto my Chloris weepeth, + Yet frustrate are the tears which he bestoweth. + This sea which first was but a little spring + Is now so great and far beyond all reason, + That it a deluge to my thoughts doth bring, + Which overwhelmed hath my joying season. + So hard and dry is my saint's cruel mind, + These waves no way in her to sink can find. + + + XXXI + + These waves no way in her to sink can find + To penetrate the pith of contemplation; + These tears cannot dissolve her hardened mind, + Nor move her heart on me to take compassion; + O then, poor Corin, scorned and quite despised, + Loathe now to live since life procures thy woe; + Enough, thou hast thy heart anatomised, + For her sweet sake which will no pity show; + But as cold winter's storms and nipping frost + Can never change sweet Aramanthus' hue, + So though my love and life by her are crossed. + My heart shall still be constant firm and true. + Although Erynnis hinders Hymen's rites, + My fixèd faith against oblivion fights. + + + XXXII + + My fixèd faith against oblivion fights, + And I cannot forget her, pretty elf, + Although she cruel be unto my plights; + Yet let me rather clean forget myself, + Then her sweet name out of my mind should go, + Which is th' elixir of my pining soul, + From whence the essence of my life doth flow, + Whose beauty rare my senses all control; + Themselves most happy evermore accounting, + That such a nymph is queen of their affection, + With ravished rage they to the skies are mounting, + Esteeming not their thraldom nor subjection; + But still do joy amidst their misery, + With patience bearing love's captivity. + + + XXXIII + + With patience bearing love's captivity, + Themselves unguilty of his wrath alleging; + These homely lines, abjects of poesy, + For liberty and for their ransom pledging, + And being free they solemnly do vow, + Under his banner ever arms to bear + Against those rebels which do disallow + That love of bliss should be the sovereign heir; + And Chloris if these weeping truce-men may + One spark of pity from thine eyes obtain, + In recompense of their sad heavy lay, + Poor Corin shall thy faithful friend remain; + And what I say I ever will approve, + No joy may be comparèd to thy love! + + + XXXIV + + The bird of Thrace which doth bewail her rape, + And murthered Itys eaten by his sire, + When she her woes in doleful tunes doth shape, + She sets her breast against a thorny briar; + Because care-charmer sleep should not disturb + The tragic tale which to the night she tells, + She doth her rest and quietness thus curb + Amongst the groves where secret silence dwells: + Even so I wake, and waking wail all night; + Chloris' unkindness slumbers doth expel; + I need not thorn's sweet sleep to put to flight, + Her cruelty my golden rest doth quell, + That day and night to me are always one, + Consumed in woe, in tears, in sighs and moan. + + + XXXV + + Like to the shipman in his brittle boat. + Tossèd aloft by the unconstant wind, + By dangerous rocks and whirling gulfs doth float, + Hoping at length the wishèd port to find; + So doth my love in stormy billows sail, + And passeth the gaping Scilla's waves, + In hope at length with Chloris to prevail + And win that prize which most my fancy craves, + Which unto me of value will be more + Then was that rich and wealthy golden fleece. + Which Jason stout from Colchos' island bore + With wind in sails unto the shore of Greece. + More rich, more rare, more worth her love I prize + Then all the wealth which under heaven lies. + + + XXXVI + + O what a wound and what a deadly stroke, + Doth Cupid give to us perplexèd lovers, + Which cleaves more fast then ivy doth to oak, + Unto our hearts where he his might discovers! + Though warlike Mars were armèd at all points, + With that tried coat which fiery Vulcan made, + Love's shafts did penetrate his steelèd joints, + And in his breast in streaming gore did wade. + So pitiless is this fell conqueror + That in his mother's paps his arrows stuck; + Such is his rage that he doth not defer + To wound those orbs from whence he life did suck. + Then sith no mercy he shows to his mother, + We meekly must his force and rigour smother. + + + XXXVII + + Each beast in field doth wish the morning light; + The birds to Hesper pleasant lays do sing; + The wanton kids well-fed rejoice in night, + Being likewise glad when day begins to spring. + But night nor day are welcome unto me, + Both can bear witness of my lamentation; + All day sad sighing Corin you shall see, + All night he spends in tears and exclamation. + Thus still I live although I take no rest, + But living look as one that is a-dying; + Thus my sad soul with care and grief oppressed, + Seems as a ghost to Styx and Lethe flying. + Thus hath fond love bereft my youthful years + Of all good hap before old age appears. + + + XXXVIII + + That day wherein mine eyes cannot her see, + Which is the essence of their crystal sight, + Both blind, obscure and dim that day they be, + And are debarrèd of fair heaven's light; + That day wherein mine ears do want to hear her, + Hearing that day is from me quite bereft; + That day wherein to touch I come not near her, + That day no sense of touching I have left; + That day wherein I lack the fragrant smell, + Which from her pleasant amber breath proceedeth, + Smelling that day disdains with me to dwell, + Only weak hope my pining carcase feedeth. + But burst, poor heart, thou hast no better hope, + Since all thy senses have no further scope! + + + XXXIX + + The stately lion and the furious bear + The skill of man doth alter from their kind; + For where before they wild and savage were, + By art both tame and meek you shall them find. + The elephant although a mighty beast, + A man may rule according to his skill; + The lusty horse obeyeth our behest, + For with the curb you may him guide at will. + Although the flint most hard contains the fire, + By force we do his virtue soon obtain, + For with a steel you shall have your desire, + Thus man may all things by industry gain; + Only a woman if she list not love, + No art, nor force, can unto pity move. + + + XL + + No art nor force can unto pity move + Her stony heart that makes my heart to pant; + No pleading passions of my extreme love + Can mollify her mind of adamant. + Ah cruel sex, and foe to all mankind, + Either you love or else you hate too much! + A glist'ring show of gold in you we find, + And yet you prove but copper in the touch. + But why, O why, do I so far digress? + Nature you made of pure and fairest mould, + The pomp and glory of man to depress, + And as your slaves in thraldom them to hold; + Which by experience now too well I prove, + There is no pain unto the pains of love. + + + XLI + + Fair shepherdess, when as these rustic lines + Comes to thy sight, weigh but with what affection + Thy servile doth depaint his sad designs, + Which to redress of thee he makes election. + If so you scorn, you kill; if you seem coy, + You wound poor Corin to the very heart; + If that you smile, you shall increase his joy; + If these you like, you banish do all smart. + And this I do protest, most fairest fair, + My muse shall never cease that hill to climb, + To which the learnèd Muses do repair, + And all to deify thy name in rime; + And never none shall write with truer mind, + As by all proof and trial you shall find. + + + XLII + + Die, die, my hopes! for you do but augment + The burning accents of my deep despair; + Disdain and scorn your downfall do consent; + Tell to the world she is unkind yet fair! + O eyes, close up those ever-running fountains, + For pitiless are all the tears you shed + Wherewith you watered have both dales and mountains! + I see, I see, remorse from her is fled. + Pack hence, ye sighs, into the empty air, + Into the air that none your sound may hear, + Sith cruel Chloris hath of you no care, + Although she once esteemèd you full dear! + Let sable night all your disgraces cover, + Yet truer sighs were never sighed by lover. + + + XLIII + + Thou glorious sun, from whence my lesser light + The substance of his crystal shine doth borrow, + Let these my moans find favour in thy sight. + And with remorse extinguish now my sorrow! + Renew those lamps which thy disdain hath quenched, + As Phoebus doth his sister Phoebe's shine; + Consider how thy Corin being drenched + In seas of woe, to thee his plaints incline, + And at thy feet with tears doth sue for grace, + Which art the goddess of his chaste desire; + Let not thy frowns these labours poor deface + Although aloft they at the first aspire; + And time shall come as yet unknown to men + When I more large thy praises forth shall pen! + + + XLIV + + When I more large thy praises forth shall show, + That all the world thy beauty shall admire, + Desiring that most sacred nymph to know + Which hath the shepherd's fancy set on fire; + Till then, my dear, let these thine eyes content, + Till then, fair love, think if I merit favour, + Till then, O let thy merciful assent + Relish my hopes with some comforting savour; + So shall you add such courage to my muse + That she shall climb the steep Parnassus hill, + That learnèd poets shall my deeds peruse + When I from thence obtainèd have more skill; + And what I sing shall always be of thee + As long as life or breath remains in me! + + + XLV + + When she was born whom I entirely love, + Th' immortal gods her birth-rites forth to grace, + Descending from their glorious seat above, + They did on her these several virtues place: + First Saturn gave to her sobriety, + Jove then induèd her with comeliness, + And Sol with wisdom did her beautify, + Mercury with wit and knowledge did her bless, + Venus with beauty did all parts bedeck, + Luna therewith did modesty combine, + Diana chaste all loose desires did check, + And like a lamp in clearness she doth shine. + But Mars, according to his stubborn kind, + No virtue gave, but a disdainful mind. + + + XLVI + + When Chloris first with her heart-robbing eye + Inchanted had my silly senses all, + I little did respect love's cruelty, + I never thought his snares should me enthrall; + But since her tresses have entangled me, + My pining flock did never hear me sing + Those jolly notes which erst did make them glee, + Nor do my kids about me leap and spring + As they were wont, but when they hear me cry + They likewise cry and fill the air with bleating; + Then do my sheep upon the cold earth lie, + And feed no more, my griefs they are repeating. + O Chloris, if thou then saw'st them and me + I'm sure thou wouldst both pity them and me! + + + XLVII + + I need not tell thee of the lily white, + Nor of the roseate red which doth thee grace, + Nor of thy golden hairs like Phoebus bright, + Nor of the beauty of thy fairest face. + Nor of thine eyes which heavenly stars excel, + Nor of thine azured veins which are so clear, + Nor of thy paps where Love himself doth dwell, + Which like two hills of violets appear. + Nor of thy tender sides, nor belly soft, + Nor of thy goodly thighs as white as snow, + Whose glory to my fancy seemeth oft + That like an arch triumphal they do show. + All these I know that thou dost know too well, + But of thy heart too cruel I thee tell. + + + XLVIII + + But of thy heart too cruel I thee tell, + Which hath tormented my young budding age, + And doth, unless your mildness passions quell, + My utter ruin near at hand presage. + Instead of blood which wont was to display + His ruddy red upon my hairless face, + By over-grieving that is fled away, + Pale dying colour there hath taken place. + Those curlèd locks which thou wast wont to twist + Unkempt, unshorn, and out of order been; + Since my disgrace I had of them no list, + Since when these eyes no joyful day have seen + Nor never shall till you renew again + The mutual love which did possess us twain. + + + XLIX + + You that embrace enchanting poesy, + Be gracious to perplexèd Corin's lines; + You that do feel love's proud authority, + Help me to sing my sighs and sad designs. + Chloris, requite not faithful love with scorn, + But as thou oughtest have commiseration; + I have enough anatomised and torn + My heart, thereof to make a pure oblation. + Likewise consider how thy Corin prizeth + Thy parts above each absolute perfection, + How he of every precious thing deviseth + To make thee sovereign. Grant me then affection! + Else thus I prize thee: Chloris is alone + More hard than gold or pearl or precious stone. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ELIZABETHAN SONNET CYCLES*** + + +******* This file should be named 15448-8.txt or 15448-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/5/4/4/15448 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Elizabethan Sonnet Cycles</p> +<p> Idea, by Michael Drayton; Fidessa, by Bartholomew Griffin; Chloris, by William Smith</p> +<p>Author: Michael Drayton, Bartholomew Griffin, and William Smith</p> +<p>Editor: Martha Foote Crow</p> +<p>Release Date: March 24, 2005 [eBook #15448]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ELIZABETHAN SONNET CYCLES***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by David Starner, Melissa Er-Raqabi,<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (https://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/e001.png" +alt="Title Page" title="Title Page" /> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h1>ELIZABETHAN SONNET-CYCLES</h1> +<h3>EDITED BY</h3> +<h2>MARTHA FOOTE CROW</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h1>IDEA</h1> +<h3>BY</h3> +<h2>MICHAEL +DRAYTON</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h1>FIDESSA</h1> +<h3>BY</h3> +<h2>BARTHOLOMEW +GRIFFIN</h2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h1>CHLORIS </h1> +<h3>BY</h3> +<h2>WILLIAM SMITH</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center">KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRÜBNER AND<br /> +CO. PATERNOSTER HOUSE LONDON<br /> +W.C. 1897 +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Table of Contents"> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#MICHAEL_DRAYTON"><b>MICHAEL DRAYTON</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#BARTHOLOMEW_GRIFFIN"><b>BARTHOLOMEW GRIFFIN</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#WILLIAM_SMITH"><b>WILLIAM SMITH</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h1>IDEA</h1> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>MICHAEL DRAYTON</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="MICHAEL_DRAYTON" id="MICHAEL_DRAYTON"></a>MICHAEL DRAYTON</h2> + + +<p>The true story of the life of Michael Drayton might be told to, +vindicate the poetic traditions of the olden time. A child-poet +wandering in fay-haunted Arden, or listening to the harper that +frequented the fireside of Polesworth Hall where the boy was a petted +page, later the honoured almoner of the bounty of many patrons, one who +"not unworthily," as Tofte said, "beareth the name of the chiefest +archangel, singing after this soule-ravishing manner," yet leaving but +"five pounds lying by him at his death, which was <i>satis viatici ad +cœlum</i>"—is not this the panorama of a poetic career? But above all, +to complete the picture of the ideal poet, he worshipped, and +hopelessly, from youth to age the image of one, woman. He never married, +and while many patronesses were honoured with his poetic addresses, +there was one fair dame to whom he never offered dedicatory sonnet, a +silence that is full of meaning. Yet the praises of Idea, his poetic +name for the lady of his admiration and love, are written all over the +pages of his voluminous lyrical and chorographical and historical poems, +and her very name is quaintly revealed to us. Anne Goodere was the +younger daughter in the noble family where Drayton was bred and +educated; and one may picture the fair child standing "gravely merry" by +the little page to listen to "John Hews his lyre," at that ancestral +fireside. "Where I love, I love for years," said Drayton in 1621. As +late as 1627, but four years before his death, he writes an elegy of his +lady's not coming to London, in which he complains that he has been +starved for her short letters and has had to read last year's over +again. About the same time he is writing that immortal sonnet, the +sixty-first, the one that Rossetti, with perhaps something too much of +partiality, has declared to be almost, if not quite, the best in the +language. The tragedy of a whole life is concentrated in that sonnet, +and the heart-pang in it is unmistakable. But Drayton had stood as +witness to the will of Anne's father, by which £1500 was set down for +her marriage portion. She was an heiress, he a penniless poet, and what +was to be done?</p> + +<p>About 1590, when Drayton was twenty-eight, and Anne was probably +twenty-one years old, Drayton left Polesworth Hall and came to London. +Perhaps the very parting was the means of revealing his heart to +himself, for it is from near this time that, as he confesses later, he +dates the first consciousness of his love. He soon publishes <i>Idea, the +Shepherd's Garland, Rowland's Sacrifice to the Nine Muses</i>, where we +first see our poet, in his pastoral-poetic character, carving his "rime +of love's idolatry," upon a beechen tree. Thirteen stanzas of these +pastoral eclogues do not exhaust the catalogue of her beauties; and when +he praises the proportion of her shape and carriage, we know that it was +not the poet's frenzied eye alone that saw these graces, for Dr. John +Hall, of Stratford, who attended her professionally, records in his +case-book that she was "beautiful and of gallant structure of body." +Anne was married about 1595 to Sir Henry Rainsford, who became Drayton's +friend, host and patron. It is likely that Lady Rainsford deserved a +goodly portion of the praises bestowed upon her beauty. And she need not +have been ashamed of the devotion of her knight of poesy; for Michael +Drayton was, like Constable and Daniel and Fletcher, a man good and +true, and the chorus of contemporaries that praise his character and his +verse is led by pious Meres himself, and echoed by Jonson.</p> + +<p><i>Idea's Mirrour, Amours in Quatorzains</i>, formed the title under which +the sonnet-cycle appeared in 1594. <i>Idea</i> was reprinted eight times +before 1637, the edition of 1619 being the chief and serving for the +foundation of our text. Many changes and additions were made by the +author in the successive editions; in fact only twenty of the fifty-one +"amours" in <i>Idea's Mirrour</i> escaped the winnowing, while the famous +sixty-first appears for the first time in 1619. There is a distinct +progress manifest in the subdual of language and form to artistic +finish, and while the cycle in its unevenness represents the early and +late stages of poetic progress, the more delicate examples of his work +show him worthy of the praise bestowed by his latest admirer and critic,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>"Faith, Michael Drayton bears the bell<br /></span> +<span class="i10">For numbers airy."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>It will be noted that, while many rhyme-arrangements are experimented +upon, the Shakespearean or quatrain-and-couplet form predominates. In +the less praiseworthy sonnets he is found to lack grammatical clamping +and to allow frequent faults in rhythm, and he toys with the glittering +and soulless conceit as much as any; but where his individuality has +fullest sway, as in the picturesque Arden memory of the fifty-third, the +personal reminiscences of the Ankor sonnets, and the vivid theatre theme +of the forty-seventh, in what Main calls that "magical realisation of +the spirit of evening" in the thirty-seventh, and above all in the naïve +and passionate sixty-first, there is a rude strength that pierces +beneath the formalities and touches and moves the heart. Drayton, like +Sidney and Daniel and Shakespeare, draws freely upon the general +thought-storehouse of the Italianate sonneteers: time and the +transitoriness of beauty, the lover's extremes, the Platonic ideas of +soul-functions and of love-madness, the phoenix and Icarus and all the +classic gods, engage his fancy first or last; and no sonnet trifler has +been more attracted by the great theme of immortality in verse than he. +When honouring Idea in the favourite mode he cries</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>"Queens hereafter shall be glad to live<br /></span> +<span>Upon the alms of thy superfluous praise."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>A late writer holds that years have falsified this prophecy. It is true +that Lamb valued Drayton chiefly as the panegyrist of his native earth, +and we would hardly venture to predict the future of our sonneteer; but +the fact remains that now three hundred years after his time, his +lifelong devotion to the prototype of Idea constitutes, as he +conventionally asserted it would, his most valid claim to interest, and +that the sonnets where this love has found most potent expression mount +the nearest to the true note of immortality.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>TO THE READER OF THESE SONNETS</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>Into these loves who but for passion looks,<br /></span> +<span>At this first sight here let him lay them by,<br /></span> +<span>And seek elsewhere in turning other books,<br /></span> +<span>Which better may his labour satisfy.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No far-fetched sigh shall ever wound my breast;<br /></span> +<span>Love from mine eye a tear shall never wring;<br /></span> +<span>Nor in "Ah me's!" my whining sonnets drest,<br /></span> +<span>A libertine fantasticly I sing.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My verse is the true image of my mind,<br /></span> +<span>Ever in motion, still desiring change;<br /></span> +<span>To choice of all variety inclined,<br /></span> +<span>And in all humours sportively I range.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My muse is rightly of the English strain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That cannot long one fashion entertain.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>IDEA</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>I.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Like an adventurous sea-farer am I,<br /></span> +<span>Who hath some long and dang'rous voyage been,<br /></span> +<span>And called to tell of his discovery,<br /></span> +<span>How far he sailed, what countries he had seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Proceeding from the port whence he put forth,<br /></span> +<span>Shows by his compass how his course he steered,<br /></span> +<span>When east, when west, when south, and when by north,<br /></span> +<span>As how the pole to every place was reared,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What capes he doubled, of what continent,<br /></span> +<span>The gulfs and straits that strangely he had past,<br /></span> +<span>Where most becalmed, where with foul weather spent,<br /></span> +<span>And on what rocks in peril to be cast:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus in my love, time calls me to relate<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My tedious travels and oft-varying fate.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>II<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>My heart was slain, and none but you and I;<br /></span> +<span>Who should I think the murder should commit?<br /></span> +<span>Since but yourself there was no creature by<br /></span> +<span>But only I, guiltless of murdering it.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It slew itself; the verdict on the view<br /></span> +<span>Do quit the dead, and me not accessary.<br /></span> +<span>Well, well, I fear it will be proved by you,<br /></span> +<span>The evidence so great a proof doth carry.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But O see, see, we need inquire no further!<br /></span> +<span>Upon your lips the scarlet drops are found,<br /></span> +<span>And in your eye the boy that did the murder,<br /></span> +<span>Your cheeks yet pale since first he gave the wound!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By this I see, however things be past,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet heaven will still have murder out at last.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>III<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Taking my pen, with words to cast my woe,<br /></span> +<span>Duly to count the sum of all my cares,<br /></span> +<span>I find my griefs innumerable grow,<br /></span> +<span>The reck'nings rise to millions of despairs.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And thus dividing of my fatal hours,<br /></span> +<span>The payments of my love I read and cross;<br /></span> +<span>Subtracting, set my sweets unto my sours,<br /></span> +<span>My joys' arrearage leads me to my loss.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And thus mine eyes a debtor to thine eye,<br /></span> +<span>Which by extortion gaineth all their looks,<br /></span> +<span>My heart hath paid such grievous usury,<br /></span> +<span>That all their wealth lies in thy beauty's books.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And all is thine which hath been due to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I a bankrupt, quite undone by thee.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>IV<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Bright star of beauty, on whose eyelids sit<br /></span> +<span>A thousand nymph-like and enamoured graces,<br /></span> +<span>The goddesses of memory and wit,<br /></span> +<span>Which there in order take their several places;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In whose dear bosom, sweet delicious love<br /></span> +<span>Lays down his quiver which he once did bear,<br /></span> +<span>Since he that blessèd paradise did prove,<br /></span> +<span>And leaves his mother's lap to sport him there<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let others strive to entertain with words<br /></span> +<span>My soul is of a braver mettle made;<br /></span> +<span>I hold that vile which vulgar wit affords;<br /></span> +<span>In me's that faith which time cannot invade.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let what I praise be still made good by you;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Be you most worthy whilst I am most true!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>V<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Nothing but "No!" and "I!"<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a> and "I!" and "No!"<br /></span> +<span>"How falls it out so strangely?" you reply.<br /></span> +<span>I tell ye, Fair, I'll not be answered so,<br /></span> +<span>With this affirming "No!" denying "I!"<br /></span> +<span>I say "I love!" You slightly answer "I!"<br /></span> +<span>I say "You love!" You pule me out a "No!"<br /></span> +<span>I say "I die!" You echo me with "I!"<br /></span> +<span>"Save me!" I cry; you sigh me out a "No!"<br /></span> +<span>Must woe and I have naught but "No!" and "I!"?<br /></span> +<span>No "I!" am I, if I no more can have.<br /></span> +<span>Answer no more; with silence make reply,<br /></span> +<span>And let me take myself what I do crave;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let "No!" and "I!" with I and you be so,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then answer "No!" and "I!" and "I!" and "No!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> The "I" of course equals "aye."</p></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>VI<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>How many paltry, foolish, painted things,<br /></span> +<span>That now in coaches trouble every street,<br /></span> +<span>Shall be forgotten, whom no poet sings,<br /></span> +<span>Ere they be well wrapped in their winding sheet!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where I to thee eternity shall give,<br /></span> +<span>When nothing else remaineth of these days,<br /></span> +<span>And queens hereafter shall be glad to live<br /></span> +<span>Upon the alms of thy superfluous praise;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Virgins and matrons reading these my rhymes,<br /></span> +<span>Shall be so much delighted with thy story,<br /></span> +<span>That they shall grieve they lived not in these times,<br /></span> +<span>To have seen thee, their sex's only glory.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So shalt thou fly above the vulgar throng,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Still to survive in my immortal song.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>VII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Love, in a humour, played the prodigal,<br /></span> +<span>And bade my senses to a solemn feast;<br /></span> +<span>Yet more to grace the company withal,<br /></span> +<span>Invites my heart to be the chiefest guest.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No other drink would serve this glutton's turn,<br /></span> +<span>But precious tears distilling from mine eyne,<br /></span> +<span>Which with my sighs this epicure doth burn,<br /></span> +<span>Quaffing carouses in this costly wine;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where, in his cups, o'ercome with foul excess,<br /></span> +<span>Straightways he plays a swaggering ruffian's part,<br /></span> +<span>And at the banquet in his drunkenness,<br /></span> +<span>Slew his dear friend, my kind and truest heart.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A gentle warning, friends, thus may you see,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What 'tis to keep a drunkard company!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>VIII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>There's nothing grieves me but that age should haste,<br /></span> +<span>That in my days I may not see thee old;<br /></span> +<span>That where those two clear sparkling eyes are placed,<br /></span> +<span>Only two loopholes that I might behold;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That lovely archèd ivory-polished brow<br /></span> +<span>Defaced with wrinkles, that I might but see;<br /></span> +<span>Thy dainty hair, so curled and crispèd now,<br /></span> +<span>Like grizzled moss upon some agèd tree;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy cheek now flush with roses, sunk and lean;<br /></span> +<span>Thy lips, with age as any wafer thin!<br /></span> +<span>Thy pearly teeth out of thy head so clean,<br /></span> +<span>That when thou feed'st thy nose shall touch thy chin!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">These lines that now thou scornst, which should delight thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then would I make thee read but to despite thee.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>IX<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>As other men, so I myself do muse<br /></span> +<span>Why in this sort I wrest invention so,<br /></span> +<span>And why these giddy metaphors I use,<br /></span> +<span>Leaving the path the greater part do go.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I will resolve you. I'm a lunatic;<br /></span> +<span>And ever this in madmen you shall find,<br /></span> +<span>What they last thought of when the brain grew sick,<br /></span> +<span>In most distraction they keep that in mind.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus talking idly in this bedlam fit,<br /></span> +<span>Reason and I, you must conceive, are twain;<br /></span> +<span>'Tis nine years now since first I lost my wit.<br /></span> +<span>Bear with me then though troubled be my brain.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With diet and correction men distraught,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Not too far past, may to their wits be brought.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>X<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>To nothing fitter can I thee compare<br /></span> +<span>Than to the son of some rich penny-father,<br /></span> +<span>Who having now brought on his end with care,<br /></span> +<span>Leaves to his son all he had heaped together.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This new rich novice, lavish of his chest,<br /></span> +<span>To one man gives, doth on another spend;<br /></span> +<span>Then here he riots; yet amongst the rest,<br /></span> +<span>Haps to lend some to one true honest friend.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy gifts thou in obscurity dost waste:<br /></span> +<span>False friends, thy kindness born but to deceive thee;<br /></span> +<span>Thy love that is on the unworthy placed;<br /></span> +<span>Time hath thy beauty which with age will leave thee.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Only that little which to me was lent,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I give thee back when all the rest is spent.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XI<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>You're not alone when you are still alone;<br /></span> +<span>O God! from you that I could private be!<br /></span> +<span>Since you one were, I never since was one;<br /></span> +<span>Since you in me, myself since out of me.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Transported from myself into your being,<br /></span> +<span>Though either distant, present yet to either;<br /></span> +<span>Senseless with too much joy, each other seeing;<br /></span> +<span>And only absent when we are together.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Give me my self, and take your self again!<br /></span> +<span>Devise some means but how I may forsake you!<br /></span> +<span>So much is mine that doth with you remain,<br /></span> +<span>That taking what is mine, with me I take you.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You do bewitch me! O that I could fly<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From my self you, or from your own self I!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>TO THE SOUL</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">That learned Father which so firmly proves<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The soul of man immortal and divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And doth the several offices define<br /></span> +<span><i>Anima.</i> Gives her that name, as she the body moves.<br /></span> +<span><i>Amor.</i> Then is she love, embracing charity.<br /></span> +<span><i>Animus.</i> Moving a will in us, it is the mind;<br /></span> +<span><i>Mens.</i> Retaining knowledge, still the same in kind.<br /></span> +<span><i>Memoria.</i> As intellectual, it is memory.<br /></span> +<span><i>Ratio.</i> In judging, reason only is her name.<br /></span> +<span><i>Sensus.</i> In speedy apprehension, it is sense.<br /></span> +<span><i>Conscientia.</i> In right and wrong they call her conscience;<br /></span> +<span><i>Spiritus.</i> The spirit, when it to God-ward doth inflame:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">These of the soul the several functions be,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which my heart lightened by thy love doth see.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>TO THE SHADOW</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XIII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Letters and lines we see are soon defaced<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Metals do waste and fret with canker's rust,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The diamond shall once consume to dust,<br /></span> +<span>And freshest colours with foul stains disgraced;<br /></span> +<span>Paper and ink can paint but naked words,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To write with blood of force offends the sight;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And if with tears, I find them all too light,<br /></span> +<span>And sighs and signs a silly hope affords.<br /></span> +<span>O sweetest shadow, how thou serv'st my turn!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which still shalt be as long as there is sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor whilst the world is never shall be done;<br /></span> +<span>Whilst moon shall shine or any fire shall burn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That everything whence shadow doth proceed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May in his shadow my love's story read.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>HIS REMEDY FOR LOVE</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XV<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Since to obtain thee nothing me will stead,<br /></span> +<span>I have a med'cine that shall cure my love.<br /></span> +<span>The powder of her heart dried, when she's dead,<br /></span> +<span>That gold nor honour ne'er had power to move;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mixed with her tears that ne'er her true love crost,<br /></span> +<span>Nor at fifteen ne'er longed to be a bride;<br /></span> +<span>Boiled with her sighs, in giving up the ghost,<br /></span> +<span>That for her late deceasèd husband died;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Into the same then let a woman breathe,<br /></span> +<span>That being chid did never word reply;<br /></span> +<span>With one thrice married's prayers, that did bequeath<br /></span> +<span>A legacy to stale virginity.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If this receipt have not the power to win me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Little I'll say, but think the devil's in me!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>AN ALLUSION TO THE PHŒNIX</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XVI<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>'Mongst all the creatures in this spacious round<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the birds' kind, the phœnix is alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which best by you of living things is known;<br /></span> +<span>None like to that, none like to you is found!<br /></span> +<span>Your beauty is the hot and splend'rous sun;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The precious spices be your chaste desire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which being kindled by that heavenly fire,<br /></span> +<span>Your life, so like the phœnix's begun.<br /></span> +<span>Yourself thus burnèd in that sacred flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With so rare sweetness all the heavens perfuming;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Again increasing as you are consuming,<br /></span> +<span>Only by dying born the very same.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And winged by fame you to the stars ascend;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So you of time shall live beyond the end.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>TO TIME</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XVII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Stay, speedy time! Behold, before thou pass<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From age to age, what thou hast sought to see,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">One in whom all the excellencies be,<br /></span> +<span>In whom heaven looks itself as in a glass.<br /></span> +<span>Time, look thou too in this translucent glass,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And thy youth past in this pure mirror see!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As the world's beauty in his infancy,<br /></span> +<span>What it was then, and thou before it was.<br /></span> +<span>Pass on and to posterity tell this—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet see thou tell but truly what hath been.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Say to our nephews that thou once hast seen<br /></span> +<span>In perfect human shape all heavenly bliss;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And bid them mourn, nay more, despair with thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That she is gone, her like again to see.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>TO THE CELESTIAL NUMBERS</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XVIII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>To this our world, to learning, and to heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Three nines there are, to every one a nine;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">One number of the earth, the other both divine;<br /></span> +<span>One woman now makes three odd numbers even.<br /></span> +<span>Nine orders first of angels be in heaven;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nine muses do with learning still frequent:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">These with the gods are ever resident.<br /></span> +<span>Nine worthy women to the world were given.<br /></span> +<span>My worthy one to these nine worthies addeth;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And my fair Muse, one Muse unto the nine.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And my good angel, in my soul divine!—<br /></span> +<span>With one more order these nine orders gladdeth.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My Muse, my worthy, and my angel then<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Makes every one of these three nines a ten.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>TO HUMOUR</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XIX<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>You cannot love, my pretty heart, and why?<br /></span> +<span>There was a time you told me that you would,<br /></span> +<span>But how again you will the same deny.<br /></span> +<span>If it might please you, would to God you could!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What, will you hate? Nay, that you will not neither;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor love, nor hate! How then? What will you do?<br /></span> +<span>What, will you keep a mean then betwixt either?<br /></span> +<span>Or will you love me, and yet hate me too?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet serves not this! What next, what other shift?<br /></span> +<span>You will, and will not; what a coil is here!<br /></span> +<span>I see your craft, now I perceive your drift,<br /></span> +<span>And all this while I was mistaken there.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Your love and hate is this, I now do prove you:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You love in hate, by hate to make me love you.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XX<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>An evil spirit, your beauty, haunts me still,<br /></span> +<span>Wherewith, alas, I have been long possessed!<br /></span> +<span>Which ceaseth not to tempt me to each ill,<br /></span> +<span>Nor give me once but one poor minute's rest.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In me it speaks whether I sleep or wake;<br /></span> +<span>And when by means to drive it out I try,<br /></span> +<span>With greater torments then it me doth take,<br /></span> +<span>And tortures me in most extremity.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Before my face it lays down my despairs,<br /></span> +<span>And hastes me on unto a sudden death;<br /></span> +<span>Now tempting me to drown myself in tears,<br /></span> +<span>And then in sighing to give up my breath.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus am I still provoked to every evil,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By this good wicked spirit, sweet angel-devil.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXI<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>A witless gallant a young wench that wooed—<br /></span> +<span>Yet his dull spirit her not one jot could move—<br /></span> +<span>Intreated me as e'er I wished his good,<br /></span> +<span>To write him but one sonnet to his love.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When I as fast as e'er my pen could trot,<br /></span> +<span>Poured out what first from quick invention came,<br /></span> +<span>Nor never stood one word thereof to blot;<br /></span> +<span>Much like his wit that was to use the same.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But with my verses he his mistress won,<br /></span> +<span>Who doated on the dolt beyond all measure.<br /></span> +<span>But see, for you to heaven for phrase I run,<br /></span> +<span>And ransack all Apollo's golden treasure!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet by my troth, this fool his love obtains,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I lose you for all my wit and pains!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>TO FOLLY</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>With fools and children good discretion bears;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then, honest people, bear with love and me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor older yet nor wiser made by years,<br /></span> +<span>Amongst the rest of fools and children be.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Love, still a baby, plays with gauds and toys,<br /></span> +<span>And like a wanton sports with every feather,<br /></span> +<span>And idiots still are running after boys;<br /></span> +<span>Then fools and children fitt'st to go together.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He still as young as when he first was born,<br /></span> +<span>Nor wiser I than when as young as he;<br /></span> +<span>You that behold us, laugh us not to scorn;<br /></span> +<span>Give nature thanks you are not such as we!