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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/18841-8.txt b/18841-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9081e95 --- /dev/null +++ b/18841-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3512 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Elizabethan Sonnet Cycles, by +Thomas Lodge and Giles Fletcher + +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 + Phillis - Licia + +Author: Thomas Lodge and Giles Fletcher + +Editor: Martha Foote Crow + +Release Date: July 16, 2006 [EBook #18841] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ELIZABETHAN SONNET CYCLES *** + + + + +Produced by David Starner, Taavi Kalju and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +ELIZABETHAN SONNET-CYCLES + +EDITED BY + +MARTHA FOOTE CROW + + +PHILLIS + +BY THOMAS LODGE + +LICIA + +BY GILES FLETCHER + + +KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRÜBNER AND CO. +PATERNOSTER HOUSE LONDON W.C. + +1896 + + + + +INTRODUCTION + + +The last decade of the sixteenth century was marked by an outburst of +sonneteering. To devotees of the sonnet, who find in that poetic form +the moat perfect vehicle that has ever been devised for the expression +of a single importunate emotion, it will not seem strange that at the +threshold of a literary period whose characteristic note is the most +intense personality, the instinct of poets should have directed them to +the form most perfectly fitted for the expression of this inner motive. + +The sonnet, a distinguished guest from Italy, was ushered to by those +two "courtly makers," Wyatt and Surrey, in the days of Henry VIII. But +when, forty years later, the foreigner was to be acclimatised in +England, her robe had to be altered to suit an English fashion. Thus +the sonnet, which had been an octave of enclosed or alternate rhymes, +followed by a sestette of interlaced tercets, was now changed to a +series of three quatrains with differing sets of alternate rhymes in +each, at the close of which the insidious couplet succeeded in +establishing itself. But these changes were not made without a great +deal of experiment; and during the tentative period the name "sonnet" +was given, to a wide variety of forms, in the moulding of which but one +rule seemed to be uniformly obeyed--that the poem should be the +expression of a single, simple emotion. This law cut the poem, to a +relative shortness and defined its dignity and clearness. Beyond this +almost every combination of rhymes might be found, verses were +occasionally lengthened or shortened, and the number of lines in the +poem, though generally fourteen, showed considerable variation. + +The sonnet-sequence was also a suggestion from Italy, a literary fashion +introduced by Sir Philip Sidney, in his _Astrophel and Stella_, written +soon after 1580, but not published till 1591. In a sonnet-cycle Sidney +recorded his love and sorrow, and Spenser took up the strain with his +story of love and joy. Grouped about these, and following in their wake, +a number of poets, before the decade was over, turned this Elizabethan +"toy" to their purpose in their various self-revealings, producing a +group of sonnet-cycles more or less Italianate in form or thought, more +or less experimental, more or less poetical, more or less the expression +of a real passion. For while the form of the sonnet was modified by +metrical traditions and habits, the content also was strongly +influenced, not to say restricted, by certain conventions of thought +considered at the time appropriate to the poetic attitude. The passion +for classic colour in the poetic world, which had inspired and +disciplined English genius in the sixties and seventies, was rather +nourished than repressed when in the eighties Spenser's _Shepherd's +Calendar_ and Sidney's _Arcadia_ made the pastoral imagery a necessity. +Cupid and Diana were made very much at home in the golden world of the +renaissance Arcadia, and the sonneteer singing the praises of his +mistress's eyebrow was not far removed from the lovelorn shepherd of the +plains. + +It may reasonably be expected that in any sonnet-cycle there will be +found many sonnets in praise of the loved one's beauty, many lamenting +her hardness of heart; all the wonders of heaven and earth will be +catalogued to find comparisons for her loveliness; the river by which +she dwells will be more pleasant than all other rivers in the world, a +list of them being appended in proof; the thoughts of night-time, when +the lover bemoans himself and his rejected state, or dreams of happy +love, will be dwelt upon; oblivious sleep and the wan-faced moon will be +invoked, and death will be called upon for respite. Love and the praises +of the loved one was the theme. On this old but ever new refrain the +sonneteer devised his descant, trilling joyously on oaten pipe in praise +of Delia or Phyllis, Coelia, Cælica, Aurora, or Castara. + +But this melody and descant were not, in some ears at least, without +monotony. For after Daniel's _Delia_, Constable's _Diana_, Lodge's +_Phillis_, Drayton's _Idea_, Fletcher's _Licia_, Brooke's _Cælica_, +Percy's _Coelia_, N.L.'s _Zepheria_, and J.C.'s _Alcilia_, and perhaps +a few other sonnet-cycles had been written, Chapman in 1595 made his +_Coronet for his Mistress Philosophy_, the opening sonnet of which +reveals his critical attitude: + + "Muses that sing Love's sensual empery, + And lovers kindling your enragèd fires + At Cupid's bonfires burning in the eye, + Blown with the empty breath of vain desires, + You that prefer the painted cabinet + Before the wealthy jewels it doth store ye, + That all your joys in dying figures set, + And stain the living substance of your glory, + Abjure those joys, abhor their memory, + And let my love the honoured subject be + Of love, and honour's complete history; + Your eyes were never yet let in to see + The majesty and riches of the mind, + But dwell in darkness; for your god is blind." + +It must be confessed that the "painted cabinet" of the lady's beauty +absorbs more attention than the "majesty and riches of the mind," but +the glints of a loftier ideal shining now and then among the +conventions, lift the cycle above the level of mere ear-pleasing rhythms +and fantastical imageries. Moreover, the sonnet-cycles on the whole show +an independence and spontaneousness of poetic energy, a delight in the +pure joy of making, a _naïveté_, that richly frame the picture of the +golden world they present. When Lodge, addressing his "pleasing +thoughts, apprentices of love," cries out: + + "Show to the world, though poor and scant my skill is, + How sweet thoughts be that are but thought on Phillis," + +we feel that we are being taken back to an age more childlike than our +own; and when the sonneteers vie with each other on the themes of sleep, +death, time, and immortality, the door often stands open toward +sublimity. Then when the sonnet-cycle was consecrated to noble and +spiritual uses in Chapman's _Coronet for his Mistress Philosophy_, +Barnes's _Divine Century of Spiritual Sonnets_, Constable's _Spiritual +Sonnets in Honour of God and His Saints_, and Donne's _Holy Sonnets_, +all made before 1600, the symbolic theme was added to the conventions of +the sonnet-realm, the scope of its content was broadened; and the sonnet +was well on its way toward a time when it could be named a trumpet, +upon which a mighty voice could blow soul-animating strains. + +One of the most fascinating questions in the study of the sonnet-cycles +is as to how much basis the story has in reality. Stella we know, the +star-crossed love of Sidney, and Spenser's happy Elizabeth, but-- + + "Who is Silvia? What is she + That all the swains commend her?" + +Who is Delia, Diana, Coelia, Cælica, and all the rhyming of musical +names? And who is the Dark Lady? What personalities hide behind these +poet's imaginings? We know that now, as in troubadour days, the praises +of grand ladies were sung with a warmth of language that should indicate +personal acquaintance when no such acquaintance existed; and the +sonneteers sometimes frankly confessed their passion "but supposed." All +this adds to the difficulty of interpretation. In most cases the poet +has effectually kept his secret; the search is futile, in spite of all +the "scholastic labour-lost" devoted to it. Equally tantalising are the +fleeting symbolisms that suggest themselves now and then. The +confession sometimes made by the poet, that high-flown compliment and +not true despair is intended, prepares us to accept the symbolic +application where it forces itself upon us, and to feel the presence +here and there of platonic or spiritual shadowings. Those who do not +find pleasure in the Arcadian world of the sonneteer's fancy, may still +justify their taste in the aspiration that speaks in his flashes of +philosophy. + + + + +PHILLIS + +HONORED WITH PASTORAL +SONNETS, ELEGIES, AND +AMOROUS DELIGHTS + +BY + +THOMAS LODGE + + + + +THOMAS LODGE + + +One of the first to take up the new fashion of the sonnet-cycle, was +Thomas Lodge, whose "Phillis" was published in 1595. Lodge had a wide +acquaintance among the authors of his time, and was in the thick of the +literary activity in the last two decades of the sixteenth century. But +in spite of his interesting personality and genius, he has had to wait +until the present time for full appreciation. To his own age he may have +appeared as a literary dilettante, who tried his hand at several forms +of writing, and being outshone by the more excellent in each field, gave +up the attempt and turned to the practice of medicine. This profession +engaged him for the last twenty-five years of his life, until his death +in 1625 at the advanced age of sixty-seven or eight. During all these +years the gay young "university wit" of earlier days was probably +forgotten in the venerable and successful physician. It was as "old +Doctor Lodge" that he was satirised in a Cambridge student's +Common-place Book in 1611. Heywood mentions him in 1609 among the six +most famous physicians in England, and in the _Return from Parnassus_, a +play acted in 1602, he is described as "turning over Galen every day." + +Yet no one had been in the last twenty years the sixteenth century more +responsive than Lodge to the shifting moods of that excitable period. +Lodge was the son of a Lord Mayor of London, and was a contemporary at +Oxford with Sidney, Gosson, Chapman, Lyly, Peele and Watson. His life +included a round of varied experiences. A student at Lincoln's Inn, a +young aspirant for literary honours, friends with Greene, Rich, Daniel, +Drayton, Lyly and Watson, a taster of the sorrows that many of the +University wits endured when usurers got their hands upon them, for a +time perhaps a soldier, certainly a sailor following the fortunes of +Captain Clarke to Terceras and the Canaries, and of Cavendish to Brazil +and the Straits of Magellan, in London again making plays with Greene, +off to Avignon to take his degree in medicine, back again to be +incorporated an M.D. at Oxford and to practise in London, adopting +secretly the Roman Catholic faith, and sometimes hiding on the continent +as a recusant from persecution at home, imprisoned perhaps once for +debt, and entertaining a concourse of patients of his own religion till +his death in 1625:--the life of Lodge thus presents a view of the ups +and downs possible in that picturesque age. + +The wide variety of his literary ventures reflects the interests of his +life. Some controversial papers, some unsuccessful plays, two dull +historical sketches in prose, some satirical and moralising works in +prose and in verse, two romantic tales in verse and three in prose, a +number of eclogues, metrical epistles and lyrics, some ponderous +translations from Latin and French, and two medical treatises; these +widely differing kinds of writing are the products of Lodge's industry +and genius. All, however, have but an antiquarian interest save two; the +prose romance called _Rosalynde, Euphues' Golden Legacy_, could not be +spared since Shakespeare borrowed its charming plot for _As You Like +It_; and _Phillis_, bound up with a sheaf of his lyrics gathered from +the pages of his stories and from the miscellanies of the time, should +be treasured for its own sake and should keep Lodge's memory green for +lovers of pure poetry. + +Lodge's lyric genius was a clear if slender rill. His faults are the +more unpardonable since they spring from sheer carelessness and a lack +of appreciation of the sacred responsibility of creative power. He took +up the literary fashion of the month and tried his hand at it; that +done, he was ready for the next mode. He did not wait to perfect his +work or to compare result with result; therefore he probably never found +himself, probably never realised that after three centuries he would be +esteemed, not for the ponderous tomes of his translation of Josephus, +not for all the catalogues of his satirical and religious and scientific +writings, but for mere lyrics like the "Heigh ho, fair Rosaline," and +"Love in my bosom like a bee," heedlessly imbedded in the heart of a +prose romance. + +Lodge was one of the earliest to follow the example of Sidney in linking +a sequence of sonnets together into a sonnet-cycle. The _Astrophel and +Stella_ was published in 1591, though it had doubtless before this been +handed about, as was the Elizabethan fashion, in manuscript. Early in +1591 also when Daniel was probably abroad, twenty-seven of the +fifty-seven sonnets that a year later formed the sonnet-cycle _Delia_ +were published in his absence. Now in August of 1591 Lodge set sail with +Cavendish on that long voyage to Brazil and the Straits of Magellan from +which he did not return till early in ninety-three, and it was during +his absence that Daniel's and Constable's sonnet-cycles came out. It is +possible that Lodge saw Daniel's series, as he doubtless did Sidney's, +in manuscript before he left England, but the Induction to _Phillis_, +which carries a message to Delia's "sweet prophet," was almost certainly +written later, and in the absence of further proof it seems no more than +fair to allow Lodge to share with Daniel and Constable the honour of +being the earliest to take the hint Sidney had offered. + +On the whole, Lodge's sonnets show a much more cheerful and buoyant +temper than Daniel's "wailing verse." The "sad horror, pale grief, +prostrate despair" that inform the _Delia_, are replaced in the +_Phillis_ by a spirit of airy toying, a pleasure in the graces of fancy +even when they cluster around a feeling of sadness. During Lodge's +absence, his friend Robert Green published several pieces for him, and +in one of the prefaces promised the public to present on his return +"what labours Lodge's sea-studies afford." _Phillis_ was the chief of +these sea-studies, and was like _Rosalynde_ "hatcht in the stormes of +the ocean and feathered in the surges of many perillous seas." But as +far as the imagery of the sonnets is concerned, the pageantry of day and +night at sea might have passed before blinded eyes; if it made any +impression, it was in the form of ocean-nymphs and Cupid at the helm. +The poet was in Arcadia, Phillis was a shepherdess, and the conventional +imageries of the pastoral valley were the environment. "May it please +you," he says in dedicating the book to the Countess of Shrewsbury, "to +looke and like of homlie Phillis in her Country caroling, and to +countenance her poore and affectionate sheapheard." The Countess of +Shrewsbury he chooses for the "Sovereign and she-Mæcenas" of his toil, +and promises her "as much in affection as any other can performe in +perfection;" but the name of Phillis is no cover for the personality of +a grand lady, and therefore no puzzling questions disturb the pleasure +of the reader as the gentle modulations, the insidious alliterations, +and the musical cadences of his double rhymes fall upon the ear. + +Yet for this name or ideal, or whatever Phillis represented in the +poet's thought, he has poured forth a passion that has an air of +sincerity, an artless freshness, a flute-like clearness of tone, as rare +as delightful. It is the very voice of the oaten pipe itself, thin, +clear, and pure. The touches of seriousness are impossible, to mistake. +When the poet avows his faith in Phillis' constancy, after giving the +usual catalogue of her beauties, he says: + + "At thy fair hands who wonders not at all + Wonder itself through ignorance embases; + Yet not the less though wondrous gifts you call these + My faith is far more wonderful than all these." + +When Phillis persists in her disdain, he cries out impulsively: + + "Burst, burst, poor heart, thou hast no longer hope!" + +Even when re-moulding the familiar pastoral conceits, he makes the +fancies his own and gives to them a unique touch and spirit. Mere +conventions he rates at their proper value. His pen shall not "riot in +pompous style." He claims a brighter aspect for his poetical devotion +than his fellow-sonneteers manifest: + + "No stars her; eyes.... + .... but beams that clear the sight + Of him that seeks the true philosophy." + +In spite of its defects, the lax structure of the sonnet-form, the +obscurities and needless blurring, and the disappointing inequalities, +_Phillis_ takes a high place among the sonnet-cycles, and must ever be +dear to lovers of quiet, melodious verse, who have made themselves at +home in the golden world of the pastoral poets and mislike not the +country-carolling heard therein. + + + + +THE INDUCTION + + + I that obscured have fled the scene of fame, + Intitling my conceits to nought but care, + I that have lived a phoenix in love's flame, + And felt that death I never would declare, + Now mount the theater of this our age, + To plead my faith and Cupid's cursed rage. + + Oh you high sp'rited paragons of wit, + That fly to fame beyond our earthly pitch, + Whose sense is sound, whose words are feat and fit, + Able to make the coyest ear to itch; + Shroud with your mighty wings that mount so well, + These little loves, new crept from out the shell. + + And thou the true Octavia of our time, + Under whose worth beauty was never matched, + The genius of my muse and ragged rime, + Smile on these little loves but lately hatched, + Who from the wrastling waves have made retreat, + To plead for life before thy judgment seat. + + And though the fore-bred brothers they have had, + Who in their swan-like songs Amintas wept, + For all their sweet-thought sighs had fortune bad, + And twice obscured in Cinthia's circle slept, + Yet these I hope, under your kind aspect, + Most worthy Lady, shall escape neglect. + + And if these infants of mine artless brain, + Not by their worth but by thy worthiness, + A mean good liking of the learnèd gain, + My Muse enfranchised from forgetfulness + Shall hatch such breed in honour of thy name, + As modern poets shall admire the same. + + As modern poets shall admire the same; + I mean not you (you never matchèd men) + Who brought the chaos of our tongue in frame, + Through these Herculean labours of your pen; + I mean the mean, I mean no men divine, + But such whose feathers are but waxed like mine. + + Go, weeping truce-men in your sighing weeds, + Under a great Maecenas I have passed you; + If so you come where learnèd Colin feeds + His lovely flock, pack thence and quickly haste you; + You are but mists before so bright a sun, + Who hath the palm for deep invention won. + + Kiss Delia's hand for her sweet prophet's sake, + Whose not affected but well couchèd tears + Have power, have worth, a marble mind to shake, + Whose fame no iron-age or time outwears. + Then lay you down in Phillis' lap and sleep, + Until the weeping read, and reading weep. + + +I + + Oh pleasing thoughts, apprentices of love, + Fore-runners of desire, sweet mithridates + The poison of my sorrows to remove, + With whom my hopes and fear full oft debates! + Enrich yourselves and me by your self riches, + Which are the thoughts you spend on heaven-bred beauty, + Rouse you my muse beyond our poets' pitches, + And, working wonders, yet say all is duty! + Use you no eaglets' eyes, nor phoenix' feathers, + To tower the heaven from whence heaven's wonder sallies. + For why? Your sun sings sweetly to her weathers, + Making a spring of winter in the valleys. + Show to the world though poor and scant my skill is + How sweet thoughts be, that are but thought on Phillis! + + +II + + You sacred sea-nymphs pleasantly disporting + Amidst this wat'ry world, where now I sail; + If ever love, or lovers sad reporting, + Had power sweet tears from your fair eyes to hail; + And you, more gentle-hearted than the rest, + Under the northern noon-stead sweetly streaming, + Lend those moist riches of your crystal crest, + To quench the flames from my heart's Ætna streaming; + And thou, kind Triton, in thy trumpet relish + The ruthful accents of my discontent, + That midst this travel desolate and hellish, + Some gentle wind that listens my lament + May prattle in the north in Phillis' ears: + "Where Phillis wants, Damon consumes in tears." + + +III + + In fancy's world an Atlas have I been, + Where yet the chaos of my ceaseless care + Is by her eyes unpitied and unseen, + In whom all gifts but pity planted are; + For mercy though still cries my moan-clad muse, + And every paper that she sends to beauty, + In tract of sable tears brings woeful news, + Of my true heart-kind thoughts, and loyal duty. + But ah the strings of her hard heart are strained + Beyond the harmony of my desires; + And though the happy heavens themselves have pained, + To tame her heart whose will so far aspires, + Yet she who claims the title of world's wonder, + Thinks all deserts too base to bring her under. + + +IV + + Long hath my sufferance laboured to enforce + One pearl of pity from her pretty eyes, + Whilst I with restless rivers of remorse, + Have bathed the banks where my fair Phillis lies. + The moaning lines which weeping I have written, + And writing read unto my ruthful sheep, + And reading sent with tears that never fitten, + To my love's queen, that hath my heart in keep, + Have made my lambkins lay them down and sigh; + But Phillis sits, and reads, and calls them trifles. + Oh heavens, why climb not happy lines so high, + To rent that ruthless heart that all hearts rifles! + None writes with truer faith, or greater love, + Yet out, alas! I have no power to move. + + +V + + Ah pale and dying infant of the spring, + How rightly now do I resemble thee! + That selfsame hand that thee from stalk did wring, + Hath rent my breast and robbed my heart from me. + Yet shalt thou live. For why? Thy native vigour + Shall thrive by woeful dew-drops of my dolor; + And from the wounds I bear through fancy's rigour, + My streaming blood shall yield the crimson color. + The ravished sighs that ceaseless take their issue + From out the furnace of my heart inflamed, + To yield you lasting springs shall never miss you; + So by my plaints and pains, you shall be famed. + Let my heart's heat and cold, thy crimson nourish, + And by my sorrows let thy beauty flourish. + + +VI + + It is not death which wretched men call dying, + But that is very death which I endure, + When my coy-looking nymph, her grace envying, + By fatal frowns my domage doth procure. + It is not life which we for life approve, + But that is life when on her wool-soft paps + I seal sweet kisses which do batten love, + And doubling them do treble my good haps. + 'Tis neither love the son, nor love the mother, + Which lovers praise and pray to; but that love is + Which she in eye and I in heart do smother. + Then muse not though I glory in my miss, + Since she who holds my heart and me in durance, + Hath life, death, love and all in her procurance. + + +VII + + How languisheth the primrose of love's garden! + How trill her tears, th' elixir of my senses! + Ambitious sickness, what doth thee so harden? + Oh spare, and plague thou me for her offences! + Ah roses, love's fair roses, do not languish; + Blush through the milk-white veil that holds you covered. + If heat or cold may mitigate your anguish, + I'll burn, I'll freeze, but you shall be recovered. + Good God, would beauty mark now she is crased, + How but one shower of sickness makes her tender, + Her judgments then to mark my woes amazed, + To mercy should opinion's fort surrender! + And I,--oh would I might, or would she meant it! + Should hery[A] love, who now in heart lament it. + +[Footnote A: _hery_, praise.] + + +VIII + + No stars her eyes to clear the wandering night, + But shining suns of true divinity, + That make the soul conceive her perfect light! + No wanton beauties of humanity + Her pretty brows, but beams that clear the sight + Of him that seeks the true philosophy! + No coral is her lip, no rose her fair, + But even that crimson that adorns the sun. + No nymph is she, but mistress of the air, + By whom my glories are but new begun. + But when I touch and taste as others do, + I then shall write and you shall wonder too. + + +IX + + The dewy roseate Morn had with her hairs + In sundry sorts the Indian clime adorned; + And now her eyes apparrelèd in tears, + The loss of lovely Memnon long had mourned, + When as she spied the nymph whom I admire, + Combing her locks, of which the yellow gold + Made blush the beauties of her curlèd wire, + Which heaven itself with wonder might behold; + Then red with shame, her reverend locks she rent, + And weeping hid the beauty of her face, + The flower of fancy wrought such discontent; + The sighs which midst the air she breathed a space, + A three-days' stormy tempest did maintain, + Her shame a fire, her eyes a swelling rain. + + +X + + The rumour runs that here in Isis swim + Such stately swans so confident in dying, + That when they feel themselves near Lethe's brim, + They sing their fatal dirge when death is nighing. + And I like these that feel my wounds are mortal, + Contented die for her whom I adore; + And in my joyful hymns do still exhort all + To die for such a saint or love no more. + Not that my torments or her tyranny + Enforce me to enjoin so hard a task, + But for I know, and yield no reason why, + But will them try that have desire to ask. + As love hath wreaths his pretty eyes to seel, + So lovers must keep secret what they feel. + + +XI + + My frail and earthly bark, by reason's guide, + Which holds the helm, whilst will doth wield the sail, + By my desires, the winds of bad betide, + Hath sailed these worldly seas with small avail, + Vain objects serve for dreadful rocks to quail + My brittle boat from haven of life that flies + To haunt the sea of mundane miseries. + My soul that draws impressions from above, + And views my course, and sees the winds aspire, + Bids reason watch to scape the shoals of love; + But lawless will enflamed with endless ire + Doth steer empoop,[B] whilst reason doth retire. + The streams increase; love's waves my bark do fill; + Thus are they wracked that guide their course by will. + +[Footnote B: steer empoop (_text_: steerem poop): _en poupe_.] + + +XII + + Ah trees, why fall your leaves so fast? + Ah rocks, where are your robes of moss? + Ah flocks, why stand you all aghast? + Trees, rocks, and flocks, what, are you pensive for my loss? + The birds methinks tune naught but moan, + The winds breathe naught but bitter plaint, + The beasts forsake their dens to groan; + Birds, winds, and beasts, what doth my loss your powers attaint? + Floods weep their springs above their bounds, + And echo wails to see my woe, + The robe of ruth doth clothe the grounds; + Floods, echo, grounds, why do you all these tears bestow? + The trees, the rocks, and flocks reply, + The birds, the winds, the beasts report, + Floods, echo, grounds, for sorrow cry, + We grieve since Phillis nill kind Damon's love consort. + + +XIII + + Love guides the roses of thy lips, + And flies about them like a bee; + If I approach he forward skips, + And if I kiss he stingeth me. + Love in thine eyes doth build his bower, + And sleeps within their pretty shine; + And if I look the boy will lower, + And from their orbs shoots shafts divine. + Love works thy heart within his fire, + And in my tears doth firm the same; + And if I tempt it will retire, + And of my plaints doth make a game. + Love, let me cull her choicest flowers, + And pity me, and calm her eye, + Make soft her heart, dissolve her lowers, + Then will I praise thy deity. + But if thou do not love, I'll truly serve her + In spite of thee, and by firm faith deserve her. + + +XIV + + I wrote in Mirrha's bark, and as I wrote, + Poor Mirrha wept because I wrote forsaken; + 'Twas of thy pride I sung in weeping note, + When as her leaves great moan for pity maken. + The falling fountains from the mountains falling, + Cried out, alas, so fair and be so cruel! + And babbling echo never ceasèd calling, + Phillis, disdain is fit for none but truthless. + The rising pines wherein I had engraved + Thy memory consulting with the wind, + Are trucemen to thy heart and thoughts depraved, + And say, thy kind should not be so unkind. + But, out alas! so fell is Phillis fearless, + That she hath made her Damon well nigh tearless. + + +XV + + My Phillis hath the morning sun + At first to look upon her. + And Phillis hath morn-waking birds, + Her risings for to honour. + My Phillis hath prime-feathered flowers, + That smile when she treads on them, + And Phillis hath a gallant flock, + That leaps since she doth own them. + But Phillis hath so hard a heart-- + Alas that she should have it!