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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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