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet fools and children sometimes tell in play;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some wise in show, more fools indeed than they.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXIII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Love, banished heaven, in earth was held in scorn,<br /></span> +<span>Wand'ring abroad in need and beggary;<br /></span> +<span>And wanting friends, though of a goddess born,<br /></span> +<span>Yet craved the alms of such as passèd by.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I, like a man devout and charitable,<br /></span> +<span>Clothèd the naked, lodged this wandering guest;<br /></span> +<span>With sighs and tears still furnishing his table<br /></span> +<span>With what might make the miserable blest.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But this ungrateful for my good desert,<br /></span> +<span>Enticed my thoughts against me to conspire,<br /></span> +<span>Who gave consent to steal away my heart,<br /></span> +<span>And set my breast, his lodging, on a fire.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Well, well, my friends, when beggars grow thus bold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No marvel then though charity grow cold.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXIV<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>I hear some say, "This man is not in love!"<br /></span> +<span>"Who! can he love? a likely thing!" they say.<br /></span> +<span>"Read but his verse, and it will easily prove!"<br /></span> +<span>O, judge not rashly, gentle Sir, I pray!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Because I loosely trifle in this sort,<br /></span> +<span>As one that fain his sorrows would beguile,<br /></span> +<span>You now suppose me all this time in sport,<br /></span> +<span>And please yourself with this conceit the while.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ye shallow cens'rers! sometimes, see ye not,<br /></span> +<span>In greatest perils some men pleasant be,<br /></span> +<span>Where fame by death is only to be got,<br /></span> +<span>They resolute! So stands the case with me.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where other men in depth of passion cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I laugh at fortune, as in jest to die.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXV<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>O, why should nature niggardly restrain<br /></span> +<span>That foreign nations relish not our tongue?<br /></span> +<span>Else should my lines glide on the waves of Rhine,<br /></span> +<span>And crown the Pyren's with my living song.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But bounded thus, to Scotland get you forth!<br /></span> +<span>Thence take you wing unto the Orcades!<br /></span> +<span>There let my verse get glory in the north,<br /></span> +<span>Making my sighs to thaw the frozen seas.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And let the bards within that Irish isle,<br /></span> +<span>To whom my Muse with fiery wings shall pass,<br /></span> +<span>Call back the stiff-necked rebels from exile,<br /></span> +<span>And mollify the slaughtering gallowglass;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And when my flowing numbers they rehearse,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let wolves and bears be charmèd with my verse.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>TO DESPAIR</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXVI<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>I ever love where never hope appears,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet hope draws on my never-hoping care,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And my life's hope would die but for despair;<br /></span> +<span>My never certain joy breeds ever certain fears.<br /></span> +<span>Uncertain dread gives wings unto my hope;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet my hope's wings are laden so with fear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As they cannot ascend to my hope's sphere,<br /></span> +<span>Though fear gives them more than a heavenly scope.<br /></span> +<span>Yet this large room is bounded with despair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So my love is still fettered with vain hope,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And liberty deprives him of his scope,<br /></span> +<span>And thus am I imprisoned in the air.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then, sweet despair, awhile hold up thy head,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or all my hope for sorrow will be dead.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXVII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Is not love here as 'tis in other climes,<br /></span> +<span>And differeth it as do the several nations?<br /></span> +<span>Or hath it lost the virtue with the times,<br /></span> +<span>Or in this island alt'reth with the fashions?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or have our passions lesser power than theirs,<br /></span> +<span>Who had less art them lively to express?<br /></span> +<span>Is nature grown less powerful in their heirs,<br /></span> +<span>Or in our fathers did she more transgress?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I am sure my sighs come from a heart as true<br /></span> +<span>As any man's that memory can boast,<br /></span> +<span>And my respects and services to you,<br /></span> +<span>Equal with his that loves his mistress most.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or nature must be partial in my cause,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or only you do violate her laws.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXVIII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>To such as say thy love I overprize,<br /></span> +<span>And do not stick to term my praises folly,<br /></span> +<span>Against these folks that think themselves so wise,<br /></span> +<span>I thus oppose my reason's forces wholly:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though I give more than well affords my state,<br /></span> +<span>In which expense the most suppose me vain<br /></span> +<span>Which yields them nothing at the easiest rate,<br /></span> +<span>Yet at this price returns me treble gain;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They value not, unskilful how to use,<br /></span> +<span>And I give much because I gain thereby.<br /></span> +<span>I that thus take or they that thus refuse,<br /></span> +<span>Whether are these deceivèd then, or I?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In everything I hold this maxim still,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The circumstance doth make it good or ill.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>TO THE SENSES</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXIX<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>When conquering love did first my heart assail,<br /></span> +<span>Unto mine aid I summoned every sense,<br /></span> +<span>Doubting if that proud tyrant should prevail,<br /></span> +<span>My heart should suffer for mine eyes' offence.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But he with beauty first corrupted sight,<br /></span> +<span>My hearing bribed with her tongue's harmony,<br /></span> +<span>My taste by her sweet lips drawn with delight,<br /></span> +<span>My smelling won with her breath's spicery,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But when my touching came to play his part,<br /></span> +<span>The king of senses, greater than the rest,<br /></span> +<span>He yields love up the keys unto my heart,<br /></span> +<span>And tells the others how they should be blest.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And thus by those of whom I hoped for aid,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To cruel love my soul was first betrayed.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>TO THE VESTALS</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXX<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Those priests which first the vestal fire begun,<br /></span> +<span>Which might be borrowed from no earthly flame,<br /></span> +<span>Devised a vessel to receive the sun,<br /></span> +<span>Being stedfastly opposèd to the same;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where with sweet wood laid curiously by art,<br /></span> +<span>On which the sun might by reflection beat,<br /></span> +<span>Receiving strength for every secret part,<br /></span> +<span>The fuel kindled with celestial heat.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy blessèd eyes, the sun which lights this fire,<br /></span> +<span>My holy thoughts, they be the vestal flame,<br /></span> +<span>Thy precious odours be my chaste desires,<br /></span> +<span>My breast's the vessel which includes the same;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou art my Vesta, thou my goddess art,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy hallowed temple only is my heart.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>TO THE CRITICS</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXXI<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Methinks I see some crooked mimic jeer,<br /></span> +<span>And tax my Muse with this fantastic grace;<br /></span> +<span>Turning my papers asks, "What have we here?"<br /></span> +<span>Making withal some filthy antic face.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I fear no censure nor what thou canst say,<br /></span> +<span>Nor shall my spirit one jot of vigour lose.<br /></span> +<span>Think'st thou, my wit shall keep the packhorse way,<br /></span> +<span>That every dudgeon low invention goes?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Since sonnets thus in bundles are imprest,<br /></span> +<span>And every drudge doth dull our satiate ear,<br /></span> +<span>Think'st thou my love shall in those rags be drest<br /></span> +<span>That every dowdy, every trull doth wear?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Up to my pitch no common judgment flies;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I scorn all earthly dung-bred scarabies.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>TO THE RIVER ANKOR</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXXII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Our floods' queen, Thames, for ships and swans is crowned,<br /></span> +<span>And stately Severn for her shore is praised;<br /></span> +<span>The crystal Trent for fords and fish renowned,<br /></span> +<span>And Avon's fame to Albion's cliff is raised.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Carlegion Chester vaunts her holy Dee;<br /></span> +<span>York many wonders of her Ouse can tell;<br /></span> +<span>The Peak, her Dove, whose banks so fertile be;<br /></span> +<span>And Kent will say her Medway doth excel.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Cotswold commends her Isis to the Thame;<br /></span> +<span>Our northern borders boast of Tweed's fair flood;<br /></span> +<span>Our western parts extol their Wilis' fame;<br /></span> +<span>And the old Lea brags of the Danish blood.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Arden's sweet Ankor, let thy glory be,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That fair Idea only lives by thee!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>TO IMAGINATION</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXXIII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Whilst yet mine eyes do surfeit with delight,<br /></span> +<span>My woful heart imprisoned in my breast,<br /></span> +<span>Wisheth to be transformèd to my sight,<br /></span> +<span>That it like those by looking might be blest.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But whilst mine eyes thus greedily do gaze,<br /></span> +<span>Finding their objects over-soon depart,<br /></span> +<span>These now the other's happiness do praise,<br /></span> +<span>Wishing themselves that they had been my heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That eyes were heart, or that the heart were eyes,<br /></span> +<span>As covetous the other's use to have.<br /></span> +<span>But finding nature their request denies,<br /></span> +<span>This to each other mutually they crave;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That since the one cannot the other be,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That eyes could think of that my heart could see.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>TO ADMIRATION</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXXIV<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Marvel not, love, though I thy power admire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ravished a world beyond the farthest thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And knowing more than ever hath been taught,<br /></span> +<span>That I am only starved in my desire.<br /></span> +<span>Marvel not, love, though I thy power admire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Aiming at things exceeding all perfection,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To wisdom's self to minister direction,<br /></span> +<span>That I am only starved in my desire.<br /></span> +<span>Marvel not, love, though I thy power admire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though my conceit I further seem to bend<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than possibly invention can extend,<br /></span> +<span>And yet am only starved in my desire.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If thou wilt wonder, here's the wonder, love,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That this to me doth yet no wonder prove.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>TO MIRACLE</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXXV<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Some misbelieving and profane in love,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When I do speak of miracles by thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May say that thou art flatterèd by me,<br /></span> +<span>Who only write my skill in verse to prove<br /></span> +<span>See miracles, ye unbelieving, see!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A dumb-born Muse made to express the mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A cripple hand to write, yet lame by kind,<br /></span> +<span>One by thy name, the other touching thee.<br /></span> +<span>Blind were mine eyes, till they were seen of thine;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And mine ears deaf by thy fame healèd be;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My vices cured by virtues sprung from thee;<br /></span> +<span>My hopes revived which long in grave had lien.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All unclean thoughts, foul spirits, cast out in me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Only by virtue that proceeds from thee.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CUPID CONJURED</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXXVI<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Thou purblind boy, since thou hast been so slack<br /></span> +<span>To wound her heart whose eyes have wounded me<br /></span> +<span>And suffered her to glory in my wrack,<br /></span> +<span>Thus to my aid I lastly conjure thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By hellish Styx, by which the Thund'rer swears,<br /></span> +<span>By thy fair mother's unavoided power,<br /></span> +<span>By Hecate's names, by Proserpine's sad tears,<br /></span> +<span>When she was wrapt to the infernal bower!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By thine own lovèd Psyche, by the fires<br /></span> +<span>Spent on thine altars flaming up to heaven,<br /></span> +<span>By all true lovers' sighs, vows, and desires,<br /></span> +<span>By all the wounds that ever thou hast given;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I conjure thee by all that I have named,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To make her love, or, Cupid, be thou damned!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXXVII</span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Dear, why should you command me to my rest,<br /></span> +<span>When now the night doth summon all to sleep?<br /></span> +<span>Methinks this time becometh lovers best;<br /></span> +<span>Night was ordained together friends to keep.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How happy are all other living things,<br /></span> +<span>Which though the day disjoin by several flight,<br /></span> +<span>The quiet evening yet together brings,<br /></span> +<span>And each returns unto his love at night!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O thou that art so courteous else to all,<br /></span> +<span>Why shouldst thou, Night, abuse me only thus,<br /></span> +<span>That every creature to his kind dost call,<br /></span> +<span>And yet 'tis thou dost only sever us?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Well could I wish it would be ever day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If when night comes, you bid me go away.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXXVIII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Sitting alone, love bids me go and write;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Reason plucks back, commanding me to stay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Boasting that she doth still direct the way,<br /></span> +<span>Or else love were unable to indite.<br /></span> +<span>Love growing angry, vexèd at the spleen,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And scorning reason's maimèd argument,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Straight taxeth reason, wanting to invent<br /></span> +<span>Where she with love conversing hath not been.<br /></span> +<span>Reason reproachèd with this coy disdain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Despiteth love, and laugheth at her folly;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And love contemning reason's reason wholly,<br /></span> +<span>Thought it in weight too light by many a grain.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Reason put back doth out of sight remove,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And love alone picks reason out of love.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXXIX</span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Some, when in rhyme they of their loves do tell,<br /></span> +<span>With flames and lightnings their exordiums paint.<br /></span> +<span>Some call on heaven, some invocate on hell,<br /></span> +<span>And Fates and Furies, with their woes acquaint.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Elizium is too high a seat for me,<br /></span> +<span>I will not come in Styx or Phlegethon,<br /></span> +<span>The thrice-three Muses but too wanton be,<br /></span> +<span>Like they that lust, I care not, I will none.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Spiteful Erinnys frights me with her looks,<br /></span> +<span>My manhood dares not with foul Ate mell,<br /></span> +<span>I quake to look on Hecate's charming books,<br /></span> +<span>I still fear bugbears in Apollo's cell.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I pass not for Minerva, nor Astrea,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Only I call on my divine Idea!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XL</span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>My heart the anvil where my thoughts do beat,<br /></span> +<span>My words the hammers fashioning my desire,<br /></span> +<span>My breast the forge including all the heat,<br /></span> +<span>Love is the fuel which maintains the fire;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My sighs the bellows which the flame increaseth,<br /></span> +<span>Filling mine ears with noise and nightly groaning;<br /></span> +<span>Toiling with pain, my labour never ceaseth,<br /></span> +<span>In grievous passions my woes still bemoaning;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My eyes with tears against the fire striving,<br /></span> +<span>Whose scorching gleed my heart to cinders turneth;<br /></span> +<span>But with those drops the flame again reviving,<br /></span> +<span>Still more and more it to my torment burneth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With Sisyphus thus do I roll the stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And turn the wheel with damnèd Ixion.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>LOVE'S LUNACY</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XLI<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Why do I speak of joy or write of love,<br /></span> +<span>When my heart is the very den of horror,<br /></span> +<span>And in my soul the pains of hell I prove,<br /></span> +<span>With all his torments and infernal terror?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What should I say? what yet remains to do?<br /></span> +<span>My brain is dry with weeping all too long;<br /></span> +<span>My sighs be spent in utt'ring of my woe,<br /></span> +<span>And I want words wherewith to tell my wrong.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But still distracted in love's lunacy,<br /></span> +<span>And bedlam-like thus raving in my grief,<br /></span> +<span>Now rail upon her hair, then on her eye,<br /></span> +<span>Now call her goddess, then I call her thief;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now I deny her, then I do confess her,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now do I curse her, then again I bless her.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XLII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Some men there be which like my method well,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And much commend the strangeness of my vein;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some say I have a passing pleasing strain,<br /></span> +<span>Some say that in my humour I excel.<br /></span> +<span>Some who not kindly relish my conceit,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They say, as poets do, I use to feign,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And in bare words paint out by passions' pain.<br /></span> +<span>Thus sundry men their sundry minds repeat.<br /></span> +<span>I pass not, I, how men affected be,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor who commends or discommends my verse!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It pleaseth me if I my woes rehearse,<br /></span> +<span>And in my lines if she my love may see.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Only my comfort still consists in this,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Writing her praise I cannot write amiss.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XLIII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Why should your fair eyes with such sov'reign grace<br /></span> +<span>Disperse their rays on every vulgar spirit,<br /></span> +<span>Whilst I in darkness in the self-same place,<br /></span> +<span>Get not one glance to recompense my merit?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So doth the plowman gaze the wand'ring star,<br /></span> +<span>And only rest contented with the light,<br /></span> +<span>That never learned what constellations are,<br /></span> +<span>Beyond the bent of his unknowing sight.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O why should beauty, custom to obey,<br /></span> +<span>To their gross sense apply herself so ill!<br /></span> +<span>Would God I were as ignorant as they,<br /></span> +<span>When I am made unhappy by my skill,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Only compelled on this poor good to boast!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Heavens are not kind to them that know them most.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XLIV<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Whilst thus my pen strives to eternise thee,<br /></span> +<span>Age rules my lines with wrinkles in my face,<br /></span> +<span>Where in the map of all my misery<br /></span> +<span>Is modelled out the world of my disgrace;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whilst in despite of tyrannising times,<br /></span> +<span>Medea-like, I make thee young again,<br /></span> +<span>Proudly thou scorn'st my world-outwearing rhymes,<br /></span> +<span>And murther'st virtue with thy coy disdain;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And though in youth my youth untimely perish,<br /></span> +<span>To keep thee from oblivion and the grave,<br /></span> +<span>Ensuing ages yet my rhymes shall cherish,<br /></span> +<span>Where I intombed my better part shall save;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And though this earthly body fade and die,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My name shall mount upon eternity.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XLV<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Muses which sadly sit about my chair,<br /></span> +<span>Drowned in the tears extorted by my lines;<br /></span> +<span>With heavy sighs whilst thus I break the air,<br /></span> +<span>Painting my passions in these sad designs,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Since she disdains to bless my happy verse,<br /></span> +<span>The strong built trophies to her living fame,<br /></span> +<span>Ever henceforth my bosom be your hearse,<br /></span> +<span>Wherein the world shall now entomb her name.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Enclose my music, you poor senseless walls,<br /></span> +<span>Sith she is deaf and will not hear my moans;<br /></span> +<span>Soften yourselves with every tear that falls,<br /></span> +<span>Whilst I like Orpheus sing to trees and stones,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which with my plaint seem yet with pity moved,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Kinder than she whom I so long have loved.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XLVI<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Plain-pathed experience, the unlearnèd's guide,<br /></span> +<span>Her simple followers evidently shows<br /></span> +<span>Sometimes what schoolmen scarcely can decide,<br /></span> +<span>Nor yet wise reason absolutely knows;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In making trial of a murder wrought,<br /></span> +<span>If the vile actors of the heinous deed<br /></span> +<span>Near the dead body happily be brought,<br /></span> +<span>Oft 't hath been proved the breathless corse will bleed.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She coming near, that my poor heart hath slain,<br /></span> +<span>Long since departed, to the world no more,<br /></span> +<span>The ancient wounds no longer can contain,<br /></span> +<span>But fall to bleeding as they did before.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But what of this? Should she to death be led,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It furthers justice but helps not the dead.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XLVII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>In pride of wit, when high desire of fame<br /></span> +<span>Gave life and courage to my lab'ring pen,<br /></span> +<span>And first the sound and virtue of my name<br /></span> +<span>Won grace and credit in the ears of men,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With those the throngèd theatres that press,<br /></span> +<span>I in the circuit for the laurel strove,<br /></span> +<span>Where the full praise I freely must confess,<br /></span> +<span>In heat of blood a modest mind might move;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With shouts and claps at every little pause,<br /></span> +<span>When the proud round on every side hath rung,<br /></span> +<span>Sadly I sit unmoved with the applause,<br /></span> +<span>As though to me it nothing did belong.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No public glory vainly I pursue;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All that I seek is to eternise you.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XLVIII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Cupid, I hate thee, which I'd have thee know;<br /></span> +<span>A naked starveling ever mayst thou be!<br /></span> +<span>Poor rogue, go pawn thy fascia and thy bow<br /></span> +<span>For some poor rags wherewith to cover thee;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or if thou'lt not thy archery forbear,<br /></span> +<span>To some base rustic do thyself prefer,<br /></span> +<span>And when corn's sown or grown into the ear,<br /></span> +<span>Practice thy quiver and turn crowkeeper;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or being blind, as fittest for the trade,<br /></span> +<span>Go hire thyself some bungling harper's boy;<br /></span> +<span>They that are blind are minstrels often made,<br /></span> +<span>So mayst thou live to thy fair mother's joy;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That whilst with Mars she holdeth her old way,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou, her blind son, mayst sit by them and play.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XLIX<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Thou leaden brain, which censur'st what I write,<br /></span> +<span>And sayst my lines be dull and do not move,<br /></span> +<span>I marvel not thou feel'st not my delight,<br /></span> +<span>Which never felt'st my fiery touch of love;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But thou whose pen hath like a packhorse served,<br /></span> +<span>Whose stomach unto gall hath turned thy food,<br /></span> +<span>Whose senses like poor prisoners, hunger-starved<br /></span> +<span>Whose grief hath parched thy body, dried thy blood;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou which hast scornèd life and hated death,<br /></span> +<span>And in a moment, mad, sober, glad, and sorry;<br /></span> +<span>Thou which hast banned thy thoughts and curst thy birth<br /></span> +<span>With thousand plagues more than in purgatory;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou thus whose spirit love in his fire refines,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Come thou and read, admire, applaud my lines!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>L<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>As in some countries far remote from hence,<br /></span> +<span>The wretched creature destinèd to die,<br /></span> +<span>Having the judgment due to his offence,<br /></span> +<span>By surgeons begged, their art on him to try,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which on the living work without remorse,<br /></span> +<span>First make incision on each mastering vein,<br /></span> +<span>Then staunch the bleeding, then transpierce the corse,<br /></span> +<span>And with their balms recure the wounds again,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then poison and with physic him restore;<br /></span> +<span>Not that they fear the hopeless man to kill,<br /></span> +<span>But their experience to increase the more:<br /></span> +<span>Even so my mistress works upon my ill,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By curing me and killing me each hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Only to show her beauty's sovereign power.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>LI<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Calling to mind since first my love begun,<br /></span> +<span>Th'uncertain times, oft varying in their course,<br /></span> +<span>How things still unexpectedly have run,<br /></span> +<span>As't please the Fates by their resistless force;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lastly, mine eyes amazedly have seen<br /></span> +<span>Essex's great fall, Tyrone his peace to gain,<br /></span> +<span>The quiet end of that long living Queen,<br /></span> +<span>This King's fair entrance, and our peace with Spain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We and the Dutch at length ourselves to sever;<br /></span> +<span>Thus the world doth and evermore shall reel;<br /></span> +<span>Yet to my goddess am I constant ever,<br /></span> +<span>Howe'er blind Fortune turn her giddy wheel;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though heaven and earth prove both to me untrue,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet am I still inviolate to you.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>LII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>What dost thou mean to cheat me of my heart,<br /></span> +<span>To take all mine and give me none again?<br /></span> +<span>Or have thine eyes such magic or that art<br /></span> +<span>That what they get they ever do retain?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Play not the tyrant but take some remorse;<br /></span> +<span>Rebate thy spleen if but for pity's sake;<br /></span> +<span>Or cruel, if thou can'st not, let us scorse,<br /></span> +<span>And for one piece of thine my whole heart take.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But what of pity do I speak to thee,<br /></span> +<span>Whose breast is proof against complaint or prayer?<br /></span> +<span>Or can I think what my reward shall be<br /></span> +<span>From that proud beauty which was my betrayer!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What talk I of a heart when thou hast none?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or if thou hast, it is a flinty one.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>ANOTHER TO THE RIVER ANKOR</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>LIII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Clear Ankor, on whose silver-sanded shore,<br /></span> +<span>My soul-shrined saint, my fair Idea lives;<br /></span> +<span>O blessèd brook, whose milk-white swans adore<br /></span> +<span>Thy crystal stream, refinèd by her eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where sweet myrrh-breathing Zephyr in the spring<br /></span> +<span>Gently distils his nectar-dropping showers,<br /></span> +<span>Where nightingales in Arden sit and sing<br /></span> +<span>Amongst the dainty dew-impearlèd flowers;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Say thus, fair brook, when thou shalt see thy queen,<br /></span> +<span>"Lo, here thy shepherd spent his wand'ring years<br /></span> +<span>And in these shades, dear nymph, he oft hath been;<br /></span> +<span>And here to thee he sacrificed his tears."<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fair Arden, thou my Tempe art alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And thou, sweet Ankor, art my Helicon!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>LIV<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Yet read at last the story of my woe,<br /></span> +<span>The dreary abstracts of my endless cares,<br /></span> +<span>With my life's sorrow interlinèd so,<br /></span> +<span>Smoked with my sighs, and blotted with my tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sad memorials of my miseries,<br /></span> +<span>Penned in the grief of mine afflicted ghost,<br /></span> +<span>My life's complaint in doleful elegies,<br /></span> +<span>With so pure love as time could never boast.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Receive the incense which I offer here,<br /></span> +<span>By my strong faith ascending to thy fame,<br /></span> +<span>My zeal, my hope, my vows, my praise, my prayer,<br /></span> +<span>My soul's oblations to thy sacred name;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which name my Muse to highest heavens shall raise,<br /></span> +<span>By chaste desire, true love, and virtuous praise.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>LV<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>My fair, if thou wilt register my love,<br /></span> +<span>A world of volumes shall thereof arise;<br /></span> +<span>Preserve my tears, and thou thyself shall prove<br /></span> +<span>A second flood down raining from mine eyes;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Note but my sighs, and thine eyes shall behold<br /></span> +<span>The sunbeams smothered with immortal smoke;<br /></span> +<span>And if by thee my prayers may be enrolled,<br /></span> +<span>They heaven and earth to pity shall provoke.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Look thou into my breast, and thou shalt see<br /></span> +<span>Chaste holy vows for my soul's sacrifice,<br /></span> +<span>That soul, sweet maid, which so hath honoured thee,<br /></span> +<span>Erecting trophies to thy sacred eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Those eyes to my heart shining ever bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When darkness hath obscured each other light.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>AN ALLUSION TO THE EAGLETS</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>LVI<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>When like an eaglet I first found my love,<br /></span> +<span>For that the virtue I thereof would know,<br /></span> +<span>Upon the nest I set it forth to prove<br /></span> +<span>If it were of that kingly kind or no;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But it no sooner saw my sun appear,<br /></span> +<span>But on her rays with open eyes it stood,<br /></span> +<span>To show that I had hatched it for the air,<br /></span> +<span>And rightly came from that brave mounting brood;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And when the plumes were summed with sweet desire,<br /></span> +<span>To prove the pinions it ascends the skies;<br /></span> +<span>Do what I could, it needsly would aspire<br /></span> +<span>To my soul's sun, those two celestial eyes.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus from my breast, where it was bred alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It after thee is like an eaglet flown.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>LVII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>You best discerned of my mind's inward eyes,<br /></span> +<span>And yet your graces outwardly divine,<br /></span> +<span>Whose dear remembrance in my bosom lies,<br /></span> +<span>Too rich a relic for so poor a shrine;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You, in whom nature chose herself to view,<br /></span> +<span>When she her own perfection would admire;<br /></span> +<span>Bestowing all her excellence on you,<br /></span> +<span>At whose pure eyes Love lights his hallowed fire;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Even as a man that in some trance hath seen<br /></span> +<span>More than his wond'ring utterance can unfold,<br /></span> +<span>That rapt in spirit in better worlds hath been,<br /></span> +<span>So must your praise distractedly be told;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Most of all short when I would show you most,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In your perfections so much am I lost.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>LVIII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>In former times, such as had store of coin,<br /></span> +<span>In wars at home or when for conquests bound,<br /></span> +<span>For fear that some their treasure should purloin,<br /></span> +<span>Gave it to keep to spirits within the ground;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And to attend it them as strongly tied<br /></span> +<span>Till they returned. Home when they never came,<br /></span> +<span>Such as by art to get the same have tried,<br /></span> +<span>From the strong spirit by no means force the same.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nearer men come, that further flies away,<br /></span> +<span>Striving to hold it strongly in the deep.<br /></span> +<span>Ev'n as this spirit, so you alone do play<br /></span> +<span>With those rich beauties Heav'n gives you to keep;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pity so left to th' coldness of your blood,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Not to avail you nor do others good.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>TO PROVERBS</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>LIX<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>As Love and I late harboured in one inn,<br /></span> +<span>With Proverbs thus each other entertain.<br /></span> +<span>"In love there is no lack," thus I begin:<br /></span> +<span>"Fair words make fools," replieth he again.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Who spares to speak, doth spare to speed," quoth I.<br /></span> +<span>"As well," saith he, "too forward as too slow."<br /></span> +<span>"Fortune assists the boldest," I reply.<br /></span> +<span>"A hasty man," quoth he, "ne'er wanted woe!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Labour is light, where love," quoth I, "doth pay."<br /></span> +<span>Saith he, "Light burden's heavy, if far born."<br /></span> +<span>Quoth I, "The main lost, cast the by away!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"You have spun a fair thread," he replies in scorn.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And having thus awhile each other thwarted,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fools as we met, so fools again we parted.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>LX<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Define my weal, and tell the joys of heaven;<br /></span> +<span>Express my woes and show the pains of hell;<br /></span> +<span>Declare what fate unlucky stars have given,<br /></span> +<span>And ask a world upon my life to dwell;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Make known the faith that fortune could no move,<br /></span> +<span>Compare my worth with others' base desert,<br /></span> +<span>Let virtue be the touchstone of my love,<br /></span> +<span>So may the heavens read wonders in my heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Behold the clouds which have eclipsed my sun,<br /></span> +<span>And view the crosses which my course do let;<br /></span> +<span>Tell me, if ever since the world begun<br /></span> +<span>So fair a rising had so foul a set?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And see if time, if he would strive to prove,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Can show a second to so pure a love.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>LXI<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part,<br /></span> +<span>Nay I have done, you get no more of me;<br /></span> +<span>And I am glad, yea glad with all my heart,<br /></span> +<span>That thus so cleanly I myself can free;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shakes hands for ever, cancel all our vows,<br /></span> +<span>And when we meet at any time again,<br /></span> +<span>Be it not seen in either of our brows<br /></span> +<span>That we one jot of former love retain.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now at the last gasp of Love's latest breath,<br /></span> +<span>When his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies,<br /></span> +<span>When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death,<br /></span> +<span>And Innocence is closing up his eyes:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now if thou wouldst, when all have given him over,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From death to life thou might'st him yet recover!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>LXII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>When first I ended, then I first began;<br /></span> +<span>Then more I travelled further from my rest.<br /></span> +<span>Where most I lost, there most of all I won;<br /></span> +<span>Pinèd with hunger, rising from a feast.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Methinks I fly, yet want I legs to go,<br /></span> +<span>Wise in conceit, in act a very sot,<br /></span> +<span>Ravished with joy amidst a hell of woe,<br /></span> +<span>What most I seem that surest am I not.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I build my hopes a world above the sky,<br /></span> +<span>Yet with the mole I creep into the earth;<br /></span> +<span>In plenty I am starved with penury,<br /></span> +<span>And yet I surfeit in the greatest dearth.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I have, I want, despair, and yet desire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Burned in a sea of ice, and drowned amidst a fire.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>LXIII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Truce, gentle Love, a parley now I crave,<br /></span> +<span>Methinks 'tis long since first these wars begun;<br /></span> +<span>Nor thou, nor I, the better yet can have;<br /></span> +<span>Bad is the match where neither party won.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I offer free conditions of fair peace,<br /></span> +<span>My heart for hostage that it shall remain.<br /></span> +<span>Discharge our forces, here let malice cease,<br /></span> +<span>So for my pledge thou give me pledge again.