-- + As yields no mercy to desert, + Nor grace to those that crave it. + Sweet sun, when thou look'st on, + Pray her regard my moan. + Sweet birds, when you sing to her, + To yield some pity woo her. + Sweet flowers, whenas she treads on, + Tell her, her beauty deads one. + And if in life her love she nill agree me, + Pray her before I die, she will come see me. + + +XVI + + I part; but how? from joy, from hope, from life; + I leave; but whom? love's pride, wit's pomp, heart's bliss; + I pine; for what? for grief, for thought, for strife; + I faint; and why? because I see my miss. + Oh ceaseless pains that never may be told, + You make me weep as I to water would! + Ah weary hopes, in deep oblivious streams + Go seek your graves, since you have lost your grounds! + Ah pensive heart, seek out her radiant gleams! + For why? Thy bliss is shut within those bounds! + All traitorous eyes, to[o] feeble in for[e] sight, + Grow dim with woe, that now must want your light! + I part from bliss to dwell with ceaseless moan, + I part from life, since I from beauty part, + I part from peace, to pine in care alone, + I part from ease to die with dreadful smart. + I part--oh death! for why? this world contains + More care and woe than with despair remains. + Oh loath depart, wherein such sorrows dwell, + As all conceits are scant the same to tell! + + +XVII + + Ah fleeting weal, ah sly deluding sleep, + That in one moment giv'st me joy and pain! + How do my hopes dissolve to tears in vain, + As wont the snows, 'fore angry sun to weep! + Ah noisome life that hath no weal in keep! + My forward grief hath form and working might; + My pleasures like the shadows take their flight; + My path to bliss is tedious, long and steep. + Twice happy thou Endymion that embracest + The live-long night thy love within thine arms, + Where thou fond dream my longèd weal defacest + Whilst fleeting and uncertain shades thou placest + Before my eyes with false deluding charms! + Ah instant sweets which do my heart revive, + How should I joy if you were true alive! + + +XVIII + + As where two raging venoms are united, + Which of themselves dissevered life would sever, + The sickly wretch of sickness is acquited, + Which else should die, or pine in torments ever; + So fire and frost, that hold my heart in seizure, + Restore those ruins which themselves have wrought, + Where if apart they both had had their pleasure, + The earth long since her fatal claim had caught. + Thus two united deaths keep me from dying; + I burne in ice, and quake amidst the fire, + No hope midst these extremes or favour spying; + Thus love makes me a martyr in his ire. + So that both cold and heat do rather feed + My ceaseless pains, than any comfort breed. + + +XIX + + Thou tyrannizing monarch that dost tire + My love-sick heart through those assaulting eyes, + That are the lamps which lighten my desire! + If nought but death thy fury may suffice, + Not for my peace, but for thy pleasure be it, + That Phillis, wrathful Phillis that repines me + All grace but death, may deign to come and see it, + And seeing grieve at that which she assigns me. + This only boon for all my mortal bane + I crave and cry for at thy mercy seat: + That when her wrath a faithful heart hath slain, + And soul is fled, and body reft of heat, + She might perceive how much she might command, + That had my life and death within her hand. + + +XX + + Some praise the looks, and others praise the locks + Of their fair queens, in love with curious words; + Some laud the breast where love his treasure locks, + All like the eye that life and love affords. + But none of these frail beauties and unstable + Shall make my pen riot in pompous style; + More greater gifts shall my grave muse enable, + Whereat severer brows shall never smile. + I praise her honey-sweeter eloquence, + Which from the fountain of true wisdom floweth, + Her modest mien that matcheth excellence, + Her matchless faith which from her virtue groweth; + And could my style her happy virtues equal, + Time had no power her glories to enthral. + + +EGLOGA PRIMA DEMADES DAMON + +DEMADES + + Now scourge of winter's wrack is well nigh spent, + And sun gins look more longer on our clime, + And earth no more to sorrow doth consent, + Why been thy looks forlorn that view the prime? + Unneth thy flocks may feed to see thee faint, + Thou lost, they lean, and both with woe attaint. + For shame! Cast off these discontented looks; + For grief doth wait on life, though never sought; + So Thenot wrote admired for pipe and books. + Then to the spring attemper thou thy thought, + And let advice rear up thy drooping mind, + And leave to weep thy woes unto the wind. + +DAMON + + Ah Demades, no wonder though I wail, + For even the spring is winter unto me! + Look as the sun the earth doth then avail, + When by his beams her bowels warmèd be; + Even so a saint more sun-bright in her shining + First wrought my weal, now hastes my winter's pining. + Which lovely lamp withdrawn from my poor eyes, + Both parts of earth and fire drowned up in woe + In winter dwell. My joy, my courage dies; + My lambs with me that do my winter know + For pity scorn the spring that nigheth near, + And pine to see their master's pining cheer. + The root which yieldeth sap unto the tree + Draws from the earth the means that make it spring; + And by the sap the scions fostered be, + All from the sun have comfort and increasing + And that fair eye that lights this earthly ball + Kills by depart, and nearing cheereth all. + As root to tree, such is my tender heart, + Whose sap is thought, whose branches are content; + And from my soul they draw their sweet or smart, + And from her eye, my soul's best life is lent; + Which heavenly eye that lights both earth and air, + Quells by depart and quickens by repair. + +DEMADES + + Give period to the process of thy plaint, + Unhappy Damon, witty in self-grieving; + Tend thou thy flocks; let tyrant love attaint + Those tender hearts that made their love their living. + And as kind time keeps Phillis from thy sight, + So let prevention banish fancy quite. + + Cast hence this idle fuel of desire, + That feeds that flame wherein thy heart consumeth; + Let reason school thy will which doth aspire, + And counsel cool impatience that presumeth; + Drive hence vain thoughts which are fond love's abettors, + For he that seeks his thraldom merits fetters. + + The vain idea of this deity + Nursed at the teat of thine imagination, + Was bred, brought up by thine own vanity, + Whose being thou mayst curse from the creation; + And so thou list, thou may as soon forget love, + As thou at first didst fashion and beget love. + +DAMON + + Peace, Demades, peace shepherd, do not tempt me; + The sage-taught wife may speak thus, but not practise; + Rather from life than from my love exempt me, + My happy love wherein my weal and wrack lies; + Where chilly age first left love, and first lost her, + There youth found love, liked love, and love did foster. + + Not as ambitious of their[C] own decay, + But curious to equal your fore-deeds, + So tread we now within your wonted way; + We find your fruits of judgments and their seeds; + We know you loved, and loving learn that lore; + You scorn kind love, because you can no more. + + Though from this pure refiner of the thought + The gleanings of your learnings have you gathered + Your lives had been abortive, base and naught, + Except by happy love they had been fathered; + Then still the swain, for I will still avow it; + They have no wit nor worth that disallow it. + + Then to renew the ruins of my tears + Be thou no hinderer, Demades, I pray thee. + If my love-sighs grow tedious in thine ears, + Fly me, that fly from joy, I list not stay thee. + Mourn sheep, mourn lambs, and Damon will weep by you; + And when I sigh, "Come home, sweet Phillis," cry you. + + Come home, sweet Phillis, for thine absence causeth + A flowerless prime-tide in these drooping meadows; + To push his beauties forth each primrose pauseth, + Our lilies and our roses like coy widows + Shut in their buds, their beauties, and bemoan them, + Because my Phillis doth not smile upon them. + + The trees by my redoubled sighs long blasted + Call for thy balm-sweet breath and sunny eyes, + To whom all nature's comforts are hand-fasted; + Breathe, look on them, and they to life arise; + They have new liveries with each smile thou lendest, + And droop with me, when thy fair brow thou bendest. + + I woo thee, Phillis, with more earnest weeping + Than Niobe for her dead issue spent; + I pray thee, nymph who hast our spring in keeping, + Thou mistress of our flowers and my content, + Come home, and glad our meads of winter weary, + And make thy woeful Damon blithe and merry. + + Else will I captive all my hopes again, + And shut them up in prisons of despair, + And weep such tears as shall destroy this plain, + And sigh such sighs as shall eclipse the air, + And cry such cries as love that hears my crying + Shall faint and weep for grief and fall a-dying. + + My little world hath vowed no sun shall glad it, + Except thy little world her light discover, + Of which heavens would grow proud if so they had it. + Oh how I fear lest absent Jove should love her! + I fear it, Phillis, for he never saw one + That had more heaven-sweet looks to lure and awe one. + + I swear to thee, all-seeing sovereign + Rolling heaven's circles round about our center, + Except my Phillis safe return again, + No joy to heart, no meat to mouth shall enter. + All hope (but future hope to be renowned, + For weeping Phillis) shall in tears be drowned. + +DEMADES + + How large a scope lends Damon to his moan, + Wafting those treasures of his happy wit + In registering his woeful woe-begone! + Ah bend thy muse to matters far more fit! + For time shall come when Phillis is interred, + That Damon shall confess that he hath erred. + + When nature's riches shall, by time dissolved, + Call thee to see with more judicial eye + How Phillis' beauties are to dust resolved, + Thou then shalt ask thyself the reason why + Thou wert so fond, since Phillis was so frail, + To praise her gifts that should so quickly fail. + + Have mercy on thyself, cease being idle, + Let reason claim and gain of will his homage; + Rein in these brain-sick thoughts with judgment's bridle, + A short prevention helps a mighty domage. + If Phillis love, love her, yet love her so + That if she fly, thou may'st love's fire forego. + + Play with the fire, yet die not in the flame; + Show passions in thy words, but not in heart; + Lest when thou think to bring thy thoughts in frame, + Thou prove thyself a prisoner by thine art. + Play with these babes of love, as apes with glasses, + And put no trust in feathers, wind, or lasses. + +DAMON + + Did not thine age yield warrantise, old man, + Impatience would enforce me to offend thee; + Me list not now thy forward skill to scan, + Yet will I pray that love may mend or end thee. + Spring flowers, sea-tides, earth, grass, sky, stars shall banish, + Before the thoughts of love or Phillis vanish. + + So get thee gone, and fold thy tender sheep, + For lo, the great automaton of day + In Isis stream his golden locks doth steep; + Sad even her dusky mantle doth display; + Light-flying fowls, the posts of night, disport them, + And cheerful-looking vesper doth consort them. + + Come you, my careful flock, forego you master, + I'll fold you up and after fall a-sighing; + Words have no worth my secret wounds to plaster; + Naught may refresh my joys but Phillis nighing. + Farewell, old Demades. + +DEMADES + + Damon, farewell. + How 'gainst advice doth headlong youth rebel! + +[Footnote C: Our?] + + +AN ELEGY + + Ah cruel winds, why call you hence away? + Why make you breach betwixt my soul and me? + Ye traitorous floods, why nil your floats delay + Until my latest moans discoursèd be? + For though ye salt sea-gods withhold the rain + Of all your floats and gentle winds be still, + While I have wept such tears as might restrain + The rage of tides and winds against their will. + Ah shall I love your sight, bright shining eyes? + And must my soul his life and glory leave? + Must I forsake the bower where solace lives, + To trust to tickle fates that still deceive? + Alas, so wills the wanton queen of change, + That each man tract this labyrinth of life + With slippery steps, now wronged by fortune strange, + Now drawn by counsel from the maze of strife! + Ah joy! No joy because so soon thou fleetest, + Hours, days, and times inconstant in your being! + Oh life! No life, since with such chance thou meetest! + Oh eyes! No eyes, since you must lose your seeing! + Soul, be thou sad, dissolve thy living powers + To crystal tears, and by their pores express + The grief that my distressèd soul devours! + Clothe thou my body all in heaviness; + My suns appeared fair smiling full of pleasure, + But now the vale of absence overclouds them; + They fed my heart with joys exceeding measure + Which now shall die, since absence needs must shroud them. + Yea, die! Oh death, sweet death, vouchsafe that blessing, + That I may die the death whilst she regardeth! + For sweet were death, and sweet were death's oppressing, + If she look on who all my life awardeth. + Oh thou that art the portion of my joy, + Yet not the portion, for thou art the prime; + Suppose my griefs, conceive the deep annoy + That wounds my soul upon this sorry time! + Pale is my face, and in my pale confesses + The pain I suffer, since I needs must leave thee. + Red are mine eyes through tears that them oppresses, + Dulled are my sp'rits since fates do now bereave thee. + And now, ah now, my plaints are quite prevented! + The winds are fair the sails are hoisèd high, + The anchors weighed, and now quite discontented, + Grief so subdues my heart as it should die. + A faint farewell with trembling hand I tender, + And with my tears my papers are distained. + Which closèd up, my heart in them I render, + To tell thee how at parting I complained. + Vouchsafe his message that doth bring farewell, + And for my sake let him with beauty dwell. + + +THIRSIS EGLOGA SECUNDA + + Muses help me, sorrow swarmeth, + Eyes are fraught with seas of languish; + Heavy hope my solace harmeth, + Mind's repast is bitter anguish. + + Eye of day regarded never + Certain trust in world untrusty; + Flattering hope beguileth ever + Weary, old, and wanton lusty. + + Dawn of day beholds enthronèd + Fortune's darling, proud and dreadless; + Darksome night doth hear him moanèd, + Who before was rich and needless. + + Rob the sphere of lines united, + Make a sudden void in nature; + Force the day to be benighted, + Reave the cause of time and creature; + + Ere the world will cease to vary, + This I weep for, this I sorrow. + Muses, if you please to tarry, + Further helps I mean to borrow. + + Courted once by fortune's favour, + Compassed now with envy's curses, + All my thoughts of sorrow savour, + Hopes run fleeting like the sources. + + Ay me! Wanton scorn hath maimèd + All the joy my heart enjoyèd; + Thoughts their thinking have disclaimèd, + Hate my hopes hath quite annoyèd. + + Scant regard my weal hath scanted, + Looking coy hath forced my lowering; + Nothing liked where nothing wanted + Weds mine eyes to ceaseless showering. + + Former love was once admirèd, + Present favour is estrangèd, + Loath the pleasure long desirèd; + Thus both men and thoughts are changèd. + + Lovely swain with lucky guiding, + Once (but now no more so friended) + Thou my flocks hast had in minding, + From the morn till day was ended. + + Drink and fodder, food and folding, + Had my lambs and ewes together; + I with them was still beholding, + Both in warmth and winter weather. + + Now they languish since refusèd, + Ewes and lambs are pained with pining; + I with ewes and lambs confusèd, + All unto our deaths declining. + + Silence, leave thy cave obscurèd; + Deign a doleful swain to tender; + Though disdains I have endurèd, + Yet I am no deep offender. + + Phillis' son can with his finger + Hide his scar, it is so little; + Little sin a day to linger, + Wise men wander in a tittle. + + Thriftless yet my swain have turnèd, + Though my sun he never showeth: + Though I weep, I am not mournèd; + Though I want, no pity groweth. + + Yet for pity love my muses; + Gentle silence be their cover; + They must leave their wonted uses, + Since I leave to be a lover. + + They shall live with thee inclosèd, + I will loathe my pen and paper + Art shall never be supposèd, + Sloth shall quench the watching taper. + + Kiss them, silence, kiss them kindly + Though I leave them, yet I love them; + Though my wit have led them blindly, + Yet my swain did once approve them. + + I will travel soils removèd, + Night and morrow never merry; + Thou shalt harbour that I lovèd, + I will love that makes me weary. + + If perchance the sheep estrayeth, + In thy walks and shades unhaunted, + Tell the teen my heart betrayeth, + How neglect my joys hath daunted. + + +XXI + + Ye heralds of my heart, mine ardent groans, + O tears which gladly would burst out to brooks, + Oh spent on fruitless sand my surging moans, + Oh thoughts enthralled unto care-boding looks! + Ah just laments of my unjust distress, + Ah fond desires whom reason could not guide! + Oh hopes of love that intimate redress, + Yet prove the load-stars unto bad betide! + When will you cease? Or shall pain never-ceasing, + Seize oh my heart? Oh mollify your rage, + Lest your assaults with over-swift increasing, + Procure my death, or call on timeless age. + What if they do? They shall but feed the fire, + Which I have kindled by my fond desire. + + +XXII + + Fair art thou, Phillis, ay, so fair, sweet maid, + As nor the sun, nor I have seen more fair; + For in thy cheeks sweet roses are embayed, + And gold more pure than gold doth gild thy hair. + Sweet bees have hived their honey on thy tongue, + And Hebe spiced her nectar with thy breath; + About thy neck do all the graces throng, + And lay such baits as might entangle death. + In such a breast what heart would not be thrall? + From such sweet arms who would not wish embraces? + At thy fair hands who wonders not at all, + Wonder itself through ignorance embases? + Yet natheless though wondrous gifts you call these, + My faith is far more wonderful than all these. + + +XXIII + + Burst, burst, poor heart! Thou hast no longer hope; + Captive mine eyes unto eternal sleep; + Let all my senses have no further scope; + Let death be lord of me and all my sheep! + For Phillis hath betrothèd fierce disdain, + That makes his mortal mansion in her heart; + And though my tongue have long time taken pain + To sue divorce and wed her to desert, + She will not yield, my words can have no power; + She scorns my faith, she laughs at my sad lays, + She fills my soul with never ceasing sour, + Who filled the world with volumes of her praise. + In such extremes what wretch can cease to crave + His peace from death, who can no mercy have! + + +XXIV + + No glory makes me glorious or glad, + Nor pleasure may to pleasure me dispose, + No comfort can revive my senses sad, + Nor hope enfranchise me with one repose. + Nor in her absence taste I one delight, + Nor in her presence am I well content; + Was never time gave term to my despite, + Nor joy that dried the tears of my lament. + Nor hold I hope of weal in memory, + Nor have I thought to change my restless grief, + Nor doth my conquest yield me sovereignty, + Nor hope repose, nor confidence relief. + For why? She sorts her frowns and favours so, + As when I gain or lose I cannot know. + + +XXV + + I wage the combat with two mighty foes, + Which are more strong than I ten thousand fold; + The one is when thy pleasure I do lose, + The other, when thy person I behold. + In seeing thee a swarm of loves confound me, + And cause my death in spite of my resist, + And if I see thee not, thy want doth wound me, + For in thy sight my comfort doth consist. + The one in me continual care createth, + The other doth occasion my desire; + The one the edge of all my joy rebateth, + The other makes me a phoenix in love's fire. + So that I grieve when I enjoy your presence, + And die for grief by reason of your absence. + + +XXVI + + I'll teach thee, lovely Phillis, what love is. + It is a vision seeming such as thou, + That flies as fast as it assaults mine eyes; + It is affection that doth reason miss; + It is a shape of pleasure like to you, + Which meets the eye, and seen on sudden dies; + It is a doubled grief, a spark of pleasure + Begot by vain desire. And this is love, + Whom in our youth we count our chiefest treasure, + In age for want of power we do reprove. + Yea, such a power is love, whose loss is pain, + And having got him we repent our gain. + + +XXVII + + Fair eyes, whilst fearful I your fair admire, + By unexpressèd sweetness that I gain, + My memory of sorrow doth expire, + And falcon-like, I tower joy's heavens amain. + But when your suns in oceans of their glory + Shut up their day-bright shine, I die for thought; + So pass my joys as doth a new-played story, + And one poor sigh breathes all delight to naught. + So to myself I live not, but for you; + For you I live, and you I love, but none else, + Oh then, fair eyes, whose light I live to view, + Or poor forlorn despised to live alone else, + Look sweet, since from the pith of contemplation + Love gathereth life, and living, breedeth passion. + + +XXVIII + + Not causeless were you christened, gentle flowers, + The one of faith, the other fancy's pride; + For she who guides both faith and fancy's power, + In your fair colors wraps her ivory side. + As one of you hath whiteness without stain, + So spotless is my love and never tainted; + And as the other shadoweth faith again, + Such is my lass, with no fond change acquainted. + And as nor tyrant sun nor winter weather + May ever change sweet amaranthus' hue, + So she though love and fortune join together, + Will never leave to be both fair and true. + And should I leave thee then, thou pretty elf? + Nay, first let Damon quite forget himself. + + +XXIX + + I feel myself endangered beyond reason, + My death already 'twixt the cup and lip, + Because my proud desire through cursèd treason, + Would make my hopes mount heaven, which cannot skip; + My fancy still requireth at my hands + Such things as are not, cannot, may not be, + And my desire although my power withstands, + Will give me wings, who never yet could flee. + What then remains except my maimèd soul + Extort compassion from love-flying age, + Or if naught else their fury may control, + To call on death that quells affection's rage; + Which death shall dwell with me and never fly, + Since vain desire seeks that hope doth deny. + + +XXX + + I do compare unto thy youthly clear, + Which always bides within thy flow'ring prime, + The month of April, that bedews our clime + With pleasant flowers, when as his showers appear. + Before thy face shall fly false cruelty, + Before his face the doly season fleets; + Mild been his looks, thine eyes are full of sweets; + Firm is his course, firm is thy loyalty. + He paints the fields through liquid crystal showers, + Thou paint'st my verse with Pallas, learnèd flowers; + With Zephirus' sweet, breath he fills the plains, + And thou my heart with weeping sighs dost wring; + His brows are dewed with morning's crystal spring, + Thou mak'st my eyes with tears bemoan my pains. + + +XXXI + + Devoid of reason, thrall to foolish ire, + I walk and chase a savage fairy still, + Now near the flood, straight on the mounting hill, + Now midst the woods of youth, and vain desire. + For leash I bear a cord of careful grief; + For brach I lead an over-forward mind; + My hounds are thoughts, and rage despairing blind, + Pain, cruelty, and care without relief. + But they perceiving that my swift pursuit + My flying fairy cannot overtake, + With open mouths their prey on me do make, + Like hungry hounds that lately lost their suit. + And full of fury on their master feed, + To hasten on my hapless death with speed. + + +XXXII + + A thousand times to think and think the same, + To two fair eyes to show a naked heart, + Great thirst with bitter liquor to restrain, + To take repast of care and crooked smart; + To sigh full oft without relent of ire, + To die for grief and yet conceal the tale, + To others' will to fashion my desire, + To pine in looks disguised through pensive-pale; + A short dispite, a faith unfeignèd true, + To love my foe, and set my life at naught, + With heedless eyes mine endless harms to view, + A will to speak, a fear to tell the thought; + To hope for all, yet for despair to die, + Is of my life the certain destiny. + + +XXXIII + + When first sweet Phillis, whom I must adore, + Gan with her beauties bless our wond'ring sky, + The son of Rhea, from their fatal store + Made all the gods to grace her majesty. + Apollo first his golden rays among, + Did form the beauty of her bounteous eyes; + He graced her with his sweet melodious song, + And made her subject of his poesies. + The warrior Mars bequeathed her fierce disdain, + Venus her smile, and Phoebe all her fair, + Python his voice, and Ceres all her grain, + The morn her locks and fingers did repair. + Young Love, his bow, and Thetis gave her feet; + Clio her praise, Pallas her science sweet. + + +XXXIV + + I would in rich and golden-coloured rain, + With tempting showers in pleasant sort descend + Into fair Phillis' lap, my lovely friend, + When sleep her sense with slumber doth restrain. + I would be changèd to a milk-white bull, + When midst the gladsome fields she should appear, + By pleasant fineness to surprise my dear, + Whilst from their stalks, she pleasant flowers did pull. + I were content to weary out my pain, + To be Narsissus so she were a spring, + To drown in her those woes my heart do wring. + And more; I wish transformèd to remain, + That whilst I thus in pleasure's lap did lie, + I might refresh desire, which else would die. + + +XXXV + + I hope and fear, I pray and hold my peace, + Now freeze my thoughts and straight they fry again, + I now admire and straight my wonders cease, + I loose my bonds and yet myself restrain; + This likes me most that leaves me discontent, + My courage serves and yet my heart doth fail, + My will doth climb whereas my hopes are spent, + I laugh at love, yet when he comes I quail; + The more I strive, the duller bide I still. + I would be thralled, and yet I freedom love, + I would redress, yet hourly feed mine ill, + I would repine, and dare not once reprove; + And for my love I am bereft of power, + And strengthless strive my weakness to devour. + + +XXXVI + + If so I seek the shades, I presently do see + The god of love forsakes his bow and sit me by; + If that I think to write, his Muses pliant be + If so I plain my grief, the wanton boy will cry, + If I lament his pride, he doth increase my pain; + If tears my cheeks attaint, his cheeks are moist with moan; + If I disclose the wounds the which my heart hath slain, + He takes his fascia off, and wipes them dry anon. + If so I walk the woods, the woods are his delight; + If I myself torment, he bathes him in my blood; + He will my soldier be if once I wend to fight, + If seas delight, he steers my bark amidst the hood. + In brief, the cruel god doth never from me go, + But makes my lasting love eternal with my woe. + + +XXXVII + + These fierce incessant waves that stream along my face, + Which show the certain proof of my ne'er-ceasing pains, + Fair Phillis, are no tears that trickle from my brains; + For why? Such streams of ruth within me find no place. + These floods that wet my cheeks are gathered from thy grace + And thy perfections, and from hundred thousand flowers + Which from thy beauties spring; whereto I medley showers + Of rose and lilies too, the colours of thy face. + My love doth serve for fire, my heart the furnace is, + The aperries of my sighs augment the burning flame, + The limbec is mine eye that doth distil the same; + And by how much my fire is violent and sly, + By so much doth it cause the waters mount on high, + That shower from out mine eyes, for to assuage my miss. + + +XXXVIII + + Who lives enthralled to Cupid and his flame, + From day to day is changed in sundry sort; + The proof whereof myself may well report, + Who oft transformed by him may teach the same. + I first was turned into a wounded hart, + That bare the bloody arrow in my side; + Then to a swan that midst the waters glide, + With piteous voice presaged my deadly smart; + Eftsoons I waxed a faint and fading flower; + Then was I made a fountain sudden dry, + Distilling all my tears from troubled eye; + Now am I salamander by his power, + Living in flames, but hope ere long to be + A voice, to talk my mistress' majesty. + + +XXXIX + + My matchless mistress, whose delicious eyes + Have power to perfect nature's privy wants, + Even when the sun in greatest pomp did rise, + With pretty tread did press the tender plants. + Each stalk whilst forth she stalks, to kiss her feet + Is proud with pomp, and prodigal of sweet. + Her fingers fair in favouring every flower + That wooed their ivory for a wishèd touch, + By chance--sweet chance!--upon a blessed hour + Did pluck the flower where Love himself did couch. + Where Love did couch by summer toil suppressed, + And sought his sleeps within so sweet a nest. + The virgin's hand that held the wanton thrall, + Imprisoned him within the roseate leaves; + And twixt her teats, with favour did install + The lovely rose, where Love his rest receives. + The lad that felt the soft and sweet so nigh, + Drowned in delights, disdains his liberty; + And said, let Venus seek another son, + For here my only matchless mother is; + From whose fair orient orbs the drink doth run, + That deifies my state with greater bliss. + This said, he sucked, my mistress blushing smiled, + Since Love was both her prisoner and her child. + + +AN ODE + + Now I find thy looks were feignèd, + Quickly lost, and quickly gainèd; + Soft thy skin, like wool of wethers, + Heart unstable, light as feathers, + Tongue untrusty, subtile-sighted, + Wanton will, with change delighted, + Siren pleasant, foe to reason, + Cupid plague thee for this treason! + + Of thine eyes, I made my mirror, + From thy beauty came mine error, + All thy words I counted witty, + All thy smiles I deemèd pity. + Thy false tears that me aggrievèd, + First of all my trust deceivèd. + Siren pleasant, foe to reason, + Cupid plague thee for this treason! + + Feigned acceptance when I askèd, + Lovely words with cunning maskèd, + Holy vows but heart unholy; + Wretched man, my trust was folly! + Lily white and pretty winking, + Solemn vows, but sorry thinking. + Siren pleasant, foe to reason, + Cupid plague thee for this treason! + + Now I see, O seemly cruel, + Others warm them at my fuel! + Wit shall guide me in this durance, + Since in love is no assurance. + Change thy pasture, take thy pleasure; + Beauty is a fading treasure. + Siren pleasant, foe to reason, + Cupid plague thee for this treason! + + Prime youth lusts not age still follow, + And make white these tresses yellow; + Wrinkled face for looks delightful + Shall acquaint the dame despightful; + And when time shall eat thy glory, + Then too late thou wilt be sorry. + Siren pleasant, foe to reason, + Cupid plague thee for thy treason! + + +XL + + Resembling none, and none so poor as I, + Poor to the world, and poor in each esteem, + Whose first-born loves at first obscured did die, + And bred no fame but flame of base misdeem, + Under the ensign of whose tirèd pen, + Love's legions forth have masked, by others masked; + Think how I live wrongèd by ill-tongued men, + Not master of myself, to all wrongs tasked! + Oh thou that canst, and she that may do all things, + Support these languishing conceits that perish! + Look on their growth; perhaps these silly small things + May win this wordly palm, so you do cherish. + Homer hath vowed, and I with him do vow this, + He will and shall revive, if you allow this. + + + + +LICIA + +OR + +POEMS OF LOVE IN HONOR OF +THE ADMIRABLE AND SINGULAR +VIRTUES OF HIS LADY, TO THE +IMITATION OF THE BEST LATIN +POETS AND OTHERS + +BY + +GILES FLETCHER, LL.D. + + + + +GILES FLETCHER, LL.D. + + +Giles Fletcher, author of _Licia_, was one of that distinguished family +that included Richard Fletcher, the Bishop of London, and his son John +Fletcher, the dramatist. The two sons of Dr. Giles Fletcher were also +men of marked poetic ability: Phineas, the author of that extraordinary +allegorical poem, _The Purple Island_; and Giles, of _Christ's Victory +and Triumph_. There was a strong family feeling in this circle; Phineas +and Giles pay compliments to each other in their verse and show great +reverence and tenderness toward the memory of the poetic powers of their +father. But Giles Fletcher the elder was not thought of in his own time +as a poet. Educated at Eton and Trinity, Cambridge, where he was made +LL.D. in 1581, a member of Parliament in '85, employed in many public +services at home and abroad during a career that lasted until 1611, in +which year Dr. Fletcher died at the age of seventy-two, he was known as +a man of action, a man for public responsibility, rather than as the +retired scholar or riming courtier. Most important among the foreign +embassages undertaken by Fletcher was the one to Russia. The results +were of great import to England, commercially and otherwise, but the +book he wrote on his return was, for political reasons, suppressed. + +It happened that the years of enforced idleness that followed the +suppression of this book came in the time when the young sonneteers at +London were all busy. He returned from his embassage in '89; the book +was suppressed in '91. _Licia_ was published in '93. The writing of +_Licia_ was "rather an effect than a cause of idleness;" he did it "only +to try his humor," he says apologetically in the dedicatory addresses. +"Whereas my thoughts and some reasons drew me rather to have dealt in +causes of greater weight, yet the present jar of this disagreeing age +drives me into a fit so melancholy, as I had only leisure to grow +passionate." + +In case wise heads should think him to be treating "an idle subject and +so frivolous," or that it has been "vainly handled and so odious," he +sets forth the nobility of his view. "Howsoever, Love in this age hath +behaved himself in that loose manner as it is counted a disgrace to give +him but a kind look, yet I take the passion in itself to be of that +honor and credit, as it is a perfect resemblance of the greatest +happiness, and rightly valued at his just price (in a mind that is +sincerely and truly amorous), an affection of greatest virtue and able +of himself to eternise the meanest vassal." "For Love," he declares, "is +a goddess (pardon me though I speak like a poet) not respecting the +contentment of him that loves, but the virtues of the beloved; satisfied +with wondering, fed with admiration; respecting nothing but his lady's +worthiness; made as happy by love as by all favors; chaste by honor; far +from violence; respecting but one, and that one in such kindness, +honesty, truth, constancy, and honor, as were all the world offered to +make a change, yet the boot were too small and therefore bootless. This +is love, and far more than this, which I know a vulgar head, a base +mind, an ordinary conceit, a common person will not nor cannot have. +Thus do I commend that love wherewith in these poems I have honoured the +worthy Licia." + +The sonnet-cycle is inscribed "To the worthie kinde wise and virtuous +ladie, the Ladie Mollineux; wife to the right worshipful Sir Richard +Mollineux Knight." Nothing is known of this lady, except that her family +may possibly have been very distantly connected with that of Fletcher. +What the poet's feeling was towards his patroness he defines +sufficiently. "Now in that I have written love sonnets, if any man +measure my affection by my style, let him say I am in love.... Yet take +this by the way; though I am so liberal to grant thus much, a man may +write of love and not be in love, as well as of husbandry and not go to +the plough, or of witches and be none, or of holiness and be flat +profane." + +What "shadowings" the poet may intend he refuses to confide to us. "If +thou muse what my Licia is, take her to be some Diana, at the least +chaste; or some Minerva; no Venus, fairer far. It may be she is +Learning's image, or some heavenly wonder, which the precisest may not +dislike: perhaps under that name I have shadowed Discipline. It may be I +mean that kind courtesy which I found at the patroness of these poems. +It may be some college; it may be my conceit, and portend nothing." It +is evident then that the patroness herself is not the real person behind +the poetic title. He therefore dedicates _Licia_ to Lady Molineux, not +because the sonnets themselves are addressed to her, but because he has +received "favours undeserved" at her hands and those of "wise Sir +Richard" for which he "wants means to make recompence," and therefore in +the meantime he begs her to accept this. "If thou like it," he says to +the reader, "take it, and thank the worthy Lady Mollineux, for whose +sake thou hast it; worthy, indeed, and so not only reputed by me in +private affection of thankfulness but so equally to be esteemed by all +that know her. For if I had not received of her ... those unrequitable +favours, I had not thus idly toyed." + +A warm admirer of Fletcher has expressed his opinion that _Licia_ +"sparkles with brilliants of the first water." A more temperate +judgment is that of another, who says that he "took part without +discredit in the choir of singers who were men of action too." _Licia_ +is what a typical sonnet-cycle ought to be, a delicate and almost +intangible thread of story on which are strung the separate +sonnet-pearls. In this case the jewels have a particular finish. +Fletcher has adopted the idea of a series of quatrains, often extending +the number to four, and a concluding couplet, which he seems fond of +utilising to give an epigrammatic finish to the ingenious incident he so +often makes the subject of the sonnet. He is fully in the spirit of the +Italian mode, however, acknowledging in his title page his indebtedness +to poets of other nationalities than his own. + + + + +TO LICIA + +THE WISE, KIND, VIRTUOUS, AND FAIR + + + Bright matchless star, the honour of the sky, + From whose clear shine heaven's vault hath all his light, + I send these poems to your graceful eye; + Do you but take them, and they have their right. + I build besides a temple to your name, + Wherein my thoughts shall daily sing your praise; + And will erect an altar for the same, + Which shall your virtues and your honour raise. + But heaven the temple of your honour is, + Whose brasen tops your worthy self made proud; + The ground an altar, base for such a bliss + With pity torn, because I sighed so loud. + And since my skill no worship can impart, + Make you an incense of my loving heart. + Sad all alone not long I musing sat, + But that my thoughts compelled me to aspire, + A laurel garland in my hand I gat; + So the Muses I approached the nigher. + My suite was this, a poet to become, + To drink with them, and from the heavens be fed. + Phoebus denied, and sware there was no room, + Such to be poets as fond fancy led. + With that I mourned and sat me down to weep. + Venus she smiled, and smiling to me said, + "Come, drink with me, and sit thee still and sleep." + This voice I heard; and Venus I obeyed. + That poison sweet hath done me all this wrong, + For now of love must needs be all my song. + + +II + + Weary was love and sought to take his rest, + He made his choice, upon a virgin's lap; + And slyly crept from thence unto her breast, + Where still he meant to sport him in his hap; + The virgin frowned like Phoebus in a cloud; + "Go pack, sir boy, here is no room for such, + My breast no wanton foolish boy must shroud." + This said, my love did give the wag a touch; + Then as the foot that treads the stinging snake + Hastes to be gone, for fear what may ensue, + So love my love was forced for to forsake, + And for more speed, without his arrows flew. + "Pardon," he said, "For why? You seemed to me + My mother Venus in her pride to be." + + +III + + The heavens beheld the beauty of my queen, + And all amazed, to wonder thus began: + "Why dotes not Jove, as erst we all have seen, + And shapes himself like to a seemly man? + Mean are the matches which he sought before, + Like bloomless buds, too base to make compare, + And she alone hath treasured beauty's store, + In whom all gifts and princely graces are." + Cupid replied: "I posted with the sun + To view the maids that livèd in those days, + And none there was that might not well be won, + But she, most hard, most cold, made of delays." + Heavens were deceived, and wrong they do esteem, + She hath no heat, although she living seem. + + +IV + + Love and my love did range the forest wild, + Mounted alike, upon swift coursers both. + Love her encountered, though he was a child. + "Let's strive," saith he, whereat my love was wroth, + And scorned the boy, and checked him with a smile. + "I mounted am, and armèd with my spear; + Thou art too weak, thyself do not beguile; + I could thee conquer if I naked were." + With this love wept, and then my love replied: + "Kiss me, sweet boy, so weep my boy no more." + Thus did my love, and then her force she tried; + Love was made ice, that fire was before. + A kiss of hers, as I, poor soul, do prove, + Can make the hottest freeze and coldest love. + + +V + + Love with her hair my love by force hath tied, + To serve her lips, her eyes, her voice, her hand; + I smiled for joy, when I the boy espied + To lie unchained and live at her command. + She if she look, or kiss, or sing, or smile, + Cupid withal doth smile, doth sing, doth kiss, + Lips, hands, voice, eyes, all hearts that may beguile, + Because she scorns all hearts but only this. + Venus for this in pride began to frown + That Cupid, born a god, enthralled should be. + She in disdain her pretty son threw down, + And in his place, with love she chainèd me. + So now, sweet love, though I myself be thrall, + Not her a goddess, but thyself I call. + + +VI + + My love amazed did blush herself to see, + Pictured by art, all naked as she was. + "How could the painter know so much by me, + Or art effect what he hath brought to pass? + It is not like he naked me hath seen, + Or stood so nigh for to observe so much." + No, sweet; his eyes so near have never been, + Nor could his hands by art have cunning such; + I showed my heart, wherein you printed were, + You, naked you, as here you painted are; + In that my love your picture I must wear, + And show't to all, unless you have more care. + Then take my heart, and place it with your own; + So shall you naked never more be known. + + +VII + + Death in a rage assaulted once my heart + With love of her, my love that doth deny. + I scorned his force, and wished him to depart, + I heartless was, and therefore could not die. + I live in her, in her I placed my life, + She guides my soul, and her I honour must. + Nor is this life but yet a living strife, + A thing unmeet, and yet a thing most just. + Cupid enraged did fly to make me love, + My heart lay guarded with those burning eyes + The sparks whereof denied him to remove; + So conquered now, he like a captive lies; + Thus two at once by love were both undone, + My heart not loved, and armless Venus' son. + + +VIII + + Hard are the rocks, the marble, and the steel, + The ancient oak with wind and weather tossed; + But you, my love, far harder do I feel + Than flint, or these, or is the winter's frost. + My tears too weak, your heart they cannot move; + My sighs, that rock, like wind it cannot rent; + Too tiger-like you swear you cannot love; + But tears and sighs you fruitless back have sent. + The frost too hard, not melted with my flame, + I cinders am, and yet you feel no heat. + Surpass not these, sweet love, for very shame, + But let my tears, my vows, my sighs entreat; + Then shall I say as by trial find; + These all are hard, but you, my love, are kind. + + +IX + + Love was laid down, all weary fast asleep, + Whereas my love his armor took away; + The boy awaked, and straight began to weep, + But stood amazed, and knew not what to say. + "Weep not, my boy," said Venus to her son, + "Thy weapons none can wield, but thou alone; + Licia the fair, this harm to thee hath done, + I saw her here, and presently was gone; + She will restore them, for she hath no need + To take thy weapons where thy valour lies; + For men to wound the Fates have her decreed, + With favour, hands, with beauty, and with eyes." + No, Venus, no: she scorns them, credit me; + But robbed thy son that none might care for thee. + + +X + + A painter drew the image of the boy, + Swift love, with wings all naked, and yet blind; + With bow and arrows, bent for to destroy; + I blamed his skill, and fault I thus did find: + "A needless task I see thy cunning take; + Misled by love, thy fancy thee betrayed; + Love is no boy, nor blind, as men him make, + Nor weapons wears, whereof to be affrayed; + But if thou, love, wilt paint with greatest skill + A love, a maid, a goddess, and a queen; + Wonder and view at Licia's picture still, + For other love the world hath never seen; + For she alone all hope all comfort gives; + Men's hearts, souls, all, led by her favour lives." + + +XI + + In Ida vale three queens the shepherd saw, + Queens of esteem, divine they were all three, + A sight of worth. But I a wonder shaw, + Their virtues all in one alone to be. + Licia the fair, surpassing Venus' pride, + (The matchless queen, commander of the gods, + When drawn with doves she in her pomp doth ride) + Hath far more beauty, and more grace by odds + Juno, Jove's wife, unmeet to make compare, + I grant a goddess, but not half so mild; + Minerva wise, a virtue, but not rare; + Yet these are mean, if that my love but smiled. + She them surpasseth, when their prides are full + As far as they surpass the meanest trull. + + +XII + + I wish sometimes, although a worthless thing, + Spurred by ambition, glad to aspire, + Myself a monarch, or some mighty king, + And then my thoughts do wish for to be higher. + But when I view what winds the cedars toss, + What storms men feels that covet for renown, + I blame myself that I have wished my loss, + And scorn a kingdom, though it give a crown. + Ah Licia, though the wonder of my thought, + My heart's content, procurer of my bliss, + For whom a crown I do esteem as naught, + As Asia's wealth, too mean to buy a kiss! + Kiss me, sweet love, this favor do for me; + Then crowns and kingdoms shall I scorn for thee. + + +XIII + + Enamored Jove commanding did entreat + Cupid to wound my love, which he denied, + And swore he could not for she wanted heat + And would not love, as he full oft had tried. + Jove in a rage, impatient this to hear, + Replied with threats; "I'll make you to obey!" + Whereat the boy did fly away for fear + To Licia's eyes, where safe intrenched he lay. + Then Jove he scorned, and dared him to his face, + For now more safe than in the heavens he dwelled, + Nor could Jove's wrath do wrong to such a place + Where grace and honour have their kingdom held. + Thus in the pride and beauty of her eyes + The seely boy the greatest god defies. + + +XIV + + My love lay sleeping, where birds music made, + Shutting her eyes, disdainful of the light; + The heat was great but greater was the shade + Which her defended from his burning sight. + This Cupid saw, and came a kiss to take, + Sucking sweet nectar from her sugared breath; + She felt the touch, and blushed, and did awake, + Seeing t'was love, which she did think was death, + She cut his wings and causèd him to stay, + Making a vow, he should not thence depart, + Unless to her the wanton boy could pay + The truest, kindest and most loving heart. + His feathers still she usèd for a fan, + Till by exchange my heart his feathers won. + + +XV + + I stood amazed, and saw my Licia shine, + Fairer than Phoebus, in his brightest pride, + Set forth in colors by a hand divine, + Where naught was wanting but a soul to guide. + It was a picture, that I could descry, + Yet made with art so as it seemed to live, + Surpassing fair, and yet it had no eye, + Whereof my senses could no reason give. + With that the painter bid me not to muse; + "Her eyes are shut, but I deserve no blame; + For if she saw, in faith, it could not choose + But that the work had wholly been a flame,"-- + Then burn me, sweet, with brightness of your eyes, + That phoenix-like from thence I may arise. + + +XVI + + Grant, fairest kind, a kiss unto thy friend! + A blush replied, and yet a kiss I had. + It is not heaven that can such nectar send + Whereat my senses all amazed were glad. + This done, she fled as one that was affrayed, + And I desired to kiss by kissing more; + My love she frowned, and I my kissing stayed, + Yet wished to kiss her as I did before. + Then as the vine the propping elm doth clasp, + Loath to depart till both together die, + So fold me, sweet, until my latest gasp, + That in thy arms to death I kissed may lie. + Thus whilst I live for kisses I must call; + Still kiss me, sweet, or kiss me not at all. + + +XVII + + As are the sands, fair Licia, on the shore, + Or colored flowers, garlands of the spring, + Or as the frosts not seen, not felt before, + Or as the fruits that autumn forth doth bring; + As twinkling stars, the tinsel of the night, + Or as the fish that gallop in the seas; + As airs each part that still escapes our sight, + So are my sighs, controllers of my ease. + Yet these are such as needs must have an end, + For things finite none else hath nature done; + Only the sighs, which from my heart I send, + Will never cease, but where they first begun. + Accept them, sweet, as incense due to thee; + For you immortal made them so to be. + + +XVIII + + I swear, fair Licia, still for to be thine, + By heart, by eyes, by what I held most dear; + Thou checked mine oath, and said: these were not mine, + And that I had no right by them to swear. + Then by my sighs, my passions, and my tears, + My vows, my prayers, my sorrow, and my love, + My grief, my joy, my hope, and hopeless fears, + My heart is thine, and never shall remove. + These are not thine, though sent unto thy view, + All else I grant, by right they are thine own; + Let these suffice that what I swear is true, + And more than this if that it could be known. + So shall all these though troubles ease my grief; + If that they serve to work in thee belief. + + +XIX + + That time, fair Licia, when I stole a kiss, + From off those lips, where Cupid lovely laid, + I quaked for cold, and found the cause was this: + My life which loved, for love behind me staid. + I sent my heart my life for to recall, + But that was held, not able to return, + And both detained as captives were in thrall, + And judged by her, that both by sighs should burn. + Fair, burn them both, for that they were so bold, + But let the altar be within thy heart; + And I shall live because my life you hold, + You that give life, to every living part; + A flame I took whenas I stole the kiss; + Take you my life, yet can I live with this. + + +XX + + First did I fear, when first my love began; + Possessed in fits by watchful jealousy, + I sought to keep what I by favour won, + And brooked no partner in my love to be. + But tyrant sickness fed upon my love, + And spread his ensigns, dyed with colour white; + Then was suspicion glad for to remove, + And loving much did fear to lose her quite. + Erect, fair sweet, the colors thou didst wear; + Dislodge thy griefs; the short'ners of content; + For now of life, not love, is all my fear, + Lest life and love be both together spent. + Live but, fair love, and banish thy disease, + And love, kind heart, both where and whom thou please. + + +XXI + + Licia my love was sitting in a grove, + Tuning her smiles unto the chirping songs, + But straight she spied where two together strove, + Each one complaining of the other's wrongs. + Cupid did cry lamenting of the harm; + Jove's messenger, thou wrong'st me too too far; + Use thou thy rod, rely upon the charm; + Think not by speech my force thou canst debar. + A rod, Sir boy, were fitter for a child, + My weapons oft and tongue and mind you took; + And in my wrong at my distress thou smiled, + And scorned to grace me with a loving look. + Speak you, sweet love, for you did all the wrong + That broke his arrows, and did bind his tongue. + + +XXII + + I might have died before my life begun, + Whenas my father for his country's good + The Persian's favor and the Sophy won + And yet with danger of his dearest blood. + Thy father, sweet, whom danger did beset, + Escapèd all, and for no other end + But only this, that you he might beget, + Whom heavens decreed into the world to send. + Then father, thank thy daughter for thy life, + And Neptune praise that yielded so to thee, + To calm the tempest when the storms were rife, + And that thy daughter should a Venus be. + I call thee Venus, sweet, but be not wroth; + Thou art more chaste, yet seas did favor both. + + +XXIII + + My love was masked, and armèd with a fan, + To see the sun so careless of his light, + Which stood and gazed, and gazing waxèd wan + To see a star himself that was more bright. + Some did surmize she hid her from the sun, + Of whom in pride she scorned for to be kissed, + Or feared the harm by him to others done. + But these the reason of this wonder missed, + Nor durst the sun, if that her face were bare + In greatest pride, presume to take a kiss. + But she more kind did show she had more care + Than with her eyes eclipse him of his bliss. + Unmask you, sweet, and spare not; dim the sun; + Your light's enough, although that his were done. + + +XXIV + + Whenas my love lay sickly in her bed, + Pale death did post in hope to have a prey; + But she so spotless made him that he fled; + "Unmeet to die," she cried, and could not stay. + Back he retired, and thus the heavens he told; + "All things that are, are subject unto me, + Both towns, and men, and what the world doth hold; + But her fair Licia still immortal be." + The heavens did grant; a goddess she was made, + Immortal, fair, unfit to suffer change. + So now she lives, and never more shall fade; + In earth a goddess, what can be more strange? + Then will I hope, a goddess and so near, + She cannot choose my sighs and prayers but hear. + + +XXV + + Seven are the lights that wander in the skies, + And at these seven, I wonder in my love. + So see the moon, how pale she doth arise, + Standing amazed, as though she durst not move; + So is my sweet much paler than the snow, + Constant her looks, these looks that cannot change. + Mercury the next, a god sweet-tongued we know, + But her sweet voice doth wonders speak more strange. + The rising Sun doth boast him of his pride, + And yet my love is far more fair than he. + The warlike Mars can wieldless weapons guide, + But yet that god is far more weak than she. + The lovely Venus seemeth to be fair, + But at her best my love is far more bright. + Saturn for age with groans doth dim the air, + Whereas my love with smiles doth give it light. + Gaze at her brows, where heaven ingrafted is; + Then sigh, and swear, there is no heaven but this. + + +XXVI + + I live, sweet love, whereas the gentle wind + Murmurs with sport in midst of thickest boughs, + Where loving woodbine doth the harbor bind, + And chirping birds do echo forth my vows; + Where strongest elm can scarce support the vine, + And sweetest flowers enameled have the ground; + Where Muses dwell; and yet hereat repine + That on the earth so rare a place was found. + But winds delight, I wish to be content; + I praise the woodbine, but I take no joy; + I moan the birds that music thus have spent; + As for the rest, they breed but mine annoy. + Live then, fair Licia, in this place alone; + Then shall I joy though all of these were gone. + + +XXVII + + The crystal stream wherein my love did swim, + Melted in tears as partners of my woe; + Her shine was such as did the fountain dim, + The pearl-like fountain whiter than the snow; + Then like perfume, resolvèd with a heat, + The fountain smoked, as if it thought to burn; + A wonder strange to see the cold so great, + And yet the fountain into smoke to turn. + I searched the cause, and found it to be this: + She touched the water, and it burned with love. + Now by her means it purchased hath that bliss, + Which all diseases quickly can remove. + Then if by you these streams thus blessèd be, + Sweet, grant me love, and be not worse to me. + + +XXVIII + + In time the strong and stately turrets fall, + In time the rose and silver lilies die, + In time the monarchs captive are and thrall, + In time the sea and rivers are made dry; + The hardest flint in time doth melt asunder; + Still living fame in time doth fade away; + The mountains proud we see in time come under; + And earth for age we see in time decay; + The sun in time forgets for to retire + From out the east where he was wont to rise; + The basest thoughts we see in time aspire, + And greedy minds in time do wealth despise. + Thus all, sweet fair, in time must have an end, + Except thy beauty, virtues, and thy friend. + + +XXIX + + Why died I not whenas I last did sleep? + O sleep too short that shadowed forth my dear! + Heavens, hear my prayers, nor thus me waking keep! + For this were heaven, if thus I sleeping were. + For in that dark there shone a princely light; + Two milk-white hills, both full of nectar sweet, + Her ebon thighs, the wonder of my sight, + Where all my senses with their objects meet,-- + I pass these sports, in secret that are best, + Wherein my thoughts did seem alive to be; + We both did strive, and weary both did rest; + I kissed her still, and still she kissèd me. + Heavens, let me sleep, and shows my senses feed, + Or let me wake and happy be indeed! + + +XXX + + Whenas my Licia sailèd in the seas, + Viewing with pride god Neptune's stately crown, + A calm she made, and brought the merchant ease, + The storm she stayed, and checked him with a frown. + Love at the stern sate smiling and did sing + To see how seas had learned for to obey; + And balls of fire into the waves did fling; + And still the boy full wanton thus did say:-- + "Both poles we burnt whereon the world doth turn, + The round of heaven from earth unto the skies; + And now the seas we both intend to burn, + I with my bow, and Licia with her eyes." + Then since thy force, heavens, earth, nor seas can move, + I conquered yield, and do confess I love. + + +XXXI + + Whenas her lute is tunèd to her voice, + The air grows proud for honour of that sound, + And rocks do leap to show how they rejoice + That in the earth such music should be found. + Whenas her hair more worth, more pale than gold, + Like silver thread lies wafting in the air, + Diana-like she looks, but yet more bold; + Cruel in chase, more chaste and yet more fair. + Whenas she smiles, the clouds for envy breaks; + She Jove in pride encounters with a check; + The sun doth shine for joy whenas she speaks; + Thus heaven and earth do homage at her beck. + Yet all these graces, blots, not graces are, + If you, my love, of love do take no care. + + +XXXII + + Years, months, days, hours, in sighs I sadly spend; + I black the night wherein I sleepless toss; + I love my griefs yet wish them at an end; + Thus time's expense increaseth but my loss. + I musing stand and wonder at my love, + That in so fair should be a heart of steel; + And then I think my fancy to remove, + But then more painful I my passions feel; + Thus must I love, sweet fair, until I die, + And your unkindness doth my love increase. + I conquered am, I can it not deny; + My life must end, yet shall my love not cease. + Then heavens, make Licia fair most kind to me, + Or with my life my loss may finished be! + + +XXXIII + + I wrote my sighs, and sent them to my love; + I praised that fair that none enough could praise; + But plaints nor praises could fair Licia move; + Above my reach she did her virtues raise, + And thus replied: "False Scrawl, untrue thou art, + To feign those sighs that nowhere can be found; + For half those praises came not from his heart + Whose faith and love as yet was never found. + Thy master's life, false Scrawl shall be thy doom; + Because he burns, I judge thee to the flame; + Both your attempts deserve no better room." + Thus at her word we ashes both became. + Believe me, fair, and let my paper live; + Or be not fair, and so me freedom give. + + +XXXIV + + Pale are my looks, forsaken of my life, + Cinders my bones, consumèd with thy flame, + Floods are my tears, to end this burning strife, + And yet I sigh for to increase the same; + I mourn alone because alone I burn; + Who doubts of this, then let him learn to love; + Her looks cold ice into a flame can turn, + As I distressèd in myself do prove. + Respect, fair Licia, what my torments are; + Count but the tithe both of my sighs and tears; + See how my love doth still increase my care, + And care's increase my life to nothing wears. + Send but a sigh my flame for to increase, + Or lend a tear and cause it so to cease. + + +XXXV + + Whenas I wish, fair Licia, for a kiss + From those sweet lips where rose and lilies strive, + Straight do mine eyes repine at such a bliss, + And seek my lips thereof for to deprive; + Whenas I seek to glut mine eyes by sight, + My lips repine and call mine eyes away; + Thus both contend to have each other's right, + And both conspire to work my full decay. + O force admired of beauty in her pride, + In whose each part such strange effects there be, + That all my forces in themselves divide, + And make my senses plainly disagree. + If all were mine, this envy would be gone; + Then grant me all, fair sweet, or grant me none! + + +XXXVI + + Hear how my sighs are echoed of the wind; + See how my tears are pitied by the rain; + Feel what a flame possessèd hath my mind; + Taste but the grief which I possess in vain. + Then if my sighs the blustering winds surpass, + And wat'ry tears the drops of rain exceed, + And if no flame like mine nor is nor was, + Nor grief like that whereon my soul doth feed, + Relent, fair Licia, when my sighs do blow; + Yield at my tears, that flintlike drops consume; + Accept the flame that doth my incense show, + Allow the grief that is my heart's perfume. + Thus sighs and tears, flame, grief shall plead for me; + So shall I pray, and you a goddess be. + + +XXXVII + + I speak, fair Licia, what my torments be, + But then my speech too partial do I find; + For hardly words can with those thoughts agree, + Those thoughts that swarm in such a troubled mind. + Then do I vow my tongue shall never speak + Nor tell my grief that in my heart doth lie; + But cannon-like, I then surcharged do break, + And so my silence worse than speech I try. + Thus speech or none, they both do breed my care; + I live dismayed, and kill my heart with grief; + In all respects my case alike doth fare + To him that wants, and dare not ask relief. + Then you, fair Lucia, sovereign of my heart, + Read to yourself my anguish and my smart. + + +XXXVIII + + Sweet, I protest, and seal it with an oath: + I never saw that so my thoughts did please; + And yet content displeased I see them wroth + To love so much and cannot have their ease. + I told my thoughts, my sovereign made a pause, + Disposed to grant, but willing to delay; + They then repined, for that they knew no cause, + And swore they wished she flatly would say nay. + Thus hath my love, my thoughts with treason filled, + And 'gainst my sovereign taught them to repine. + So thus my treason all my thoughts hath killed, + And made fair Licia say she is not mine. + But thoughts too rash my heart doth now repent; + And as you please, they swear, they are content. + + +XXXIX + + Fair matchless nymph, respect but what I crave; + My thoughts are true, and honour is my love; + I fainting die whom yet a smile might save; + You gave the wound, and can the hurt remove. + Those eyes like stars that twinkle in the night, + And cheeks like rubies pale in lilies dyed, + Those ebon hands that darting hath such might + That _in_ my soul my love and life divide, + Accept the passions of a man possessed; + Let love be loved and grant me leave to live; + Disperse those clouds that darkened