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or if no thing but death will serve thy turn,<br /></span> +<span>Still thirsting for subversion of my state,<br /></span> +<span>Do what thou canst, raze, massacre, and burn;<br /></span> +<span>Let the world see the utmost of thy hate;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I send defiance, since if overthrown,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou vanquishing, the conquest is mine own.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>FIDESSA</h2> + +<h2>MORE CHASTE THAN KIND</h2> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>B. GRIFFIN, GENT. +</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="BARTHOLOMEW_GRIFFIN" id="BARTHOLOMEW_GRIFFIN"></a>BARTHOLOMEW GRIFFIN</h2> + + +<p>The author of <i>Fidessa</i> has gained undeserved notice from the fact that +the piratical printer W. Jaggard, included a transcript of one of his +sonnets in a volume that he put forth in 1599, under the name of +Shakespeare. It would be easy to believe, in spite of the doubtful rimes +characteristic of <i>Fidessa</i>, that sonnet three was not Griffin's, for no +singer in the Elizabethan choir was more skilful in turning his voice to +other people's melodies than was he. He has been called "a gross +plagiary;" yet it must be realised that the sonneteers of that time felt +they had a right, almost a duty, to take up the poetic themes used by +their models. Griffin shows great ingenuity in the manipulation of the +stock-themes, and the lover of Petrarch and all the young +Abraham-Slenders of the day must have been delighted with the familiar +"designs" as they re-appeared in <i>Fidessa</i>.</p> + +<p>Bartholomew Griffin was buried in Coventry in 1602. In 1596 he +dedicated his "slender work" <i>Fidessa</i> to William Essex of Lamebourne in +Berkshire. He adds an address to the Gentlemen of the Inns of Court, +whom he begs to "censure mildly as protectors of a poor stranger" and +"judge the best as encouragers of a young beginner." Of the poet little +further is known. From the sonnets themselves we learn that Fidessa was +"of high regard," the child of a beautiful mother and of a renowned +father; she sprang in fact from the same root with the poet himself, who +writes "Gent." after his name on the title-page. She had been kind to +him in sickness and had "yielded to each look of his a sweet reply." +After giving these slight hints, he pushes forth from the moorings of +realism and sets sail on the ocean of the sonneteer's fancy, meeting the +usual adventures. His sonnets, while showing versatility and ingenuity, +lack spontaneous feeling and have serious defects in form; yet these +defects are in part offset by their conversational ease and dramatic +vividness.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>TO FIDESSA</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>I<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>Fertur Fortunam Fortuna favere ferenti</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span>Fidessa fair, long live a happy maiden!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Blest from thy cradle by a worthy mother,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">High-thoughted like to her, with bounty laden,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like pleasing grace affording, one and other;<br /></span> +<span>Sweet model of thy far renownèd sire!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hold back a while thy ever-giving hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And though these free penned lines do nought require,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For that they scorn at base reward to stand,<br /></span> +<span>Yet crave they most for that they beg the least<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dumb is the message of my hidden grief,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And store of speech by silence is increased;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O let me die or purchase some relief!<br /></span> +<span>Bounteous Fidessa cannot be so cruel<br /></span> +<span>As for to make my heart her fancy's fuel!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>II<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>How can that piercing crystal-painted eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That gave the onset to my high aspiring.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yielding each look of mine a sweet reply,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Adding new courage to my heart's desiring,<br /></span> +<span>How can it shut itself within her ark,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And keep herself and me both from the light,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Making us walk in all misguiding dark,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Aye to remain in confines of the night?<br /></span> +<span>How is it that so little room contains it,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That guides the orient as the world the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which once obscured most bitterly complains it,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Because it knows and rules whate'er is done?<br /></span> +<span>The reason is that they may dread her sight,<br /></span> +<span>Who doth both give and take away their light.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>III<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Venus, and young Adonis sitting by her,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Under a myrtle shade, began to woo him;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She told the youngling how god Mars did try her,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And as he fell to her, so fell she to him.<br /></span> +<span>"Even thus," quoth she, "the wanton god embraced me!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And then she clasped Adonis in her arms;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Even thus," quoth she, "the warlike god unlaced me!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As if the boy should use like loving charms.<br /></span> +<span>But he, a wayward boy, refused the offer,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And ran away the beauteous queen neglecting<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Showing both folly to abuse her proffer,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And all his sex of cowardice detecting.<br /></span> +<span>O that I had my mistress at that bay,<br /></span> +<span>To kiss and clip me till I ran away!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>IV<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Did you sometimes three German brethren see,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rancour 'twixt two of them so raging rife,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That th' one could stick the other with his knife?<br /></span> +<span>Now if the third assaulted chance to be<br /></span> +<span>By a fourth stranger, him set on the three,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Them two 'twixt whom afore was deadly strife<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Made one to rob the stranger of his life;<br /></span> +<span>Then do you know our state as well as we.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beauty and chastity with her were born,<br /></span> +<span>Both at one birth, and up with her did grow.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beauty still foe to chastity was sworn,<br /></span> +<span>And chastity sworn to be beauty's foe;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And yet when I lay siege unto her heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beauty and chastity both take her part.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>V<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Arraigned, poor captive at the bar I stand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The bar of beauty, bar to all my joys;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And up I hold my ever trembling hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wishing or life or death to end annoys.<br /></span> +<span>And when the judge doth question of the guilt,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And bids me speak, then sorrow shuts up words.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yea, though he say, "Speak boldly what thou wilt!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet my confused affects no speech affords,<br /></span> +<span>For why? Alas, my passions have no bound,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For fear of death that penetrates so near;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And still one grief another doth confound,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet doth at length a way to speech appear.<br /></span> +<span>Then, for I speak too late, the Judge doth give<br /></span> +<span>His sentence that in prison I shall live.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>VI<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Unhappy sentence, worst of worst of pains,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To be in darksome silence, out of ken,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Banished from all that bliss the world contains,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And thrust from out the companies of men!<br /></span> +<span>Unhappy sentence, worse than worst of deaths,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Never to see Fidessa's lovely face!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O better were I lose ten thousand breaths,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than ever live in such unseen disgrace!<br /></span> +<span>Unhappy sentence, worse than pains of hell,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To live in self-tormenting griefs alone;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Having my heart, my prison and my cell,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And there consumed without relief to moan!<br /></span> +<span>If that the sentence so unhappy be,<br /></span> +<span>Then what am I that gave the same to me?<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>VII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Oft have mine eyes, the agents of mine heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">False traitor eyes conspiring my decay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pleaded for grace with dumb and silent art,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Streaming forth tears my sorrows to allay;<br /></span> +<span>Moaning the wrong they do unto their lord,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Forcing the cruel fair by means to yield;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Making her 'gainst her will some grace t'afford,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And striving sore at length to win the field;<br /></span> +<span>Thus work they means to feed my fainting hope,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And strengthened hope adds matter to each thought;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet when they all come to their end and scope<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They do but wholly bring poor me to nought.<br /></span> +<span>She'll never yield although they ever cry,<br /></span> +<span>And therefore we must all together die.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>VIII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Grief-urging guest, great cause have I to plain me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet hope persuading hope expecteth grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And saith none but myself shall ever pain me;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But grief my hopes exceedeth in this case;<br /></span> +<span>For still my fortune ever more doth cross me<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By worse events than ever I expected;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And here and there ten thousand ways doth toss me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With sad remembrance of my time neglected.<br /></span> +<span>These breed such thoughts as set my heart on fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And like fell hounds pursue me to my death;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Traitors unto their sovereign lord and sire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unkind exactors of their father's breath,<br /></span> +<span>Whom in their rage they shall no sooner kill<br /></span> +<span>Than they themselves themselves unjustly spill.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>IX<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>My spotless love that never yet was tainted,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My loyal heart that never can be moved,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My growing hope that never yet hath fainted,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My constancy that you full well have proved,<br /></span> +<span>All these consented have to plead for grace<br /></span> +<span class="i2">These all lie crying at the door of beauty;—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This wails, this sends out tears, this cries apace,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All do reward expect of faith and duty;<br /></span> +<span>Now either thou must prove th' unkindest one,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And as thou fairest art must cruelest be,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or else with pity yield unto their moan,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their moan that ever will importune thee.<br /></span> +<span>Ah, thou must be unkind, and give denial,<br /></span> +<span>And I, poor I, must stand unto my trial!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>X<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Clip not, sweet love, the wings of my desire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Although it soar aloft and mount too high:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But rather bear with me though I aspire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For I have wings to bear me to the sky.<br /></span> +<span>What though I mount, there is no sun but thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And sith no other sun, why should I fear?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou wilt not burn me, though thou terrify,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And though thy brightness do so great appear.<br /></span> +<span>Dear, I seek not to batter down thy glory,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor do I envy that thy hope increaseth;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O never think thy fame doth make me sorry!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For thou must live by fame when beauty ceaseth.<br /></span> +<span>Besides, since from one root we both did spring,<br /></span> +<span>Why should not I thy fame and beauty sing?<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XI<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Winged with sad woes, why doth fair zephyr blow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon my face, the map of discontent?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is it to have the weeds of sorrow grow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So long and thick, that they will ne'er be spent?<br /></span> +<span>No, fondling, no! It is to cool the fire<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which hot desire within thy breast hath made.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Check him but once and he will soon retire.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O but he sorrows brought which cannot fade!<br /></span> +<span>The sorrows that he brought, he took from thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which fair Fidessa span and thou must wear!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet hath she nothing done of cruelty,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But for her sake to try what thou wilt bear.<br /></span> +<span>Come, sorrows, come! You are to me assigned;<br /></span> +<span>I'll bear you all, it is Fidessa's mind.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>O if my heavenly sighs must prove annoy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which are the sweetest music to my heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let it suffice I count them as my joy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sweet bitter joy and pleasant painful smart!<br /></span> +<span>For when my breast is clogged with thousand cares,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That my poor loaded heart is like to break,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then every sigh doth question how it fares,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Seeming to add their strength, which makes me weak;<br /></span> +<span>Yet for they friendly are, I entertain them,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And they too well are pleasèd with their host.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But I, had not Fidessa been, ere now had slain them;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It's for her cause they live, in her they boast;<br /></span> +<span>They promise help but when they see her face;<br /></span> +<span>They fainting yield, and dare not sue for grace.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XIII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Compare me to the child that plays with fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or to the fly that dieth in the flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or to the foolish boy that did aspire<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To touch the glory of high heaven's frame;<br /></span> +<span>Compare me to Leander struggling in the waves,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Not able to attain his safety's shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or to the sick that do expect their graves,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or to the captive crying evermore;<br /></span> +<span>Compare me to the weeping wounded hart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Moaning with tears the period of his life,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or to the boar that will not feel the smart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When he is stricken with the butcher's knife;<br /></span> +<span>No man to these can fitly me compare;<br /></span> +<span>These live to die, I die to live in care.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XIV<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>When silent sleep had closèd up mine eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My watchful mind did then begin to muse;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A thousand pleasing thoughts did then arise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That sought by slights their master to abuse.<br /></span> +<span>I saw, O heavenly sight! Fidessa's face,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And fair dame nature blushing to behold it;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now did she laugh, now wink, now smile apace,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She took me by the hand and fast did hold it;<br /></span> +<span>Sweetly her sweet body did she lay down by me;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Alas, poor wretch," quoth she, "great is thy sorrow;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But thou shall comfort find if thou wilt try me.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I hope, sir boy, you'll tell me news to-morrow."<br /></span> +<span>With that, away she went, and I did wake withal;<br /></span> +<span>When ah! my honey thoughts were turned to gall.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XV<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Care-charmer sleep! Sweet ease in restless misery!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The captive's liberty, and his freedom's song!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Balm of the bruisèd heart! Man's chief felicity!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Brother of quiet death, when life is too too long!<br /></span> +<span>A comedy it is, and now an history;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What is not sleep unto the feeble mind!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It easeth him that toils and him that's sorry;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It makes the deaf to hear, to see the blind;<br /></span> +<span>Ungentle sleep, thou helpest all but me!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For when I sleep my soul is vexèd most.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It is Fidessa that doth master thee;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If she approach, alas, thy power is lost!<br /></span> +<span>But here she is! See how he runs amain!<br /></span> +<span>I fear at night he will not come again.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XVI<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>For I have lovèd long, I crave reward;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Reward me not unkindly, think on kindness;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Kindness becometh those of high regard;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Regard with clemency a poor man's blindness;<br /></span> +<span>Blindness provokes to pity when it crieth;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It crieth "Give!" Dear lady, shew some pity!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pity or let him die that daily dieth;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dieth he not oft who often sings this ditty?<br /></span> +<span>This ditty pleaseth me although it choke me;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Methinks dame Echo weepeth at my moaning,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Moaning the woes that to complain provoke me.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Provoke me now no more, but hear my groaning,<br /></span> +<span>Groaning both day and night doth tear my heart,<br /></span> +<span>My heart doth know the cause and triumphs in the smart.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XVII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Sweet stroke,—so might I thrive as I must praise—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But sweeter hand that gives so sweet a stroke!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The lute itself is sweetest when she plays.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But what hear I? A string through fear is broke!<br /></span> +<span>The lute doth shake as if it were afraid.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O sure some goddess holds it in her hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A heavenly power that oft hath me dismayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet such a power as doth in beauty stand!<br /></span> +<span>Cease lute, my ceaseless suit will ne'er be heard!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ah, too hard-hearted she that will not hear it!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If I but think on joy, my joy is marred;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My grief is great, yet ever must I bear it;<br /></span> +<span>But love 'twixt us will prove a faithful page,<br /></span> +<span>And she will love my sorrows to assuage.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XVIII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>O she must love my sorrows to assuage.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O God, what joy felt I when she did smile,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whom killing grief before did cause to rage!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beauty is able sorrow to beguile.<br /></span> +<span>Out, traitor absence! thou dost hinder me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And mak'st my mistress often to forget,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Causing me to rail upon her cruelty,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whilst thou my suit injuriously dost let;<br /></span> +<span>Again her presence doth astonish me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And strikes me dumb as if my sense were gone;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh, is not this a strange perplexity?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In presence dumb, she hears not absent moan;<br /></span> +<span>Thus absent presence, present absence maketh,<br /></span> +<span>That hearing my poor suit, she it mistaketh.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XIX<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>My pain paints out my love in doleful verse,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The lively glass wherein she may behold it;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My verse her wrong to me doth still rehearse,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But so as it lamenteth to unfold it.<br /></span> +<span>Myself with ceaseless tears my harms bewail,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And her obdurate heart not to be moved;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though long-continued woes my senses fail,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And curse the day, the hour when first I loved.<br /></span> +<span>She takes the glass wherein herself she sees,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In bloody colours cruelly depainted;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And her poor prisoner humbly on his knees,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pleading for grace, with heart that never fainted.<br /></span> +<span>She breaks the glass; alas, I cannot choose<br /></span> +<span>But grieve that I should so my labour lose!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XX<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Great is the joy that no tongue can express!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fair babe new born, how much dost thou delight me!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But what, is mine so great? Yea, no whit less!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So great that of all woes it doth acquite me.<br /></span> +<span>It's fair Fidessa that this comfort bringeth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who sorry for the wrongs by her procured,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Delightful tunes of love, of true love singeth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wherewith her too chaste thoughts were ne'er inured.<br /></span> +<span>She loves, she saith, but with a love not blind.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her love is counsel that I should not love,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But upon virtues fix a stayèd mind.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But what! This new-coined love, love doth reprove?<br /></span> +<span>If this be love of which you make such store,<br /></span> +<span>Sweet, love me less, that you may love me more!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXI<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>He that will Cæsar be, or else not be—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who can aspire to Cæsar's bleeding fame,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Must be of high resolve; but what is he<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That thinks to gain a second Cæsar's name?<br /></span> +<span>Whoe'er he be that climbs above his strength,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And climbeth high, the greater is his fall!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For though he sit awhile, we see at length,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His slippery place no firmness hath at all,<br /></span> +<span>Great is his bruise that falleth from on high.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This warneth me that I should not aspire;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Examples should prevail; I care not, I!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I perish must or have what I desire!<br /></span> +<span>This humour doth with mine full well agree<br /></span> +<span>I must Fidessa's be, or else not be!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>It was of love, ungentle gentle boy!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That thou didst come and harbour in my breast;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Not of intent my body to destroy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And have my soul, with restless cares opprest.<br /></span> +<span>But sith thy love doth turn unto my pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Return to Greece, sweet lad, where thou wast born.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Leave me alone my griefs to entertain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If thou forsake me, I am less forlorn;<br /></span> +<span>Although alone, yet shall I find more ease.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then see thou hie thee hence, or I will chase thee;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Men highly wrongèd care not to displease;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My fortune hangs on thee, thou dost disgrace me,<br /></span> +<span>Yet at thy farewell, play a friendly part;<br /></span> +<span>To make amends, fly to Fidessa's heart.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXIII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Fly to her heart, hover about her heart,<br /></span> +<span>With dainty kisses mollify her heart,<br /></span> +<span>Pierce with thy arrows her obdurate heart,<br /></span> +<span>With sweet allurements ever move her heart,<br /></span> +<span>At midday and at midnight touch her heart,<br /></span> +<span>Be lurking closely, nestle about her heart,<br /></span> +<span>With power—thou art a god!—command her heart,<br /></span> +<span>Kindle thy coals of love about her heart,<br /></span> +<span>Yea, even into thyself transform her heart!<br /></span> +<span>Ah, she must love! Be sure thou have her heart;<br /></span> +<span>And I must die if thou have not her heart;<br /></span> +<span>Thy bed if thou rest well, must be her heart;<br /></span> +<span>He hath the best part sure that hath her heart;<br /></span> +<span>What have I not, if I have but her heart!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXIV<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Striving is past! Ah, I must sink and drown,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And that in sight of long descrièd shore!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I cannot send for aid unto the town,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All help is vain and I must die therefore.<br /></span> +<span>Then poor distressèd caitiff, be resolved<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To leave this earthly dwelling fraught with care;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Cease will thy woes, thy corpse in earth involved,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou diest for her that will no help prepare.<br /></span> +<span>O see, my case herself doth now behold;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The casement open is; she seems to speak;—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But she has gone! O then I dare be bold<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And needs must say she caused my heart to break.<br /></span> +<span>I die before I drown, O heavy case!<br /></span> +<span>It was because I saw my mistress' face.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXV<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Compare me to Pygmalion with his image sotted,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For, as was he, even so am I deceived.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The shadow only is to me allotted,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The substance hath of substance me bereaved.<br /></span> +<span>Then poor and helpless must I wander still<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In deep laments to pass succeeding days,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Welt'ring in woes that poor and mighty kill.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O who is mighty that so soon decays!<br /></span> +<span>The dread Almighty hath appointed so<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The final period of all worldly things.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then as in time they come, so must they go;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Death common is to beggars and to kings<br /></span> +<span>For whither do I run beside my text?<br /></span> +<span>I run to death, for death must be the next.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXVI<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The silly bird that hastes unto the net,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And flutters to and fro till she be taken,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Doth look some food or succour there to get,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But loseth life, so much is she mistaken.<br /></span> +<span>The foolish fly that fleeth to the flame<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With ceaseless hovering and with restless flight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is burnèd straight to ashes in the same,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And finds her death where was her most delight<br /></span> +<span>The proud aspiring boy that needs would pry<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Into the secrets of the highest seat,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Had some conceit to gain content thereby,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or else his folly sure was wondrous great.<br /></span> +<span>These did through folly perish all and die:<br /></span> +<span>And though I know it, even so do I.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXVII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Poor worm, poor silly worm, alas, poor beast!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fear makes thee hide thy head within the ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Because of creeping things thou art the least,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet every foot gives thee thy mortal wound.<br /></span> +<span>But I, thy fellow worm, am in worse state,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For thou thy sun enjoyest, but I want mine.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I live in irksome night, O cruel fate!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My sun will never rise, nor ever shine.<br /></span> +<span>Thus blind of light, mine eyes misguide my feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And baleful darkness makes me still afraid;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Men mock me when I stumble in the street,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And wonder how my young sight so decayed.<br /></span> +<span>Yet do I joy in this, even when I fall,<br /></span> +<span>That I shall see again and then see all.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXVIII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Well may my soul, immortal and divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That is imprisoned in a lump of clay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Breathe out laments until this body pine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That from her takes her pleasures all away.<br /></span> +<span>Pine then, thou loathèd prison of my life,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Untoward subject of the least aggrievance!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O let me die! Mortality is rife;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Death comes by wounds, by sickness, care, and chance.<br /></span> +<span>O earth, the time will come when I'll resume thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And in thy bosom make my resting-place;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then do not unto hardest sentence doom me;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yield, yield betimes; I must and will have grace!<br /></span> +<span>Richly shalt thou be entombed, since, for thy grave,<br /></span> +<span>Fidessa, fair Fidessa, thou shalt have!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXIX<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Earth, take this earth wherein my spirits languish;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Spirits, leave this earth that doth in griefs retain you;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Griefs, chase this earth that it may fade with anguish;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Spirits, avoid these furies which do pain you!<br /></span> +<span>O leave your loathsome prison; freedom gain you;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Your essence is divine; great is your power;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And yet you moan your wrongs and sore complain you,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hoping for joy which fadeth every hour.<br /></span> +<span>O spirits, your prison loathe and freedom gain you;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The destinies in deep laments have shut you<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of mortal hate, because they do disdain you,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And yet of joy that they in prison put you.<br /></span> +<span>Earth, take this earth with thee to be enclosed;<br /></span> +<span>Life is to me, and I to it, opposed!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXX<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Weep now no more, mine eyes, but be you drowned<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In your own tears, so many years distilled.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And let her know that at them long hath frowned,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That you can weep no more although she willed;<br /></span> +<span>This hap her cruelty hath her allotten,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Who whilom was commandress of each part;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">That now her proper griefs must be forgotten<br /></span> +<span class="i3">By those true outward signs of inward smart.<br /></span> +<span>For how can he that hath not one tear left him,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Stream out those floods that are due unto her moaning,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">When both of eyes and tears she hath bereft him?<br /></span> +<span class="i3">O yet I'll signify my grief with groaning;<br /></span> +<span>True sighs, true groans shall echo in the air<br /></span> +<span>And say, Fidessa, though most cruel, is most fair!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXXI<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Tongue, never cease to sing Fidessa's praise;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Heart, however she deserve conceive the best;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Eyes, stand amazed to see her beauty's rays;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lips, steal one kiss and be for ever blest;<br /></span> +<span>Hands, touch that hand wherein your life is closed;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Breast, lock up fast in thee thy life's sole treasure;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Arms, still embrace and never be disclosed;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Feet, run to her without or pace or measure;<br /></span> +<span>Tongue, heart, eyes, lips, hands, breast, arms, feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Consent to do true homage to your Queen,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lovely, fair, gentle, wise, virtuous, sober, sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose like shall never be, hath never been!<br /></span> +<span>O that I were all tongue, her praise to shew;<br /></span> +<span>Then surely my poor heart were freed from woe!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXXII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Sore sick of late, nature her due would have,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Great was my pain where still my mind did rest;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No hope but heaven, no comfort but my grave,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which is of comforts both the last and least;<br /></span> +<span>But on a sudden, the Almighty sent<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sweet ease to the distressed and comfortless,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And gave me longer time for to repent,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With health and strength the foes of feebleness;<br /></span> +<span>Yet I my health no sooner 'gan recover,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But my old thoughts, though full of cares, retained,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Made me, as erst, become a wretched lover<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of her that love and lovers aye disdained.<br /></span> +<span>Then was my pain with ease of pain increased,<br /></span> +<span>And I ne'er sick until my sickness ceased.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXXIII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>He that would fain Fidessa's image see,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My face of force may be his looking-glass.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There is she portrayed and her cruelty,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which as a wonder through the world must pass.<br /></span> +<span>But were I dead, she would not be betrayed;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It's I, that 'gainst my will, shall make it known.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her cruelty by me must be bewrayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or I must hide my head and live alone.<br /></span> +<span>I'll pluck my silver hairs from out my head,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And wash away the wrinkles of my face;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Closely immured I'll live as I were dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Before she suffer but the least disgrace.<br /></span> +<span>How can I hide that is already known?<br /></span> +<span>I have been seen and have no face but one.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXXIV<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Fie pleasure, fie! Thou cloy'st me with delight;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sweet thoughts, you kill me if you lower stray!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O many be the joys of one short night!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tush, fancies never can desire allay!<br /></span> +<span>Happy, unhappy thoughts! I think, and have not.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pleasure, O pleasing pain! Shows nought avail me!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mine own conceit doth glad me, more I crave not;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet wanting substance, woe doth still assail me.<br /></span> +<span>Babies do children please, and shadows fools;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shows have deceived the wisest many a time.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ever to want our wish, our courage cools.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The ladder broken, 'tis in vain to climb.<br /></span> +<span>But I must wish, and crave, and seek, and climb;<br /></span> +<span>It's hard if I obtain not grace in time.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXXV<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>I have not spent the April of my time,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sweet of youth in plotting in the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But do at first adventure seek to climb,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whilst flowers of blooming years are green and fair.<br /></span> +<span>I am no leaving of all-withering age,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I have not suffered many winter lours;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I feel no storm unless my love do rage,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And then in grief I spend both days and hours.<br /></span> +<span>This yet doth comfort that my flower lasted<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Until it did approach my sun too near;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And then, alas, untimely was it blasted,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So soon as once thy beauty did appear!