have my rest, + And let your heaven a sun-like smile but give! + Then shall I praise that heaven for such a sun + That saved my life, whenas my grief begun. + + +XL + + My grief begun, fair saint, when first I saw + Love in those eyes sit ruling with disdain, + Whose sweet commands did keep a world in awe, + And caused them serve your favor to obtain. + I stood as one enchanted with a frown, + Yet smiled to see all creatures serve those eyes, + Where each with sighs paid tribute to that crown, + And thought them gracèd by your dumb replies. + But I, ambitious, could not be content + Till that my service more than sighs made known; + And for that end my heart to you I sent + To say and swear that, fair, it is your own. + Then greater graces, Licia, do impart, + Not dumb replies unto a speaking heart. + + +SONNET MADE UPON THE TWO TWINS, DAUGHTERS OF THE LADY MOLLINEUX, BOTH +PASSING LIKE, AND EXCEEDING FAIR + + Poets did feign that heavens a Venus had, + Matchless herself, and Cupid was her son; + Men sued to these, and of their smiles were glad, + By whom so many famous were undone. + Now Cupid mourns that he hath lost his might, + And that these two so comely are to see; + And Venus frowns because they have her right. + Yet both so like that both shall blameless be; + With heaven's two twins for godhead these may strive, + And rule a world with least part of a frown; + Fairer than these two twins are not alive, + Both conquering queens, and both deserve a crown. + My thoughts presage, which time to come shall try, + That thousands conquered for their love shall die. + + +XLI + + If, aged Charon, when my life shall end, + I pass thy ferry and my waftage pay, + Thy oars shall fall, thy boat and mast shall rend, + And through the deep shall be a dry foot-way. + For why? My heart with sighs doth breathe such flame + That air and water both incensèd be, + The boundless ocean from whose mouth they came, + For from my heat not heaven itself is free. + Then since to me thy loss can be no gain, + Avoid thy harm and fly what I foretell. + Make thou thy love with me for to be slain, + That I with her and both with thee may dwell. + Thy fact thus, Charon, both of us shall bless, + Thou save thy boat and I my love possess. + + +XLII + + For if alone thou think to waft my love, + Her cold is such as can the sea command, + And frozen ice shall let thy boat to move, + Nor can thy forces row it from the land. + But if thou friendly both at once shalt take, + Thyself mayst rest. For why? My sighs will blow. + Our cold and heat so sweet a thaw shall make, + As that thy boat without thy help shall row. + Then will I sit and glut me on those eyes + Wherewith my life my eyes could never fill. + Thus from my boat that comfort shall arise, + The want whereof my life and hope did kill. + Together placed so thou her scorn shalt cross, + Where if we part thy boat must suffer loss. + + +XLIII + + Are those two stars, her eyes, my life's light gone, + By which my soul was freèd from all dark? + And am I left distressed to live alone, + Where none my tears and mournful tale shall mark? + Ah sun, why shine thy looks, thy looks like gold, + When horsemen brave thou risest in the east? + Ah Cynthia pale, to whom my griefs I told, + Why do you both rejoice both man and beast? + And I alone, alone that dark possess + By Licia's absence brighter than the sun, + Whose smiling light did ease my sad distress, + And broke the clouds, when tears like rain begun. + Heavens, grant that light and so me waking keep, + Or shut my eyes and rock me fast asleep! + + +XLIV + + Cruel fair love, I justly do complain + Of too much rigor and thy heart unkind, + That for mine eyes thou hast my body slain, + And would not grant that I should favour find. + I looked, fair love, and you my love looked fair, + I sighed for love and you for sport did smile. + Your smiles were such as did perfume the air, + And this perfumèd did my heart beguile. + Thus I confess the fault was in mine eyes, + Begun with sighs and ended with a flame. + I for your love did all the world despise; + And in these poems honored have your name. + Then let your love so with my fault dispense, + That all my parts feel not mine eyes' offense. + + +XLV + + There shone a comet, and it was full west. + My thoughts presagèd what it did portend; + I found it threatened to my heart unrest, + And might in time my joys and comfort end. + I further sought and found it was a sun, + Which day nor night did never use to set. + It constant stood when heavens did restless run, + And did their virtues and their forces let. + The world did muse and wonder what it meant, + A sun to shine and in the west to rise; + To search the truth, I strength and spirits spent; + At length I found it was my Licia's eyes. + Now never after soul shall live in dark, + That hath the hap this western sun to mark. + + +XLVI + + If he be dead, in whom no heart remains, + Or lifeless be in whom no life is found; + If he do pine that never comfort gains, + And be distressed that hath his deadly wound; + Then must I die whose heart elsewhere is clad, + And lifeless pass the greedy worms to feed; + Then must I pine that never comfort had, + And be distressed whose wound with tears doth bleed. + Which if I do, why do I not wax cold? + Why rest I not like one that wants a heart? + Why move I still like him that life doth hold, + And sense enjoy both of my joy and smart? + Like Niobe queen which made a stone did weep, + Licia my heart dead and alive doth keep. + + +XLVII + + Like Memnon's rock, touched with the rising sun + Which yields a sound and echoes forth a voice, + But when it's drowned in western seas is done, + And drowsy-like leaves off to make a noise; + So I, my love, enlightened with your shine, + A poet's skill within my soul I shroud, + Not rude like that which finer wits decline, + But such as Muses to the best allowed. + But when your figure and your shape is gone + I speechless am like as I was before; + Or if I write, my verse is filled with moan, + And blurred with tears by falling in such store. + Then muse not, Licia, if my Muse be slack, + For when I wrote I did thy beauty lack. + + +XLVIII + + I saw, sweet Licia, when the spider ran + Within your house to weave a worthless web, + You present were and feared her with your fan, + So that amazèd speedily she fled. + She in your house such sweet perfumes did smell, + And heard the Muses with their notes refined, + Thus filled with envy, could no longer dwell, + But straight returned and at your house repined. + Then tell me, spider, why of late I saw + Thee lose thy poison, and thy bowels gone; + Did these enchant and keep thy limbs in awe, + And made thy forces to be small or none? + No, no, thou didst by chance my Licia see, + Who for her look Minerva seemed to thee. + + +XLIX + + If that I die, fair Licia, with disdain, + Or heartless live surprisèd with thy wrong, + Then heavens and earth shall accent both my pain, + And curse the time so cruel and so long. + If you be kind, my queen, as you are fair, + And aid my thoughts that still for conquest strive, + Then will I sing and never more despair, + And praise your kindness whilst I am alive. + Till then I pay the tribute of my tears, + To move thy mercy and thy constant truth. + Respect, fair love, how these with sorrow wears + The truest heart unless it find some ruth. + Then grace me, sweet, and with thy favor raise me, + So shall I live and all the world shall praise thee. + + +L + + Ah Licia, sigh and say thou art my own; + Nay, be my own, as you full oft have said. + So shall your truth unto the world be known, + And I resolved where now I am afraid. + And if my tongue eternize can your praise, + Or silly speech increase your worthy fame, + If ought I can, to heaven your worth can raise, + The age to come shall wonder at the same. + In this respect your love, sweet love, I told, + My faith and truth I vowed should be forever. + You were the cause if that I was too bold; + Then pardon this my fault or love me never. + But if you frown I wish that none believe me, + For slain with sighs I'll die before I grieve thee. + + +LI + + When first the sun whom all my senses serve, + Began to shine upon this earthly round, + The heavens for her all graces did reserve, + That Pandor-like with all she might abound. + Apollo placed his brightness in her eyes, + His skill presaging and his music sweet. + Mars gave his force; all force she now defies; + Venus her smiles wherewith she Mars did meet; + Python a voice, Diana made her chaste, + Ceres gave plenty, Cupid lent his bow, + Thetis his feet, there Pallas wisdom placed. + With these she queen-like kept a world in awe. + Yet all these honors deemèd are but pelf, + For she is much more worthy of herself. + + +LII + + O sugared talk, wherewith my thoughts do live! + O brows, love's trophy and my senses' shine! + O charming smiles, that death or life can give! + O heavenly kisses from a mouth divine! + O wreaths too strong, and trammels made of hair! + O pearls inclosèd in an ebon pale! + O rose and lilies in a field most fair, + Where modest white doth make the red seem pale! + O voice whose accents live within my heart! + O heavenly hand that more than Atlas holds! + O sighs perfumed, that can release my smart! + O happy they whom in her arms she folds! + Now if you ask where dwelleth all this bliss, + Seek out my love and she will tell you this. + + +AN ODE + + Love, I repent me that I thought + My sighs and languish dearly bought. + For sighs and languish both did prove + That he that languished sighed for love. + Cruel rigor, foe to state, + Looks disdainful, fraught with hate, + I did blame, but had no cause; + Love hath eyes, but hath no laws. + She was sad and could not choose + To see me sigh and sit and muse. + We both did love and both did doubt + Least any should our love find out. + Our hearts did speak, by sighs most hidden; + This means was left, all else forbidden. + I did frown her love to try, + She did sigh and straight did cry. + Both of us did sighs believe, + Yet either grievèd friend to grieve. + I did look and then did smile; + She left sighing all that while. + Both were glad to see that change, + Things in love that are not strange. + Suspicion, foolish foe to reason, + Causèd me seek to find some treason. + I did court another dame, + False in love, it is a shame!-- + She was sorry this to view, + Thinking faith was proved untrue. + Then she swore she would not love + One whom false she once did prove. + I did vow I never meant + From promise made for to relent. + The more I said the worse she thought, + My oaths and vows were deemed as naught. + "False," she said "how can it be, + To court another yet love me? + Crowns and love no partners brook; + If she be liked I am forsook. + Farewell, false, and love her still, + Your chance was good, but mine was ill. + No harm to you, but this I crave, + That your new love may you deceive, + And jest with you as you have done, + For light's the love that quickly won." + "Kind, and fair-sweet, once believe me; + Jest I did but not to grieve thee. + Court I did, but did not love; + All my speech was you to prove. + Words and sighs and what I spent, + In show to her, to you were meant. + Fond I was your love to cross; + Jesting love oft brings this loss. + Forget this fault, and love your friend, + Which vows his truth unto the end." + "Content," she said, "if this you keep." + Thus both did kiss, and both did weep. + For women long they cannot chide, + As I by proof in this have tried. + + +A DIALOGUE BETWIXT TWO SEA-NYMPHS DORIS AND GALATEA CONCERNING +POLPHEMUS; BRIEFLY TRANSLATED OUT OF LUCIAN + + The sea-nymphs late did play them on the shore, + And smiled to see such sport was new begun, + A strife in love, the like not heard before, + Two nymphs contend which had the conquest won. + Doris the fair with Galate did chide; + She liked her choice, and to her taunts replied. + +DORIS + + Thy love, fair nymph, that courts thee on this plain, + As shepherds say and all the world can tell, + Is that foul rude Sicilian Cyclop-swain; + A shame, sweet nymph, that he with thee should mell. + +GALATEA + + Smile not, fair Doris, though he foul do seem, + Let pass thy words that savour of disgrace; + He's worth my love, and so I him esteem, + Renowned by birth, and come of Neptune's race, + Neptune that doth the glassy ocean tame, + Neptune, by birth from mighty Jove which came. + +DORIS + + I grant an honour to be Neptune's child, + A grace to be so near with Jove allied. + But yet, sweet nymph, with this be not beguiled; + Where nature's graces are by looks decried, + So foul, so rough, so ugly as a clown, + And worse than this, a monster with one eye! + Foul is not gracèd, though it wear a crown, + But fair is beauty, none can that deny. + +GALATEA + + Nor is he foul or shapeless as you say, + Or worse; for that he clownish seems to be, + Rough, satyr-like, the better he will play, + And manly looks the fitter are for me. + His frowning smiles are gracèd by his beard, + His eye-light, sun-like, shrouded is in one. + This me contents, and others make afeard. + He sees enough, and therefore wanteth none. + +DORIS + + Nay, then I see, sweet nymph, thou art in love, + And loving, dotes; and doting, dost commend + Foul to be fair; this oft do lovers prove; + I wish him fairer, or thy love an end. + +GALATEA + + Doris, I love not, yet I hardly bear + Disgraceful terms, which you have spoke in scorn. + You are not loved; and that's the cause I fear; + For why? My love of Jove himself was born. + Feeding his sheep of late amidst this plain, + Whenas we nymphs did sport us on the shore, + He scorned you all, my love for to obtain; + That grieved your hearts; I knew as much before. + Nay, smile not, nymphs, the truth I only tell, + For few can brook that others should excel. + +DORIS + + Should I envy that blind did you that spite? + Or that your shape doth please so foul a groom? + The shepherd thought of milk, you looked so white; + The clown did err, and foolish was his doom. + Your look was pale, and so his stomach fed; + But far from fair, where white doth want his red. + +GALATEA + + Though pale my look, yet he my love did crave, + And lovely you, unliked, unloved I view; + It's better far one base than none to have; + Your fair is foul, to whom there's none will sue. + My love doth tune his love unto his harp. + His shape is rude, but yet his wit is sharp. + +DORIS + + Leave off, sweet nymph, to grace a worthless clown. + He itched with love, and then did sing or say; + The noise was such as all the nymphs did frown, + And well suspected that some ass did bray. + The woods did chide to hear this ugly sound + The prating echo scorned for to repeat; + This grisly voice did fear the hollow ground, + Whilst artless fingers did his harpstrings beat. + Two bear-whelps in his arms this monster bore, + With these new puppies did this wanton play; + Their skins was rough but yet your loves was more; + He fouler was and far more fierce than they. + I cannot choose, sweet nymph, to think, but smile + That some of us thou fear'st will thee beguile. + +GALATEA + + Scorn not my love, until it can be known + That you have one that's better of your own. + +DORIS + + I have no love, nor if I had, would boast; + Yet wooed have been by such as well might speed: + But him to love, the shame of all the coast, + So ugly foul, as yet I have no need. + Now thus we learn what foolish love can do, + To think him fair that's foul and ugly too. + + To hear this talk, I sat behind an oak, + And marked their words and penned them as they spoke. + + +AD LECTOREM, DISTICHON + +CUJUSDAM DE AUTORE + + Lascivi quaeres fuerit cur carminis autor: + Carmine lascivus, mente pudicus erat. + + +A LOVER'S MAZE + + True are my thoughts, my thoughts that are untrue, + Blind are my eyes, my eyes that are not blind, + New is my love, my love that is not new, + Kind is that fair, that fair that is not kind. + Thus eyes and thoughts, that fairest fair, my love, + Blind and untrue, unkind, unconstant prove. + + True are my thoughts because they never flit, + Untrue my thoughts because they me betrayed; + Blind are my eyes because in clouds I sit, + Not blind my eyes because I looks obeyed. + Thus eyes and thoughts, my dearest fair may view + In sight, in love, not blind, nor yet untrue. + + New is my love because it never dies, + Old is my love because it ever lives; + Kind is that fair because it hate denies, + Unkind that fair because no hope it gives. + Thus new my love, and still that fair unkind, + Renews my love, and I no favour find. + + Sweet are my dreams, my dreams that are not sweet, + Long are the nights, the nights that are not long, + Meet are the pangs, these pangs that are unmeet, + Wronged is my heart, my heart that hath no wrong. + Thus dreams, and night, my heart, my pangs, and all + In taste, in length, conspire to work my fall. + + Sweet are my dreams because my love they show, + Unsweet my dreams because but dreams they are; + Long are the nights because no help I know, + Meet are the nights because they end my care. + Thus dreams and nights wherein my love take sport, + Are sweet, unsweet, are long, and yet too short. + + Meet are my pangs because I was too bold, + Unmeet my pangs because I loved so well; + Wronged was my heart because my grief it told, + Not wronged. For why? My grief it could not tell. + Thus you my love unkindly cause this smart, + That will not love to ease my pangs and heart. + + Proud is her look, her look that is not proud, + Done all my days, my days that are not done, + Loud are my sighs, my sighs that are not loud, + Begun my death, my death not yet begun. + Thus looks and days and sighs and death might move + So kind, so fair, to give consent to love. + + Proud is her look because she scorns to see, + Not proud her look for none dare say so much; + Done are my days because they hapless be, + Not done my days because I wish them such. + Thus looks and days increase this loving strife. + Not proud, nor done, nor dead, nor giving life. + + Loud are my sighs because they pierce the sky, + Not loud my sighs because they are not heard; + My death begun because I artless cry, + But not begun because I am debarred. + Thus sighs and death my heart no comfort give; + Both life deny, and both do make me live. + + Bold are her smiles, her smiles that are not bold, + Wise are her words, those words that are not wise, + Cold are her lips, those lips that are not cold, + Ice are those hands, those hands that are not ice. + Thus smiles and words, her lips, her hands, and she, + Bold, wise, cold, ice, love's cruel torments be. + + Bold are her smiles, because they anger slay, + Not bold her smiles because they blush so oft; + Wise are her words because they wonders say, + Not wise her words because they are not soft. + Thus smiles and words, so cruel and so bold, + So blushing wise, my thoughts in prison hold. + + Cold are her lips because they breathe no heat, + Not cold her lips because my heart they burn; + Ice are her hands because the snow's so great, + Not ice her hands that all to ashes turn. + Thus lips and hands cold ice my sorrow brew; + Hands, warm white snow and lips cold cherry-red. + + Small was her waist, the waist that was not small, + Gold was her hair, the hair that was not gold, + Tall was her shape, the shape that was not tall; + Folding the arms, the arms that did not fold. + Thus hair and shape, those folding arms and waist, + Did make me love, and loving made me waste. + + Small was her waist, because I could it span, + Not small her waist because she wanted all; + Gold was her hair because a crown it wan, + Not gold her hair because it was more pale. + Thus smallest waist, the greatest waste doth make, + And finest hair most fast a lover take. + + Tall was her shape because she touched the sky, + Not tall her shape because she comely was; + Folding her arms because she hearts could tie, + Not folded arms because all bands they pass. + Thus shape and arms with love my heart did ply, + That hers I am, and must be till I die. + + Sad was her joy, her joy that was not sad, + Short was her stay, her stay that was not short, + Glad was her speech, her speech that was not glad, + Sporting those toys, those toys that were not sport. + Thus was my heart with joy, speech, toys and stay, + Possessed with love, and so stol'n quite away. + + Sad was her joy because she did respect, + Not sad her joy because her joy she had, + Short was her stay because to small effect, + Long was her stay because I was so sad. + Thus joy and stay, both crossed a lover's sport, + The one was sad, the other too too short. + + Glad was her speech because she spake her mind, + Not glad her speech because afraid to speak; + Sporting her toys because my love was kind, + Not toys in sport because my heart they break. + Thus speech and toys my love began in jest; + Sweet, yield to love, and make thy servant blest. + + Tread you the maze, sweet love, that I have run, + Mark but the steps which I imprinted have; + End but your love whereas my thoughts begun; + So shall I joy and you a servant have. + If not, sweet love, then this my suit deny; + So shall you live, and so your servant die. + + +AN ELEGY + +I + + Down in a bed and on a bed of down, + Love, she, and I to sleep together lay; + She like a wanton kissed me with a frown, + Sleep, sleep, she said, but meant to steal away; + I could not choose but kiss, but wake, but smile, + To see how she thought us two to beguile. + + She feigned a sleep, I waked her with a kiss; + A kiss to me she gave to make me sleep; + If I did wrong, sweet love, my fault was this, + In that I did not you thus waking keep. + "Then kiss me, sweet, that so I sleep may take, + Or let me kiss to keep you still awake." + + The night drew on and needs she must be gone; + She wakèd Love, and bid him learn to wait; + She sighed, she said, to leave me there alone, + And bid Love stay but practise no deceit. + Love wept for grief, and sighing made great moan, + And could not sleep nor stay if she were gone. + + "Then stay, sweet love;" a kiss with that I gave; + She could not stay, but gave my kiss again; + A kiss was all that I could get or crave, + And with a kiss she bound me to remain. + "Ah Licia," still I in my dreams did cry, + "Come, Licia, come, or else my heart will die." + + +II + + Distance of place my love and me did part, + Yet both did swear we never would remove; + In sign thereof I bid her take my heart, + Which did, and doth, and can not choose but love. + Thus did we part in hope to meet again, + Where both did vow most constant to remain. + + A she there was that passed betwixt us both, + By whom each knew how other's cause did fare; + For men to trust men in their love are loth; + Thus had we both of love a lover's care. + Haply he seeks his sorrows to renew, + That for his love doth make another sue. + + By her a kiss, a kiss to me she sent. + A kiss for price more worth than purest gold. + She gave it her, to me the kiss was meant; + A she to kiss, what harm if she were bold? + Happy those lips that had so sweet a kiss, + For heaven itself scarce yields so sweet a bliss! + + This modest she, blushing for shame of this, + Or loth to part from that she liked so well, + Did play false play, and gave me not the kiss; + Yet my love's kindness could not choose to tell. + Then blame me not, that kissing sighed and swore + I kissed but her whom you had kissed before. + + Sweet, love me more, and blame me not, sweet love; + I kissed those lips, yet harmless I do vow; + Scarce would my lips from off those lips remove, + For still methought, sweet fair, I kissèd you. + And thus, kind love, the sum of all my bliss + Was but begun and ended in a kiss. + + Then send me more, but send them by your friend; + Kiss none but her, nor her, nor none at all. + Beware by whom such treasures you do send, + I must them lose except I for them call. + And love me, dear, and still still kissing be; + Both like and love, but none, sweet love, but me. + + +III + + If sad complaint would show a lover's pain, + Or tears express the torments of my heart, + If melting sighs would ruth and pity gain, + Or true laments but ease a lover's smart; + + Then should my plaints the thunder's noise surmount, + And tears like seas should flow from out my eyes; + Then sighs like air should far exceed all count, + And true laments with sorrow dim the skies. + + But plaints and tears, laments and sighs I spend, + Yet greater torments do my heart destroy; + I could all these from out my heart still send, + If after these I might my love enjoy. + + But heavens conspire, and heavens I must obey, + That seeking love I still must want my ease; + For greatest joys are tempered with delay, + Things soon obtained do least of all us please. + + My thoughts repine and think the time too long, + My love impatient wisheth to obtain; + I blame the heavens that do me all this wrong + To make me loved and will not ease my pain. + + No pain like this, to love and not enjoy; + No grief like this, to mourn and not be heard; + No time so long as that which breeds annoy; + No hell like this, to love and be deferred! + + But heaven shall stand and earth inconstant fly, + The sun shall freeze and ice inconstant burn, + The mountains flow and all the earth be dry, + Ere time shall force my loving thoughts to turn. + + Do you resolve, sweet love, to do the same, + Say that you do, and seal it with a kiss. + Then shall our truths the heavens' unkindness blame + That can not hurt yet show their spite in this. + + The silly 'prentice bound for many years, + Doth hope that time his service will release; + The town beseiged that lives in midst of fears, + Doth hope in time the cruel wars will cease. + + The toiling plough-man sings in hope to reap, + The tosséd bark expecteth for a shore; + The boy at school to be at play doth leap, + And straight forgets the fear he had before. + + If those by hope do joy in their distress, + And constant are in hope to conquer time, + Then let not hope in us, sweet friend, be less, + And cause our love to wither in the prime. + + Let me conspire and time will have an end, + So both of us in time shall have a friend. + + +FINIS. + + +Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO., London & Edinburgh. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Elizabethan Sonnet Cycles, by +Thomas Lodge and Giles Fletcher + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ELIZABETHAN SONNET CYCLES *** + +***** This file should be named 18841-8.txt or 18841-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/8/4/18841/ + +Produced by David Starner, Taavi Kalju and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Elizabethan Sonnet Cycles + Phillis - Licia + +Author: Thomas Lodge and Giles Fletcher + +Editor: Martha Foote Crow + +Release Date: July 16, 2006 [EBook #18841] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ELIZABETHAN SONNET CYCLES *** + + + + +Produced by David Starner, Taavi Kalju and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/01.jpg" + alt="Title page" + title="Title page" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h1>ELIZABETHAN SONNET-CYCLES</h1> + +<h3>EDITED BY</h3> + +<h2>MARTHA FOOTE CROW</h2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<h1>PHILLIS</h1> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>THOMAS LODGE</h2> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<h1>LICIA</h1> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>GILES FLETCHER</h2> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p class="center">KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRÜBNER AND CO.<br /> +PATERNOSTER HOUSE LONDON W.C.<br /> +1896</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</a></span></p> +<h2>INTRODUCTION</h2> + + +<p>The last decade of the sixteenth century was marked by an outburst of +sonneteering. To devotees of the sonnet, who find in that poetic form +the moat perfect vehicle that has ever been devised for the expression +of a single importunate emotion, it will not seem strange that at the +threshold of a literary period whose characteristic note is the most +intense personality, the instinct of poets should have directed them to +the form most perfectly fitted for the expression of this inner motive.</p> + +<p>The sonnet, a distinguished guest from Italy, was ushered to by those +two "courtly makers," Wyatt and Surrey, in the days of Henry VIII. But +when, forty years later, the foreigner was to be acclimatised in +England, her robe had to be altered to suit an English fashion. Thus +the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[Pg vi]</a></span> sonnet, which had been an octave of enclosed or alternate rhymes, +followed by a sestette of interlaced tercets, was now changed to a +series of three quatrains with differing sets of alternate rhymes in +each, at the close of which the insidious couplet succeeded in +establishing itself. But these changes were not made without a great +deal of experiment; and during the tentative period the name "sonnet" +was given, to a wide variety of forms, in the moulding of which but one +rule seemed to be uniformly obeyed—that the poem should be the +expression of a single, simple emotion. This law cut the poem, to a +relative shortness and defined its dignity and clearness. Beyond this +almost every combination of rhymes might be found, verses were +occasionally lengthened or shortened, and the number of lines in the +poem, though generally fourteen, showed considerable variation.</p> + +<p>The sonnet-sequence was also a suggestion from Italy, a literary fashion +introduced by Sir Philip Sidney, in his <i>Astrophel and Stella</i>, written +soon after 1580, but not published till 1591. In a sonnet-cycle Sidney +recorded his love and sorrow,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span> and Spenser took up the strain with his +story of love and joy. Grouped about these, and following in their wake, +a number of poets, before the decade was over, turned this Elizabethan +"toy" to their purpose in their various self-revealings, producing a +group of sonnet-cycles more or less Italianate in form or thought, more +or less experimental, more or less poetical, more or less the expression +of a real passion. For while the form of the sonnet was modified by +metrical traditions and habits, the content also was strongly +influenced, not to say restricted, by certain conventions of thought +considered at the time appropriate to the poetic attitude. The passion +for classic colour in the poetic world, which had inspired and +disciplined English genius in the sixties and seventies, was rather +nourished than repressed when in the eighties Spenser's <i>Shepherd's +Calendar</i> and Sidney's <i>Arcadia</i> made the pastoral imagery a necessity. +Cupid and Diana were made very much at home in the golden world of the +renaissance Arcadia, and the sonneteer singing the praises of his +mistress's eyebrow was not far removed from the lovelorn shepherd of the +plains.