<br /></span> +<span>But after all, my comfort rests in this,<br /></span> +<span>That for thy sake my youth decayèd is.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXXVI<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>O let my heart, my body, and my tongue<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bleed forth the lively streams of faith unfeigned,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Worship my saint the gods and saints among,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Praise and extol her fair that me hath pained!<br /></span> +<span>O let the smoke of my suppressed desire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Raked up in ashes of my burning breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Break out at length and to the clouds aspire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Urging the heavens to afford me rest;<br /></span> +<span>But let my body naturally descend<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Into the bowels of our common mother,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And to the very centre let it wend,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When it no lower can, her griefs to smother!<br /></span> +<span>And yet when I so low do buried lie,<br /></span> +<span>Then shall my love ascend unto the sky.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXXVII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Fair is my love that feeds among the lilies,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The lilies growing in that pleasant garden<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where Cupid's mount, that well beloved hill is,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And where that little god himself is warden.<br /></span> +<span>See where my love sits in the beds of spices,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beset all round with camphor, myrrh, and roses,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And interlaced with curious devices,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which her from all the world apart incloses.<br /></span> +<span>There doth she tune her lute for her delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And with sweet music makes the ground to move;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whilst I, poor I, do sit in heavy plight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wailing alone my unrespected love,<br /></span> +<span>Not daring rush into so rare a place,<br /></span> +<span>That gives to her, and she to it, a grace.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXXVIII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Was never eye did see my mistress' face,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was never ear did hear Fidessa's tongue,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was never mind that once did mind her grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That ever thought the travail to be long.<br /></span> +<span>When her I see, no creature I behold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So plainly say these advocates of love,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That now do fear and now to speak are bold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Trembling apace when they resolve to prove.<br /></span> +<span>These strange effects do show a hidden power,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A majesty all base attempts reproving,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That glads or daunts as she doth laugh or lower;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Surely some goddess harbours in their moving<br /></span> +<span>Who thus my Muse from base attempts hath raised,<br /></span> +<span>Whom thus my Muse beyond compare hath praised.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXXIX<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>My lady's hair is threads of beaten gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her front the purest crystal eye hath seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her eyes the brightest stars the heavens hold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her cheeks red roses such as seld have been;<br /></span> +<span>Her pretty lips of red vermillion die,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her hand of ivory the purest white,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her blush Aurora or the morning sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her breast displays two silver fountains bright<br /></span> +<span>The spheres her voice, her grace the Graces three:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her body is the saint that I adore;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her smiles and favours sweet as honey be;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her feet fair Thetis praiseth evermore.<br /></span> +<span>But ah, the worst and last is yet behind,<br /></span> +<span>For of a griffon she doth bear the mind!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XL<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Injurious Fates, to rob me of my bliss,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And dispossess my heart of all his hope!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You ought with just revenge to punish miss,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For unto you the hearts of men are ope.<br /></span> +<span>Injurious Fates, that hardened have her heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet make her face to send out pleasing smiles!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And both are done but to increase my smart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And entertain my love with falsèd wiles.<br /></span> +<span>Yet being when she smiles surprised with joy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I fain would languish in so sweet a pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beseeching death my body to destroy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lest on the sudden she should frown again.<br /></span> +<span>When men do wish for death, Fates have no force;<br /></span> +<span>But they, when men would live, have no remorse.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XLI<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The prison I am in is thy fair face,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wherein my liberty enchainèd lies;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My thoughts, the bolts that hold me in the place;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My food, the pleasing looks of thy fair eyes.<br /></span> +<span>Deep is the prison where I lie enclosed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Strong are the bolts that in this cell contain me;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sharp is the food necessity imposed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When hunger makes me feed on that which pains me.<br /></span> +<span>Yet do I love, embrace, and follow fast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That holds, that keeps, that discontents me most;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And list not break, unlock, or seek to waste<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The place, the bolts, the food, though I be lost;<br /></span> +<span>Better in prison ever to remain,<br /></span> +<span>Than being out to suffer greater pain.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XLII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>When never-speaking silence proves a wonder,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When ever-flying flame at home remaineth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When all-concealing night keeps darkness under,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When men-devouring wrong true glory gaineth,<br /></span> +<span>When soul-tormenting grief agrees with joy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When Lucifer foreruns the baleful night,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When Venus doth forsake her little boy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When her untoward boy obtaineth sight,<br /></span> +<span>When Sisyphus doth cease to roll his stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When Otus shaketh off his heavy chain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When beauty, queen of pleasure, is alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When love and virtue quiet peace disdain;<br /></span> +<span>When these shall be, and I not be,<br /></span> +<span>Then will Fidessa pity me.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XLIII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Tell me of love, sweet Love, who is thy sire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or if thou mortal or immortal be?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some say thou art begotten by desire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nourished with hope, and fed with fantasy,<br /></span> +<span>Engendered by a heavenly goddess' eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lurking most sweetly in an angel's face.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Others, that beauty thee doth deify;—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O sovereign beauty, full of power and grace!—<br /></span> +<span>But I must be absurd all this denying,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Because the fairest fair alive ne'er knew thee.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now, Cupid, comes thy godhead to the trying;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Twas she alone—such is her power—that slew me;<br /></span> +<span>She shall be Love, and thou a foolish boy,<br /></span> +<span>Whose virtue proves thy power is but a toy.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XLIV<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>No choice of change can ever change my mind;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Choiceless my choice, the choicest choice alive;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wonder of women, were she not unkind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The pitiless of pity to deprive.<br /></span> +<span>Yet she, the kindest creature of her kind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Accuseth me of self-ingratitude,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And well she may, sith by good proof I find<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Myself had died, had she not helpful stood.<br /></span> +<span>For when my sickness had the upper hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And death began to show his awful face,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She took great pains my pains for to withstand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And eased my heart that was in heavy case.<br /></span> +<span>But cruel now, she scorneth what it craveth;<br /></span> +<span>Unkind in kindness, murdering while she saveth.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XLV<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Mine eye bewrays the secrets of my heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My heart unfolds his grief before her face;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her face—bewitching pleasure of my smart!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Deigns not one look of mercy and of grace.<br /></span> +<span>My guilty eye of murder and of treason,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Friendly conspirator of my decay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dumb eloquence, the lover's strongest reason!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Doth weep itself for anger quite away,<br /></span> +<span>And chooseth rather not to be, than be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Disloyal, by too well discharging duty;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And being out, joys it no more can see<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sugared charms of all deceiving beauty.<br /></span> +<span>But, for the other greedily doth eye it,<br /></span> +<span>I pray you tell me, what do I get by it?<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XLVI<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>So soon as peeping Lucifer, Aurora's star,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sky with golden periwigs doth spangle;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So soon as Phœbus gives us light from far,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So soon as fowler doth the bird entangle;<br /></span> +<span>Soon as the watchful bird, clock of the morn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gives intimation of the day's appearing;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Soon as the jolly hunter winds his horn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His speech and voice with custom's echo clearing;<br /></span> +<span>Soon as the hungry lion seeks his prey<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In solitary range of pathless mountains;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Soon as the passenger sets on his way,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So soon as beasts resort unto the fountains;<br /></span> +<span>So soon mine eyes their office are discharging,<br /></span> +<span>And I my griefs with greater griefs enlarging.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XLVII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>I see, I hear, I feel, I know, I rue<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My fate, my fame, my pain, my loss, my fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mishap, reproach, disdain, a crown, her hue,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Cruel, still flying, false, fair, funeral,<br /></span> +<span>To cross, to shame, bewitch, deceive, and kill<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My first proceedings in their flowing bloom.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My worthless pen fast chainèd to my will,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My erring life through an uncertain doom,<br /></span> +<span>My thoughts that yet in lowliness do mount,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My heart the subject of her tyranny;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What now remains but her severe account<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of murder's crying guilt, foul butchery!<br /></span> +<span>She was unhappy in her cradle breath,<br /></span> +<span>That given was to be another's death.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XLVIII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>"Murder! O murder!" I can cry no longer.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Murder! O murder!" Is there none to aid me?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Life feeble is in force, death is much stronger;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then let me die that shame may not upbraid me;<br /></span> +<span>Nothing is left me now but shame or death.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I fear she feareth not foul murder's guilt,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor do I fear to lose a servile breath.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I know my blood was given to be spilt.<br /></span> +<span>What is this life but maze of countless strays,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The enemy of true felicity,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fitly compared to dreams, to flowers, to plays!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O life, no life to me, but misery!<br /></span> +<span>Of shame or death, if thou must one,<br /></span> +<span>Make choice of death and both are gone.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XLIX<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>My cruel fortunes clouded with a frown,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lurk in the bosom of eternal night;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My climbing thoughts are basely haulèd down;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My best devices prove but after-sight.<br /></span> +<span>Poor outcast of the world's exilèd room,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I live in wilderness of deep lament;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No hope reserved me but a hopeless tomb,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When fruitless life and fruitful woes are spent.<br /></span> +<span>Shall Phœbus hinder little stars to shine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or lofty cedar mushrooms leave to grow?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sure mighty men at little ones repine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The rich is to the poor a common foe.<br /></span> +<span>Fidessa, seeing how the world doth go,<br /></span> +<span>Joineth with fortune in my overthrow.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>L<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>When I the hooks of pleasure first devoured,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which undigested threaten now to choke me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fortune on me her golden graces showered;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O then delight did to delight provoke me!<br /></span> +<span>Delight, false instrument of my decay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Delight, the nothing that doth all things move,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Made me first wander from the perfect way,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And fast entangled me in the snares of love.<br /></span> +<span>Then my unhappy happiness at first began,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Happy in that I loved the fairest fair;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unhappily despised, a hapless man;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus joy did triumph, triumph did despair.<br /></span> +<span>My conquest is—which shall the conquest gain?—<br /></span> +<span>Fidessa, author both of joy and pain!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>LI<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Work, work apace, you blessed sisters three,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In restless twining of my fatal thread!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O let your nimble hands at once agree,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To weave it out and cut it off with speed!<br /></span> +<span>Then shall my vexèd and tormented ghost<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Have quiet passage to the Elysian rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And sweetly over death and fortune boast<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In everlasting triumphs with the blest.<br /></span> +<span>But ah, too well I know you have conspired<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A lingering death for him that loatheth life,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As if with woes he never could be tired.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For this you hide your all-dividing knife.<br /></span> +<span>One comfort yet the heavens have assigned me;<br /></span> +<span>That I must die and leave my griefs behind me.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>LII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>It is some comfort to the wrongèd man,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The wronger of injustice to upbraid.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Justly myself herein I comfort can,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And justly call her an ungrateful maid.<br /></span> +<span>Thus am I pleased to rid myself of crime<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And stop the mouth of all-reporting fame,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Counting my greatest cross the loss of time<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And all my private grief her public shame.<br /></span> +<span>Ah, but to speak the truth, hence are my cares,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And in this comfort all discomfort resteth;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My harms I cause her scandal unawares;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus love procures the thing that love detesteth.<br /></span> +<span>For he that views the glasses of my smart<br /></span> +<span>Must need report she hath a flinty heart.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>LIII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>I was a king of sweet content at least,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But now from out my kingdom banished;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I was chief guest at fair dame pleasure's feast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But now I am for want of succour famished;<br /></span> +<span>I was a saint and heaven was my rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But now cast down into the lowest hell.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Vile caitiffs may not live among the blest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor blessed men amongst cursed caitiffs dwell.<br /></span> +<span>Thus am I made an exile of a king;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus choice of meats to want of food is changed;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus heaven's loss doth hellish torments bring;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Self crosses make me from myself estranged.<br /></span> +<span>Yet am I still the same but made another;<br /></span> +<span>Then not the same; alas, I am no other!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>LIV<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>If great Apollo offered as a dower<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His burning throne to beauty's excellence;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If Jove himself came in a golden shower<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Down to the earth to fetch fair Io thence;<br /></span> +<span>If Venus in the curlèd locks was tied<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of proud Adonis not of gentle kind;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If Tellus for a shepherd's favour died,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The favour cruel Love to her assigned;<br /></span> +<span>If Heaven's winged herald Hermes had<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His heart enchanted with a country maid;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If poor Pygmalion was for beauty mad;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If gods and men have all for beauty strayed:<br /></span> +<span>I am not then ashamed to be included<br /></span> +<span>'Mongst those that love, and be with love deluded.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>LV<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>O, No, I dare not! O, I may not speak!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yes, yes, I dare, I can, I must, I will!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then heart, pour forth thy plaints and do not break;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let never fancy manly courage kill;<br /></span> +<span>Intreat her mildly, words have pleasing charms<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of force to move the most obdurate heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To take relenting pity of my harms,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And with unfeignèd tears to wail my smart.<br /></span> +<span>Is she a stock, a block, a stone, a flint?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hath she nor ears to hear nor eyes to see?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If so my cries, my prayers, my tears shall stint!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lord! how can lovers so bewitchèd be!<br /></span> +<span>I took her to be beauty's queen alone;<br /></span> +<span>But now I see she is a senseless stone.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>LVI<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Is trust betrayed? Doth kindness grow unkind?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Can beauty both at once give life and kill?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall fortune alter the most constant mind?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Will reason yield unto rebelling will?<br /></span> +<span>Doth fancy purchase praise, and virtue shame?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May show of goodness lurk in treachery?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hath truth unto herself procurèd blame?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Must sacred muses suffer misery?<br /></span> +<span>Are women woe to men, traps for their falls?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Differ their words, their deeds, their looks, their lives?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Have lovers ever been their tennis balls?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Be husbands fearful of the chastest wives?<br /></span> +<span>All men do these affirm, and so must I,<br /></span> +<span>Unless Fidessa give to me the lie.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>LVII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Three playfellows—such three were never seen<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In Venus' court—upon a summer's day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Met altogether on a pleasant green,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Intending at some pretty game to play.<br /></span> +<span>They Dian, Cupid, and Fidessa were.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their wager, beauty, bow, and cruelty;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The conqueress the stakes away did bear.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose fortune then was it to win all three?<br /></span> +<span>Fidessa, which doth these as weapons use,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To make the greatest heart her will obey;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And yet the most obedient to refuse<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As having power poor lovers to betray.<br /></span> +<span>With these she wounds, she heals, gives life and death;<br /></span> +<span>More power hath none that lives by mortal breath.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>LVIII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>O beauty, siren! kept with Circe's rod;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The fairest good in seem but foulest ill;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sweetest plague ordained for man by God,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The pleasing subject of presumptuous will;<br /></span> +<span>Th' alluring object of unstayèd eyes;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Friended of all, but unto all a foe;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The dearest thing that any creature buys,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And vainest too, it serves but for a show;<br /></span> +<span>In seem a heaven, and yet from bliss exiling;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Paying for truest service nought but pain;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Young men's undoing, young and old beguiling;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Man's greatest loss though thought his greatest gain!<br /></span> +<span>True, that all this with pain enough I prove;<br /></span> +<span>And yet most true, I will Fidessa love.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>LIX<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Do I unto a cruel tiger play,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That preys on me as wolf upon the lambs,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who fear the danger both of night and day<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And run for succour to their tender dams?<br /></span> +<span>Yet will I pray, though she be ever cruel,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On bended knee and with submissive heart.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She is the fire and I must be the fuel;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She must inflict and I endure the smart.<br /></span> +<span>She must, she shall be mistress of her will,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I, poor I, obedient to the same;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As fit to suffer death as she to kill;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As ready to be blamed as she to blame.<br /></span> +<span>And for I am the subject of her ire,<br /></span> +<span>All men shall know thereby my love entire.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>LX<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>O let me sigh, weep, wail, and cry no more;<br /></span> +<span>Or let me sigh, weep, wail, cry more and more!<br /></span> +<span>Yea, let me sigh, weep, wail, cry evermore,<br /></span> +<span>For she doth pity my complaints no more<br /></span> +<span>Than cruel pagan or the savage Moor;<br /></span> +<span>But still doth add unto my torments more,<br /></span> +<span>Which grievous are to me by so much more<br /></span> +<span>As she inflicts them and doth wish them more.<br /></span> +<span>O let thy mercy, merciless, be never more!<br /></span> +<span>So shall sweet death to me be welcome, more<br /></span> +<span>Than is to hungry beasts the grassy moor,<br /></span> +<span>As she that to affliction adds yet more,<br /></span> +<span>Becomes more cruel by still adding more!<br /></span> +<span>Weary am I to speak of this word "more;"<br /></span> +<span>Yet never weary she, to plague me more!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>LXI<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Fidessa's worth in time begetteth praise;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Time, praise; praise, fame; fame, wonderment;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wonder, fame, praise, time, her worth do raise<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To highest pitch of dread astonishment.<br /></span> +<span>Yet time in time her hardened heart bewrayeth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And praise itself her cruelty dispraiseth.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So that through praise, alas, her praise decayeth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And that which makes it fall her honour raiseth!<br /></span> +<span>Most strange, yet true! So wonder, wonder still,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And follow fast the wonder of these days;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For well I know all wonder to fulfil<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her will at length unto my will obeys.<br /></span> +<span>Meantime let others praise her constancy,<br /></span> +<span>And me attend upon her clemency.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>LXII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Most true that I must fair Fidessa love.<br /></span> +<span>Most true that fair Fidessa cannot love.<br /></span> +<span>Most true that I do feel the pains of love.<br /></span> +<span>Most true that I am captive unto love.<br /></span> +<span>Most true that I deluded am with love.<br /></span> +<span>Most true that I do find the sleights of love.<br /></span> +<span>Most true that nothing can procure her love.<br /></span> +<span>Most true that I must perish in my love.<br /></span> +<span>Most true that she contemns the god of love.<br /></span> +<span>Most true that he is snarèd with her love.<br /></span> +<span>Most true that she would have me cease to love.<br /></span> +<span>Most true that she herself alone is love.<br /></span> +<span>Most true that though she hated, I would love.<br /></span> +<span>Most true that dearest life shall end with love.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p class="center">FINIS</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>Talis apud tales, talis sub tempore tali:</i><br /></span> +<span><i>Subque meo tali judice, talis ero.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHLORIS</h2> + +<h2>OR, THE COMPLAINT OF THE PASSIONATE DESPISED SHEPHERD</h2> + + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>WILLIAM SMITH</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="WILLIAM_SMITH" id="WILLIAM_SMITH"></a>WILLIAM SMITH</h2> + + +<p>The sub-title of <i>Chloris</i> arouses an expectation that is gratified in +the pastoral modishness of the sonnets. Corin sits under the "lofty +pines, co-partners of his woe," with oaten reed at his lips, and calls +on sylvans, lambkins and all Parnassans to testify to the beauty and +cruelty of Chloris. The attitude is a self-conscious one, yet the poem +reveals little of the personality of the author beyond the facts of his +youthfulness and of his devotion to "the most excellent and learned +Shepheard, Colin Cloute." It was in 1595, but one year before the +publication of <i>Chloris</i>, that Spenser had sung his own sonnets of true +love, and it is perhaps on this account that William Smith finds him in +a mood favourable to the defence of a young aspirant. At any rate, the +language of the dedication rings with something more than mere desire +for distinguished patronage. The youth looks with a beautiful humility +upward toward the greater but "dear and most entire beloved" poet. His +own sonnets, he says, are "of my study the budding springs"; they are +but "young-hatched orphan things." He nowhere boasts that they will give +immortal renown to the scornful beauty, but modestly promises that if +her cruel disdain does not ruin him, the time shall come when he "more +large" her "praises forth shall pen." Chloris had once been favourable, +as sonnet forty-eight distinctly shows, but the cycle does not bring any +happy conclusion to the story. Corin is left weeping but faithful, and +the picture of Chloris is composed of such faint outlines only as the +sonneteer's conventions can delineate. Beyond this no certain +information in regard to poet or honoured lady has yet been unearthed.</p> + +<p>For all its formality, however, the sonnet-cycle is not wanting in +touches of real feeling and lines of musical sweetness; the writer shows +considerable skill in the management of rime, and in structure he +adopts the form preferred by Shakespeare, whose "sugared sonnets" may by +this date have passed beneath his eye. The melodies piped by other +sonnet-shepherds re-echo with a great deal of distinctness in Covin's +strains; nevertheless he has himself taken a draught from the true +Elizabethan fount of lyric inspiration, and the nymph Chloris with her +heart-robbing eye well deserves a place on the snow-soft downs where the +sonneteering shepherds were wont to assemble.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>TO THE MOST EXCELLENT AND LEARNED SHEPHERD COLIN CLOUT</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>I<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Colin my dear and most entire beloved,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My muse audacious stoops her pitch to thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Desiring that thy patience be not moved<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By these rude lines, written here you see;<br /></span> +<span>Fain would my muse whom cruel love hath wronged,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shroud her love labours under thy protection,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I myself with ardent zeal have longed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That thou mightst know to thee my true affection.<br /></span> +<span>Therefore, good Colin, graciously accept<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A few sad sonnets which my muse hath framed;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though they but newly from the shell are crept,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Suffer them not by envy to be blamed,<br /></span> +<span>But underneath the shadow of thy wings<br /></span> +<span>Give warmth to these young-hatchèd orphan things.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>II<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Give warmth to these young-hatchèd orphan things,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which chill with cold to thee for succour creep;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They of my study are the budding springs;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Longer I cannot them in silence keep.<br /></span> +<span>They will be gadding sore against my mind.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But courteous shepherd, if they run astray,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Conduct them that they may the pathway find,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And teach them how the mean observe they may.<br /></span> +<span>Thou shalt them ken by their discording notes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their weeds are plain, such as poor shepherds wear;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unshapen, torn, and ragged are their coats,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet forth they wand'ring are devoid of fear.<br /></span> +<span>They which have tasted of the muses' spring,<br /></span> +<span>I hope will smile upon the tunes they sing.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>TO ALL SHEPHERDS IN GENERAL<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>You whom the world admires for rarest style,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You which have sung the sonnets of true love,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon my maiden verse with favour smile,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose weak-penned muse to fly too soon doth prove;<br /></span> +<span>Before her feathers have their full perfection,<br /></span> +<span>She soars aloft, pricked on by blind affection.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>You whose deep wits, ingine, and industry,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The everlasting palm of praise have won,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You paragons of learnèd poesy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Favour these mists, which fall before your sun,<br /></span> +<span>Intentions leading to a more effect<br /></span> +<span>If you them grace but with your mild aspect.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>And thou the Genius of my ill-tuned note,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose beauty urgèd hath my rustic vein<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through mighty oceans of despair to float,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That I in rime thy cruelty complain:<br /></span> +<span>Vouchsafe to read these lines both harsh and bad<br /></span> +<span>Nuntiates of woe with sorrow being clad.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHLORIS</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>I<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Courteous Calliope, vouchsafe to lend<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy helping hand to my untunèd song,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And grace these lines which I to write pretend,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Compelled by love which doth poor Corin wrong.<br /></span> +<span>And those thy sacred sisters I beseech,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which on Parnassus' mount do ever dwell,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To shield my country muse and rural speech<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By their divine authority and spell.<br /></span> +<span>Lastly to thee, O Pan, the shepherds' king,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And you swift-footed Dryades I call;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Attend to hear a swain in verse to sing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sonnets of her that keeps his heart in thrall!<br /></span> +<span>O Chloris, weigh the task I undertake!<br /></span> +<span>Thy beauty subject of my song I make.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>II<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Thy beauty subject of my song I make,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O fairest fair, on whom depends my life!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Refuse not then the task I undertake,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To please thy rage and to appease my strife;<br /></span> +<span>But with one smile remunerate my toil,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">None other guerdon I of thee desire.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Give not my lowly muse new-hatched the foil,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But warmth that she may at the length aspire<br /></span> +<span>Unto the temples of thy star-bright eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon whose round orbs perfect beauty sits,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From whence such glorious crystal beams arise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As best my Chloris' seemly face befits;<br /></span> +<span>Which eyes, which beauty, which bright crystal beam,<br /></span> +<span>Which face of thine hath made my love extreme.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>III<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Feed, silly sheep, although your keeper pineth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet like to Tantalus doth see his food.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Skip you and leap, no bright Apollo shineth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whilst I bewail my sorrows in yon wood,<br /></span> +<span>Where woeful Philomela doth record,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And sings with notes of sad and dire lament<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The tragedy wrought by her sisters' lord;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I'll bear a part in her black discontent.<br /></span> +<span>That pipe which erst was wont to make you glee<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon these downs whereon you careless graze,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall to her mournful music tunèd be.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let not my plaints, poor lambkins, you amaze;<br /></span> +<span>There underneath that dark and dusky bower,<br /></span> +<span>Whole showers of tears to Chloris I will pour.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>IV<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Whole showers of tears to Chloris I will pour,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As true oblations of my sincere love,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If that will not suffice, most fairest flower,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then shall my sighs thee unto pity move.<br /></span> +<span>If neither tears nor sighs can aught prevail,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My streaming blood thine anger shall appease,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This hand of mine by vigour shall assail<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To tear my heart asunder thee to please.<br /></span> +<span>Celestial powers on you I invocate;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You know the chaste affections of my mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I never did my faith yet violate;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Why should my Chloris then be so unkind?<br /></span> +<span>That neither tears, nor sighs, nor streaming blood,<br /></span> +<span>Can unto mercy move her cruel mood.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>V<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>You fawns and silvans, when my Chloris brings<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her flocks to water in your pleasant plains,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Solicit her to pity Corin's strings,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The smart whereof for her he still sustains.<br /></span> +<span>For she is ruthless of my woeful song;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My oaten reed she not delights to hear.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O Chloris, Chloris! Corin thou dost wrong,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who loves thee better than his own heart dear.<br /></span> +<span>The flames of Aetna are not half so hot<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As is the fire which thy disdain hath bread.