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a></span></p> + +<p>It may reasonably be expected that in any sonnet-cycle there will be +found many sonnets in praise of the loved one's beauty, many lamenting +her hardness of heart; all the wonders of heaven and earth will be +catalogued to find comparisons for her loveliness; the river by which +she dwells will be more pleasant than all other rivers in the world, a +list of them being appended in proof; the thoughts of night-time, when +the lover bemoans himself and his rejected state, or dreams of happy +love, will be dwelt upon; oblivious sleep and the wan-faced moon will be +invoked, and death will be called upon for respite. Love and the praises +of the loved one was the theme. On this old but ever new refrain the +sonneteer devised his descant, trilling joyously on oaten pipe in praise +of Delia or Phyllis, Cœlia, Cælica, Aurora, or Castara.</p> + +<p>But this melody and descant were not, in some ears at least, without +monotony. For after Daniel's <i>Delia</i>, Constable's <i>Diana</i>, Lodge's +<i>Phillis</i>, Drayton's <i>Idea</i>, Fletcher's <i>Licia</i>, Brooke's <i>Cælica</i>, +Percy's <i>Cœlia</i>, N.L.'s <i>Zepheria</i>, and J.C.'s <i>Alcilia</i>, and perhaps +a few other sonnet-cycles had been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span> written, Chapman in 1595 made his +<i>Coronet for his Mistress Philosophy</i>, the opening sonnet of which +reveals his critical attitude:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Muses that sing Love's sensual empery,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lovers kindling your enragèd fires<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At Cupid's bonfires burning in the eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blown with the empty breath of vain desires,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You that prefer the painted cabinet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before the wealthy jewels it doth store ye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That all your joys in dying figures set,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And stain the living substance of your glory,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Abjure those joys, abhor their memory,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And let my love the honoured subject be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of love, and honour's complete history;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your eyes were never yet let in to see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The majesty and riches of the mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But dwell in darkness; for your god is blind."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>It must be confessed that the "painted cabinet" of the lady's beauty +absorbs more attention than the "majesty and riches of the mind," but +the glints of a loftier ideal shining now and then among the +conventions, lift the cycle above the level of mere ear-pleasing rhythms +and fantastical imageries. Moreover, the sonnet-cycles on the whole show +an independence and spontaneousness<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</a></span> of poetic energy, a delight in the +pure joy of making, a <i>naïveté</i>, that richly frame the picture of the +golden world they present. When Lodge, addressing his "pleasing +thoughts, apprentices of love," cries out:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Show to the world, though poor and scant my skill is,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How sweet thoughts be that are but thought on Phillis,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>we feel that we are being taken back to an age more childlike than our +own; and when the sonneteers vie with each other on the themes of sleep, +death, time, and immortality, the door often stands open toward +sublimity. Then when the sonnet-cycle was consecrated to noble and +spiritual uses in Chapman's <i>Coronet for his Mistress Philosophy</i>, +Barnes's <i>Divine Century of Spiritual Sonnets</i>, Constable's <i>Spiritual +Sonnets in Honour of God and His Saints</i>, and Donne's <i>Holy Sonnets</i>, +all made before 1600, the symbolic theme was added to the conventions of +the sonnet-realm, the scope of its content was broadened; and the sonnet +was well on its way toward a time when it could be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</a></span> named a trumpet, +upon which a mighty voice could blow soul-animating strains.</p> + +<p>One of the most fascinating questions in the study of the sonnet-cycles +is as to how much basis the story has in reality. Stella we know, the +star-crossed love of Sidney, and Spenser's happy Elizabeth, but—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Who is Silvia? What is she<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That all the swains commend her?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Who is Delia, Diana, Cœlia, Cælica, and all the rhyming of musical +names? And who is the Dark Lady? What personalities hide behind these +poet's imaginings? We know that now, as in troubadour days, the praises +of grand ladies were sung with a warmth of language that should indicate +personal acquaintance when no such acquaintance existed; and the +sonneteers sometimes frankly confessed their passion "but supposed." All +this adds to the difficulty of interpretation. In most cases the poet +has effectually kept his secret; the search is futile, in spite of all +the "scholastic labour-lost" devoted to it. Equally tantalising are the +fleeting symbolisms that suggest<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</a></span> themselves now and then. The +confession sometimes made by the poet, that high-flown compliment and +not true despair is intended, prepares us to accept the symbolic +application where it forces itself upon us, and to feel the presence +here and there of platonic or spiritual shadowings. Those who do not +find pleasure in the Arcadian world of the sonneteer's fancy, may still +justify their taste in the aspiration that speaks in his flashes of +philosophy.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<h1>PHILLIS</h1> + + +<h2>HONORED WITH PASTORAL<br /> +SONNETS, ELEGIES, AND<br /> +AMOROUS DELIGHTS</h2> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>THOMAS LODGE</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> +<h2>THOMAS LODGE</h2> + + +<p>One of the first to take up the new fashion of the sonnet-cycle, was +Thomas Lodge, whose "Phillis" was published in 1595. Lodge had a wide +acquaintance among the authors of his time, and was in the thick of the +literary activity in the last two decades of the sixteenth century. But +in spite of his interesting personality and genius, he has had to wait +until the present time for full appreciation. To his own age he may have +appeared as a literary dilettante, who tried his hand at several forms +of writing, and being outshone by the more excellent in each field, gave +up the attempt and turned to the practice of medicine. This profession +engaged him for the last twenty-five years of his life, until his death +in 1625 at the advanced age of sixty-seven or eight. During all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> these +years the gay young "university wit" of earlier days was probably +forgotten in the venerable and successful physician. It was as "old +Doctor Lodge" that he was satirised in a Cambridge student's +Common-place Book in 1611. Heywood mentions him in 1609 among the six +most famous physicians in England, and in the <i>Return from Parnassus</i>, a +play acted in 1602, he is described as "turning over Galen every day."</p> + +<p>Yet no one had been in the last twenty years the sixteenth century more +responsive than Lodge to the shifting moods of that excitable period. +Lodge was the son of a Lord Mayor of London, and was a contemporary at +Oxford with Sidney, Gosson, Chapman, Lyly, Peele and Watson. His life +included a round of varied experiences. A student at Lincoln's Inn, a +young aspirant for literary honours, friends with Greene, Rich, Daniel, +Drayton, Lyly and Watson, a taster of the sorrows that many of the +University wits endured when usurers got their hands upon them, for a +time perhaps a soldier, certainly a sailor following the fortunes of +Captain Clarke to Terceras and the Canaries, and of Cavendish to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> Brazil +and the Straits of Magellan, in London again making plays with Greene, +off to Avignon to take his degree in medicine, back again to be +incorporated an M.D. at Oxford and to practise in London, adopting +secretly the Roman Catholic faith, and sometimes hiding on the continent +as a recusant from persecution at home, imprisoned perhaps once for +debt, and entertaining a concourse of patients of his own religion till +his death in 1625:—the life of Lodge thus presents a view of the ups +and downs possible in that picturesque age.</p> + +<p>The wide variety of his literary ventures reflects the interests of his +life. Some controversial papers, some unsuccessful plays, two dull +historical sketches in prose, some satirical and moralising works in +prose and in verse, two romantic tales in verse and three in prose, a +number of eclogues, metrical epistles and lyrics, some ponderous +translations from Latin and French, and two medical treatises; these +widely differing kinds of writing are the products of Lodge's industry +and genius. All, however, have but an antiquarian interest save two; the +prose romance<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> called <i>Rosalynde, Euphues' Golden Legacy</i>, could not be +spared since Shakespeare borrowed its charming plot for <i>As You Like +It</i>; and <i>Phillis</i>, bound up with a sheaf of his lyrics gathered from +the pages of his stories and from the miscellanies of the time, should +be treasured for its own sake and should keep Lodge's memory green for +lovers of pure poetry.</p> + +<p>Lodge's lyric genius was a clear if slender rill. His faults are the +more unpardonable since they spring from sheer carelessness and a lack +of appreciation of the sacred responsibility of creative power. He took +up the literary fashion of the month and tried his hand at it; that +done, he was ready for the next mode. He did not wait to perfect his +work or to compare result with result; therefore he probably never found +himself, probably never realised that after three centuries he would be +esteemed, not for the ponderous tomes of his translation of Josephus, +not for all the catalogues of his satirical and religious and scientific +writings, but for mere lyrics like the "Heigh ho, fair Rosaline," and +"Love in my bosom like a bee," heedlessly imbedded in the heart of a +prose romance.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> + +<p>Lodge was one of the earliest to follow the example of Sidney in linking +a sequence of sonnets together into a sonnet-cycle. The <i>Astrophel and +Stella</i> was published in 1591, though it had doubtless before this been +handed about, as was the Elizabethan fashion, in manuscript. Early in +1591 also when Daniel was probably abroad, twenty-seven of the +fifty-seven sonnets that a year later formed the sonnet-cycle <i>Delia</i> +were published in his absence. Now in August of 1591 Lodge set sail with +Cavendish on that long voyage to Brazil and the Straits of Magellan from +which he did not return till early in ninety-three, and it was during +his absence that Daniel's and Constable's sonnet-cycles came out. It is +possible that Lodge saw Daniel's series, as he doubtless did Sidney's, +in manuscript before he left England, but the Induction to <i>Phillis</i>, +which carries a message to Delia's "sweet prophet," was almost certainly +written later, and in the absence of further proof it seems no more than +fair to allow Lodge to share with Daniel and Constable the honour of +being the earliest to take the hint Sidney had offered.</p> + +<p>On the whole, Lodge's sonnets show a much<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> more cheerful and buoyant +temper than Daniel's "wailing verse." The "sad horror, pale grief, +prostrate despair" that inform the <i>Delia</i>, are replaced in the +<i>Phillis</i> by a spirit of airy toying, a pleasure in the graces of fancy +even when they cluster around a feeling of sadness. During Lodge's +absence, his friend Robert Green published several pieces for him, and +in one of the prefaces promised the public to present on his return +"what labours Lodge's sea-studies afford." <i>Phillis</i> was the chief of +these sea-studies, and was like <i>Rosalynde</i> "hatcht in the stormes of +the ocean and feathered in the surges of many perillous seas." But as +far as the imagery of the sonnets is concerned, the pageantry of day and +night at sea might have passed before blinded eyes; if it made any +impression, it was in the form of ocean-nymphs and Cupid at the helm. +The poet was in Arcadia, Phillis was a shepherdess, and the conventional +imageries of the pastoral valley were the environment. "May it please +you," he says in dedicating the book to the Countess of Shrewsbury, "to +looke and like of homlie Phillis in her Country caroling, and to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> +countenance her poore and affectionate sheapheard." The Countess of +Shrewsbury he chooses for the "Sovereign and she-Mæcenas" of his toil, +and promises her "as much in affection as any other can performe in +perfection;" but the name of Phillis is no cover for the personality of +a grand lady, and therefore no puzzling questions disturb the pleasure +of the reader as the gentle modulations, the insidious alliterations, +and the musical cadences of his double rhymes fall upon the ear.</p> + +<p>Yet for this name or ideal, or whatever Phillis represented in the +poet's thought, he has poured forth a passion that has an air of +sincerity, an artless freshness, a flute-like clearness of tone, as rare +as delightful. It is the very voice of the oaten pipe itself, thin, +clear, and pure. The touches of seriousness are impossible, to mistake. +When the poet avows his faith in Phillis' constancy, after giving the +usual catalogue of her beauties, he says:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"At thy fair hands who wonders not at all<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wonder itself through ignorance embases;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet not the less though wondrous gifts you call these<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My faith is far more wonderful than all these."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>When Phillis persists in her disdain, he cries out impulsively:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Burst, burst, poor heart, thou hast no longer hope!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Even when re-moulding the familiar pastoral conceits, he makes the +fancies his own and gives to them a unique touch and spirit. Mere +conventions he rates at their proper value. His pen shall not "riot in +pompous style." He claims a brighter aspect for his poetical devotion +than his fellow-sonneteers manifest:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"No stars her; eyes....<br /></span> +<span class="i0">.... but beams that clear the sight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of him that seeks the true philosophy."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>In spite of its defects, the lax structure of the sonnet-form, the +obscurities and needless blurring, and the disappointing inequalities, +<i>Phillis</i> takes a high place among the sonnet-cycles, and must ever be +dear to lovers of quiet, melodious verse, who have made themselves at +home in the golden world of the pastoral poets and mislike not the +country-carolling heard therein.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p> +<h4>THE INDUCTION</h4> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I that obscured have fled the scene of fame,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Intitling my conceits to nought but care,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I that have lived a phœnix in love's flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And felt that death I never would declare,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now mount the theater of this our age,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To plead my faith and Cupid's cursed rage.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh you high sp'rited paragons of wit,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That fly to fame beyond our earthly pitch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose sense is sound, whose words are feat and fit,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Able to make the coyest ear to itch;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shroud with your mighty wings that mount so well,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">These little loves, new crept from out the shell.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And thou the true Octavia of our time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Under whose worth beauty was never matched,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The genius of my muse and ragged rime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smile on these little loves but lately hatched,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who from the wrastling waves have made retreat,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To plead for life before thy judgment seat.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And though the fore-bred brothers they have had,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who in their swan-like songs Amintas wept,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For all their sweet-thought sighs had fortune bad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And twice obscured in Cinthia's circle slept,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet these I hope, under your kind aspect,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Most worthy Lady, shall escape neglect.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And if these infants of mine artless brain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not by their worth but by thy worthiness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A mean good liking of the learnèd gain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My Muse enfranchised from forgetfulness<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall hatch such breed in honour of thy name,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As modern poets shall admire the same.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As modern poets shall admire the same;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I mean not you (you never matchèd men)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who brought the chaos of our tongue in frame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through these Herculean labours of your pen;<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> +<span class="i2">I mean the mean, I mean no men divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But such whose feathers are but waxed like mine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Go, weeping truce-men in your sighing weeds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Under a great Maecenas I have passed you;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If so you come where learnèd Colin feeds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His lovely flock, pack thence and quickly haste you;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You are but mists before so bright a sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who hath the palm for deep invention won.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Kiss Delia's hand for her sweet prophet's sake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose not affected but well couchèd tears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have power, have worth, a marble mind to shake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose fame no iron-age or time outwears.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then lay you down in Phillis' lap and sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Until the weeping read, and reading weep.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p> + +<h4>I</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh pleasing thoughts, apprentices of love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fore-runners of desire, sweet mithridates<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The poison of my sorrows to remove,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With whom my hopes and fear full oft debates!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Enrich yourselves and me by your self riches,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which are the thoughts you spend on heaven-bred beauty,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rouse you my muse beyond our poets' pitches,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, working wonders, yet say all is duty!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Use you no eaglets' eyes, nor phœnix' feathers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To tower the heaven from whence heaven's wonder sallies.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For why? Your sun sings sweetly to her weathers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Making a spring of winter in the valleys.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Show to the world though poor and scant my skill is<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How sweet thoughts be, that are but thought on Phillis!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>II</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">You sacred sea-nymphs pleasantly disporting<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amidst this wat'ry world, where now I sail;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If ever love, or lovers sad reporting,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had power sweet tears from your fair eyes to hail;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And you, more gentle-hearted than the rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Under the northern noon-stead sweetly streaming,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lend those moist riches of your crystal crest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To quench the flames from my heart's Ætna streaming;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And thou, kind Triton, in thy trumpet relish<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ruthful accents of my discontent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That midst this travel desolate and hellish,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some gentle wind that listens my lament<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May prattle in the north in Phillis' ears:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Where Phillis wants, Damon consumes in tears."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>III</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">In fancy's world an Atlas have I been,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where yet the chaos of my ceaseless care<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is by her eyes unpitied and unseen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In whom all gifts but pity planted are;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For mercy though still cries my moan-clad muse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And every paper that she sends to beauty,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In tract of sable tears brings woeful news,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of my true heart-kind thoughts, and loyal duty.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But ah the strings of her hard heart are strained<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beyond the harmony of my desires;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And though the happy heavens themselves have pained,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To tame her heart whose will so far aspires,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet she who claims the title of world's wonder,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thinks all deserts too base to bring her under.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>IV</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Long hath my sufferance laboured to enforce<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One pearl of pity from her pretty eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst I with restless rivers of remorse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have bathed the banks where my fair Phillis lies.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The moaning lines which weeping I have written,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And writing read unto my ruthful sheep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And reading sent with tears that never fitten,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To my love's queen, that hath my heart in keep,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Have made my lambkins lay them down and sigh;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Phillis sits, and reads, and calls them trifles.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh heavens, why climb not happy lines so high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To rent that ruthless heart that all hearts rifles!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">None writes with truer faith, or greater love,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet out, alas! I have no power to move.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>V</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Ah pale and dying infant of the spring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How rightly now do I resemble thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That selfsame hand that thee from stalk did wring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath rent my breast and robbed my heart from me.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet shalt thou live. For why? Thy native vigour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall thrive by woeful dew-drops of my dolor;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from the wounds I bear through fancy's rigour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My streaming blood shall yield the crimson color.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The ravished sighs that ceaseless take their issue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From out the furnace of my heart inflamed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To yield you lasting springs shall never miss you;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So by my plaints and pains, you shall be famed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let my heart's heat and cold, thy crimson nourish,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And by my sorrows let thy beauty flourish.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>VI</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">It is not death which wretched men call dying,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But that is very death which I endure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When my coy-looking nymph, her grace envying,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By fatal frowns my domage doth procure.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It is not life which we for life approve,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But that is life when on her wool-soft paps<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I seal sweet kisses which do batten love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And doubling them do treble my good haps.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Tis neither love the son, nor love the mother,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which lovers praise and pray to; but that love is<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which she in eye and I in heart do smother.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then muse not though I glory in my miss,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Since she who holds my heart and me in durance,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hath life, death, love and all in her procurance.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>VII</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">How languisheth the primrose of love's garden!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How trill her tears, th' elixir of my senses!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ambitious sickness, what doth thee so harden?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh spare, and plague thou me for her offences!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ah roses, love's fair roses, do not languish;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blush through the milk-white veil that holds you covered.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If heat or cold may mitigate your anguish,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'll burn, I'll freeze, but you shall be recovered.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Good God, would beauty mark now she is crased,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How but one shower of sickness makes her tender,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her judgments then to mark my woes amazed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To mercy should opinion's fort surrender!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I,—oh would I might, or would she meant it!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Should hery<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a> love, who now in heart lament it.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p> + +<h4>VIII</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">No stars her eyes to clear the wandering night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But shining suns of true divinity,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That make the soul conceive her perfect light!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No wanton beauties of humanity<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her pretty brows, but beams that clear the sight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of him that seeks the true philosophy!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No coral is her lip, no rose her fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But even that crimson that adorns the sun.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No nymph is she, but mistress of the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By whom my glories are but new begun.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But when I touch and taste as others do,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I then shall write and you shall wonder too.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>IX</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">The dewy roseate Morn had with her hairs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In sundry sorts the Indian clime adorned;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now her eyes apparrelèd in tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The loss of lovely Memnon long had mourned,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When as she spied the nymph whom I admire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Combing her locks, of which the yellow gold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made blush the beauties of her curlèd wire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which heaven itself with wonder might behold;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then red with shame, her reverend locks she rent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And weeping hid the beauty of her face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flower of fancy wrought such discontent;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sighs which midst the air she breathed a space,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A three-days' stormy tempest did maintain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her shame a fire, her eyes a swelling rain.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>X</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">The rumour runs that here in Isis swim<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such stately swans so confident in dying,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That when they feel themselves near Lethe's brim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They sing their fatal dirge when death is nighing.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I like these that feel my wounds are mortal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Contented die for her whom I adore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in my joyful hymns do still exhort all<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To die for such a saint or love no more.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Not that my torments or her tyranny<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enforce me to enjoin so hard a task,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But for I know, and yield no reason why,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But will them try that have desire to ask.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As love hath wreaths his pretty eyes to seel,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So lovers must keep secret what they feel.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XI</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">My frail and earthly bark, by reason's guide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which holds the helm, whilst will doth wield the sail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By my desires, the winds of bad betide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath sailed these worldly seas with small avail,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Vain objects serve for dreadful rocks to quail<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My brittle boat from haven of life that flies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To haunt the sea of mundane miseries.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My soul that draws impressions from above,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And views my course, and sees the winds aspire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bids reason watch to scape the shoals of love;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But lawless will enflamed with endless ire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doth steer empoop,<a name="FNanchor_B_2" id="FNanchor_B_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_B_2" class="fnanchor">[B]</a> whilst reason doth retire.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The streams increase; love's waves my bark do fill;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus are they wracked that guide their course by will.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p> + +<h4>XII</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Ah trees, why fall your leaves so fast?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah rocks, where are your robes of moss?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah flocks, why stand you all aghast?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Trees, rocks, and flocks, what, are you pensive for my loss?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The birds methinks tune naught but moan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The winds breathe naught but bitter plaint,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The beasts forsake their dens to groan;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Birds, winds, and beasts, what doth my loss your powers attaint?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Floods weep their springs above their bounds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And echo wails to see my woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The robe of ruth doth clothe the grounds;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Floods, echo, grounds, why do you all these tears bestow?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The trees, the rocks, and flocks reply,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The birds, the winds, the beasts report,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Floods, echo, grounds, for sorrow cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We grieve since Phillis nill kind Damon's love consort.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XIII</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Love guides the roses of thy lips,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And flies about them like a bee;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If I approach he forward skips,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And if I kiss he stingeth me.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Love in thine eyes doth build his bower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sleeps within their pretty shine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And if I look the boy will lower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from their orbs shoots shafts divine.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Love works thy heart within his fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in my tears doth firm the same;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And if I tempt it will retire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And of my plaints doth make a game.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Love, let me cull her choicest flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pity me, and calm her eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Make soft her heart, dissolve her lowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then will I praise thy deity.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But if thou do not love, I'll truly serve her<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In spite of thee, and by firm faith deserve her.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XIV</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">I wrote in Mirrha's bark, and as I wrote,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poor Mirrha wept because I wrote forsaken;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas of thy pride I sung in weeping note,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When as her leaves great moan for pity maken.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The falling fountains from the mountains falling,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cried out, alas, so fair and be so cruel!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And babbling echo never ceasèd calling,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Phillis, disdain is fit for none but truthless.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The rising pines wherein I had engraved<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy memory consulting with the wind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are trucemen to thy heart and thoughts depraved,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And say, thy kind should not be so unkind.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But, out alas! so fell is Phillis fearless,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That she hath made her Damon well nigh tearless.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XV</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My Phillis hath the morning sun<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At first to look upon her.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Phillis hath morn-waking birds,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her risings for to honour.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My Phillis hath prime-feathered flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That smile when she treads on them,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Phillis hath a gallant flock,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That leaps since she doth own them.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Phillis hath so hard a heart—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Alas that she should have it!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As yields no mercy to desert,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor grace to those that crave it.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sweet sun, when thou look'st on,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pray her regard my moan.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sweet birds, when you sing to her,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To yield some pity woo her.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sweet flowers, whenas she treads on,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tell her, her beauty deads one.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And if in life her love she nill agree me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pray her before I die, she will come see me.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XVI</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I part; but how? from joy, from hope, from life;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I leave; but whom? love's pride, wit's pomp, heart's bliss;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I pine; for what? for grief, for thought, for strife;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I faint; and why? because I see my miss.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh ceaseless pains that never may be told,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You make me weep as I to water would!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah weary hopes, in deep oblivious streams<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Go seek your graves, since you have lost your grounds!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah pensive heart, seek out her radiant gleams!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For why? Thy bliss is shut within those bounds!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All traitorous eyes, to[o] feeble in for[e] sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Grow dim with woe, that now must want your light!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I part from bliss to dwell with ceaseless moan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I part from life, since I from beauty part,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I part from peace, to pine in care alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I part from ease to die with dreadful smart.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I part—oh death! for why? this world contains<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More care and woe than with despair remains.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh loath depart, wherein such sorrows dwell,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As all conceits are scant the same to tell!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XVII</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Ah fleeting weal, ah sly deluding sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That in one moment giv'st me joy and pain!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How do my hopes dissolve to tears in vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As wont the snows, 'fore angry sun to weep!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ah noisome life that hath no weal in keep!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My forward grief hath form and working might;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My pleasures like the shadows take their flight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My path to bliss is tedious, long and steep.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Twice happy thou Endymion that embracest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The live-long night thy love within thine arms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where thou fond dream my longèd weal defacest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst fleeting and uncertain shades thou placest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before my eyes with false deluding charms!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ah instant sweets which do my heart revive,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How should I joy if you were true alive!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XVIII</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">As where two raging venoms are united,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which of themselves dissevered life would sever,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sickly wretch of sickness is acquited,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which else should die, or pine in torments ever;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So fire and frost, that hold my heart in seizure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Restore those ruins which themselves have wrought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where if apart they both had had their pleasure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The earth long since her fatal claim had caught.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus two united deaths keep me from dying;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I burne in ice, and quake amidst the fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No hope midst these extremes or favour spying;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus love makes me a martyr in his ire.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So that both cold and heat do rather feed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My ceaseless pains, than any comfort breed.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XIX</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Thou tyrannizing monarch that dost tire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My love-sick heart through those assaulting eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That are the lamps which lighten my desire!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If nought but death thy fury may suffice,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Not for my peace, but for thy pleasure be it,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Phillis, wrathful Phillis that repines me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All grace but death, may deign to come and see it,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And seeing grieve at that which she assigns me.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This only boon for all my mortal bane<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I crave and cry for at thy mercy seat:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That when her wrath a faithful heart hath slain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And soul is fled, and body reft of heat,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She might perceive how much she might command,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That had my life and death within her hand.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XX</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Some praise the looks, and others praise the locks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of their fair queens, in love with curious words;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some laud the breast where love his treasure locks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All like the eye that life and love affords.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But none of these frail beauties and unstable<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall make my pen riot in pompous style;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More greater gifts shall my grave muse enable,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whereat severer brows shall never smile.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I praise her honey-sweeter eloquence,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which from the fountain of true wisdom floweth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her modest mien that matcheth excellence,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her matchless faith which from her virtue groweth;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And could my style her happy virtues equal,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Time had no power her glories to enthral.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>EGLOGA PRIMA DEMADES DAMON</h4> + +<p class="center">DEMADES</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now scourge of winter's wrack is well nigh spent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sun gins look more longer on our clime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And earth no more to sorrow doth consent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why been thy looks forlorn that view the prime?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unneth thy flocks may feed to see thee faint,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou lost, they lean, and both with woe attaint.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For shame! Cast off these discontented looks;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For grief doth wait on life, though never sought;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So Thenot wrote admired for pipe and books.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then to the spring attemper thou thy thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And let advice rear up thy drooping mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And leave to weep thy woes unto the wind.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="center">DAMON</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah Demades, no wonder though I wail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For even the spring is winter unto me!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Look as the sun the earth doth then avail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When by his beams her bowels warmèd be;<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> +<span class="i2">Even so a saint more sun-bright in her shining<br /></span> +<span class="i2">First wrought my weal, now hastes my winter's pining.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which lovely lamp withdrawn from my poor eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Both parts of earth and fire drowned up in woe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In winter dwell. My joy, my courage dies;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My lambs with me that do my winter know<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For pity scorn the spring that nigheth near,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And pine to see their master's pining cheer.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The root which yieldeth sap unto the tree<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Draws from the earth the means that make it spring;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And by the sap the scions fostered be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All from the sun have comfort and increasing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And that fair eye that lights this earthly ball<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Kills by depart, and nearing cheereth all.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As root to tree, such is my tender heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose sap is thought, whose branches are content;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from my soul they draw their sweet or smart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from her eye, my soul's best life is lent;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which heavenly eye that lights both earth and air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Quells by depart and quickens by repair.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center">DEMADES</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Give period to the process of thy plaint,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unhappy Damon, witty in self-grieving;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tend thou thy flocks; let tyrant love attaint<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those tender hearts that made their love their living.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And as kind time keeps Phillis from thy sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So let prevention banish fancy quite.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Cast hence this idle fuel of desire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That feeds that flame wherein thy heart consumeth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let reason school thy will which doth aspire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And counsel cool impatience that presumeth;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Drive hence vain thoughts which are fond love's abettors,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For he that seeks his thraldom merits fetters.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The vain idea of this deity<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nursed at the teat of thine imagination,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was bred, brought up by thine own vanity,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose being thou mayst curse from the creation;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And so thou list, thou may as soon forget love,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As thou at first didst fashion and beget love.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center">DAMON</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Peace, Demades, peace shepherd, do not tempt me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sage-taught wife may speak thus, but not practise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rather from life than from my love exempt me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My happy love wherein my weal and wrack lies;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where chilly age first left love, and first lost her,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There youth found love, liked love, and love did foster.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Not as ambitious of their<a name="FNanchor_C_3" id="FNanchor_C_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_C_3" class="fnanchor">[C]</a> own decay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But curious to equal your fore-deeds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So tread we now within your wonted way;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We find your fruits of judgments and their seeds;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We know you loved, and loving learn that lore;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You scorn kind love, because you can no more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Though from this pure refiner of the thought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gleanings of your learnings have you gathered<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your lives had been abortive, base and naught,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Except by happy love they had been fathered;<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +<span class="i2">Then still the swain, for I will still avow it;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They have no wit nor worth that disallow it.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then to renew the ruins of my tears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be thou no hinderer, Demades, I pray thee.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If my love-sighs grow tedious in thine ears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fly me, that fly from joy, I list not stay thee.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mourn sheep, mourn lambs, and Damon will weep by you;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And when I sigh, "Come home, sweet Phillis," cry you.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Come home, sweet Phillis, for thine absence causeth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A flowerless prime-tide in these drooping meadows;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To push his beauties forth each primrose pauseth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our lilies and our roses like coy widows<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shut in their buds, their beauties, and bemoan them,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Because my Phillis doth not smile upon them.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The trees by my redoubled sighs long blasted<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Call for thy balm-sweet breath and sunny eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To whom all nature's comforts are hand-fasted;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breathe, look on them, and they to life arise;<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> +<span class="i2">They have new liveries with each smile thou lendest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And droop with me, when thy fair brow thou bendest.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I woo thee, Phillis, with more earnest weeping<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than Niobe for her dead issue spent;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I pray thee, nymph who hast our spring in keeping,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou mistress of our flowers and my content,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Come home, and glad our meads of winter weary,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And make thy woeful Damon blithe and merry.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Else will I captive all my hopes again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shut them up in prisons of despair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And weep such tears as shall destroy this plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sigh such sighs as shall eclipse the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And cry such cries as love that hears my crying<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall faint and weep for grief and fall a-dying.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My little world hath vowed no sun shall glad it,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Except thy little world her light discover,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of which heavens would grow proud if so they had it.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh how I fear lest absent Jove should love her!<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> +<span class="i2">I fear it, Phillis, for he never saw one<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That had more heaven-sweet looks to lure and awe one.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I swear to thee, all-seeing sovereign<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rolling heaven's circles round about our center,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Except my Phillis safe return again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No joy to heart, no meat to mouth shall enter.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All hope (but future hope to be renowned,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For weeping Phillis) shall in tears be drowned.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="center">DEMADES</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How large a scope lends Damon to his moan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wafting those treasures of his happy wit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In registering his woeful woe-begone!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah bend thy muse to matters far more fit!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For time shall come when Phillis is interred,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That Damon shall confess that he hath erred.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When nature's riches shall, by time dissolved,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Call thee to see with more judicial eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How Phillis' beauties are to dust resolved,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou then shalt ask thyself the reason why<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou wert so fond, since Phillis was so frail,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To praise her gifts that should so quickly fail.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Have mercy on thyself, cease being idle,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let reason claim and gain of will his homage;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rein in these brain-sick thoughts with judgment's bridle,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A short prevention helps a mighty domage.