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ah cruel fates, why do you then besot<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Poor Corin's soul with love, when love is fled?<br /></span> +<span>Either cause cruel Chloris to relent,<br /></span> +<span>Or let me die upon the wound she sent!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>VI<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>You lofty pines, co-partners of my woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When Chloris sitteth underneath your shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To her those sighs and tears I pray you show,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whilst you attending I for her have made.<br /></span> +<span>Whilst you attending, droppèd have sweet balm<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In token that you pity my distress,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Zephirus hath your stately boughs made calm.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whilst I to you my sorrows did express,<br /></span> +<span>The neighbour mountains bended have their tops,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When they have heard my rueful melody,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And elves in rings about me leaps and hops,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To frame my passions to their jollity.<br /></span> +<span>Resounding echoes from their obscure caves,<br /></span> +<span>Reiterate what most my fancy craves.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>VII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>What need I mourn, seeing Pan our sacred king<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was of that nymph fair Syrinx coy disdained?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The world's great light which comforteth each thing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All comfortless for Daphne's sake remained.<br /></span> +<span>If gods can find no help to heal the sore<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Made by love's shafts, which pointed are with fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unhappy Corin, then thy chance deplore,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sith they despair by wanting their desire.<br /></span> +<span>I am not Pan though I a shepherd be,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet is my love as fair as Syrinx was.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My songs cannot with Phœbus' tunes agree,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet Chloris' doth his Daphne's far surpass.<br /></span> +<span>How much more fair by so much more unkind,<br /></span> +<span>Than Syrinx coy, or Daphne, I her find!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>VIII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>No sooner had fair Phœbus trimmed his car,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Being newly risen from Aurora's bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But I in whom despair and hope did war,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My unpenned flock unto the mountains led.<br /></span> +<span>Tripping upon the snow-soft downs I spied<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Three nymphs more fairer than those beautys three<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which did appear to Paris on mount Ide.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Coming more near, my goddess I there see;<br /></span> +<span>For she the field-nymphs oftentimes doth haunt,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To hunt with them the fierce and savage boar;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And having sported virelays they chaunt,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whilst I unhappy helpless cares deplore.<br /></span> +<span>There did I call to her, ah too unkind!<br /></span> +<span>But tiger-like, of me she had no mind.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>IX<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Unto the fountain where fair Delia chaste<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The proud Acteon turnèd to a hart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I drove my flock, that water sweet to taste,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Cause from the welkin Phœbus 'gan depart.<br /></span> +<span>There did I see the nymph whom I admire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rememb'ring her locks, of which the yellow hue<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Made blush the beauties of her curlèd wire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which Jove himself with wonder well might view;<br /></span> +<span>Then red with ire, her tresses she berent,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And weeping hid the beauty of her face,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whilst I amazèd at her discontent,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With tears and sighs do humbly sue for grace;<br /></span> +<span>But she regarding neither tears nor moan,<br /></span> +<span>Flies from the fountain leaving me alone.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>X<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Am I a Gorgon that she doth me fly,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or was I hatchèd in the river Nile?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or doth my Chloris stand in doubt that I<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With syren songs do seek her to beguile?<br /></span> +<span>If any one of these she can object<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Gainst me, which chaste affected love protest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then might my fortunes by her frowns be checked,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And blameless she from scandal free might rest.<br /></span> +<span>But seeing I am no hideous monster born,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But have that shape which other men do bear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which form great Jupiter did never scorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Amongst his subjects here on earth to wear,<br /></span> +<span>Why should she then that soul with sorrow fill,<br /></span> +<span>Which vowèd hath to love and serve her still?<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XI<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Tell me, my dear, what moves thy ruthless mind<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To be so cruel, seeing thou art so fair?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Did nature frame thy beauty so unkind?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or dost thou scorn to pity my despair?<br /></span> +<span>O no, it was not nature's ornament,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But wingèd love's unpartial cruel wound,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which in my heart is ever permanent,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Until my Chloris make me whole and sound.<br /></span> +<span>O glorious love-god, think on my heart's grief;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let not thy vassal pine through deep disdain;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By wounding Chloris I shall find relief,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If thou impart to her some of my pain.<br /></span> +<span>She doth thy temples and thy shrines abject;<br /></span> +<span>They with Amintas' flowers by me are decked.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Cease, eyes, to weep sith none bemoans your weeping;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Leave off, good muse, to sound the cruel name<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of my love's queen which hath my heart in keeping,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet of my love doth make a jesting game!<br /></span> +<span>Long hath my sufferance laboured to inforce<br /></span> +<span class="i2">One pearl of pity from her pretty eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whilst I with restless oceans of remorse<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bedew the banks where my fair Chloris lies,<br /></span> +<span>Where my fair Chloris bathes her tender skin,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And doth triumph to see such rivers fall<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From those moist springs, which never dry have been<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Since she their honour hath detained in thrall;<br /></span> +<span>And still she scorns one favouring smile to show<br /></span> +<span>Unto those waves proceeding from my woe.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XIII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span><i>A Dream</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>What time fair Titan in the zenith sat,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And equally the fixèd poles did heat,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When to my flock my daily woes I chat,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And underneath a broad beech took my seat,<br /></span> +<span>The dreaming god which Morpheus poets call,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Augmenting fuel to my Aetna's fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With sleep possessing my weak senses all,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In apparitions makes my hopes aspire.<br /></span> +<span>Methought I saw the nymph I would imbrace,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With arms abroad coming to me for help,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A lust-led satyr having her in chase<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which after her about the fields did yelp.<br /></span> +<span>I seeing my love in perplexèd plight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A sturdy bat from off an oak I reft,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And with the ravisher continue fight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till breathless I upon the earth him left.<br /></span> +<span>Then when my coy nymph saw her breathless foe,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With kisses kind she gratifies my pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Protesting never rigour more to show.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Happy was I this good hap to obtain;<br /></span> +<span>But drowsy slumbers flying to their cell,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My sudden joy converted was to bale;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My wonted sorrows still with me do dwell.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I lookèd round about on hill and dale,<br /></span> +<span>But I could neither my fair Chloris view,<br /></span> +<span>Nor yet the satyr which erstwhile I slew.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XIV<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Mournful Amintas, thou didst pine with care,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Because the fates by their untimely doom<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of life bereft thy loving Phillis fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When thy love's spring did first begin to bloom.<br /></span> +<span>My care doth countervail that care of thine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And yet my Chloris draws her angry breath;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My hopes still hoping hopeless now repine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For living she doth add to me but death.<br /></span> +<span>Thy Phinis, dying, lovèd thee full dear;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My Chloris, living, hates poor Corin's love,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus doth my woe as great as thine appear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though sundry accents both our sorrows move.<br /></span> +<span>Thy swan-like songs did show thy dying anguish;<br /></span> +<span>These weeping truce-men show I living languish.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XV<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>These weeping truce-men show I living languish,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My woeful wailings tells my discontent;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet Chloris nought esteemeth of mine anguish,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My thrilling throbs her heart cannot relent.<br /></span> +<span>My kids to hear the rimes and roundelays<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which I on wasteful hills was wont to sing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Did more delight the lark in summer days,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose echo made the neighbour groves to ring.<br /></span> +<span>But now my flock all drooping bleats and cries,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Because my pipe, the author of their sport,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All rent and torn and unrespected lies;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their lamentations do my cares consort.<br /></span> +<span>They cease to feed and listen to the plaint<br /></span> +<span>Which I pour forth unto a cruel saint.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XVI<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Which I pour forth unto a cruel saint,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who merciless my prayers doth attend,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who tiger-like doth pity my complaint,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And never ear unto my woes will lend!<br /></span> +<span>But still false hope dispairing life deludes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And tells my fancy I shall grace obtain;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But Chloris fair my orisons concludes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With fearful frowns, presagers of my pain.<br /></span> +<span>Thus do I spend the weary wand'ring day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oppressèd with a chaos of heart's grief;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus I consume the obscure night away,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Neglecting sleep which brings all cares relief;<br /></span> +<span>Thus do I pass my ling'ring life in woe;<br /></span> +<span>But when my bliss will come I do not know.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XVII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The perils which Leander took in hand<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fair Hero's love and favour to obtain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When void of fear securely leaving land,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through Hellespont he swam to Cestos' main,<br /></span> +<span>His dangers should not counterpoise my toil,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If my dear love would once but pity show,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To quench these flames which in my breast do broil,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or dry these springs which from mine eyes do flow.<br /></span> +<span>Not only Hellespont but ocean seas,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For her sweet sake to ford I would attempt,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So that my travels would her ire appease,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My soul from thrall and languish to exempt.<br /></span> +<span>O what is't not poor I would undertake,<br /></span> +<span>If labour could my peace with Chloris make!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XVIII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>My love, I cannot thy rare beauties place<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Under those forms which many writers use:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some like to stones compare their mistress' face;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some in the name of flowers do love abuse;<br /></span> +<span>Some makes their love a goldsmith's shop to be,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where orient pearls and precious stones abound;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In my conceit these far do disagree<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The perfect praise of beauty forth to sound.<br /></span> +<span>O Chloris, thou dost imitate thyself,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Self's imitating passeth precious stones,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or all the eastern Indian golden pelf;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy red and white with purest fair atones;<br /></span> +<span>Matchless for beauty nature hath thee framed,<br /></span> +<span>Only unkind and cruel thou art named!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XIX<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The hound by eating grass doth find relief,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For being sick it is his choicest meat;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The wounded hart doth ease his pain and grief<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If he the herb dictamion may eat;<br /></span> +<span>The loathsome snake renews his sight again,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When he casts off his withered coat and hue;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sky-bred eagle fresh age doth obtain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When he his beak decayed doth renew.<br /></span> +<span>I worse than these whose sore no salve can cure,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose grief no herb nor plant nor tree can ease;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Remediless, I still must pain endure,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till I my Chloris' furious mood can please;<br /></span> +<span>She like the scorpion gave to me a wound,<br /></span> +<span>And like the scorpion she must make me sound.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XX<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Ye wasteful woods, bear witness of my woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wherein my plaints did oftentimes abound;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ye careless birds my sorrows well do know,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They in your songs were wont to make a sound!<br /></span> +<span>Thou pleasant spring canst record likewise bear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of my designs and sad disparagement,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When thy transparent billows mingled were<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With those downfalls which from mine eyes were sent!<br /></span> +<span>The echo of my still-lamenting cries,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From hollow vaults in treble voice resoundeth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And then into the empty air it flies,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And back again from whence it came reboundeth.<br /></span> +<span>That nymph unto my clamors doth reply,<br /></span> +<span>Being likewise scorned in love as well as I.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXI<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Being likewise scorned in love as well as I<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By that self-loving boy, which did disdain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To hear her after him for love to cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For which in dens obscure she doth remain;<br /></span> +<span>Yet doth she answer to each speech and voice,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And renders back the last of what we speak,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But specially, if she might have her choice,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She of unkindness would her talk forth break.<br /></span> +<span>She loves to hear of love's most sacred name,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Although, poor nymph, in love she was despised;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And ever since she hides her head for shame,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That her true meaning was so lightly prised;<br /></span> +<span>She pitying me, part of my woes doth bear,<br /></span> +<span>As you, good shepherds, listening now shall hear.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>O fairest fair, to thee I make my plaint,<br /></span> +<span class="i22">(<i>my plaint</i>)<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To thee from whom my cause of grief doth spring;<br /></span> +<span class="i22">(<i>doth spring</i>)<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Attentive be unto the groans, sweet saint,<br /></span> +<span class="i22">(<i>sweet saint</i>)<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which unto thee in doleful tunes I sing.<br /></span> +<span class="i22">(<i>I sing</i>)<br /></span> +<span>My mournful muse doth always speak of thee;<br /></span> +<span class="i22">(<i>of thee</i>)<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My love is pure, O do it not disdain!<br /></span> +<span class="i22">(<i>disdain</i>)<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With bitter sorrow still oppress not me,<br /></span> +<span class="i22">(<i>not me</i>)<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But mildly look upon me which complain.<br /></span> +<span class="i22">(<i>which complain</i>)<br /></span> +<span>Kill not my true-affecting thoughts, but give<br /></span> +<span class="i22">(<i>but give</i>)<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Such precious balm of comfort to my heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i22">(<i>my heart</i>)<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That casting off despair in hope to live,<br /></span> +<span class="i22">(<i>hope to live</i>)<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I may find help at length to ease my smart.<br /></span> +<span class="i22">(<i>to ease my smart</i>)<br /></span> +<span>So shall you add such courage to my love,<br /></span> +<span class="i22">(<i>my love</i>)<br /></span> +<span>That fortune false my faith shall not remove.<br /></span> +<span class="i22">(<i>shall not remove</i>)<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXIII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The phœnix fair which rich Arabia breeds,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When wasting time expires her tragedy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No more on Phœbus' radiant rays she feeds,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But heapeth up great store of spicery;<br /></span> +<span>And on a lofty towering cedar tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With heavenly substance she herself consumes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From whence she young again appears to be,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Out of the cinders of her peerless plumes.<br /></span> +<span>So I which long have frièd in love's flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The fire not made of spice but sighs and tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Revive again in hope disdain to shame,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And put to flight the author of my fears.<br /></span> +<span>Her eyes revive decaying life in me,<br /></span> +<span>Though they augmenters of my thraldom be.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXIV<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Though they augmenters of my thraldom be,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For her I live and her I love and none else;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O then, fair eyes, look mildly upon me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who poor, despised, forlorn must live alone else,<br /></span> +<span>And like Amintas haunt the desert cells,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And moanless there breathe out thy cruelty,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where none but care and melancholy dwells.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I for revenge to Nemesis will cry;<br /></span> +<span>If that will not prevail, my wandering ghost,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which breathless here this love-scorched trunk shall leave,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall unto thee with tragic tidings post,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How thy disdain did life from soul bereave.<br /></span> +<span>Then all too late my death thou wilt repent,<br /></span> +<span>When murther's guilt thy conscience shall torment.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXV<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Who doth not know that love is triumphant,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sitting upon the throne of majesty?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The gods themselves his cruel darts do daunt,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And he, blind boy, smiles at their misery.<br /></span> +<span>Love made great Jove ofttimes transform his shape;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Love made the fierce Alcides stoop at last;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Achilles, stout and bold, could not escape<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The direful doom which love upon him cast;<br /></span> +<span>Love made Leander pass the dreadful flood<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which Cestos from Abydos doth divide;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Love made a chaos where proud Ilion stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through love the Carthaginian Dido died.<br /></span> +<span>Thus may we see how love doth rule and reigns,<br /></span> +<span>Bringing those under which his power disdains.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXVI<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Though you be fair and beautiful withal,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I am black for which you me despise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Know that your beauty subject is to fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though you esteem it at so high a price.<br /></span> +<span>And time may come when that whereof you boast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which is your youth's chief wealth and ornament,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall withered be by winter's raging frost,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When beauty's pride and flowering years are spent.<br /></span> +<span>Then wilt thou mourn when none shall thee respect;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then wilt thou think how thou hast scorned my tears;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then pitiless each one will thee neglect,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When hoary grey shall dye thy yellow hairs;<br /></span> +<span>Then wilt thou think upon poor Corin's case,<br /></span> +<span>Who loved thee dear, yet lived in thy disgrace.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXVII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>O Love, leave off with sorrow to torment me;<br /></span> +<span>Let my heart's grief and pining pain content thee!<br /></span> +<span>The breach is made, I give thee leave to enter;<br /></span> +<span>Thee to resist, great god, I dare not venter!<br /></span> +<span>Restless desire doth aggravate mine anguish,<br /></span> +<span>Careful conceits do fill my soul with languish.<br /></span> +<span>Be not too cruel in thy conquest gained,<br /></span> +<span>Thy deadly shafts hath victory obtained;<br /></span> +<span>Batter no more my fort with fierce affection,<br /></span> +<span>But shield me captive under thy protection.<br /></span> +<span>I yield to thee, O Love, thou art the stronger,<br /></span> +<span>Raise then thy siege and trouble me no longer!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXVIII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>What cruel star or fate had domination<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When I was born, that thus my love is crossed?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or from what planet had I derivation<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That thus my life in seas of woe is crossed?<br /></span> +<span>Doth any live that ever had such hap<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That all their actions are of none effect,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whom fortune never dandled in her lap<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But as an abject still doth me reject?<br /></span> +<span>Ah tickle dame! and yet thou constant art<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My daily grief and anguish to increase,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And to augment the troubles of my heart<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou of these bonds wilt never me release;<br /></span> +<span>So that thy darlings me to be may know<br /></span> +<span>The true idea of all worldly woe.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXIX<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Some in their hearts their mistress' colours bears;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some hath her gloves, some other hath her garters,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some in a bracelet wears her golden hairs,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And some with kisses seal their loving charters.<br /></span> +<span>But I which never favour reapèd yet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor had one pleasant look from her fair brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Content myself in silent shade to sit<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In hope at length my cares to overplow.<br /></span> +<span>Meanwhile mine eyes shall feed on her fair face,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My sighs shall tell to her my sad designs,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My painful pen shall ever sue for grace<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To help my heart, which languishing now pines;<br /></span> +<span>And I will triumph still amidst my woe<br /></span> +<span>Till mercy shall my sorrows overflow.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXX<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The raging sea within his limits lies<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And with an ebb his flowing doth discharge;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The rivers when beyond their bounds they rise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Themselves do empty in the ocean large;<br /></span> +<span>But my love's sea which never limit keepeth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which never ebbs but always ever floweth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In liquid salt unto my Chloris weepeth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet frustrate are the tears which he bestoweth.<br /></span> +<span>This sea which first was but a little spring<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is now so great and far beyond all reason,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That it a deluge to my thoughts doth bring,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which overwhelmed hath my joying season.<br /></span> +<span>So hard and dry is my saint's cruel mind,<br /></span> +<span>These waves no way in her to sink can find.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXXI<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>These waves no way in her to sink can find<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To penetrate the pith of contemplation;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">These tears cannot dissolve her hardened mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor move her heart on me to take compassion;<br /></span> +<span>O then, poor Corin, scorned and quite despised,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Loathe now to live since life procures thy woe;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Enough, thou hast thy heart anatomised,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For her sweet sake which will no pity show;<br /></span> +<span>But as cold winter's storms and nipping frost<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Can never change sweet Aramanthus' hue,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So though my love and life by her are crossed.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My heart shall still be constant firm and true.<br /></span> +<span>Although Erynnis hinders Hymen's rites,<br /></span> +<span>My fixèd faith against oblivion fights.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXXII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>My fixèd faith against oblivion fights,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I cannot forget her, pretty elf,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Although she cruel be unto my plights;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet let me rather clean forget myself,<br /></span> +<span>Then her sweet name out of my mind should go,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which is th' elixir of my pining soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From whence the essence of my life doth flow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose beauty rare my senses all control;<br /></span> +<span>Themselves most happy evermore accounting,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That such a nymph is queen of their affection,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With ravished rage they to the skies are mounting,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Esteeming not their thraldom nor subjection;<br /></span> +<span>But still do joy amidst their misery,<br /></span> +<span>With patience bearing love's captivity.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXXIII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>With patience bearing love's captivity,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Themselves unguilty of his wrath alleging;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">These homely lines, abjects of poesy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For liberty and for their ransom pledging,<br /></span> +<span>And being free they solemnly do vow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Under his banner ever arms to bear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Against those rebels which do disallow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That love of bliss should be the sovereign heir;<br /></span> +<span>And Chloris if these weeping truce-men may<br /></span> +<span class="i2">One spark of pity from thine eyes obtain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In recompense of their sad heavy lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Poor Corin shall thy faithful friend remain;<br /></span> +<span>And what I say I ever will approve,<br /></span> +<span>No joy may be comparèd to thy love!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXXIV<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The bird of Thrace which doth bewail her rape,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And murthered Itys eaten by his sire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When she her woes in doleful tunes doth shape,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She sets her breast against a thorny briar;<br /></span> +<span>Because care-charmer sleep should not disturb<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The tragic tale which to the night she tells,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She doth her rest and quietness thus curb<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Amongst the groves where secret silence dwells:<br /></span> +<span>Even so I wake, and waking wail all night;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Chloris' unkindness slumbers doth expel;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I need not thorn's sweet sleep to put to flight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her cruelty my golden rest doth quell,<br /></span> +<span>That day and night to me are always one,<br /></span> +<span>Consumed in woe, in tears, in sighs and moan.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXXV<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Like to the shipman in his brittle boat.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tossèd aloft by the unconstant wind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By dangerous rocks and whirling gulfs doth float,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hoping at length the wishèd port to find;<br /></span> +<span>So doth my love in stormy billows sail,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And passeth the gaping Scilla's waves,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In hope at length with Chloris to prevail<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And win that prize which most my fancy craves,<br /></span> +<span>Which unto me of value will be more<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then was that rich and wealthy golden fleece.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which Jason stout from Colchos' island bore<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With wind in sails unto the shore of Greece.<br /></span> +<span>More rich, more rare, more worth her love I prize<br /></span> +<span>Then all the wealth which under heaven lies.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXXVI<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>O what a wound and what a deadly stroke,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Doth Cupid give to us perplexèd lovers,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which cleaves more fast then ivy doth to oak,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unto our hearts where he his might discovers!<br /></span> +<span>Though warlike Mars were armèd at all points,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With that tried coat which fiery Vulcan made,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Love's shafts did penetrate his steelèd joints,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And in his breast in streaming gore did wade.<br /></span> +<span>So pitiless is this fell conqueror<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That in his mother's paps his arrows stuck;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Such is his rage that he doth not defer<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To wound those orbs from whence he life did suck.<br /></span> +<span>Then sith no mercy he shows to his mother,<br /></span> +<span>We meekly must his force and rigour smother.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXXVII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Each beast in field doth wish the morning light;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The birds to Hesper pleasant lays do sing;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The wanton kids well-fed rejoice in night,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Being likewise glad when day begins to spring.<br /></span> +<span>But night nor day are welcome unto me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Both can bear witness of my lamentation;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All day sad sighing Corin you shall see,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All night he spends in tears and exclamation.<br /></span> +<span>Thus still I live although I take no rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But living look as one that is a-dying;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus my sad soul with care and grief oppressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Seems as a ghost to Styx and Lethe flying.<br /></span> +<span>Thus hath fond love bereft my youthful years<br /></span> +<span>Of all good hap before old age appears.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXXVIII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>That day wherein mine eyes cannot her see,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which is the essence of their crystal sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Both blind, obscure and dim that day they be,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And are debarrèd of fair heaven's light;<br /></span> +<span>That day wherein mine ears do want to hear her,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hearing that day is from me quite bereft;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That day wherein to touch I come not near her,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That day no sense of touching I have left;<br /></span> +<span>That day wherein I lack the fragrant smell,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which from her pleasant amber breath proceedeth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Smelling that day disdains with me to dwell,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Only weak hope my pining carcase feedeth.<br /></span> +<span>But burst, poor heart, thou hast no better hope,<br /></span> +<span>Since all thy senses have no further scope!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XXXIX<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>The stately lion and the furious bear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The skill of man doth alter from their kind;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For where before they wild and savage were,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By art both tame and meek you shall them find.<br /></span> +<span>The elephant although a mighty beast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A man may rule according to his skill;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The lusty horse obeyeth our behest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For with the curb you may him guide at will.<br /></span> +<span>Although the flint most hard contains the fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By force we do his virtue soon obtain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For with a steel you shall have your desire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus man may all things by industry gain;<br /></span> +<span>Only a woman if she list not love,<br /></span> +<span>No art, nor force, can unto pity move.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XL<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>No art nor force can unto pity move<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her stony heart that makes my heart to pant;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No pleading passions of my extreme love<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Can mollify her mind of adamant.<br /></span> +<span>Ah cruel sex, and foe to all mankind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Either you love or else you hate too much!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A glist'ring show of gold in you we find,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And yet you prove but copper in the touch.<br /></span> +<span>But why, O why, do I so far digress?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nature you made of pure and fairest mould,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The pomp and glory of man to depress,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And as your slaves in thraldom them to hold;<br /></span> +<span>Which by experience now too well I prove,<br /></span> +<span>There is no pain unto the pains of love.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XLI<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Fair shepherdess, when as these rustic lines<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Comes to thy sight, weigh but with what affection<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy servile doth depaint his sad designs,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which to redress of thee he makes election.<br /></span> +<span>If so you scorn, you kill; if you seem coy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You wound poor Corin to the very heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If that you smile, you shall increase his joy;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If these you like, you banish do all smart.<br /></span> +<span>And this I do protest, most fairest fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My muse shall never cease that hill to climb,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To which the learnèd Muses do repair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And all to deify thy name in rime;<br /></span> +<span>And never none shall write with truer mind,<br /></span> +<span>As by all proof and trial you shall find.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XLII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Die, die, my hopes! for you do but augment<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The burning accents of my deep despair;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Disdain and scorn your downfall do consent;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tell to the world she is unkind yet fair!<br /></span> +<span>O eyes, close up those ever-running fountains,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For pitiless are all the tears you shed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wherewith you watered have both dales and mountains!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I see, I see, remorse from her is fled.<br /></span> +<span>Pack hence, ye sighs, into the empty air,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Into the air that none your sound may hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sith cruel Chloris hath of you no care,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Although she once esteemèd you full dear!<br /></span> +<span>Let sable night all your disgraces cover,<br /></span> +<span>Yet truer sighs were never sighed by lover.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XLIII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Thou glorious sun, from whence my lesser light<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The substance of his crystal shine doth borrow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let these my moans find favour in thy sight.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And with remorse extinguish now my sorrow!<br /></span> +<span>Renew those lamps which thy disdain hath quenched,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As Phœbus doth his sister Phœbe's shine;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Consider how thy Corin being drenched<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In seas of woe, to thee his plaints incline,<br /></span> +<span>And at thy feet with tears doth sue for grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which art the goddess of his chaste desire;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let not thy frowns these labours poor deface<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Although aloft they at the first aspire;<br /></span> +<span>And time shall come as yet unknown to men<br /></span> +<span>When I more large thy praises forth shall pen!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XLIV<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>When I more large thy praises forth shall show,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That all the world thy beauty shall admire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Desiring that most sacred nymph to know<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which hath the shepherd's fancy set on fire;<br /></span> +<span>Till then, my dear, let these thine eyes content,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till then, fair love, think if I merit favour,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till then, O let thy merciful assent<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Relish my hopes with some comforting savour;<br /></span> +<span>So shall you add such courage to my muse<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That she shall climb the steep Parnassus hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That learnèd poets shall my deeds peruse<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When I from thence obtainèd have more skill;<br /></span> +<span>And what I sing shall always be of thee<br /></span> +<span>As long as life or breath remains in me!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XLV<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>When she was born whom I entirely love,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Th' immortal gods her birth-rites forth to grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Descending from their glorious seat above,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They did on her these several virtues place:<br /></span> +<span>First Saturn gave to her sobriety,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Jove then induèd her with comeliness,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And Sol with wisdom did her beautify,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mercury with wit and knowledge did her bless,<br /></span> +<span>Venus with beauty did all parts bedeck,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Luna therewith did modesty combine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Diana chaste all loose desires did check,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And like a lamp in clearness she doth shine.<br /></span> +<span>But Mars, according to his stubborn kind,<br /></span> +<span>No virtue gave, but a disdainful mind.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XLVI<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>When Chloris first with her heart-robbing eye<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Inchanted had my silly senses all,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I little did respect love's cruelty,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I never thought his snares should me enthrall;<br /></span> +<span>But since her tresses have entangled me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My pining flock did never hear me sing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Those jolly notes which erst did make them glee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor do my kids about me leap and spring<br /></span> +<span>As they were wont, but when they hear me cry<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They likewise cry and fill the air with bleating;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then do my sheep upon the cold earth lie,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And feed no more, my griefs they are repeating.<br /></span> +<span>O Chloris, if thou then saw'st them and me<br /></span> +<span>I'm sure thou wouldst both pity them and me!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XLVII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>I need not tell thee of the lily white,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor of the roseate red which doth thee grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor of thy golden hairs like Phœbus bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor of the beauty of thy fairest face.<br /></span> +<span>Nor of thine eyes which heavenly stars excel,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor of thine azured veins which are so clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor of thy paps where Love himself doth dwell,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which like two hills of violets appear.<br /></span> +<span>Nor of thy tender sides, nor belly soft,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor of thy goodly thighs as white as snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose glory to my fancy seemeth oft<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That like an arch triumphal they do show.<br /></span> +<span>All these I know that thou dost know too well,<br /></span> +<span>But of thy heart too cruel I thee tell.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XLVIII<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>But of thy heart too cruel I thee tell,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which hath tormented my young budding age,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And doth, unless your mildness passions quell,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My utter ruin near at hand presage.<br /></span> +<span>Instead of blood which wont was to display<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His ruddy red upon my hairless face,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By over-grieving that is fled away,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pale dying colour there hath taken place.<br /></span> +<span>Those curlèd locks which thou wast wont to twist<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unkempt, unshorn, and out of order been;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Since my disgrace I had of them no list,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Since when these eyes no joyful day have seen<br /></span> +<span>Nor never shall till you renew again<br /></span> +<span>The mutual love which did possess us twain.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>XLIX<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>You that embrace enchanting poesy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Be gracious to perplexèd Corin's lines;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You that do feel love's proud authority,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Help me to sing my sighs and sad designs.<br /></span> +<span>Chloris, requite not faithful love with scorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But as thou oughtest have commiseration;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I have enough anatomised and torn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My heart, thereof to make a pure oblation.<br /></span> +<span>Likewise consider how thy Corin prizeth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy parts above each absolute perfection,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How he of every precious thing deviseth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To make thee sovereign. Grant me then affection!<br /></span> +<span>Else thus I prize thee: Chloris is alone<br /></span> +<span>More hard than gold or pearl or precious stone.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ELIZABETHAN SONNET CYCLES***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 15448-h.txt or 15448-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/5/4/4/15448">https://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/4/4/15448</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: +<a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/GUTINDEX.ALL">https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/GUTINDEX.ALL</a> + +*** END: FULL LICENSE *** +</pre> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/15448-h/images/e001.png b/15448-h/images/e001.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..914de0a --- /dev/null +++ b/15448-h/images/e001.png diff --git a/15448.txt b/15448.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..10186a9 --- /dev/null +++ b/15448.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3950 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Elizabethan Sonnet Cycles, by Michael +Drayton, Bartholomew Griffin, and William Smith, Edited by Martha Foote +Crow + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Elizabethan Sonnet Cycles + Idea, by Michael Drayton; Fidessa, by Bartholomew Griffin; Chloris, by William Smith + + +Author: Michael Drayton, Bartholomew Griffin, and William Smith + +Editor: Martha Foote Crow + +Release Date: March 24, 2005 [eBook #15448] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ELIZABETHAN SONNET CYCLES*** + + +E-text prepared by David Starner, Melissa Er-Raqabi, and the Project +Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net) + + + +ELIZABETHAN SONNET-CYCLES + +Edited by + +MARTHA FOOTE CROW + +Kegan Paul, Trench, Truebner and Co. +Paternoster House London W.C. + +1897 + + + + + + + +IDEA +by +MICHAEL DRAYTON + +FIDESSA +by +BARTHOLOMEW GRIFFIN + +CHLORIS +by +WILLIAM SMITH + + + + + + + + +IDEA +by +MICHAEL DRAYTON + + +The true story of the life of Michael Drayton might be told to +vindicate the poetic traditions of the olden time. A child-poet +wandering in fay-haunted Arden, or listening to the harper that +frequented the fireside of Polesworth Hall where the boy was a petted +page, later the honoured almoner of the bounty of many patrons, one +who "not unworthily," as Tofte said, "beareth the name of the chiefest +archangel, singing after this soule-ravishing manner," yet leaving but +"five pounds lying by him at his death, which was _satis viatici ad +coelum_"--is not this the panorama of a poetic career? But above +all, to complete the picture of the ideal poet, he worshipped, and +hopelessly, from youth to age the image of one, woman. He never +married, and while many patronesses were honoured with his poetic +addresses, there was one fair dame to whom he never offered dedicatory +sonnet, a silence that is full of meaning. Yet the praises of Idea, +his poetic name for the lady of his admiration and love, are written +all over the pages of his voluminous lyrical and chorographical and +historical poems, and her very name is quaintly revealed to us. Anne +Goodere was the younger daughter in the noble family where Drayton was +bred and educated; and one may picture the fair child standing +"gravely merry" by the little page to listen to "John Hews his lyre," +at that ancestral fireside. "Where I love, I love for years," said +Drayton in 1621. As late as 1627, but four years before his death, he +writes an elegy of his lady's not coming to London, in which he +complains that he has been starved for her short letters and has had +to read last year's over again. About the same time he is writing that +immortal sonnet, the sixty-first, the one that Rossetti, with perhaps +something too much of partiality, has declared to be almost, if not +quite, the best in the language. The tragedy of a whole life is +concentrated in that sonnet, and the heart-pang in it is +unmistakable. But Drayton had stood as witness to the will of Anne's +father, by which L1500 was set down for her marriage portion. She was +an heiress, he a penniless poet, and what was to be done? + +About 1590, when Drayton was twenty-eight, and Anne was probably +twenty-one years old, Drayton left Polesworth Hall and came to London. +Perhaps the very parting was the means of revealing his heart to +himself, for it is from near this time that, as he confesses later, he +dates the first consciousness of his love. He soon publishes _Idea, +the Shepherd's Garland, Rowland's Sacrifice to the Nine Muses_, where +we first see our poet, in his pastoral-poetic character, carving his +"rime of love's idolatry," upon a beechen tree. Thirteen stanzas of +these pastoral eclogues do not exhaust the catalogue of her beauties; +and when he praises the proportion of her shape and carriage, we know +that it was not the poet's frenzied eye alone that saw these graces, +for Dr. John Hall, of Stratford, who attended her professionally, +records in his case-book that she was "beautiful and of gallant +structure of body." Anne was married about 1595 to Sir Henry +Rainsford, who became Drayton's friend, host and patron. It is likely +that Lady Rainsford deserved a goodly portion of the praises bestowed +upon her beauty. And she need not have been ashamed of the devotion of +her knight of poesy; for Michael Drayton was, like Constable and +Daniel and Fletcher, a man good and true, and the chorus of +contemporaries that praise his character and his verse is led by pious +Meres himself, and echoed by Jonson. + +_Idea's Mirrour, Amours in Quatorzains_, formed the title under which +the sonnet-cycle appeared in 1594. _Idea_ was reprinted eight times +before 1637, the edition of 1619 being the chief and serving for the +foundation of our text. Many changes and additions were made by the +author in the successive editions; in fact only twenty of the +fifty-one "amours" in _Idea's Mirrour_ escaped the winnowing, while +the famous sixty-first appears for the first time in 1619. There is a +distinct progress manifest in the subdual of language and form to +artistic finish, and while the cycle in its unevenness represents the +early and late stages of poetic progress, the more delicate examples +of his work show him worthy of the praise bestowed by his latest +admirer and critic, + + "Faith, Michael Drayton bears the bell + For numbers airy." + +It will be noted that, while many rhyme-arrangements are experimented +upon, the Shakespearean or quatrain-and-couplet form predominates. In +the less praiseworthy sonnets he is found to lack grammatical clamping +and to allow frequent faults in rhythm, and he toys with the +glittering and soulless conceit as much as any; but where his +individuality has fullest sway, as in the picturesque Arden memory of +the fifty-third, the personal reminiscences of the Ankor sonnets, and +the vivid theatre theme of the forty-seventh, in what Main calls that +"magical realisation of the spirit of evening" in the thirty-seventh, +and above all in the naive and passionate sixty-first, there is a rude +strength that pierces beneath the formalities and touches and moves +the heart. Drayton, like Sidney and Daniel and Shakespeare, draws +freely upon the general thought-storehouse of the Italianate +sonneteers: time and the transitoriness of beauty, the lover's +extremes, the Platonic ideas of soul-functions and of love-madness, +the phoenix and Icarus and all the classic gods, engage his fancy +first or last; and no sonnet trifler has been more attracted by the +great theme of immortality in verse than he. When honouring Idea in +the favourite mode he cries + + "Queens hereafter shall be glad to live + Upon the alms of thy superfluous praise." + +A late writer holds that years have falsified this prophecy. It is +true that Lamb valued Drayton chiefly as the panegyrist of his native +earth, and we would hardly venture to predict the future of our +sonneteer; but the fact remains that now three hundred years after his +time, his lifelong devotion to the prototype of Idea constitutes, as +he conventionally asserted it would, his most valid claim to interest, +and that the sonnets where this love has found most potent expression +mount the nearest to the true note of immortality. + + + + +TO THE READER OF THESE SONNETS + + + Into these loves who but for passion looks, + At this first sight here let him lay them by, + And seek elsewhere in turning other books, + Which better may his labour satisfy. + No far-fetched sigh shall ever wound my breast; + Love from mine eye a tear shall never wring; + Nor in "Ah me's!" my whining sonnets drest, + A libertine fantasticly I sing. + My verse is the true image of my mind, + Ever in motion, still desiring change; + To choice of all variety inclined, + And in all humours sportively I range. + My muse is rightly of the English strain, + That cannot long one fashion entertain. + + + + +IDEA + + + I + + Like an adventurous sea-farer am I, + Who hath some long and dang'rous voyage been, + And called to tell of his discovery, + How far he sailed, what countries he had seen, + Proceeding from the port whence he put forth, + Shows by his compass how his course he steered, + When east, when west, when south, and when by north, + As how the pole to every place was reared, + What capes he doubled, of what continent, + The gulfs and straits that strangely he had past, + Where most becalmed, where with foul weather spent, + And on what rocks in peril to be cast: + Thus in my love, time calls me to relate + My tedious travels and oft-varying fate. + + + II + + My heart was slain, and none but you and I; + Who should I think the murder should commit? + Since but yourself there was no creature by + But only I, guiltless of murdering it. + It slew itself; the verdict on the view + Do quit the dead, and me not accessary. + Well, well, I fear it will be proved by you, + The evidence so great a proof doth carry. + But O see, see, we need inquire no further! + Upon your lips the scarlet drops are found, + And in your eye the boy that did the murder, + Your cheeks yet pale since first he gave the wound! + By this I see, however things be past, + Yet heaven will still have murder out at last. + + + III + + Taking my pen, with words to cast my woe, + Duly to count the sum of all my cares, + I find my griefs innumerable grow, + The reck'nings rise to millions of despairs. + And thus dividing of my fatal hours, + The payments of my love I read and cross; + Subtracting, set my sweets unto my sours, + My joys' arrearage leads me to my loss. + And thus mine eyes a debtor to thine eye, + Which by extortion gaineth all their looks, + My heart hath paid such grievous usury, + That all their wealth lies in thy beauty's books. + And all is thine which hath been due to me, + And I a bankrupt, quite undone by thee. + + + IV + + Bright star of beauty, on whose eyelids sit + A thousand nymph-like and enamoured graces, + The goddesses of memory and wit, + Which there in order take their several places; + In whose dear bosom, sweet delicious love + Lays down his quiver which he once did bear, + Since he that blessed paradise did prove, + And leaves his mother's lap to sport him there + Let others strive to entertain with words + My soul is of a braver mettle made; + I hold that vile which vulgar wit affords; + In me's that faith which time cannot invade. + Let what I praise be still made good by you; + Be you most worthy whilst I am most true! + + + V + + Nothing but "No!" and "I!"[A] and "I!" and "No!" + "How falls it out so strangely?" you reply. + I tell ye, Fair, I'll not be answered so, + With this affirming "No!" denying "I!" + I say "I love!" You slightly answer "I!" + I say "You love!" You pule me out a "No!" + I say "I die!" You echo me with "I!" + "Save me!" I cry; you sigh me out a "No!" + Must woe and I have naught but "No!" and "I!"? + No "I!" am I, if I no more can have. + Answer no more; with silence make reply, + And let me take myself what I do crave; + Let "No!" and "I!" with I and you be so, + Then answer "No!" and "I!" and "I!" and "No!" + + [Footnote A: The "I" of course equals "aye."] + + + VI + + How many paltry, foolish, painted things, + That now in coaches trouble every street, + Shall be forgotten, whom no poet sings, + Ere they be well wrapped in their winding sheet! + Where I to thee eternity shall give, + When nothing else remaineth of these days, + And queens hereafter shall be glad to live + Upon the alms of thy superfluous praise; + Virgins and matrons reading these my rhymes, + Shall be so much delighted with thy story, + That they shall grieve they lived not in these times, + To have seen thee, their sex's only glory. + So shalt thou fly above the vulgar throng, + Still to survive in my immortal song. + + + VII + + Love, in a humour, played the prodigal, + And bade my senses to a solemn feast; + Yet more to grace the company withal, + Invites my heart to be the chiefest guest. + No other drink would serve this glutton's turn, + But precious tears distilling from mine eyne, + Which with my sighs this epicure doth burn, + Quaffing carouses in this costly wine; + Where, in his cups, o'ercome with foul excess, + Straightways he plays a swaggering ruffian's part, + And at the banquet in his drunkenness, + Slew his dear friend, my kind and truest heart. + A gentle warning, friends, thus may you see, + What 'tis to keep a drunkard company! + + + VIII + + There's nothing grieves me but that age should haste, + That in my days I may not see thee old; + That where those two clear sparkling eyes are placed, + Only two loopholes that I might behold; + That lovely arched ivory-polished brow + Defaced with wrinkles, that I might but see; + Thy dainty hair, so curled and crisped now, + Like grizzled moss upon some aged tree; + Thy cheek now flush with roses, sunk and lean; + Thy lips, with age as any wafer thin! + Thy pearly teeth out of thy head so clean, + That when thou feed'st thy nose shall touch thy chin! + These lines that now thou scornst, which should delight thee, + Then would I make thee read but to despite thee. + + + IX + + As other men, so I myself do muse + Why in this sort I wrest invention so, + And why these giddy metaphors I use, + Leaving the path the greater part do go. + I will resolve you. I'm a lunatic; + And ever this in madmen you shall find, + What they last thought of when the brain grew sick, + In most distraction they keep that in mind. + Thus talking idly in this bedlam fit, + Reason and I, you must conceive, are twain; + 'Tis nine years now since first I lost my wit. + Bear with me then though troubled be my brain. + With diet and correction men distraught, + Not too far past, may to their wits be brought. + + + X + + To nothing fitter can I thee compare + Than to the son of some rich penny-father, + Who having now brought on his end with care, + Leaves to his son all he had heaped together. + This new rich novice, lavish of his chest, + To one man gives, doth on another spend; + Then here he riots; yet amongst the rest, + Haps to lend some to one true honest friend. + Thy gifts thou in obscurity dost waste: + False friends, thy kindness born but to deceive thee; + Thy love that is on the unworthy placed; + Time hath thy beauty which with age will leave thee. + Only that little which to me was lent, + I give thee back when all the rest is spent. + + + XI + + You're not alone when you are still alone; + O God! from you that I could private be! + Since you one were, I never since was one; + Since you in me, myself since out of me. + Transported from myself into your being, + Though either distant, present yet to either; + Senseless with too much joy, each other seeing; + And only absent when we are together. + Give me my self, and take your self again! + Devise some means but how I may forsake you! + So much is mine that doth with you remain, + That taking what is mine, with me I take you. + You do bewitch me! O that I could fly + From my self you, or from your own self I! + + +TO THE SOUL + + XII + + That learned Father which so firmly proves + The soul of man immortal and divine, + And doth the several offices define + _Anima._ Gives her that name, as she the body moves. + _Amor._ Then is she love, embracing charity. + _Animus._ Moving a will in us, it is the mind; + _Mens._ Retaining knowledge, still the same in kind. + _Memoria._ As intellectual, it is memory. + _Ratio._ In judging, reason only is her name. + _Sensus._ In speedy apprehension, it is sense. + _Conscientia._ In right and wrong they call her conscience; + _Spiritus._ The spirit, when it to God-ward doth inflame: + These of the soul the several functions be, + Which my heart lightened by thy love doth see. + + +TO THE SHADOW + + XIII + + Letters and lines we see are soon defaced + Metals do waste and fret with canker's rust, + The diamond shall once consume to dust, + And freshest colours with foul stains disgraced; + Paper and ink can paint but naked words, + To write with blood of force offends the sight; + And if with tears, I find them all too light, + And sighs and signs a silly hope affords. + O sweetest shadow, how thou serv'st my turn! + Which still shalt be as long as there is sun, + Nor whilst the world is never shall be done; + Whilst moon shall shine or any fire shall burn, + That everything whence shadow doth proceed, + May in his shadow my love's story read. + + + XIV + + If he, from heaven that filched that living fire, + Condemned by Jove to endless torment be, + I greatly marvel how you still go free + That far beyond Prometheus did aspire. + The fire he stole, although of heavenly kind, + Which from above he craftily did take, + Of lifeless clods us living men to make + He did bestow in temper of the mind. + But you broke into heaven's immortal store, + Where virtue, honour, wit, and beauty lay; + Which taking thence, you have escaped away, + Yet stand as free as e'er you did before. + Yet old Prometheus punished for his rape; + Thus poor thieves suffer when the greater 'scape. + + +HIS REMEDY FOR LOVE + + XV + + Since to obtain thee nothing me will stead, + I have a med'cine that shall cure my love. + The powder of her heart dried, when she's dead, + That gold nor honour ne'er had power to move; + Mixed with her tears that ne'er her true love crost, + Nor at fifteen ne'er longed to be a bride; + Boiled with her sighs, in giving up the ghost, + That for her late deceased husband died; + Into the same then let a woman breathe, + That being chid did never word reply; + With one thrice married's prayers, that did bequeath + A legacy to stale virginity. + If this receipt have not the power to win me, + Little I'll say, but think the devil's in me! + + +AN ALLUSION TO THE PHOENIX + + XVI + + 'Mongst all the creatures in this spacious round + Of the birds' kind, the phoenix is alone, + Which best by you of living things is known; + None like to that, none like to you is found! + Your beauty is the hot and splend'rous sun; + The precious spices be your chaste desire, + Which being kindled by that heavenly fire, + Your life, so like the phoenix's begun. + Yourself thus burned in that sacred flame, + With so rare sweetness all the heavens perfuming; + Again increasing as you are consuming, + Only by dying born the very same. + And winged by fame you to the stars ascend; + So you of time shall live beyond the end. + + +TO TIME + + XVII + + Stay, speedy time! Behold, before thou pass + From age to age, what thou hast sought to see, + One in whom all the excellencies be, + In whom heaven looks itself as in a glass. + Time, look thou too in this translucent glass, + And thy youth past in this pure mirror see! + As the world's beauty in his infancy, + What it was then, and thou before it was. + Pass on and to posterity tell this-- + Yet see thou tell but truly what hath been. + Say to our nephews that thou once hast seen + In perfect human shape all heavenly bliss; + And bid them mourn, nay more, despair with thee, + That she is gone, her like again to see. + + + + +TO THE CELESTIAL NUMBERS + + XVIII + + To this our world, to learning, and to heaven, + Three nines there are, to every one a nine; + One number of the earth, the other both divine; + One woman now makes three odd numbers even. + Nine orders first of angels be in heaven; + Nine muses do with learning still frequent: + These with the gods are ever resident. + Nine worthy women to the world were given. + My worthy one to these nine worthies addeth; + And my fair Muse, one Muse unto the nine. + And my good angel, in my soul divine!-- + With one more order these nine orders gladdeth. + My Muse, my worthy, and my angel then + Makes every one of these three nines a ten. + + +TO HUMOUR + + XIX + + You cannot love, my pretty heart, and why? + There was a time you told me that you would, + But how again you will the same deny. + If it might please you, would to God you could! + What, will you hate? Nay, that you will not neither; + Nor love, nor hate! How then? What will you do? + What, will you keep a mean then betwixt either? + Or will you love me, and yet hate me too? + Yet serves not this! What next, what other shift? + You will, and will not; what a coil is here! + I see your craft, now I perceive your drift, + And all this while I was mistaken there. + Your love and hate is this, I now do prove you: + You love in hate, by hate to make me love you. + + + XX + + An evil spirit, your beauty, haunts me still, + Wherewith, alas, I have been long possessed! + Which ceaseth not to tempt me to each ill, + Nor give me once but one poor minute's rest. + In me it speaks whether I sleep or wake; + And when by means to drive it out I try, + With greater torments then it me doth take, + And tortures me in most extremity. + Before my face it lays down my despairs, + And hastes me on unto a sudden death; + Now tempting me to drown myself in tears, + And then in sighing to give up my breath. + Thus am I still provoked to every evil, + By this good wicked spirit, sweet angel-devil. + + + XXI + + A witless gallant a young wench that wooed-- + Yet his dull spirit her not one jot could move-- + Intreated me as e'er I wished his good, + To write him but one sonnet to his love. + When I as fast as e'er my pen could trot, + Poured out what first from quick invention came, + Nor never stood one word thereof to blot; + Much like his wit that was to use the same. + But with my verses he his mistress won, + Who doated on the dolt beyond all measure. + But see, for you to heaven for phrase I run, + And ransack all Apollo's golden treasure! + Yet by my troth, this fool his love obtains, + And I lose you for all my wit and pains! + + +TO FOLLY + + XXII + + With fools and children good discretion bears; + Then, honest people, bear with love and me, + Nor older yet nor wiser made by years, + Amongst the rest of fools and children be. + Love, still a baby, plays with gauds and toys, + And like a wanton sports with every feather, + And idiots still are running after boys; + Then fools and children fitt'st to go together. + He still as young as when he first was born, + Nor wiser I than when as young as he; + You that behold us, laugh us not to scorn; + Give nature thanks you are not such as we! + Yet fools and children sometimes tell in play; + Some wise in show, more fools indeed than they. + + + XXIII + + Love, banished heaven, in earth was held in scorn, + Wand'ring abroad in need and beggary; + And wanting friends, though of a goddess born, + Yet craved the alms of such as passed by. + I, like a man devout and charitable, + Clothed the naked, lodged this wandering guest; + With sighs and tears still furnishing his table + With what might make the miserable blest. + But this ungrateful for my good desert, + Enticed my thoughts against me to conspire, + Who gave consent to steal away my heart, + And set my breast, his lodging, on a fire. + Well, well, my friends, when beggars grow thus bold, + No marvel then though charity grow cold. + + + XXIV + + I hear some say, "This man is not in love!" + "Who! can he love? a likely thing!" they say. + "Read but his verse, and it will easily prove!" + O, judge not rashly, gentle Sir, I pray! + Because I loosely trifle in this sort, + As one that fain his sorrows would beguile, + You now suppose me all this time in sport, + And please yourself with this conceit the while. + Ye shallow cens'rers! sometimes, see ye not, + In greatest perils some men pleasant be, + Where fame by death is only to be got, + They resolute! So stands the case with me. + Where other men in depth of passion cry, + I laugh at fortune, as in jest to die. + + + XXV + + O, why should nature niggardly restrain + That foreign nations relish not our tongue? + Else should my lines glide on the waves of Rhine, + And crown the Pyren's with my living song. + But bounded thus, to Scotland get you forth! + Thence take you wing unto the Orcades! + There let my verse get glory in the north, + Making my sighs to thaw the frozen seas. + And let the bards within that Irish isle, + To whom my Muse with fiery wings shall pass, + Call back the stiff-necked rebels from exile, + And mollify the slaughtering gallowglass; + And when my flowing numbers they rehearse, + Let wolves and bears be charmed with my verse. + + +TO DESPAIR + + XXVI + + I ever love where never hope appears, + Yet hope draws on my never-hoping care, + And my life's hope would die but for despair; + My never certain joy breeds ever certain fears. + Uncertain dread gives wings unto my hope; + Yet my hope's wings are laden so with fear + As they cannot ascend to my hope's sphere, + Though fear gives them more than a heavenly scope. + Yet this large room is bounded with despair, + So my love is still fettered with vain hope, + And liberty deprives him of his scope, + And thus am I imprisoned in the air. + Then, sweet despair, awhile hold up thy head, + Or all my hope for sorrow will be dead. + + + XXVII + + Is not love here as 'tis in other climes, + And differeth it as do the several nations? + Or hath it lost the virtue with the times, + Or in this island alt'reth with the fashions? + Or have our passions lesser power than theirs, + Who had less art them lively to express? + Is nature grown less powerful in their heirs, + Or in our fathers did she more transgress? + I am sure my sighs come from a heart as true + As any man's that memory can boast, + And my respects and services to you, + Equal with his that loves his mistress most. + Or nature must be partial in my cause, + Or only you do violate her laws. + + + XXVIII + + To such as say thy love I overprize, + And do not stick to term my praises folly, + Against these folks that think themselves so wise, + I thus oppose my reason's forces wholly: + Though I give more than well affords my state, + In which expense the most suppose me vain + Which yields them nothing at the easiest rate, + Yet at this price returns me treble gain; + They value not, unskilful how to use, + And I give much because I gain thereby. + I that thus take or they that thus refuse, + Whether are these deceived then, or I? + In everything I hold this maxim still, + The circumstance doth make it good or ill. + + +TO THE SENSES + + XXIX + + When conquering love did first my heart assail, + Unto mine aid I summoned every sense, + Doubting if that proud tyrant should prevail, + My heart should suffer for mine eyes' offence. + But he with beauty first corrupted sight, + My hearing bribed with her tongue's harmony, + My taste by her sweet lips drawn with delight, + My smelling won with her breath's spicery, + But when my touching came to play his part, + The king of senses, greater than the rest, + He yields love up the keys unto my heart, + And tells the others how they should be blest. + And thus by those of whom I hoped for aid, + To cruel love my soul was first betrayed. + + +TO THE VESTALS + + XXX + + Those priests which first the vestal fire begun, + Which might be borrowed from no earthly flame, + Devised a vessel to receive the sun, + Being stedfastly opposed to the same; + Where with sweet wood laid curiously by art, + On which the sun might by reflection beat, + Receiving strength for every secret part, + The fuel kindled with celestial heat. + Thy blessed eyes, the sun which lights this fire, + My holy thoughts, they be the vestal flame, + Thy precious odours be my chaste desires, + My breast's the vessel which includes the same; + Thou art my Vesta, thou my goddess art, + Thy hallowed temple only is my heart. + + +TO THE CRITICS + + XXXI + + Methinks I see some crooked mimic jeer, + And tax my Muse with this fantastic grace; + Turning my papers asks, "What have we here?" + Making withal some filthy antic face. + I fear no censure nor what thou canst say, + Nor shall my spirit one jot of vigour lose. + Think'st thou, my wit shall keep the packhorse way, + That every dudgeon low invention goes? + Since sonnets thus in bundles are imprest, + And every drudge doth dull our satiate ear, + Think'st thou my love shall in those rags be drest + That every dowdy, every trull doth wear? + Up to my pitch no common judgment flies; + I scorn all earthly dung-bred scarabies. + + +TO THE RIVER ANKOR + + XXXII + + Our floods' queen, Thames, for ships and swans is crowned, + And stately Severn for her shore is praised; + The crystal Trent for fords and fish renowned, + And Avon's fame to Albion's cliff is raised. + Carlegion Chester vaunts her holy Dee; + York many wonders of her Ouse can tell; + The Peak, her Dove, whose banks so fertile be; + And Kent will say her Medway doth excel. + Cotswold commends her Isis to the Thame; + Our northern borders boast of Tweed's fair flood; + Our western parts extol their Wilis' fame; + And the old Lea brags of the Danish blood. + Arden's sweet Ankor, let thy glory be, + That fair Idea only lives by thee! + + +TO IMAGINATION + + XXXIII + + Whilst yet mine eyes do surfeit with delight, + My woful heart imprisoned in my breast, + Wisheth to be transformed to my sight, + That it like those by looking might be blest. + But whilst mine eyes thus greedily do gaze, + Finding their objects over-soon depart, + These now the other's happiness do praise, + Wishing themselves that they had been my heart, + That eyes were heart, or that the heart were eyes, + As covetous the other's use to have. + But finding nature their request denies, + This to each other mutually they crave; + That since the one cannot the other be, + That eyes could think of that my heart could see. + + +TO ADMIRATION + + XXXIV + + Marvel not, love, though I thy power admire, + Ravished a world beyond the farthest thought, + And knowing more than ever hath been taught, + That I am only starved in my desire. + Marvel not, love, though I thy power admire, + Aiming at things exceeding all perfection, + To wisdom's self to minister direction, + That I am only starved in my desire. + Marvel not, love, though I thy power admire, + Though my conceit I further seem to bend + Than possibly invention can extend, + And yet am only starved in my desire. + If thou wilt wonder, here's the wonder, love, + That this to me doth yet no wonder prove. + + +TO MIRACLE + + XXXV + + + Some misbelieving and profane in love, + When I do speak of miracles by thee, + May say that thou art flattered by me, + Who only write my skill in verse to prove + See miracles, ye unbelieving, see! + A dumb-born Muse made to express the mind, + A cripple hand to write, yet lame by kind, + One by thy name, the other touching thee. + Blind were mine eyes, till they were seen of thine; + And mine ears deaf by thy fame healed be; + My vices cured by virtues sprung from thee; + My hopes revived which long in grave had lien. + All unclean thoughts, foul spirits, cast out in me, + Only by virtue that proceeds from thee. + + +CUPID CONJURED + + XXXVI + + Thou purblind boy, since thou hast been so slack + To wound her heart whose eyes have wounded me + And suffered her to glory in my wrack, + Thus to my aid I lastly conjure thee! + By hellish Styx, by which the Thund'rer swears, + By thy fair mother's unavoided power, + By Hecate's names, by Proserpine's sad tears, + When she was wrapt to the infernal bower! + By thine own loved Psyche, by the fires + Spent on thine altars flaming up to heaven, + By all true lovers' sighs, vows, and desires, + By all the wounds that ever thou hast given; + I conjure thee by all that I have named, + To make her love, or, Cupid, be thou damned! + + + XXXVII + + Dear, why should you command me to my rest, + When now the night doth summon all to sleep? + Methinks this time becometh lovers best; + Night was ordained together friends to keep. + How happy are all other living things, + Which though the day disjoin by several flight, + The quiet evening yet together brings, + And each returns unto his love at night! + O thou that art so courteous else to all, + Why shouldst thou, Night, abuse me only thus, + That every creature to his kind dost call, + And yet 'tis thou dost only sever us? + Well could I wish it would be ever day, + If when night comes, you bid me go away. + + + XXXVIII + + Sitting alone, love bids me go and write; + Reason plucks back, commanding me to stay, + Boasting that she doth still direct the way, + Or else love were unable to indite. + Love growing angry, vexed at the spleen, + And scorning reason's maimed argument, + Straight taxeth reason, wanting to invent + Where she with love conversing hath not been. + Reason reproached with this coy disdain, + Despiteth love, and laugheth at her folly; + And love contemning reason's reason wholly, + Thought it in weight too light by many a grain. + Reason put back doth out of sight remove, + And love alone picks reason out of love. + + +XXXIX + + Some, when in rhyme they of their loves do tell, + With flames and lightnings their exordiums paint. + Some call on heaven, some invocate on hell, + And Fates and Furies, with their woes acquaint. + Elizium is too high a seat for me, + I will not come in Styx or Phlegethon, + The thrice-three Muses but too wanton be, + Like they that lust, I care not, I will none. + Spiteful Erinnys frights me with her looks, + My manhood dares not with foul Ate mell, + I quake to look on Hecate's charming books, + I still fear bugbears in Apollo's cell. + I pass not for Minerva, nor Astrea, + Only I call on my divine Idea! + + +XL + + My heart the anvil where my thoughts do beat, + My words the hammers fashioning my desire, + My breast the forge including all the heat, + Love is the fuel which maintains the fire; + My sighs the bellows which the flame increaseth, + Filling mine ears with noise and nightly groaning; + Toiling with pain, my labour never ceaseth, + In grievous passions my woes still bemoaning; + My eyes with tears against the fire striving, + Whose scorching gleed my heart to cinders turneth; + But with those drops the flame again reviving, + Still more and more it to my torment burneth, + With Sisyphus thus do I roll the stone, + And turn the wheel with damned Ixion. + + +LOVE'S LUNACY + + XLI + + Why do I speak of joy or write of love, + When my heart is the very den of horror, + And in my soul the pains of hell I prove, + With all his torments and infernal terror? + What should I say? what yet remains to do? + My brain is dry with weeping all too long; + My sighs be spent in utt'ring of my woe, + And I want words wherewith to tell my wrong. + But still distracted in love's lunacy, + And bedlam-like thus raving in my grief, + Now rail upon her hair, then on her eye, + Now call her goddess, then I call her thief; + Now I deny her, then I do confess her, + Now do I curse her, then again I bless her. + + + XLII + + Some men there be which like my method well, + And much commend the strangeness of my vein; + Some say I have a passing pleasing strain, + Some say that in my humour I excel. + Some who not kindly relish my conceit, + They say, as poets do, I use to feign, + And in bare words paint out by passions' pain. + Thus sundry men their sundry minds