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If Phillis love, love her, yet love her so<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That if she fly, thou may'st love's fire forego.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Play with the fire, yet die not in the flame;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Show passions in thy words, but not in heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lest when thou think to bring thy thoughts in frame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou prove thyself a prisoner by thine art.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Play with these babes of love, as apes with glasses,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And put no trust in feathers, wind, or lasses.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="center">DAMON</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Did not thine age yield warrantise, old man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Impatience would enforce me to offend thee;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Me list not now thy forward skill to scan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet will I pray that love may mend or end thee.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Spring flowers, sea-tides, earth, grass, sky, stars shall banish,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Before the thoughts of love or Phillis vanish.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +<span class="i0">So get thee gone, and fold thy tender sheep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For lo, the great automaton of day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Isis stream his golden locks doth steep;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sad even her dusky mantle doth display;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Light-flying fowls, the posts of night, disport them,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And cheerful-looking vesper doth consort them.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Come you, my careful flock, forego you master,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'll fold you up and after fall a-sighing;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Words have no worth my secret wounds to plaster;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Naught may refresh my joys but Phillis nighing.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Farewell, old Demades.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="center">DEMADES</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i14">Damon, farewell.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How 'gainst advice doth headlong youth rebel!<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p> + +<h4>AN ELEGY</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah cruel winds, why call you hence away?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why make you breach betwixt my soul and me?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye traitorous floods, why nil your floats delay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Until my latest moans discoursèd be?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For though ye salt sea-gods withhold the rain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of all your floats and gentle winds be still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While I have wept such tears as might restrain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rage of tides and winds against their will.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah shall I love your sight, bright shining eyes?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And must my soul his life and glory leave?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must I forsake the bower where solace lives,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To trust to tickle fates that still deceive?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alas, so wills the wanton queen of change,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That each man tract this labyrinth of life<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With slippery steps, now wronged by fortune strange,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now drawn by counsel from the maze of strife!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah joy! No joy because so soon thou fleetest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hours, days, and times inconstant in your being!<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Oh life! No life, since with such chance thou meetest!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh eyes! No eyes, since you must lose your seeing!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soul, be thou sad, dissolve thy living powers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To crystal tears, and by their pores express<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The grief that my distressèd soul devours!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clothe thou my body all in heaviness;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My suns appeared fair smiling full of pleasure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But now the vale of absence overclouds them;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They fed my heart with joys exceeding measure<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which now shall die, since absence needs must shroud them.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yea, die! Oh death, sweet death, vouchsafe that blessing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That I may die the death whilst she regardeth!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For sweet were death, and sweet were death's oppressing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If she look on who all my life awardeth.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh thou that art the portion of my joy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet not the portion, for thou art the prime;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Suppose my griefs, conceive the deep annoy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That wounds my soul upon this sorry time!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pale is my face, and in my pale confesses<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pain I suffer, since I needs must leave thee.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Red are mine eyes through tears that them oppresses,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dulled are my sp'rits since fates do now bereave thee.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now, ah now, my plaints are quite prevented!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The winds are fair the sails are hoisèd high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The anchors weighed, and now quite discontented,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grief so subdues my heart as it should die.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A faint farewell with trembling hand I tender,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with my tears my papers are distained.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which closèd up, my heart in them I render,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To tell thee how at parting I complained.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vouchsafe his message that doth bring farewell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And for my sake let him with beauty dwell.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>THIRSIS EGLOGA SECUNDA</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Muses help me, sorrow swarmeth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eyes are fraught with seas of languish;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heavy hope my solace harmeth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mind's repast is bitter anguish.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Eye of day regarded never<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Certain trust in world untrusty;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flattering hope beguileth ever<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Weary, old, and wanton lusty.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Dawn of day beholds enthronèd<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fortune's darling, proud and dreadless;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Darksome night doth hear him moanèd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who before was rich and needless.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Rob the sphere of lines united,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Make a sudden void in nature;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Force the day to be benighted,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reave the cause of time and creature;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Ere the world will cease to vary,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This I weep for, this I sorrow.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Muses, if you please to tarry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Further helps I mean to borrow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Courted once by fortune's favour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Compassed now with envy's curses,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All my thoughts of sorrow savour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hopes run fleeting like the sources.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ay me! Wanton scorn hath maimèd<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All the joy my heart enjoyèd;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thoughts their thinking have disclaimèd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hate my hopes hath quite annoyèd.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Scant regard my weal hath scanted,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looking coy hath forced my lowering;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nothing liked where nothing wanted<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Weds mine eyes to ceaseless showering.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Former love was once admirèd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Present favour is estrangèd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Loath the pleasure long desirèd;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus both men and thoughts are changèd.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Lovely swain with lucky guiding,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once (but now no more so friended)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou my flocks hast had in minding,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the morn till day was ended.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Drink and fodder, food and folding,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had my lambs and ewes together;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I with them was still beholding,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Both in warmth and winter weather.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now they languish since refusèd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ewes and lambs are pained with pining;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I with ewes and lambs confusèd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All unto our deaths declining.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Silence, leave thy cave obscurèd;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deign a doleful swain to tender;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though disdains I have endurèd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet I am no deep offender.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Phillis' son can with his finger<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hide his scar, it is so little;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Little sin a day to linger,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wise men wander in a tittle.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Thriftless yet my swain have turnèd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though my sun he never showeth:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though I weep, I am not mournèd;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though I want, no pity groweth.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet for pity love my muses;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gentle silence be their cover;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They must leave their wonted uses,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since I leave to be a lover.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They shall live with thee inclosèd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I will loathe my pen and paper<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Art shall never be supposèd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sloth shall quench the watching taper.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Kiss them, silence, kiss them kindly<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though I leave them, yet I love them;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though my wit have led them blindly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet my swain did once approve them.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I will travel soils removèd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Night and morrow never merry;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou shalt harbour that I lovèd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I will love that makes me weary.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> +<span class="i0">If perchance the sheep estrayeth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In thy walks and shades unhaunted,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tell the teen my heart betrayeth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How neglect my joys hath daunted.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XXI</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Ye heralds of my heart, mine ardent groans,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O tears which gladly would burst out to brooks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh spent on fruitless sand my surging moans,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh thoughts enthralled unto care-boding looks!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ah just laments of my unjust distress,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah fond desires whom reason could not guide!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh hopes of love that intimate redress,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet prove the load-stars unto bad betide!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When will you cease? Or shall pain never-ceasing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seize oh my heart? Oh mollify your rage,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lest your assaults with over-swift increasing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Procure my death, or call on timeless age.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What if they do? They shall but feed the fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which I have kindled by my fond desire.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XXII</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Fair art thou, Phillis, ay, so fair, sweet maid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As nor the sun, nor I have seen more fair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For in thy cheeks sweet roses are embayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gold more pure than gold doth gild thy hair.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sweet bees have hived their honey on thy tongue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Hebe spiced her nectar with thy breath;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">About thy neck do all the graces throng,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lay such baits as might entangle death.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In such a breast what heart would not be thrall?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From such sweet arms who would not wish embraces?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At thy fair hands who wonders not at all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wonder itself through ignorance embases?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet natheless though wondrous gifts you call these,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My faith is far more wonderful than all these.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XXIII</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Burst, burst, poor heart! Thou hast no longer hope;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Captive mine eyes unto eternal sleep;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let all my senses have no further scope;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let death be lord of me and all my sheep!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For Phillis hath betrothèd fierce disdain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That makes his mortal mansion in her heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And though my tongue have long time taken pain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To sue divorce and wed her to desert,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She will not yield, my words can have no power;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She scorns my faith, she laughs at my sad lays,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She fills my soul with never ceasing sour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who filled the world with volumes of her praise.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In such extremes what wretch can cease to crave<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His peace from death, who can no mercy have!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XXIV</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">No glory makes me glorious or glad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor pleasure may to pleasure me dispose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No comfort can revive my senses sad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor hope enfranchise me with one repose.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor in her absence taste I one delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor in her presence am I well content;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was never time gave term to my despite,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor joy that dried the tears of my lament.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor hold I hope of weal in memory,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor have I thought to change my restless grief,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor doth my conquest yield me sovereignty,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor hope repose, nor confidence relief.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For why? She sorts her frowns and favours so,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As when I gain or lose I cannot know.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XXV</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">I wage the combat with two mighty foes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which are more strong than I ten thousand fold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The one is when thy pleasure I do lose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The other, when thy person I behold.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In seeing thee a swarm of loves confound me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cause my death in spite of my resist,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And if I see thee not, thy want doth wound me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For in thy sight my comfort doth consist.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The one in me continual care createth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The other doth occasion my desire;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The one the edge of all my joy rebateth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The other makes me a phœnix in love's fire.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So that I grieve when I enjoy your presence,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And die for grief by reason of your absence.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XXVI</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">I'll teach thee, lovely Phillis, what love is.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is a vision seeming such as thou,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That flies as fast as it assaults mine eyes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is affection that doth reason miss;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It is a shape of pleasure like to you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which meets the eye, and seen on sudden dies;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is a doubled grief, a spark of pleasure<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Begot by vain desire. And this is love,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whom in our youth we count our chiefest treasure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In age for want of power we do reprove.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yea, such a power is love, whose loss is pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And having got him we repent our gain.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XXVII</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Fair eyes, whilst fearful I your fair admire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By unexpressèd sweetness that I gain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My memory of sorrow doth expire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And falcon-like, I tower joy's heavens amain.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But when your suns in oceans of their glory<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shut up their day-bright shine, I die for thought;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So pass my joys as doth a new-played story,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And one poor sigh breathes all delight to naught.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So to myself I live not, but for you;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For you I live, and you I love, but none else,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh then, fair eyes, whose light I live to view,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or poor forlorn despised to live alone else,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Look sweet, since from the pith of contemplation<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Love gathereth life, and living, breedeth passion.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XXVIII</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Not causeless were you christened, gentle flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The one of faith, the other fancy's pride;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For she who guides both faith and fancy's power,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In your fair colors wraps her ivory side.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As one of you hath whiteness without stain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So spotless is my love and never tainted;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as the other shadoweth faith again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such is my lass, with no fond change acquainted.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And as nor tyrant sun nor winter weather<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May ever change sweet amaranthus' hue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So she though love and fortune join together,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will never leave to be both fair and true.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And should I leave thee then, thou pretty elf?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nay, first let Damon quite forget himself.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XXIX</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">I feel myself endangered beyond reason,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My death already 'twixt the cup and lip,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because my proud desire through cursèd treason,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would make my hopes mount heaven, which cannot skip;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My fancy still requireth at my hands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such things as are not, cannot, may not be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And my desire although my power withstands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will give me wings, who never yet could flee.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What then remains except my maimèd soul<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Extort compassion from love-flying age,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or if naught else their fury may control,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To call on death that quells affection's rage;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which death shall dwell with me and never fly,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Since vain desire seeks that hope doth deny.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XXX</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">I do compare unto thy youthly clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which always bides within thy flow'ring prime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The month of April, that bedews our clime<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With pleasant flowers, when as his showers appear.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Before thy face shall fly false cruelty,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before his face the doly season fleets;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mild been his looks, thine eyes are full of sweets;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Firm is his course, firm is thy loyalty.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He paints the fields through liquid crystal showers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou paint'st my verse with Pallas, learnèd flowers;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With Zephirus' sweet, breath he fills the plains,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thou my heart with weeping sighs dost wring;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His brows are dewed with morning's crystal spring,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou mak'st my eyes with tears bemoan my pains.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XXXI</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Devoid of reason, thrall to foolish ire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I walk and chase a savage fairy still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now near the flood, straight on the mounting hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now midst the woods of youth, and vain desire.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For leash I bear a cord of careful grief;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For brach I lead an over-forward mind;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My hounds are thoughts, and rage despairing blind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pain, cruelty, and care without relief.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But they perceiving that my swift pursuit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My flying fairy cannot overtake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With open mouths their prey on me do make,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like hungry hounds that lately lost their suit.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And full of fury on their master feed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To hasten on my hapless death with speed.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XXXII</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">A thousand times to think and think the same,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To two fair eyes to show a naked heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Great thirst with bitter liquor to restrain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To take repast of care and crooked smart;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To sigh full oft without relent of ire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To die for grief and yet conceal the tale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To others' will to fashion my desire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To pine in looks disguised through pensive-pale;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A short dispite, a faith unfeignèd true,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To love my foe, and set my life at naught,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With heedless eyes mine endless harms to view,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A will to speak, a fear to tell the thought;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To hope for all, yet for despair to die,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is of my life the certain destiny.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XXXIII</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">When first sweet Phillis, whom I must adore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gan with her beauties bless our wond'ring sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The son of Rhea, from their fatal store<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made all the gods to grace her majesty.