repeat. + I pass not, I, how men affected be, + Nor who commends or discommends my verse! + It pleaseth me if I my woes rehearse, + And in my lines if she my love may see. + Only my comfort still consists in this, + Writing her praise I cannot write amiss. + + + XLIII + + Why should your fair eyes with such sov'reign grace + Disperse their rays on every vulgar spirit, + Whilst I in darkness in the self-same place, + Get not one glance to recompense my merit? + So doth the plowman gaze the wand'ring star, + And only rest contented with the light, + That never learned what constellations are, + Beyond the bent of his unknowing sight. + O why should beauty, custom to obey, + To their gross sense apply herself so ill! + Would God I were as ignorant as they, + When I am made unhappy by my skill, + Only compelled on this poor good to boast! + Heavens are not kind to them that know them most. + + + XLIV + + Whilst thus my pen strives to eternise thee, + Age rules my lines with wrinkles in my face, + Where in the map of all my misery + Is modelled out the world of my disgrace; + Whilst in despite of tyrannising times, + Medea-like, I make thee young again, + Proudly thou scorn'st my world-outwearing rhymes, + And murther'st virtue with thy coy disdain; + And though in youth my youth untimely perish, + To keep thee from oblivion and the grave, + Ensuing ages yet my rhymes shall cherish, + Where I intombed my better part shall save; + And though this earthly body fade and die, + My name shall mount upon eternity. + + + XLV + + Muses which sadly sit about my chair, + Drowned in the tears extorted by my lines; + With heavy sighs whilst thus I break the air, + Painting my passions in these sad designs, + Since she disdains to bless my happy verse, + The strong built trophies to her living fame, + Ever henceforth my bosom be your hearse, + Wherein the world shall now entomb her name. + Enclose my music, you poor senseless walls, + Sith she is deaf and will not hear my moans; + Soften yourselves with every tear that falls, + Whilst I like Orpheus sing to trees and stones, + Which with my plaint seem yet with pity moved, + Kinder than she whom I so long have loved. + + + XLVI + + Plain-pathed experience, the unlearned's guide, + Her simple followers evidently shows + Sometimes what schoolmen scarcely can decide, + Nor yet wise reason absolutely knows; + In making trial of a murder wrought, + If the vile actors of the heinous deed + Near the dead body happily be brought, + Oft 't hath been proved the breathless corse will bleed. + She coming near, that my poor heart hath slain, + Long since departed, to the world no more, + The ancient wounds no longer can contain, + But fall to bleeding as they did before. + But what of this? Should she to death be led, + It furthers justice but helps not the dead. + + + XLVII + + In pride of wit, when high desire of fame + Gave life and courage to my lab'ring pen, + And first the sound and virtue of my name + Won grace and credit in the ears of men, + With those the thronged theatres that press, + I in the circuit for the laurel strove, + Where the full praise I freely must confess, + In heat of blood a modest mind might move; + With shouts and claps at every little pause, + When the proud round on every side hath rung, + Sadly I sit unmoved with the applause, + As though to me it nothing did belong. + No public glory vainly I pursue; + All that I seek is to eternise you. + + + XLVIII + + Cupid, I hate thee, which I'd have thee know; + A naked starveling ever mayst thou be! + Poor rogue, go pawn thy fascia and thy bow + For some poor rags wherewith to cover thee; + Or if thou'lt not thy archery forbear, + To some base rustic do thyself prefer, + And when corn's sown or grown into the ear, + Practice thy quiver and turn crowkeeper; + Or being blind, as fittest for the trade, + Go hire thyself some bungling harper's boy; + They that are blind are minstrels often made, + So mayst thou live to thy fair mother's joy; + That whilst with Mars she holdeth her old way, + Thou, her blind son, mayst sit by them and play. + + + XLIX + + Thou leaden brain, which censur'st what I write, + And sayst my lines be dull and do not move, + I marvel not thou feel'st not my delight, + Which never felt'st my fiery touch of love; + But thou whose pen hath like a packhorse served, + Whose stomach unto gall hath turned thy food, + Whose senses like poor prisoners, hunger-starved + Whose grief hath parched thy body, dried thy blood; + Thou which hast scorned life and hated death, + And in a moment, mad, sober, glad, and sorry; + Thou which hast banned thy thoughts and curst thy birth + With thousand plagues more than in purgatory; + Thou thus whose spirit love in his fire refines, + Come thou and read, admire, applaud my lines! + + + L + + As in some countries far remote from hence, + The wretched creature destined to die, + Having the judgment due to his offence, + By surgeons begged, their art on him to try, + Which on the living work without remorse, + First make incision on each mastering vein, + Then staunch the bleeding, then transpierce the corse, + And with their balms recure the wounds again, + Then poison and with physic him restore; + Not that they fear the hopeless man to kill, + But their experience to increase the more: + Even so my mistress works upon my ill, + By curing me and killing me each hour, + Only to show her beauty's sovereign power. + + + LI + + Calling to mind since first my love begun, + Th'uncertain times, oft varying in their course, + How things still unexpectedly have run, + As't please the Fates by their resistless force; + Lastly, mine eyes amazedly have seen + Essex's great fall, Tyrone his peace to gain, + The quiet end of that long living Queen, + This King's fair entrance, and our peace with Spain, + We and the Dutch at length ourselves to sever; + Thus the world doth and evermore shall reel; + Yet to my goddess am I constant ever, + Howe'er blind Fortune turn her giddy wheel; + Though heaven and earth prove both to me untrue, + Yet am I still inviolate to you. + + + LII + + What dost thou mean to cheat me of my heart, + To take all mine and give me none again? + Or have thine eyes such magic or that art + That what they get they ever do retain? + Play not the tyrant but take some remorse; + Rebate thy spleen if but for pity's sake; + Or cruel, if thou can'st not, let us scorse, + And for one piece of thine my whole heart take. + But what of pity do I speak to thee, + Whose breast is proof against complaint or prayer? + Or can I think what my reward shall be + From that proud beauty which was my betrayer! + What talk I of a heart when thou hast none? + Or if thou hast, it is a flinty one. + + +ANOTHER TO THE RIVER ANKOR + + LIII + + Clear Ankor, on whose silver-sanded shore, + My soul-shrined saint, my fair Idea lives; + O blessed brook, whose milk-white swans adore + Thy crystal stream, refined by her eyes, + Where sweet myrrh-breathing Zephyr in the spring + Gently distils his nectar-dropping showers, + Where nightingales in Arden sit and sing + Amongst the dainty dew-impearled flowers; + Say thus, fair brook, when thou shalt see thy queen, + "Lo, here thy shepherd spent his wand'ring years + And in these shades, dear nymph, he oft hath been; + And here to thee he sacrificed his tears." + Fair Arden, thou my Tempe art alone, + And thou, sweet Ankor, art my Helicon! + + + LIV + + Yet read at last the story of my woe, + The dreary abstracts of my endless cares, + With my life's sorrow interlined so, + Smoked with my sighs, and blotted with my tears, + The sad memorials of my miseries, + Penned in the grief of mine afflicted ghost, + My life's complaint in doleful elegies, + With so pure love as time could never boast. + Receive the incense which I offer here, + By my strong faith ascending to thy fame, + My zeal, my hope, my vows, my praise, my prayer, + My soul's oblations to thy sacred name; + Which name my Muse to highest heavens shall raise, + By chaste desire, true love, and virtuous praise. + + + LV + + My fair, if thou wilt register my love, + A world of volumes shall thereof arise; + Preserve my tears, and thou thyself shall prove + A second flood down raining from mine eyes; + Note but my sighs, and thine eyes shall behold + The sunbeams smothered with immortal smoke; + And if by thee my prayers may be enrolled, + They heaven and earth to pity shall provoke. + Look thou into my breast, and thou shalt see + Chaste holy vows for my soul's sacrifice, + That soul, sweet maid, which so hath honoured thee, + Erecting trophies to thy sacred eyes, + Those eyes to my heart shining ever bright, + When darkness hath obscured each other light. + + +AN ALLUSION TO THE EAGLETS + + LVI + + When like an eaglet I first found my love, + For that the virtue I thereof would know, + Upon the nest I set it forth to prove + If it were of that kingly kind or no; + But it no sooner saw my sun appear, + But on her rays with open eyes it stood, + To show that I had hatched it for the air, + And rightly came from that brave mounting brood; + And when the plumes were summed with sweet desire, + To prove the pinions it ascends the skies; + Do what I could, it needsly would aspire + To my soul's sun, those two celestial eyes. + Thus from my breast, where it was bred alone, + It after thee is like an eaglet flown. + + + LVII + + You best discerned of my mind's inward eyes, + And yet your graces outwardly divine, + Whose dear remembrance in my bosom lies, + Too rich a relic for so poor a shrine; + You, in whom nature chose herself to view, + When she her own perfection would admire; + Bestowing all her excellence on you, + At whose pure eyes Love lights his hallowed fire; + Even as a man that in some trance hath seen + More than his wond'ring utterance can unfold, + That rapt in spirit in better worlds hath been, + So must your praise distractedly be told; + Most of all short when I would show you most, + In your perfections so much am I lost. + + + LVIII + + In former times, such as had store of coin, + In wars at home or when for conquests bound, + For fear that some their treasure should purloin, + Gave it to keep to spirits within the ground; + And to attend it them as strongly tied + Till they returned. Home when they never came, + Such as by art to get the same have tried, + From the strong spirit by no means force the same. + Nearer men come, that further flies away, + Striving to hold it strongly in the deep. + Ev'n as this spirit, so you alone do play + With those rich beauties Heav'n gives you to keep; + Pity so left to th' coldness of your blood, + Not to avail you nor do others good. + + +TO PROVERBS + + LIX + + As Love and I late harboured in one inn, + With Proverbs thus each other entertain. + "In love there is no lack," thus I begin: + "Fair words make fools," replieth he again. + "Who spares to speak, doth spare to speed," quoth I. + "As well," saith he, "too forward as too slow." + "Fortune assists the boldest," I reply. + "A hasty man," quoth he, "ne'er wanted woe!" + "Labour is light, where love," quoth I, "doth pay." + Saith he, "Light burden's heavy, if far born." + Quoth I, "The main lost, cast the by away!" + "You have spun a fair thread," he replies in scorn. + And having thus awhile each other thwarted, + Fools as we met, so fools again we parted. + + + LX + + Define my weal, and tell the joys of heaven; + Express my woes and show the pains of hell; + Declare what fate unlucky stars have given, + And ask a world upon my life to dwell; + Make known the faith that fortune could no move, + Compare my worth with others' base desert, + Let virtue be the touchstone of my love, + So may the heavens read wonders in my heart; + Behold the clouds which have eclipsed my sun, + And view the crosses which my course do let; + Tell me, if ever since the world begun + So fair a rising had so foul a set? + And see if time, if he would strive to prove, + Can show a second to so pure a love. + + + LXI + + Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part, + Nay I have done, you get no more of me; + And I am glad, yea glad with all my heart, + That thus so cleanly I myself can free; + Shakes hands for ever, cancel all our vows, + And when we meet at any time again, + Be it not seen in either of our brows + That we one jot of former love retain. + Now at the last gasp of Love's latest breath, + When his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies, + When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death, + And Innocence is closing up his eyes: + Now if thou wouldst, when all have given him over, + From death to life thou might'st him yet recover! + + + LXII + + When first I ended, then I first began; + Then more I travelled further from my rest. + Where most I lost, there most of all I won; + Pined with hunger, rising from a feast. + Methinks I fly, yet want I legs to go, + Wise in conceit, in act a very sot, + Ravished with joy amidst a hell of woe, + What most I seem that surest am I not. + I build my hopes a world above the sky, + Yet with the mole I creep into the earth; + In plenty I am starved with penury, + And yet I surfeit in the greatest dearth. + I have, I want, despair, and yet desire, + Burned in a sea of ice, and drowned amidst a fire. + + + LXIII + + Truce, gentle Love, a parley now I crave, + Methinks 'tis long since first these wars begun; + Nor thou, nor I, the better yet can have; + Bad is the match where neither party won. + I offer free conditions of fair peace, + My heart for hostage that it shall remain. + Discharge our forces, here let malice cease, + So for my pledge thou give me pledge again. + Or if no thing but death will serve thy turn, + Still thirsting for subversion of my state, + Do what thou canst, raze, massacre, and burn; + Let the world see the utmost of thy hate; + I send defiance, since if overthrown, + Thou vanquishing, the conquest is mine own. + + + + +FIDESSA +MORE CHASTE THAN KIND +by +B. GRIFFIN, GENT. + + + + +BARTHOLOMEW GRIFFIN + + +The author of _Fidessa_ has gained undeserved notice from the fact +that the piratical printer W. Jaggard, included a transcript of one of +his sonnets in a volume that he put forth in 1599, under the name of +Shakespeare. It would be easy to believe, in spite of the doubtful +rimes characteristic of _Fidessa_, that sonnet three was not +Griffin's, for no singer in the Elizabethan choir was more skilful in +turning his voice to other people's melodies than was he. He has been +called "a gross plagiary;" yet it must be realised that the sonneteers +of that time felt they had a right, almost a duty, to take up the +poetic themes used by their models. Griffin shows great ingenuity in +the manipulation of the stock-themes, and the lover of Petrarch and +all the young Abraham-Slenders of the day must have been delighted +with the familiar "designs" as they re-appeared in _Fidessa_. + +Bartholomew Griffin was buried in Coventry in 1602. In 1596 he +dedicated his "slender work" _Fidessa_ to William Essex of Lamebourne +in Berkshire. He adds an address to the Gentlemen of the Inns of +Court, whom he begs to "censure mildly as protectors of a poor +stranger" and "judge the best as encouragers of a young beginner." Of +the poet little further is known. From the sonnets themselves we learn +that Fidessa was "of high regard," the child of a beautiful mother and +of a renowned father; she sprang in fact from the same root with the +poet himself, who writes "Gent." after his name on the title-page. She +had been kind to him in sickness and had "yielded to each look of his +a sweet reply." After giving these slight hints, he pushes forth from +the moorings of realism and sets sail on the ocean of the sonneteer's +fancy, meeting the usual adventures. His sonnets, while showing +versatility and ingenuity, lack spontaneous feeling and have serious +defects in form; yet these defects are in part offset by their +conversational ease and dramatic vividness. + + + + +TO FIDESSA + + + I + + _Fertur Fortunam Fortuna favere ferenti_ + + + Fidessa fair, long live a happy maiden! + Blest from thy cradle by a worthy mother, + High-thoughted like to her, with bounty laden, + Like pleasing grace affording, one and other; + Sweet model of thy far renowned sire! + Hold back a while thy ever-giving hand, + And though these free penned lines do nought require, + For that they scorn at base reward to stand, + Yet crave they most for that they beg the least + Dumb is the message of my hidden grief, + And store of speech by silence is increased; + O let me die or purchase some relief! + Bounteous Fidessa cannot be so cruel + As for to make my heart her fancy's fuel! + + + II + + How can that piercing crystal-painted eye, + That gave the onset to my high aspiring. + Yielding each look of mine a sweet reply, + Adding new courage to my heart's desiring, + How can it shut itself within her ark, + And keep herself and me both from the light, + Making us walk in all misguiding dark, + Aye to remain in confines of the night? + How is it that so little room contains it, + That guides the orient as the world the sun, + Which once obscured most bitterly complains it, + Because it knows and rules whate'er is done? + The reason is that they may dread her sight, + Who doth both give and take away their light. + + + III + + Venus, and young Adonis sitting by her, + Under a myrtle shade, began to woo him; + She told the youngling how god Mars did try her, + And as he fell to her, so fell she to him. + "Even thus," quoth she, "the wanton god embraced me!" + And then she clasped Adonis in her arms; + "Even thus," quoth she, "the warlike god unlaced me!" + As if the boy should use like loving charms. + But he, a wayward boy, refused the offer, + And ran away the beauteous queen neglecting + Showing both folly to abuse her proffer, + And all his sex of cowardice detecting. + O that I had my mistress at that bay, + To kiss and clip me till I ran away! + + + IV + + Did you sometimes three German brethren see, + Rancour 'twixt two of them so raging rife, + That th' one could stick the other with his knife? + Now if the third assaulted chance to be + By a fourth stranger, him set on the three, + Them two 'twixt whom afore was deadly strife + Made one to rob the stranger of his life; + Then do you know our state as well as we. + Beauty and chastity with her were born, + Both at one birth, and up with her did grow. + Beauty still foe to chastity was sworn, + And chastity sworn to be beauty's foe; + And yet when I lay siege unto her heart, + Beauty and chastity both take her part. + + + V + + Arraigned, poor captive at the bar I stand, + The bar of beauty, bar to all my joys; + And up I hold my ever trembling hand, + Wishing or life or death to end annoys. + And when the judge doth question of the guilt, + And bids me speak, then sorrow shuts up words. + Yea, though he say, "Speak boldly what thou wilt!" + Yet my confused affects no speech affords, + For why? Alas, my passions have no bound, + For fear of death that penetrates so near; + And still one grief another doth confound, + Yet doth at length a way to speech appear. + Then, for I speak too late, the Judge doth give + His sentence that in prison I shall live. + + + VI + + Unhappy sentence, worst of worst of pains, + To be in darksome silence, out of ken, + Banished from all that bliss the world contains, + And thrust from out the companies of men! + Unhappy sentence, worse than worst of deaths, + Never to see Fidessa's lovely face! + O better were I lose ten thousand breaths, + Than ever live in such unseen disgrace! + Unhappy sentence, worse than pains of hell, + To live in self-tormenting griefs alone; + Having my heart, my prison and my cell, + And there consumed without relief to moan! + If that the sentence so unhappy be, + Then what am I that gave the same to me? + + + VII + + Oft have mine eyes, the agents of mine heart, + False traitor eyes conspiring my decay, + Pleaded for grace with dumb and silent art, + Streaming forth tears my sorrows to allay; + Moaning the wrong they do unto their lord, + Forcing the cruel fair by means to yield; + Making her 'gainst her will some grace t'afford, + And striving sore at length to win the field; + Thus work they means to feed my fainting hope, + And strengthened hope adds matter to each thought; + Yet when they all come to their end and scope + They do but wholly bring poor me to nought. + She'll never yield although they ever cry, + And therefore we must all together die. + + + VIII + + Grief-urging guest, great cause have I to plain me, + Yet hope persuading hope expecteth grace, + And saith none but myself shall ever pain me; + But grief my hopes exceedeth in this case; + For still my fortune ever more doth cross me + By worse events than ever I expected; + And here and there ten thousand ways doth toss me, + With sad remembrance of my time neglected. + These breed such thoughts as set my heart on fire, + And like fell hounds pursue me to my death; + Traitors unto their sovereign lord and sire, + Unkind exactors of their father's breath, + Whom in their rage they shall no sooner kill + Than they themselves themselves unjustly spill. + + + IX + + My spotless love that never yet was tainted, + My loyal heart that never can be moved, + My growing hope that never yet hath fainted, + My constancy that you full well have proved, + All these consented have to plead for grace + These all lie crying at the door of beauty;-- + This wails, this sends out tears, this cries apace, + All do reward expect of faith and duty; + Now either thou must prove th' unkindest one, + And as thou fairest art must cruelest be, + Or else with pity yield unto their moan, + Their moan that ever will importune thee. + Ah, thou must be unkind, and give denial, + And I, poor I, must stand unto my trial! + + + X + + Clip not, sweet love, the wings of my desire, + Although it soar aloft and mount too high: + But rather bear with me though I aspire, + For I have wings to bear me to the sky. + What though I mount, there is no sun but thee! + And sith no other sun, why should I fear? + Thou wilt not burn me, though thou terrify, + And though thy brightness do so great appear. + Dear, I seek not to batter down thy glory, + Nor do I envy that thy hope increaseth; + O never think thy fame doth make me sorry! + For thou must live by fame when beauty ceaseth. + Besides, since from one root we both did spring, + Why should not I thy fame and beauty sing? + + + XI + + Winged with sad woes, why doth fair zephyr blow + Upon my face, the map of discontent? + Is it to have the weeds of sorrow grow + So long and thick, that they will ne'er be spent? + No, fondling, no! It is to cool the fire + Which hot desire within thy breast hath made. + Check him but once and he will soon retire. + O but he sorrows brought which cannot fade! + The sorrows that he brought, he took from thee, + Which fair Fidessa span and thou must wear! + Yet hath she nothing done of cruelty, + But for her sake to try what thou wilt bear. + Come, sorrows, come! You are to me assigned; + I'll bear you all, it is Fidessa's mind. + + + XII + + O if my heavenly sighs must prove annoy, + Which are the sweetest music to my heart, + Let it suffice I count them as my joy, + Sweet bitter joy and pleasant painful smart! + For when my breast is clogged with thousand cares, + That my poor loaded heart is like to break, + Then every sigh doth question how it fares, + Seeming to add their strength, which makes me weak; + Yet for they friendly are, I entertain them, + And they too well are pleased with their host. + But I, had not Fidessa been, ere now had slain them; + It's for her cause they live, in her they boast; + They promise help but when they see her face; + They fainting yield, and dare not sue for grace. + + + XIII + + Compare me to the child that plays with fire, + Or to the fly that dieth in the flame, + Or to the foolish boy that did aspire + To touch the glory of high heaven's frame; + Compare me to Leander struggling in the waves, + Not able to attain his safety's shore, + Or to the sick that do expect their graves, + Or to the captive crying evermore; + Compare me to the weeping wounded hart, + Moaning with tears the period of his life, + Or to the boar that will not feel the smart, + When he is stricken with the butcher's knife; + No man to these can fitly me compare; + These live to die, I die to live in care. + + XIV + + When silent sleep had closed up mine eyes, + My watchful mind did then begin to muse; + A thousand pleasing thoughts did then arise, + That sought by slights their master to abuse. + I saw, O heavenly sight! Fidessa's face, + And fair dame nature blushing to behold it; + Now did she laugh, now wink, now smile apace, + She took me by the hand and fast did hold it; + Sweetly her sweet body did she lay down by me; + "Alas, poor wretch," quoth she, "great is thy sorrow; + But thou shall comfort find if thou wilt try me. + I hope, sir boy, you'll tell me news to-morrow." + With that, away she went, and I did wake withal; + When ah! my honey thoughts were turned to gall. + + + XV + + Care-charmer sleep! Sweet ease in restless misery! + The captive's liberty, and his freedom's song! + Balm of the bruised heart! Man's chief felicity! + Brother of quiet death, when life is too too long! + A comedy it is, and now an history; + What is not sleep unto the feeble mind! + It easeth him that toils and him that's sorry; + It makes the deaf to hear, to see the blind; + Ungentle sleep, thou helpest all but me! + For when I sleep my soul is vexed most. + It is Fidessa that doth master thee; + If she approach, alas, thy power is lost! + But here she is! See how he runs amain! + I fear at night he will not come again. + + XVI + + For I have loved long, I crave reward; + Reward me not unkindly, think on kindness; + Kindness becometh those of high regard; + Regard with clemency a poor man's blindness; + Blindness provokes to pity when it crieth; + It crieth "Give!" Dear lady, shew some pity! + Pity or let him die that daily dieth; + Dieth he not oft who often sings this ditty? + This ditty pleaseth me although it choke me; + Methinks dame Echo weepeth at my moaning, + Moaning the woes that to complain provoke me. + Provoke me now no more, but hear my groaning, + Groaning both day and night doth tear my heart, + My heart doth know the cause and triumphs in the smart. + + + XVII + + Sweet stroke,--so might I thrive as I must praise-- + But sweeter hand that gives so sweet a stroke! + The lute itself is sweetest when she plays. + But what hear I? A string through fear is broke! + The lute doth shake as if it were afraid. + O sure some goddess holds it in her hand, + A heavenly power that oft hath me dismayed, + Yet such a power as doth in beauty stand! + Cease lute, my ceaseless suit will ne'er be heard! + Ah, too hard-hearted she that will not hear it! + If I but think on joy, my joy is marred; + My grief is great, yet ever must I bear it; + But love 'twixt us will prove a faithful page, + And she will love my sorrows to assuage. + + + XVIII + + O she must love my sorrows to assuage. + O God, what joy felt I when she did smile, + Whom killing grief before did cause to rage! + Beauty is able sorrow to beguile. + Out, traitor absence! thou dost hinder me, + And mak'st my mistress often to forget, + Causing me to rail upon her cruelty, + Whilst thou my suit injuriously dost let; + Again her presence doth astonish me, + And strikes me dumb as if my sense were gone; + Oh, is not this a strange perplexity? + In presence dumb, she hears not absent moan; + Thus absent presence, present absence maketh, + That hearing my poor suit, she it mistaketh. + + + XIX + + My pain paints out my love in doleful verse, + The lively glass wherein she may behold it; + My verse her wrong to me doth still rehearse, + But so as it lamenteth to unfold it. + Myself with ceaseless tears my harms bewail, + And her obdurate heart not to be moved; + Though long-continued woes my senses fail, + And curse the day, the hour when first I loved. + She takes the glass wherein herself she sees, + In bloody colours cruelly depainted; + And her poor prisoner humbly on his knees, + Pleading for grace, with heart that never fainted. + She breaks the glass; alas, I cannot choose + But grieve that I should so my labour lose! + + + XX + + Great is the joy that no tongue can express! + Fair babe new born, how much dost thou delight me! + But what, is mine so great? Yea, no whit less! + So great that of all woes it doth acquite me. + It's fair Fidessa that this comfort bringeth, + Who sorry for the wrongs by her procured, + Delightful tunes of love, of true love singeth, + Wherewith her too chaste thoughts were ne'er inured. + She loves, she saith, but with a love not blind. + Her love is counsel that I should not love, + But upon virtues fix a stayed mind. + But what! This new-coined love, love doth reprove? + If this be love of which you make such store, + Sweet, love me less, that you may love me more! + + + XXI + + He that will Caesar be, or else not be-- + Who can aspire to Caesar's bleeding fame, + Must be of high resolve; but what is he + That thinks to gain a second Caesar's name? + Whoe'er he be that climbs above his strength, + And climbeth high, the greater is his fall! + For though he sit awhile, we see at length, + His slippery place no firmness hath at all, + Great is his bruise that falleth from on high. + This warneth me that I should not aspire; + Examples should prevail; I care not, I! + I perish must or have what I desire! + This humour doth with mine full well agree + I must Fidessa's be, or else not be! + + + XXII + + It was of love, ungentle gentle boy! + That thou didst come and harbour in my breast; + Not of intent my body to destroy, + And have my soul, with restless cares opprest. + But sith thy love doth turn unto my pain, + Return to Greece, sweet lad, where thou wast born. + Leave me alone my griefs to entertain, + If thou forsake me, I am less forlorn; + Although alone, yet shall I find more ease. + Then see thou hie thee hence, or I will chase thee; + Men highly wronged care not to displease; + My fortune hangs on thee, thou dost disgrace me, + Yet at thy farewell, play a friendly part; + To make amends, fly to Fidessa's heart. + + + XXIII + + Fly to her heart, hover about her heart, + With dainty kisses mollify her heart, + Pierce with thy arrows her obdurate heart, + With sweet allurements ever move her heart, + At midday and at midnight touch her heart, + Be lurking closely, nestle about her heart, + With power--thou art a god!--command her heart, + Kindle thy coals of love about her heart, + Yea, even into thyself transform her heart! + Ah, she must love! Be sure thou have her heart; + And I must die if thou have not her heart; + Thy bed if thou rest well, must be her heart; + He hath the best part sure that hath her heart; + What have I not, if I have but her heart! + + + XXIV + + Striving is past! Ah, I must sink and drown, + And that in sight of long descried shore! + I cannot send for aid unto the town, + All help is vain and I must die therefore. + Then poor distressed caitiff, be resolved + To leave this earthly dwelling fraught with care; + Cease will thy woes, thy corpse in earth involved, + Thou diest for her that will no help prepare. + O see, my case herself doth now behold; + The casement open is; she seems to speak;-- + But she has gone! O then I dare be bold + And needs must say she caused my heart to break. + I die before I drown, O heavy case! + It was because I saw my mistress' face. + + + XXV + + Compare me to Pygmalion with his image sotted, + For, as was he, even so am I deceived. + The shadow only is to me allotted, + The substance hath of substance me bereaved. + Then poor and helpless must I wander still + In deep laments to pass succeeding days, + Welt'ring in woes that poor and mighty kill. + O who is mighty that so soon decays! + The dread Almighty hath appointed so + The final period of all worldly things. + Then as in time they come, so must they go; + Death common is to beggars and to kings + For whither do I run beside my text? + I run to death, for death must be the next. + + + XXVI + + The silly bird that hastes unto the net, + And flutters to and fro till she be taken, + Doth look some food or succour there to get, + But loseth life, so much is she mistaken. + The foolish fly that fleeth to the flame + With ceaseless hovering and with restless flight, + Is burned straight to ashes in the same, + And finds her death where was her most delight + The proud aspiring boy that needs would pry + Into the secrets of the highest seat, + Had some conceit to gain content thereby, + Or else his folly sure was wondrous great. + These did through folly perish all and die: + And though I know it, even so do I. + + + XXVII + + Poor worm, poor silly worm, alas, poor beast! + Fear makes thee hide thy head within the ground, + Because of creeping things thou art the least, + Yet every foot gives thee thy mortal wound. + But I, thy fellow worm, am in worse state, + For thou thy sun enjoyest, but I want mine. + I live in irksome night, O cruel fate! + My sun will never rise, nor ever shine. + Thus blind of light, mine eyes misguide my feet, + And baleful darkness makes me still afraid; + Men mock me when I stumble in the street, + And wonder how my young sight so decayed. + Yet do I joy in this, even when I fall, + That I shall see again and then see all. + + + XXVIII + + Well may my soul, immortal and divine, + That is imprisoned in a lump of clay, + Breathe out laments until this body pine, + That from her takes her pleasures all away. + Pine then, thou loathed prison of my life, + Untoward subject of the least aggrievance! + O let me die! Mortality is rife; + Death comes by wounds, by sickness, care, and chance. + O earth, the time will come when I'll resume thee, + And in thy bosom make my resting-place; + Then do not unto hardest sentence doom me; + Yield, yield betimes; I must and will have grace! + Richly shalt thou be entombed, since, for thy grave, + Fidessa, fair Fidessa, thou shalt have! + + + XXIX + + Earth, take this earth wherein my spirits languish; + Spirits, leave this earth that doth in griefs retain you; + Griefs, chase this earth that it may fade with anguish; + Spirits, avoid these furies which do pain you! + O leave your loathsome prison; freedom gain you; + Your essence is divine; great is your power; + And yet you moan your wrongs and sore complain you, + Hoping for joy which fadeth every hour. + O spirits, your prison loathe and freedom gain you; + The destinies in deep laments have shut you + Of mortal hate, because they do disdain you, + And yet of joy that they in prison put you. + Earth, take this earth with thee to be enclosed; + Life is to me, and I to it, opposed! + + + XXX + + Weep now no more, mine eyes, but be you drowned + In your own tears, so many years distilled. + And let her know that at them long hath frowned, + That you can weep no more although she willed; + This hap her cruelty hath her allotten, + Who whilom was commandress of each part; + That now her proper griefs must be forgotten + By those true outward signs of inward smart. + For how can he that hath not one tear left him, + Stream out those floods that are due unto her moaning, + When both of eyes and tears she hath bereft him? + O yet I'll signify my grief with groaning; + True sighs, true groans shall echo in the air + And say, Fidessa, though most cruel, is most fair! + + + XXXI + + Tongue, never cease to sing Fidessa's praise; + Heart, however she deserve conceive the best; + Eyes, stand amazed to see her beauty's rays; + Lips, steal one kiss and be for ever blest; + Hands, touch that hand wherein your life is closed; + Breast, lock up fast in thee thy life's sole treasure; + Arms, still embrace and never be disclosed; + Feet, run to her without or pace or measure; + Tongue, heart, eyes, lips, hands, breast, arms, feet, + Consent to do true homage to your Queen, + Lovely, fair, gentle, wise, virtuous, sober, sweet, + Whose like shall never be, hath never been! + O that I were all tongue, her praise to shew; + Then surely my poor heart were freed from woe! + + + XXXII + + Sore sick of late, nature her due would have, + Great was my pain where still my mind did rest; + No hope but heaven, no comfort but my grave, + Which is of comforts both the last and least; + But on a sudden, the Almighty sent + Sweet ease to the distressed and comfortless, + And gave me longer time for to repent, + With health and strength the foes of feebleness; + Yet I my health no sooner 'gan recover, + But my old thoughts, though full of cares, retained, + Made me, as erst, become a wretched lover + Of her that love and lovers aye disdained. + Then was my pain with ease of pain increased, + And I ne'er sick until my sickness ceased. + + + XXXIII + + He that would fain Fidessa's image see, + My face of force may be his looking-glass. + There is she portrayed and her cruelty, + Which as a wonder through the world must pass. + But were I dead, she would not be betrayed; + It's I, that 'gainst my will, shall make it known. + Her cruelty by me must be bewrayed, + Or I must hide my head and live alone. + I'll pluck my silver hairs from out my head, + And wash away the wrinkles of my face; + Closely immured I'll live as I were dead, + Before she suffer but the least disgrace. + How can I hide that is already known? + I have been seen and have no face but one. + + + XXXIV + + Fie pleasure, fie! Thou cloy'st me with delight; + Sweet thoughts, you kill me if you lower stray! + O many be the joys of one short night! + Tush, fancies never can desire allay! + Happy, unhappy thoughts! I think, and have not. + Pleasure, O pleasing pain! Shows nought avail me! + Mine own conceit doth glad me, more I crave not; + Yet wanting substance, woe doth still assail me. + Babies do children please, and shadows fools; + Shows have deceived the wisest many a time. + Ever to want our wish, our courage cools. + The ladder broken, 'tis in vain to climb. + But I must wish, and crave, and seek, and climb; + It's hard if I obtain not grace in time. + + + XXXV + + I have not spent the April of my time, + The sweet of youth in plotting in the air, + But do at first adventure seek to climb, + Whilst flowers of blooming years are green and fair. + I am no leaving of all-withering age, + I have not suffered many winter lours; + I feel no storm unless my love do rage, + And then in grief I spend both days and hours. + This yet doth comfort that my flower lasted + Until it did approach my sun too near; + And then, alas, untimely was it blasted, + So soon as once thy beauty did appear! + But after all, my comfort rests in this, + That for thy sake my youth decayed is. + + + XXXVI + + O let my heart, my body, and my tongue + Bleed forth the lively streams of faith unfeigned, + Worship my saint the gods and saints among, + Praise and extol her fair that me hath pained! + O let the smoke of my suppressed desire, + Raked up in ashes of my burning breast, + Break out at length and to the clouds aspire, + Urging the heavens to afford me rest; + But let my body naturally descend + Into the bowels of our common mother, + And to the very centre let it wend, + When it no lower can, her griefs to smother! + And yet when I so low do buried lie, + Then shall my love ascend unto the sky. + + + XXXVII + + Fair is my love that feeds among the lilies, + The lilies growing in that pleasant garden + Where Cupid's mount, that well beloved hill is, + And where that little god himself is warden. + See where my love sits in the beds of spices, + Beset all round with camphor, myrrh, and roses, + And interlaced with curious devices, + Which her from all the world apart incloses. + There doth she tune her lute for her delight, + And with sweet music makes the ground to move; + Whilst I, poor I, do sit in heavy plight, + Wailing alone my unrespected love, + Not daring rush into so rare a place, + That gives to her, and she to it, a grace. + + + XXXVIII + + Was never eye did see my mistress' face, + Was never ear did hear Fidessa's tongue, + Was never mind that once did mind her grace, + That ever thought the travail to be long. + When her I see, no creature I behold, + So plainly say these advocates of love, + That now do fear and now to speak are bold, + Trembling apace when they resolve to prove. + These strange effects do show a hidden power, + A majesty all base attempts reproving, + That glads or daunts as she doth laugh or lower; + Surely some goddess harbours in their moving + Who thus my Muse from base attempts hath raised, + Whom thus my Muse beyond compare hath praised. + + + XXXIX + + My lady's hair is threads of beaten gold, + Her front the purest crystal eye hath seen, + Her eyes the brightest stars the heavens hold, + Her cheeks red roses such as seld have been; + Her pretty lips of red vermillion die, + Her hand of ivory the purest white, + Her blush Aurora or the morning sky, + Her breast displays two silver fountains bright + The spheres her voice, her grace the Graces three: + Her body is the saint that I adore; + Her smiles and favours sweet as honey be; + Her feet fair Thetis praiseth evermore. + But ah, the worst and last is yet behind, + For of a griffon she doth bear the mind! + + + XL + + Injurious Fates, to rob me of my bliss, + And dispossess my heart of all his hope! + You ought with just revenge to punish miss, + For unto you the hearts of men are ope. + Injurious Fates, that hardened have her heart, + Yet make her face to send out pleasing smiles! + And both are done but to increase my smart, + And entertain my love with falsed wiles. + Yet being when she smiles surprised with joy, + I fain would languish in so sweet a pain, + Beseeching death my body to destroy, + Lest on the sudden she should frown again. + When men do wish for death, Fates have no force; + But they, when men would live, have no remorse. + + + XLI + + The prison I am in is thy fair face, + Wherein my liberty enchained lies; + My thoughts, the bolts that hold me in the place; + My food, the pleasing looks of thy fair eyes. + Deep is the prison where I lie enclosed, + Strong are the bolts that in this cell contain me; + Sharp is the food necessity imposed, + When hunger makes me feed on that which pains me. + Yet do I love, embrace, and follow fast, + That holds, that keeps, that discontents me most; + And list not break, unlock, or seek to waste + The place, the bolts, the food, though I be lost; + Better in prison ever to remain, + Than being out to suffer greater pain. + + + XLII + + When never-speaking silence proves a wonder, + When ever-flying flame at home remaineth, + When all-concealing night keeps darkness under, + When men-devouring wrong true glory gaineth, + When soul-tormenting grief agrees with joy, + When Lucifer foreruns the baleful night, + When Venus doth forsake her little boy, + When her untoward boy obtaineth sight, + When Sisyphus doth cease to roll his stone, + When Otus shaketh off his heavy chain, + When beauty, queen of pleasure, is alone, + When love and virtue quiet peace disdain; + When these shall be, and I not be, + Then will Fidessa pity me. + + + XLIII + + Tell me of love, sweet Love, who is thy sire, + Or if thou mortal or immortal be? + Some say thou art begotten by desire, + Nourished with hope, and fed with fantasy, + Engendered by a heavenly goddess' eye, + Lurking most sweetly in an angel's face. + Others, that beauty thee doth deify;-- + O sovereign beauty, full of power and grace!-- + But I must be absurd all this denying, + Because the fairest fair alive ne'er knew thee. + Now, Cupid, comes thy godhead to the trying; + 'Twas she alone--such is her power--that slew me; + She shall be Love, and thou a foolish boy, + Whose virtue proves thy power is but a toy. + + + XLIV + + No choice of change can ever change my mind; + Choiceless my choice, the choicest choice alive; + Wonder of women, were she not unkind, + The pitiless of pity to deprive. + Yet she, the kindest creature of her kind, + Accuseth me of self-ingratitude, + And well she may, sith by good proof I find + Myself had died, had she not helpful stood. + For when my sickness had the upper hand, + And death began to show his awful face, + She took great pains my pains for to withstand, + And eased my heart that was in heavy case. + But cruel now, she scorneth what it craveth; + Unkind in kindness, murdering while she saveth. + + + XLV + + Mine eye bewrays the secrets of my heart, + My heart unfolds his grief before her face; + Her face--bewitching pleasure of my smart!-- + Deigns not one look of mercy and of grace. + My guilty eye of murder and of treason,-- + Friendly conspirator of my decay, + Dumb eloquence, the lover's strongest reason!-- + Doth weep itself for anger quite away, + And chooseth rather not to be, than be + Disloyal, by too well discharging duty; + And being out, joys it no more can see + The sugared charms of all deceiving beauty. + But, for the other greedily doth eye it, + I pray you tell me, what do I get by it? + + + XLVI + + So soon as peeping Lucifer, Aurora's star, + The sky with golden periwigs doth spangle; + So soon as Phoebus gives us light from far, + So soon as fowler doth the bird entangle; + Soon as the watchful bird, clock of the morn, + Gives intimation of the day's appearing; + Soon as the jolly hunter winds his horn, + His speech and voice with custom's echo clearing; + Soon as the hungry lion seeks his prey + In solitary range of pathless mountains; + Soon as the passenger sets on his way, + So soon as beasts resort unto the fountains; + So soon mine eyes their office are discharging, + And I my griefs with greater griefs enlarging. + + + XLVII + + I see, I hear, I feel, I know, I rue + My fate, my fame, my pain, my loss, my fall, + Mishap, reproach, disdain, a crown, her hue, + Cruel, still flying, false, fair, funeral, + To cross, to shame, bewitch, deceive, and kill + My first proceedings in their flowing bloom. + My worthless pen fast chained to my will, + My erring life through an uncertain doom, + My thoughts that yet in lowliness do mount, + My heart the subject of her tyranny; + What now remains but her severe account + Of murder's crying guilt, foul butchery! + She was unhappy in her cradle breath, + That given was to be another's death. + + + XLVIII + + "Murder! O murder!" I can cry no longer. + "Murder! O murder!" Is there none to aid me? + Life feeble is in force, death is much stronger; + Then let me die that shame may not upbraid me; + Nothing is left me now but shame or death. + I fear she feareth not foul murder's guilt, + Nor do I fear to lose a servile breath. + I know my blood was given to be spilt. + What is this life but maze of countless strays, + The enemy of true felicity, + Fitly compared to dreams, to flowers, to plays! + O life, no life to me, but misery! + Of shame or death, if thou must one, + Make choice of death and both are gone. + + + XLIX + + My cruel fortunes clouded with a frown, + Lurk in the bosom of eternal night; + My climbing thoughts are basely hauled down; + My best devices prove but after-sight. + Poor outcast of the world's exiled room, + I live in wilderness of deep lament; + No hope reserved me but a hopeless tomb, + When fruitless life and fruitful woes are spent. + Shall Phoebus hinder little stars to shine, + Or lofty cedar mushrooms leave to grow? + Sure mighty men at little ones repine, + The rich is to the poor a common foe. + Fidessa, seeing how the world doth go, + Joineth with fortune in my overthrow. + + + L + + When I the hooks of pleasure first devoured, + Which undigested threaten now to choke me, + Fortune on me her golden graces showered; + O then delight did to delight provoke me! + Delight, false instrument of my decay, + Delight, the nothing that doth all things move, + Made me first wander from the perfect way, + And fast entangled me in the snares of love. + Then my unhappy happiness at first began, + Happy in that I loved the fairest fair; + Unhappily despised, a hapless man; + Thus joy did triumph, triumph did despair. + My conquest is--which shall the conquest gain?-- + Fidessa, author both of joy and pain! + + + LI + + Work, work apace, you blessed sisters three, + In restless twining of my fatal thread! + O let your nimble hands at once agree, + To weave it out and cut it off with speed! + Then shall my vexed and tormented ghost + Have quiet passage to the Elysian rest, + And sweetly over death and fortune boast + In everlasting triumphs with the blest. + But ah, too well I know you have conspired + A lingering death for him that loatheth life, + As if with woes he never could be tired. + For this you hide your all-dividing knife. + One comfort yet the heavens have assigned me; + That I must die and leave my griefs behind me. + + + LII + + It is some comfort to the wronged man, + The wronger of injustice to upbraid. + Justly myself herein I comfort can, + And justly call her an ungrateful maid. + Thus am I pleased to rid myself of crime + And stop the mouth of all-reporting fame, + Counting my greatest cross the loss of time + And all my private grief her public shame. + Ah, but to speak the truth, hence are my cares, + And in this comfort all discomfort resteth; + My harms I cause her scandal unawares; + Thus love procures the thing that love detesteth. + For he that views the glasses of my smart + Must need report she hath a flinty heart. + + + LIII + + I was a king of sweet content at least, + But now from out my kingdom banished; + I was chief guest at fair dame pleasure's feast, + But now I am for want of succour famished; + I was a saint and heaven was my rest, + But now cast down into the lowest hell. + Vile caitiffs may not live among the blest, + Nor blessed men amongst cursed caitiffs dwell. + Thus am I made an exile of a king; + Thus choice of meats to want of food is changed; + Thus heaven's loss doth hellish torments bring; + Self crosses make me from myself estranged. + Yet am I still the same but made another; + Then not the same; alas, I am no other! + + + LIV + + If great Apollo offered as a dower + His burning throne to beauty's excellence; + If Jove himself came in a golden shower + Down to the earth to fetch fair Io thence; + If Venus in the curled locks was tied + Of proud Adonis not of gentle kind; + If Tellus for a shepherd's favour died, + The favour cruel Love to her assigned; + If Heaven's winged herald Hermes had + His heart enchanted with a country maid; + If poor Pygmalion was for beauty mad; + If gods and men have all for beauty strayed: + I am not then ashamed to be included + 'Mongst those that love, and be with love deluded. + + + LV + + O, No, I dare not! O, I may not speak! + Yes, yes, I dare, I can, I must, I will! + Then heart, pour forth thy plaints and do not break; + Let never fancy manly courage kill; + Intreat her mildly, words have pleasing charms + Of force to move the most obdurate heart, + To take relenting pity of my harms, + And with unfeigned tears to wail my smart. + Is she a stock, a block, a stone, a flint? + Hath she nor ears to hear nor eyes to see? + If so my cries, my prayers, my tears shall stint! + Lord! how can lovers so bewitched be! + I took her to be beauty's queen alone; + But now I see she is a senseless stone. + + + LVI + + Is trust betrayed? Doth kindness grow unkind? + Can beauty both at once give life and kill? + Shall fortune alter the most constant mind? + Will reason yield unto rebelling will? + Doth fancy purchase praise, and virtue shame? + May show of goodness lurk in treachery? + Hath truth unto herself procured blame? + Must sacred muses suffer misery? + Are women woe to men, traps for their falls? + Differ their words, their deeds, their looks, their lives? + Have lovers ever been their tennis balls? + Be husbands fearful of the chastest wives? + All men do these affirm, and so must I, + Unless Fidessa give to me the lie. + + + LVII + + Three playfellows--such three were never seen + In Venus' court--upon a summer's day, + Met altogether on a pleasant green, + Intending at some pretty game to play. + They Dian, Cupid, and Fidessa were. + Their wager, beauty, bow, and cruelty; + The conqueress the stakes away did bear. + Whose fortune then was it to win all three? + Fidessa, which doth these as weapons use, + To make the greatest heart her will obey; + And yet the most obedient to refuse + As having power poor lovers to betray. + With these she wounds, she heals, gives life and death; + More power hath none that lives by mortal breath. + + + LVIII + + O beauty, siren! kept with Circe's rod; + The fairest good in seem but foulest ill; + The sweetest plague ordained for man by God, + The pleasing subject of presumptuous will; + Th' alluring object of unstayed eyes; + Friended of all, but unto all a foe; + The dearest thing that any creature buys, + And vainest too, it serves but for a show; + In seem a heaven, and yet from bliss exiling; + Paying for truest service nought but pain; + Young men's undoing, young and old beguiling; + Man's greatest loss though thought his greatest gain! + True, that all this with pain enough I prove; + And yet most true, I will Fidessa love. + + + LIX + + Do I unto a cruel tiger play, + That preys on me as wolf upon the lambs, + Who fear the danger both of night and day + And run for succour to their tender dams? + Yet will I pray, though she be ever cruel, + On bended knee and with submissive heart. + She is the fire and I must be the fuel; + She must inflict and I endure the smart. + She must, she shall be mistress of her will, + And I, poor I, obedient to the same; + As fit to suffer death as she to kill; + As ready to be blamed as she to blame. + And for I am the subject of her ire, + All men shall know thereby my love entire. + + + LX + + O let me sigh, weep, wail, and cry no more; + Or let me sigh, weep, wail, cry more and more! + Yea, let me sigh, weep, wail, cry evermore, + For she doth pity my complaints no more + Than cruel pagan or the savage Moor; + But still doth add unto my torments more, + Which grievous are to me by so much more + As she inflicts them and doth wish them more. + O let thy mercy, merciless, be never more! + So shall sweet death to me be welcome, more + Than is to hungry beasts the grassy moor, + As she that to affliction adds yet more, + Becomes more cruel by still adding more! + Weary am I to speak of this word "more;" + Yet never weary she, to plague me more! + + + LXI + + Fidessa's worth in time begetteth praise; + Time, praise; praise, fame; fame, wonderment; + Wonder, fame, praise, time, her worth do raise + To highest pitch of dread astonishment. + Yet time in time her hardened heart bewrayeth + And praise itself her cruelty dispraiseth. + So that through praise, alas, her praise decayeth, + And that which makes it fall her honour raiseth! + Most strange, yet true! So wonder, wonder still, + And follow fast the wonder of these days; + For well I know all wonder to fulfil + Her will at length unto my will obeys. + Meantime let others praise her constancy, + And me attend upon her clemency. + + + LXII + + Most true that I must fair Fidessa love. + Most true that fair Fidessa cannot love. + Most true that I do feel the pains of love. + Most true that I am captive unto love. + Most true that I deluded am with love. + Most true that I do find the sleights of love. + Most true that nothing can procure her love. + Most true that I must perish in my love. + Most true that she contemns the god of love. + Most true that he is snared with her love. + Most true that she would have me cease to love. + Most true that she herself alone is love. + Most true that though she hated, I would love. + Most true that dearest life shall end with love. + + +FINIS + + _Talis apud tales, talis sub tempore tali: + Subque meo tali judice, talis ero._ + + + + +CHLORIS +OR, THE COMPLAINT OF THE PASSIONATE DESPISED SHEPHERD +by +WILLIAM SMITH + + + + +WILLIAM SMITH + + +The sub-title of _Chloris_ arouses an expectation that is gratified in +the pastoral modishness of the sonnets. Corin sits under the "lofty +pines, co-partners of his woe," with oaten reed at his lips, and calls +on sylvans, lambkins and all Parnassans to testify to the beauty and +cruelty of Chloris. The attitude is a self-conscious one, yet the poem +reveals little of the personality of the author beyond the facts of +his youthfulness and of his devotion to "the most excellent and +learned Shepheard, Colin Cloute." It was in 1595, but one year before +the publication of _Chloris_, that Spenser had sung his own sonnets of +true love, and it is perhaps on this account that William Smith finds +him in a mood favourable to the defence of a young aspirant. At any +rate, the language of the dedication rings with something more than +mere desire for distinguished patronage. The youth looks with a +beautiful humility upward toward the greater but "dear and most entire +beloved" poet. His own sonnets, he says, are "of my study the budding +springs"; they are but "young-hatched orphan things." He nowhere +boasts that they will give immortal renown to the scornful beauty, but +modestly promises that if her cruel disdain does not ruin him, the +time shall come when he "more large" her "praises forth shall pen." +Chloris had once been favourable, as sonnet forty-eight distinctly +shows, but the cycle does not bring any happy conclusion to the story. +Corin is left weeping but faithful, and the picture of Chloris is +composed of such faint outlines only as the sonneteer's conventions +can delineate. Beyond this no certain information in regard to poet or +honoured lady has yet been unearthed. + +For all its formality, however, the sonnet-cycle is not wanting in +touches of real feeling and lines of musical sweetness; the writer +shows considerable skill in the management of rime, and in structure +he adopts the form preferred by Shakespeare, whose "sugared sonnets" +may by this date have passed beneath his eye. The melodies piped by +other sonnet-shepherds re-echo with a great deal of distinctness in +Covin's strains; nevertheless he has himself taken a draught from the +true Elizabethan fount of lyric inspiration, and the nymph Chloris +with her heart-robbing eye well deserves a place on the snow-soft +downs where the sonneteering shepherds were wont to assemble. + + + + +TO THE MOST EXCELLENT AND LEARNED SHEPHERD COLIN CLOUT + + + I + + Colin my dear and most entire beloved, + My muse audacious stoops her pitch to thee, + Desiring that thy patience be not moved + By these rude lines, written here you see; + Fain would my muse whom cruel love hath wronged, + Shroud her love labours under thy protection, + And I myself with ardent zeal have longed + That thou mightst know to thee my true affection. + Therefore, good Colin, graciously accept + A few sad sonnets which my muse hath framed; + Though they but newly from the shell are crept, + Suffer them not by envy to be blamed, + But underneath the shadow of thy wings + Give warmth to these young-hatched orphan things. + + + II + + Give warmth to these young-hatched orphan things, + Which chill with cold to thee for succour creep; + They of my study are the budding springs; + Longer I cannot them in silence keep. + They will be gadding sore against my mind. + But courteous shepherd, if they run astray, + Conduct them that they may the pathway find, + And teach them how the mean observe they may. + Thou shalt them ken by their discording notes, + Their weeds are plain, such as poor shepherds wear; + Unshapen, torn, and ragged are their coats, + Yet forth they wand'ring are devoid of fear. + They which have tasted of the muses' spring, + I hope will smile upon the tunes they sing. + + + TO ALL SHEPHERDS IN GENERAL + + You whom the world admires for rarest style, + You which have sung the sonnets of true love, + Upon my maiden verse with favour smile, + Whose weak-penned muse to fly too soon doth prove; + Before her feathers have their full perfection, + She soars aloft, pricked on by blind affection. + + You whose deep wits, ingine, and industry, + The everlasting palm of praise have won, + You paragons of learned poesy, + Favour these mists, which fall before your sun, + Intentions leading to a more effect + If you them grace but with your mild aspect. + + And thou the Genius of my ill-tuned note, + Whose beauty urged hath my rustic vein + Through mighty oceans of despair to float, + That I in rime thy cruelty complain: + Vouchsafe to read these lines both harsh and bad + Nuntiates of woe with sorrow being clad. + + +CHLORIS + + I + + Courteous Calliope, vouchsafe to lend + Thy helping hand to my untuned song, + And grace these lines which I to write pretend, + Compelled by love which doth poor Corin wrong. + And those thy sacred sisters I beseech, + Which on Parnassus' mount do ever dwell, + To shield my country muse and rural speech + By their divine authority and spell. + Lastly to thee, O Pan, the shepherds' king, + And you swift-footed Dryades I call; + Attend to hear a swain in verse to sing + Sonnets of her that keeps his heart in thrall! + O Chloris, weigh the task I undertake! + Thy beauty subject of my song I make. + + + II + + Thy beauty subject of my song I make, + O fairest fair, on whom depends my life! + Refuse not then the task I undertake, + To please thy rage and to appease my strife; + But with one smile remunerate my toil, + None other guerdon I of thee desire. + Give not my lowly muse new-hatched the foil, + But warmth that she may at the length aspire + Unto the temples of thy star-bright eyes, + Upon whose round orbs perfect beauty sits, + From whence such glorious crystal beams arise, + As best my Chloris' seemly face befits; + Which eyes, which beauty, which bright crystal beam, + Which face of thine hath made my love extreme. + + + III + + Feed, silly sheep, although your keeper pineth, + Yet like to Tantalus doth see his food. + Skip you and leap, no bright Apollo shineth, + Whilst I bewail my sorrows in yon wood, + Where woeful Philomela doth record, + And sings with notes of sad and dire lament + The tragedy wrought by her sisters' lord; + I'll bear a part in her black discontent. + That pipe which erst was wont to make you glee + Upon these downs whereon you careless graze, + Shall to her mournful music tuned be. + Let not my plaints, poor lambkins, you amaze; + There underneath that dark and dusky bower, + Whole showers of tears to Chloris I will pour. + + + IV + + Whole showers of tears to Chloris I will pour, + As true oblations of my sincere love, + If that will not suffice, most fairest flower, + Then shall my sighs thee unto pity move. + If neither tears nor sighs can aught prevail, + My streaming blood thine anger shall appease, + This hand of mine by vigour shall assail + To tear my heart asunder thee to please. + Celestial powers on you I invocate; + You know the chaste affections of my mind, + I never did my faith yet violate; + Why should my Chloris then be so unkind? + That neither tears, nor sighs, nor streaming blood, + Can unto mercy move her cruel mood. + + + V + + You fawns and silvans, when my Chloris brings + Her flocks to water in your pleasant plains, + Solicit her to pity Corin's strings, + The smart whereof for her he still sustains. + For she is ruthless of my woeful song; + My oaten reed she not delights to hear. + O Chloris, Chloris! Corin thou dost wrong, + Who loves thee better than his own heart dear. + The flames of Aetna are not half so hot + As is the fire which thy disdain hath bread. + Ah cruel fates, why do you then besot + Poor Corin's soul with love, when love is fled? + Either cause cruel Chloris to relent, + Or let me die upon the wound she sent! + + + VI + + You lofty pines, co-partners of my woe, + When Chloris sitteth underneath your shade, + To her those sighs and tears I pray you show, + Whilst you attending I for her have made. + Whilst you attending, dropped have sweet balm + In token that you pity my distress, + Zephirus hath your stately boughs made calm. + Whilst I to you my sorrows did express, + The neighbour mountains bended have their tops, + When they have heard my rueful melody, + And elves in rings about me leaps and hops, + To frame my passions to their jollity. + Resounding echoes from their obscure caves, + Reiterate what most my fancy craves. + + + VII + + What need I mourn, seeing Pan our sacred king + Was of that nymph fair Syrinx coy disdained? + The world's great light which comforteth each thing, + All comfortless for Daphne's sake remained. + If gods can find no help to heal the sore + Made by love's shafts, which pointed are with fire, + Unhappy Corin, then thy chance deplore, + Sith they despair by wanting their desire. + I am not Pan though I a shepherd be, + Yet is my love as fair as Syrinx was. + My songs cannot with Phoebus' tunes agree, + Yet Chloris' doth his Daphne's far surpass. + How much more fair by so much more unkind, + Than Syrinx coy, or Daphne, I her find! + + + VIII + + No sooner had fair Phoebus trimmed his car, + Being newly risen from Aurora's bed, + But I in whom despair and hope did war, + My unpenned flock unto the mountains led. + Tripping upon the snow-soft downs I spied + Three nymphs more fairer than those beautys three + Which did appear to Paris on mount Ide. + Coming more near, my goddess I there see; + For she the field-nymphs oftentimes doth haunt, + To hunt with them the fierce and savage boar; + And having sported virelays they chaunt, + Whilst I unhappy helpless cares deplore. + There did I call to her, ah too unkind! + But tiger-like, of me she had no mind. + + + IX + + Unto the fountain where fair Delia chaste + The proud Acteon turned to a hart, + I drove my flock, that water sweet to taste, + 'Cause from the welkin Phoebus 'gan depart. + There did I see the nymph whom I admire, + Rememb'ring her locks, of which the yellow hue + Made blush the beauties of her curled wire, + Which Jove himself with wonder well might view; + Then red with ire, her tresses she berent, + And weeping hid the beauty of her face, + Whilst I amazed at her discontent, + With tears and sighs do humbly sue for grace; + But she regarding neither tears nor moan, + Flies from the fountain leaving me alone. + + + X + + Am I a Gorgon that she doth me fly, + Or was I hatched in the river Nile? + Or doth my Chloris stand in doubt that I + With syren songs do seek her to beguile? + If any one of these she can object + 'Gainst me, which chaste affected love protest, + Then might my fortunes by her frowns be checked, + And blameless she from scandal free might rest. + But seeing I am no hideous monster born, + But have that shape which other men do bear, + Which form great Jupiter did never scorn, + Amongst his subjects here on earth to wear, + Why should she then that soul with sorrow fill, + Which vowed hath to love and serve her still? + + + XI + + Tell me, my dear, what moves thy ruthless mind + To be so cruel, seeing thou art so fair? + Did nature frame thy beauty so unkind? + Or dost thou scorn to pity my despair? + O no, it was not nature's ornament, + But winged love's unpartial cruel wound, + Which in my heart is ever permanent, + Until my Chloris make me whole and sound. + O glorious love-god, think on my heart's grief; + Let not thy vassal pine through deep disdain; + By wounding Chloris I shall find relief, + If thou impart to her some of my pain. + She doth thy temples and thy shrines abject; + They with Amintas' flowers by me are decked. + + + XII + + Cease, eyes, to weep sith none bemoans your weeping; + Leave off, good muse, to sound the cruel name + Of my love's queen which hath my heart in keeping, + Yet of my love doth make a jesting game! + Long hath my sufferance laboured to inforce + One pearl of pity from her pretty eyes, + Whilst I with restless oceans of remorse + Bedew the banks where my fair Chloris lies, + Where my fair Chloris bathes her tender skin, + And doth triumph to see such rivers fall + From those moist springs, which never dry have been + Since she their honour hath detained in thrall; + And still she scorns one favouring smile to show + Unto those waves proceeding from my woe. + + + XIII + + _A Dream_ + + What time fair Titan in the zenith sat, + And equally the fixed poles did heat, + When to my flock my daily woes I chat, + And underneath a broad beech took my seat, + The dreaming god which Morpheus poets call, + Augmenting fuel to my Aetna's fire, + With sleep possessing my weak senses all, + In apparitions makes my hopes aspire. + Methought I saw the nymph I would imbrace, + With arms abroad coming to me for help, + A lust-led satyr having her in chase + Which after her about the fields did yelp. + I seeing my love in perplexed plight, + A sturdy bat from off an oak I reft, + And with the ravisher continue fight + Till breathless I upon the earth him left. + Then when my coy nymph saw her breathless foe, + With kisses kind she gratifies my pain, + Protesting never rigour more to show. + Happy was I this good hap to obtain; + But drowsy slumbers flying to their cell, + My sudden joy converted was to bale; + My wonted sorrows still with me do dwell. + I looked round about on hill and dale, + But I could neither my fair Chloris view, + Nor yet the satyr which erstwhile I slew. + + + XIV + + Mournful Amintas, thou didst pine with care, + Because the fates by their untimely doom + Of life bereft thy loving Phillis fair, + When thy love's spring did first begin to bloom. + My care doth countervail that care of thine, + And yet my Chloris draws her angry breath; + My hopes still hoping hopeless now repine, + For living she doth add to me but death. + Thy Phinis, dying, loved thee full dear; + My Chloris, living, hates poor Corin's love, + Thus doth my woe as great as thine appear, + Though sundry accents both our sorrows move. + Thy swan-like songs did show thy dying anguish; + These weeping truce-men show I living languish. + + + XV + + These weeping truce-men show I living languish, + My woeful wailings tells my discontent; + Yet Chloris nought esteemeth of mine anguish, + My thrilling throbs her heart cannot relent. + My kids to hear the rimes and roundelays + Which I on wasteful hills was wont to sing, + Did more delight the lark in summer days, + Whose echo made the neighbour groves to ring. + But now my flock all drooping bleats and cries, + Because my pipe, the author of their sport, + All rent and torn and unrespected lies; + Their lamentations do my cares consort. + They cease to feed and listen to the plaint + Which I pour forth unto a cruel saint. + + + XVI + + Which I pour forth unto a cruel saint, + Who merciless my prayers doth attend, + Who tiger-like doth pity my complaint, + And never ear unto my woes will lend! + But still false hope dispairing life deludes, + And tells my fancy I shall grace obtain; + But Chloris fair my orisons concludes + With fearful frowns, presagers of my pain. + Thus do I spend the weary wand'ring day, + Oppressed with a chaos of heart's grief; + Thus I consume the obscure night away, + Neglecting sleep which brings all cares relief; + Thus do I pass my ling'ring life in woe; + But when my bliss will come I do not know. + + + XVII + + The perils which Leander took in hand + Fair Hero's love and favour to obtain, + When void of fear securely leaving land, + Through Hellespont he swam to Cestos' main, + His dangers should not counterpoise my toil, + If my dear love would once but pity show, + To quench these flames which in my breast do broil, + Or dry these springs which from mine eyes do flow. + Not only Hellespont but ocean seas, + For her sweet sake to ford I would attempt, + So that my travels would her ire appease, + My soul from thrall and languish to exempt. + O what is't not poor I would undertake, + If labour could my peace with Chloris make! + + + XVIII + + My love, I cannot thy rare beauties place + Under those forms which many writers use: + Some like to stones compare their mistress' face; + Some in the name of flowers do love abuse; + Some makes their love a goldsmith's shop to be, + Where orient pearls and precious stones abound; + In my conceit these far do disagree + The perfect praise of beauty forth to sound. + O Chloris, thou dost imitate thyself, + Self's imitating passeth precious stones, + Or all the eastern Indian golden pelf; + Thy red and white with purest fair atones; + Matchless for beauty nature hath thee framed, + Only unkind and cruel thou art named! + + + XIX + + The hound by eating grass doth find relief, + For being sick it is his choicest meat; + The wounded hart doth ease his pain and grief + If he the herb dictamion may eat; + The loathsome snake renews his sight again, + When he casts off his withered coat and hue; + The sky-bred eagle fresh age doth obtain + When he his beak decayed doth renew. + I worse than these whose sore no salve can cure, + Whose grief no herb nor plant nor tree can ease; + Remediless, I still must pain endure, + Till I my Chloris' furious mood can please; + She like the scorpion gave to me a wound, + And like the scorpion she must make me sound. + + + XX + + Ye wasteful woods, bear witness of my woe, + Wherein my plaints did oftentimes abound; + Ye careless birds my sorrows well do know, + They in your songs were wont to make a sound! + Thou pleasant spring canst record likewise bear + Of my designs and sad disparagement, + When thy transparent billows mingled were + With those downfalls which from mine eyes were sent! + The echo of my still-lamenting cries, + From hollow vaults in treble voice resoundeth, + And then into the empty air it flies, + And back again from whence it came reboundeth. + That nymph unto my clamors doth reply, + Being likewise scorned in love as well as I. + + + XXI + + Being likewise scorned in love as well as I + By that self-loving boy, which did disdain + To hear her after him for love to cry, + For which in dens obscure she doth remain; + Yet doth she answer to each speech and voice, + And renders back the last of what we speak, + But specially, if she might have her choice, + She of unkindness would her talk forth break. + She loves to hear of love's most sacred name, + Although, poor nymph, in love she was despised; + And ever since she hides her head for shame, + That her true meaning was so lightly prised; + She pitying me, part of my woes doth bear, + As you, good shepherds, listening now shall hear. + + + XXII + + O fairest fair, to thee I make my plaint, + (_my plaint_) + To thee from whom my cause of grief doth spring; + (_doth spring_) + Attentive be unto the groans, sweet saint, + (_sweet saint_) + Which unto thee in doleful tunes I sing. + (_I sing_) + My mournful muse doth always speak of thee; + (_of thee_) + My love is pure, O do it not disdain! + (_disdain_) + With bitter sorrow still oppress not me, + (_not me_) + But mildly look upon me which complain. + (_which complain_) + Kill not my true-affecting thoughts, but give + (_but give_) + Such precious balm of comfort to my heart, + (_my heart_) + That casting off despair in hope to live, + (_hope to live_) + I may find help at length to ease my smart. + (_to ease my smart_) + So shall you add such courage to my love, + (_my love_) + That fortune false my faith shall not remove. + (_shall not remove_) + + + XXIII + + The phoenix fair which rich Arabia breeds, + When wasting time expires her tragedy, + No more on Phoebus' radiant rays she feeds, + But heapeth up great store of spicery; + And on a lofty towering cedar tree, + With heavenly substance she herself consumes, + From whence she young again appears to be, + Out of the cinders of her peerless plumes. + So I which long have fried in love's flame, + The fire not made of spice but sighs and tears, + Revive again in hope disdain to shame, + And put to flight the author of my fears. + Her eyes revive decaying life in me, + Though they augmenters of my thraldom be. + + + XXIV + + Though they augmenters of my thraldom be, + For her I live and her I love and none else; + O then, fair eyes, look mildly upon me, + Who poor, despised, forlorn must live alone else, + And like Amintas haunt the desert cells, + And moanless there breathe out thy cruelty, + Where none but care and melancholy dwells. + I for revenge to Nemesis will cry; + If that will not prevail, my wandering ghost, + Which breathless here this love-scorched trunk shall leave, + Shall unto thee with tragic tidings post, + How thy disdain did life from soul bereave. + Then all too late my death thou wilt repent, + When murther's guilt thy conscience shall torment. + + + XXV + + Who doth not know that love is triumphant, + Sitting upon the throne of majesty? + The gods themselves his cruel darts do daunt, + And he, blind boy, smiles at their misery. + Love made great Jove ofttimes transform his shape; + Love made the fierce Alcides stoop at last; + Achilles, stout and bold, could not escape + The direful doom which love upon him cast; + Love made Leander pass the dreadful flood + Which Cestos from Abydos doth divide; + Love made a chaos where proud Ilion stood, + Through love the Carthaginian Dido died. + Thus may we see how love doth rule and reigns, + Bringing those under which his power disdains. + + + XXVI + + Though you be fair and beautiful withal, + And I am black for which you me despise, + Know that your beauty subject is to fall, + Though you esteem it at so high a price. + And time may come when that whereof you boast, + Which is your youth's chief wealth and ornament, + Shall withered be by winter's raging frost, + When beauty's pride and flowering years are spent. + Then wilt thou mourn when none shall thee respect; + Then wilt thou think how thou hast scorned my tears; + Then pitiless each one will thee neglect, + When hoary grey shall dye thy yellow hairs; + Then wilt thou think upon poor Corin's case, + Who loved thee dear, yet lived in thy disgrace. + + + XXVII + + O Love, leave off with sorrow to torment me; + Let my heart's grief and pining pain content thee! + The breach is made, I give thee leave to enter; + Thee to resist, great god, I dare not venter! + Restless desire doth aggravate mine anguish, + Careful conceits do fill my soul with languish. + Be not too cruel in thy conquest gained, + Thy deadly shafts hath victory obtained; + Batter no more my fort with fierce affection, + But shield me captive under thy protection. + I yield to thee, O Love, thou art the stronger, + Raise then thy siege and trouble me no longer! + + + XXVIII + + What cruel star or fate had domination + When I was born, that thus my love is crossed? + Or from what planet had I derivation + That thus my life in seas of woe is crossed? + Doth any live that ever had such hap + That all their actions are of none effect, + Whom fortune never dandled in her lap + But as an abject still doth me reject? + Ah tickle dame! and yet thou constant art + My daily grief and anguish to increase, + And to augment the troubles of my heart + Thou of these bonds wilt never me release; + So that thy darlings me to be may know + The true idea of all worldly woe. + + + XXIX + + Some in their hearts their mistress' colours bears; + Some hath her gloves, some other hath her garters, + Some in a bracelet wears her golden hairs, + And some with kisses seal their loving charters. + But I which never favour reaped yet, + Nor had one pleasant look from her fair brow, + Content myself in silent shade to sit + In hope at length my cares to overplow. + Meanwhile mine eyes shall feed on her fair face, + My sighs shall tell to her my sad designs, + My painful pen shall ever sue for grace + To help my heart, which languishing now pines; + And I will triumph still amidst my woe + Till mercy shall my sorrows overflow. + + + XXX + + The raging sea within his limits lies + And with an ebb his flowing doth discharge; + The rivers when beyond their bounds they rise, + Themselves do empty in the ocean large; + But my love's sea which never limit keepeth, + Which never ebbs but always ever floweth, + In liquid salt unto my Chloris weepeth, + Yet frustrate are the tears which he bestoweth. + This sea which first was but a little spring + Is now so great and far beyond all reason, + That it a deluge to my thoughts doth bring, + Which overwhelmed hath my joying season. + So hard and dry is my saint's cruel mind, + These waves no way in her to sink can find. + + + XXXI + + These waves no way in her to sink can find + To penetrate the pith of contemplation; + These tears cannot dissolve her hardened mind, + Nor move her heart on me to take compassion; + O then, poor Corin, scorned and quite despised, + Loathe now to live since life procures thy woe; + Enough, thou hast thy heart anatomised, + For her sweet sake which will no pity show; + But as cold winter's storms and nipping frost + Can never change sweet Aramanthus' hue, + So though my love and life by her are crossed. + My heart shall still be constant firm and true. + Although Erynnis hinders Hymen's rites, + My fixed faith against oblivion fights. + + + XXXII + + My fixed faith against oblivion fights, + And I cannot forget her, pretty elf, + Although she cruel be unto my plights; + Yet let me rather clean forget myself, + Then her sweet name out of my mind should go, + Which is th' elixir of my pining soul, + From whence the essence of my life doth flow, + Whose beauty rare my senses all control; + Themselves most happy evermore accounting, + That such a nymph is queen of their affection, + With ravished rage they to the skies are mounting, + Esteeming not their thraldom nor subjection; + But still do joy amidst their misery, + With patience bearing love's captivity. + + + XXXIII + + With patience bearing love's captivity, + Themselves unguilty of his wrath alleging; + These homely lines, abjects of poesy, + For liberty and for their ransom pledging, + And being free they solemnly do vow, + Under his banner ever arms to bear + Against those rebels which do disallow + That love of bliss should be the sovereign heir; + And Chloris if these weeping truce-men may + One spark of pity from thine eyes obtain, + In recompense of their sad heavy lay, + Poor Corin shall thy faithful friend remain; + And what I say I ever will approve, + No joy may be compared to thy love! + + + XXXIV + + The bird of Thrace which doth bewail her rape, + And murthered Itys eaten by his sire, + When she her woes in doleful tunes doth shape, + She sets her breast against a thorny briar; + Because care-charmer sleep should not disturb + The tragic tale which to the night she tells, + She doth her rest and quietness thus curb + Amongst the groves where secret silence dwells: + Even so I wake, and waking wail all night; + Chloris' unkindness slumbers doth expel; + I need not thorn's sweet sleep to put to flight, + Her cruelty my golden rest doth quell, + That day and night to me are always one, + Consumed in woe, in tears, in sighs and moan. + + + XXXV + + Like to the shipman in his brittle boat. + Tossed aloft by the unconstant wind, + By dangerous rocks and whirling gulfs doth float, + Hoping at length the wished port to find; + So doth my love in stormy billows sail, + And passeth the gaping Scilla's waves, + In hope at length with Chloris to prevail + And win that prize which most my fancy craves, + Which unto me of value will be more + Then was that rich and wealthy golden fleece. + Which Jason stout from Colchos' island bore + With wind in sails unto the shore of Greece. + More rich, more rare, more worth her love I prize + Then all the wealth which under heaven lies. + + + XXXVI + + O what a wound and what a deadly stroke, + Doth Cupid give to us perplexed lovers, + Which cleaves more fast then ivy doth to oak, + Unto our hearts where he his might discovers! + Though warlike Mars were armed at all points, + With that tried coat which fiery Vulcan made, + Love's shafts did penetrate his steeled joints, + And in his breast in streaming gore did wade. + So pitiless is this fell conqueror + That in his mother's paps his arrows stuck; + Such is his rage that he doth not defer + To wound those orbs from whence he life did suck. + Then sith no mercy he shows to his mother, + We meekly must his force and rigour smother. + + + XXXVII + + Each beast in field doth wish the morning light; + The birds to Hesper pleasant lays do sing; + The wanton kids well-fed rejoice in night, + Being likewise glad when day begins to spring. + But night nor day are welcome unto me, + Both can bear witness of my lamentation; + All day sad sighing Corin you shall see, + All night he spends in tears and exclamation. + Thus still I live although I take no rest, + But living look as one that is a-dying; + Thus my sad soul with care and grief oppressed, + Seems as a ghost to Styx and Lethe flying. + Thus hath fond love bereft my youthful years + Of all good hap before old age appears. + + + XXXVIII + + That day wherein mine eyes cannot her see, + Which is the essence of their crystal sight, + Both blind, obscure and dim that day they be, + And are debarred of fair heaven's light; + That day wherein mine ears do want to hear her, + Hearing that day is from me quite bereft; + That day wherein to touch I come not near her, + That day no sense of touching I have left; + That day wherein I lack the fragrant smell, + Which from her pleasant amber breath proceedeth, + Smelling that day disdains with me to dwell, + Only weak hope my pining carcase feedeth. + But burst, poor heart, thou hast no better hope, + Since all thy senses have no further scope! + + + XXXIX + + The stately lion and the furious bear + The skill of man doth alter from their kind; + For where before they wild and savage were, + By art both tame and meek you shall them find. + The elephant although a mighty beast, + A man may rule according to his skill; + The lusty horse obeyeth our behest, + For with the curb you may him guide at will. + Although the flint most hard contains the fire, + By force we do his virtue soon obtain, + For with a steel you shall have your desire, + Thus man may all things by industry gain; + Only a woman if she list not love, + No art, nor force, can unto pity move. + + + XL + + No art nor force can unto pity move + Her stony heart that makes my heart to pant; + No pleading passions of my extreme love + Can mollify her mind of adamant. + Ah cruel sex, and foe to all mankind, + Either you love or else you hate too much! + A glist'ring show of gold in you we find, + And yet you prove but copper in the touch. + But why, O why, do I so far digress? + Nature you made of pure and fairest mould, + The pomp and glory of man to depress, + And as your slaves in thraldom them to hold; + Which by experience now too well I prove, + There is no pain unto the pains of love. + + + XLI + + Fair shepherdess, when as these rustic lines + Comes to thy sight, weigh but with what affection + Thy servile doth depaint his sad designs, + Which to redress of thee he makes election. + If so you scorn, you kill; if you seem coy, + You wound poor Corin to the very heart; + If that you smile, you shall increase his joy; + If these you like, you banish do all smart. + And this I do protest, most fairest fair, + My muse shall never cease that hill to climb, + To which the learned Muses do repair, + And all to deify thy name in rime; + And never none shall write with truer mind, + As by all proof and trial you shall find. + + + XLII + + Die, die, my hopes! for you do but augment + The burning accents of my deep despair; + Disdain and scorn your downfall do consent; + Tell to the world she is unkind yet fair! + O eyes, close up those ever-running fountains, + For pitiless are all the tears you shed + Wherewith you watered have both dales and mountains! + I see, I see, remorse from her is fled. + Pack hence, ye sighs, into the empty air, + Into the air that none your sound may hear, + Sith cruel Chloris hath of you no care, + Although she once esteemed you full dear! + Let sable night all your disgraces cover, + Yet truer sighs were never sighed by lover. + + + XLIII + + Thou glorious sun, from whence my lesser light + The substance of his crystal shine doth borrow, + Let these my moans find favour in thy sight. + And with remorse extinguish now my sorrow! + Renew those lamps which thy disdain hath quenched, + As Phoebus doth his sister Phoebe's shine; + Consider how thy Corin being drenched + In seas of woe, to thee his plaints incline, + And at thy feet with tears doth sue for grace, + Which art the goddess of his chaste desire; + Let not thy frowns these labours poor deface + Although aloft they at the first aspire; + And time shall come as yet unknown to men + When I more large thy praises forth shall pen! + + + XLIV + + When I more large thy praises forth shall show, + That all the world thy beauty shall admire, + Desiring that most sacred nymph to know + Which hath the shepherd's fancy set on fire; + Till then, my dear, let these thine eyes content, + Till then, fair love, think if I merit favour, + Till then, O let thy merciful assent + Relish my hopes with some comforting savour; + So shall you add such courage to my muse + That she shall climb the steep Parnassus hill, + That learned poets shall my deeds peruse + When I from thence obtained have more skill; + And what I sing shall always be of thee + As long as life or breath remains in me! + + + XLV + + When she was born whom I entirely love, + Th' immortal gods her birth-rites forth to grace, + Descending from their glorious seat above, + They did on her these several virtues place: + First Saturn gave to her sobriety, + Jove then indued her with comeliness, + And Sol with wisdom did her beautify, + Mercury with wit and knowledge did her bless, + Venus with beauty did all parts bedeck, + Luna therewith did modesty combine, + Diana chaste all loose desires did check, + And like a lamp in clearness she doth shine. + But Mars, according to his stubborn kind, + No virtue gave, but a disdainful mind. + + + XLVI + + When Chloris first with her heart-robbing eye + Inchanted had my silly senses all, + I little did respect love's cruelty, + I never thought his snares should me enthrall; + But since her tresses have entangled me, + My pining flock did never hear me sing + Those jolly notes which erst did make them glee, + Nor do my kids about me leap and spring + As they were wont, but when they hear me cry + They likewise cry and fill the air with bleating; + Then do my sheep upon the cold earth lie, + And feed no more, my griefs they are repeating. + O Chloris, if thou then saw'st them and me + I'm sure thou wouldst both pity them and me! + + + XLVII + + I need not tell thee of the lily white, + Nor of the roseate red which doth thee grace, + Nor of thy golden hairs like Phoebus bright, + Nor of the beauty of thy fairest face. + Nor of thine eyes which heavenly stars excel, + Nor of thine azured veins which are so clear, + Nor of thy paps where Love himself doth dwell, + Which like two hills of violets appear. + Nor of thy tender sides, nor belly soft, + Nor of thy goodly thighs as white as snow, + Whose glory to my fancy seemeth oft + That like an arch triumphal they do show. + All these I know that thou dost know too well, + But of thy heart too cruel I thee tell. + + + XLVIII + + But of thy heart too cruel I thee tell, + Which hath tormented my young budding age, + And doth, unless your mildness passions quell, + My utter ruin near at hand presage. + Instead of blood which wont was to display + His ruddy red upon my hairless face, + By over-grieving that is fled away, + Pale dying colour there hath taken place. + Those curled locks which thou wast wont to twist + Unkempt, unshorn, and out of order been; + Since my disgrace I had of them no list, + Since when these eyes no joyful day have seen + Nor never shall till you renew again + The mutual love which did possess us twain. + + + XLIX + + You that embrace enchanting poesy, + Be gracious to perplexed Corin's lines; + You that do feel love's proud authority, + Help me to sing my sighs and sad designs. + Chloris, requite not faithful love with scorn, + But as thou oughtest have commiseration; + I have enough anatomised and torn + My heart, thereof to make a pure oblation. + Likewise consider how thy Corin prizeth + Thy parts above each absolute perfection, + How he of every precious thing deviseth + To make thee sovereign. 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