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Apollo first his golden rays among,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Did form the beauty of her bounteous eyes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He graced her with his sweet melodious song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And made her subject of his poesies.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The warrior Mars bequeathed her fierce disdain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Venus her smile, and Phœbe all her fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Python his voice, and Ceres all her grain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The morn her locks and fingers did repair.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Young Love, his bow, and Thetis gave her feet;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Clio her praise, Pallas her science sweet.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XXXIV</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">I would in rich and golden-coloured rain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With tempting showers in pleasant sort descend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into fair Phillis' lap, my lovely friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When sleep her sense with slumber doth restrain.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I would be changèd to a milk-white bull,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When midst the gladsome fields she should appear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By pleasant fineness to surprise my dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst from their stalks, she pleasant flowers did pull.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I were content to weary out my pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To be Narsissus so she were a spring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To drown in her those woes my heart do wring.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And more; I wish transformèd to remain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That whilst I thus in pleasure's lap did lie,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I might refresh desire, which else would die.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XXXV</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">I hope and fear, I pray and hold my peace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now freeze my thoughts and straight they fry again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I now admire and straight my wonders cease,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I loose my bonds and yet myself restrain;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This likes me most that leaves me discontent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My courage serves and yet my heart doth fail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My will doth climb whereas my hopes are spent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I laugh at love, yet when he comes I quail;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The more I strive, the duller bide I still.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I would be thralled, and yet I freedom love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I would redress, yet hourly feed mine ill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I would repine, and dare not once reprove;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And for my love I am bereft of power,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And strengthless strive my weakness to devour.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XXXVI</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">If so I seek the shades, I presently do see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The god of love forsakes his bow and sit me by;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If that I think to write, his Muses pliant be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If so I plain my grief, the wanton boy will cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If I lament his pride, he doth increase my pain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If tears my cheeks attaint, his cheeks are moist with moan;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If I disclose the wounds the which my heart hath slain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He takes his fascia off, and wipes them dry anon.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If so I walk the woods, the woods are his delight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If I myself torment, he bathes him in my blood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He will my soldier be if once I wend to fight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If seas delight, he steers my bark amidst the hood.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In brief, the cruel god doth never from me go,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But makes my lasting love eternal with my woe.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XXXVII</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">These fierce incessant waves that stream along my face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which show the certain proof of my ne'er-ceasing pains,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fair Phillis, are no tears that trickle from my brains;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For why? Such streams of ruth within me find no place.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These floods that wet my cheeks are gathered from thy grace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thy perfections, and from hundred thousand flowers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which from thy beauties spring; whereto I medley showers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of rose and lilies too, the colours of thy face.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My love doth serve for fire, my heart the furnace is,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The aperries of my sighs augment the burning flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The limbec is mine eye that doth distil the same;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And by how much my fire is violent and sly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By so much doth it cause the waters mount on high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That shower from out mine eyes, for to assuage my miss.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XXXVIII</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Who lives enthralled to Cupid and his flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From day to day is changed in sundry sort;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The proof whereof myself may well report,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who oft transformed by him may teach the same.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I first was turned into a wounded hart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That bare the bloody arrow in my side;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then to a swan that midst the waters glide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With piteous voice presaged my deadly smart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eftsoons I waxed a faint and fading flower;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then was I made a fountain sudden dry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Distilling all my tears from troubled eye;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now am I salamander by his power,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Living in flames, but hope ere long to be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A voice, to talk my mistress' majesty.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XXXIX</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My matchless mistress, whose delicious eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have power to perfect nature's privy wants,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even when the sun in greatest pomp did rise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With pretty tread did press the tender plants.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Each stalk whilst forth she stalks, to kiss her feet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is proud with pomp, and prodigal of sweet.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her fingers fair in favouring every flower<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That wooed their ivory for a wishèd touch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By chance—sweet chance!—upon a blessed hour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Did pluck the flower where Love himself did couch.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where Love did couch by summer toil suppressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And sought his sleeps within so sweet a nest.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The virgin's hand that held the wanton thrall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Imprisoned him within the roseate leaves;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And twixt her teats, with favour did install<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lovely rose, where Love his rest receives.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The lad that felt the soft and sweet so nigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Drowned in delights, disdains his liberty;<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And said, let Venus seek another son,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For here my only matchless mother is;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From whose fair orient orbs the drink doth run,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That deifies my state with greater bliss.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This said, he sucked, my mistress blushing smiled,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Since Love was both her prisoner and her child.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>AN ODE</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now I find thy looks were feignèd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Quickly lost, and quickly gainèd;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soft thy skin, like wool of wethers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heart unstable, light as feathers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tongue untrusty, subtile-sighted,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wanton will, with change delighted,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Siren pleasant, foe to reason,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cupid plague thee for this treason!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Of thine eyes, I made my mirror,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From thy beauty came mine error,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All thy words I counted witty,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All thy smiles I deemèd pity.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy false tears that me aggrievèd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">First of all my trust deceivèd.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Siren pleasant, foe to reason,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cupid plague thee for this treason!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Feigned acceptance when I askèd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lovely words with cunning maskèd,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Holy vows but heart unholy;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wretched man, my trust was folly!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lily white and pretty winking,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Solemn vows, but sorry thinking.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Siren pleasant, foe to reason,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cupid plague thee for this treason!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now I see, O seemly cruel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Others warm them at my fuel!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wit shall guide me in this durance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since in love is no assurance.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Change thy pasture, take thy pleasure;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beauty is a fading treasure.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Siren pleasant, foe to reason,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cupid plague thee for this treason!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Prime youth lusts not age still follow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And make white these tresses yellow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wrinkled face for looks delightful<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall acquaint the dame despightful;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when time shall eat thy glory,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then too late thou wilt be sorry.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Siren pleasant, foe to reason,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cupid plague thee for thy treason!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XL</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Resembling none, and none so poor as I,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poor to the world, and poor in each esteem,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose first-born loves at first obscured did die,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bred no fame but flame of base misdeem,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Under the ensign of whose tirèd pen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love's legions forth have masked, by others masked;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Think how I live wrongèd by ill-tongued men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not master of myself, to all wrongs tasked!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh thou that canst, and she that may do all things,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Support these languishing conceits that perish!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Look on their growth; perhaps these silly small things<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May win this wordly palm, so you do cherish.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Homer hath vowed, and I with him do vow this,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He will and shall revive, if you allow this.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h1>LICIA</h1> + +<h3>OR</h3> + +<h2>POEMS OF LOVE IN HONOR OF<br /> +THE ADMIRABLE AND SINGULAR<br /> +VIRTUES OF HIS LADY, TO THE<br /> +IMITATION OF THE BEST LATIN<br /> +POETS AND OTHERS</h2> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>GILES FLETCHER, LL.D.</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p> +<h2>GILES FLETCHER, LL.D.</h2> + + +<p>Giles Fletcher, author of <i>Licia</i>, was one of that distinguished family +that included Richard Fletcher, the Bishop of London, and his son John +Fletcher, the dramatist. The two sons of Dr. Giles Fletcher were also +men of marked poetic ability: Phineas, the author of that extraordinary +allegorical poem, <i>The Purple Island</i>; and Giles, of <i>Christ's Victory +and Triumph</i>. There was a strong family feeling in this circle; Phineas +and Giles pay compliments to each other in their verse and show great +reverence and tenderness toward the memory of the poetic powers of their +father. But Giles Fletcher the elder was not thought of in his own time +as a poet. Educated at Eton and Trinity, Cambridge, where he was made +LL.D. in 1581, a member of Parliament in '85, employed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> in many public +services at home and abroad during a career that lasted until 1611, in +which year Dr. Fletcher died at the age of seventy-two, he was known as +a man of action, a man for public responsibility, rather than as the +retired scholar or riming courtier. Most important among the foreign +embassages undertaken by Fletcher was the one to Russia. The results +were of great import to England, commercially and otherwise, but the +book he wrote on his return was, for political reasons, suppressed.</p> + +<p>It happened that the years of enforced idleness that followed the +suppression of this book came in the time when the young sonneteers at +London were all busy. He returned from his embassage in '89; the book +was suppressed in '91. <i>Licia</i> was published in '93. The writing of +<i>Licia</i> was "rather an effect than a cause of idleness;" he did it "only +to try his humor," he says apologetically in the dedicatory addresses. +"Whereas my thoughts and some reasons drew me rather to have dealt in +causes of greater weight, yet the present jar of this disagreeing age +drives me into a fit so melancholy, as I had only leisure to grow +passionate."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p> + +<p>In case wise heads should think him to be treating "an idle subject and +so frivolous," or that it has been "vainly handled and so odious," he +sets forth the nobility of his view. "Howsoever, Love in this age hath +behaved himself in that loose manner as it is counted a disgrace to give +him but a kind look, yet I take the passion in itself to be of that +honor and credit, as it is a perfect resemblance of the greatest +happiness, and rightly valued at his just price (in a mind that is +sincerely and truly amorous), an affection of greatest virtue and able +of himself to eternise the meanest vassal." "For Love," he declares, "is +a goddess (pardon me though I speak like a poet) not respecting the +contentment of him that loves, but the virtues of the beloved; satisfied +with wondering, fed with admiration; respecting nothing but his lady's +worthiness; made as happy by love as by all favors; chaste by honor; far +from violence; respecting but one, and that one in such kindness, +honesty, truth, constancy, and honor, as were all the world offered to +make a change, yet the boot were too small and therefore bootless. This +is love, and far more than this,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> which I know a vulgar head, a base +mind, an ordinary conceit, a common person will not nor cannot have. +Thus do I commend that love wherewith in these poems I have honoured the +worthy Licia."</p> + +<p>The sonnet-cycle is inscribed "To the worthie kinde wise and virtuous +ladie, the Ladie Mollineux; wife to the right worshipful Sir Richard +Mollineux Knight." Nothing is known of this lady, except that her family +may possibly have been very distantly connected with that of Fletcher. +What the poet's feeling was towards his patroness he defines +sufficiently. "Now in that I have written love sonnets, if any man +measure my affection by my style, let him say I am in love.... Yet take +this by the way; though I am so liberal to grant thus much, a man may +write of love and not be in love, as well as of husbandry and not go to +the plough, or of witches and be none, or of holiness and be flat +profane."</p> + +<p>What "shadowings" the poet may intend he refuses to confide to us. "If +thou muse what my Licia is, take her to be some Diana, at the least +chaste; or some Minerva; no Venus, fairer far.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> It may be she is +Learning's image, or some heavenly wonder, which the precisest may not +dislike: perhaps under that name I have shadowed Discipline. It may be I +mean that kind courtesy which I found at the patroness of these poems. +It may be some college; it may be my conceit, and portend nothing." It +is evident then that the patroness herself is not the real person behind +the poetic title. He therefore dedicates <i>Licia</i> to Lady Molineux, not +because the sonnets themselves are addressed to her, but because he has +received "favours undeserved" at her hands and those of "wise Sir +Richard" for which he "wants means to make recompence," and therefore in +the meantime he begs her to accept this. "If thou like it," he says to +the reader, "take it, and thank the worthy Lady Mollineux, for whose +sake thou hast it; worthy, indeed, and so not only reputed by me in +private affection of thankfulness but so equally to be esteemed by all +that know her. For if I had not received of her ... those unrequitable +favours, I had not thus idly toyed."</p> + +<p>A warm admirer of Fletcher has expressed his opinion that <i>Licia</i> +"sparkles with brilliants of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> first water." A more temperate +judgment is that of another, who says that he "took part without +discredit in the choir of singers who were men of action too." <i>Licia</i> +is what a typical sonnet-cycle ought to be, a delicate and almost +intangible thread of story on which are strung the separate +sonnet-pearls. In this case the jewels have a particular finish. +Fletcher has adopted the idea of a series of quatrains, often extending +the number to four, and a concluding couplet, which he seems fond of +utilising to give an epigrammatic finish to the ingenious incident he so +often makes the subject of the sonnet. He is fully in the spirit of the +Italian mode, however, acknowledging in his title page his indebtedness +to poets of other nationalities than his own.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p> +<h3>TO LICIA</h3> + +<h4>THE WISE, KIND, VIRTUOUS, AND FAIR</h4> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Bright matchless star, the honour of the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From whose clear shine heaven's vault hath all his light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I send these poems to your graceful eye;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Do you but take them, and they have their right.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I build besides a temple to your name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wherein my thoughts shall daily sing your praise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And will erect an altar for the same,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which shall your virtues and your honour raise.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But heaven the temple of your honour is,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose brasen tops your worthy self made proud;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ground an altar, base for such a bliss<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With pity torn, because I sighed so loud.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And since my skill no worship can impart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Make you an incense of my loving heart.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Sad all alone not long I musing sat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But that my thoughts compelled me to aspire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A laurel garland in my hand I gat;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So the Muses I approached the nigher.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My suite was this, a poet to become,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To drink with them, and from the heavens be fed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Phœbus denied, and sware there was no room,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such to be poets as fond fancy led.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With that I mourned and sat me down to weep.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Venus she smiled, and smiling to me said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Come, drink with me, and sit thee still and sleep."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This voice I heard; and Venus I obeyed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That poison sweet hath done me all this wrong,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For now of love must needs be all my song.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>II</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Weary was love and sought to take his rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He made his choice, upon a virgin's lap;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And slyly crept from thence unto her breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where still he meant to sport him in his hap;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The virgin frowned like Phœbus in a cloud;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Go pack, sir boy, here is no room for such,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My breast no wanton foolish boy must shroud."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This said, my love did give the wag a touch;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then as the foot that treads the stinging snake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hastes to be gone, for fear what may ensue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So love my love was forced for to forsake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And for more speed, without his arrows flew.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Pardon," he said, "For why? You seemed to me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My mother Venus in her pride to be."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>III</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The heavens beheld the beauty of my queen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all amazed, to wonder thus began:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Why dotes not Jove, as erst we all have seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shapes himself like to a seemly man?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mean are the matches which he sought before,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like bloomless buds, too base to make compare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And she alone hath treasured beauty's store,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In whom all gifts and princely graces are."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cupid replied: "I posted with the sun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To view the maids that livèd in those days,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And none there was that might not well be won,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But she, most hard, most cold, made of delays."<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Heavens were deceived, and wrong they do esteem,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She hath no heat, although she living seem.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>IV</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Love and my love did range the forest wild,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mounted alike, upon swift coursers both.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love her encountered, though he was a child.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Let's strive," saith he, whereat my love was wroth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And scorned the boy, and checked him with a smile.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"I mounted am, and armèd with my spear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou art too weak, thyself do not beguile;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I could thee conquer if I naked were."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With this love wept, and then my love replied:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Kiss me, sweet boy, so weep my boy no more."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus did my love, and then her force she tried;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love was made ice, that fire was before.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A kiss of hers, as I, poor soul, do prove,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can make the hottest freeze and coldest love.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>V</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Love with her hair my love by force hath tied,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To serve her lips, her eyes, her voice, her hand;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I smiled for joy, when I the boy espied<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To lie unchained and live at her command.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She if she look, or kiss, or sing, or smile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cupid withal doth smile, doth sing, doth kiss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lips, hands, voice, eyes, all hearts that may beguile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because she scorns all hearts but only this.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Venus for this in pride began to frown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Cupid, born a god, enthralled should be.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She in disdain her pretty son threw down,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in his place, with love she chainèd me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So now, sweet love, though I myself be thrall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not her a goddess, but thyself I call.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>VI</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My love amazed did blush herself to see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pictured by art, all naked as she was.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"How could the painter know so much by me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or art effect what he hath brought to pass?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is not like he naked me hath seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or stood so nigh for to observe so much."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No, sweet; his eyes so near have never been,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor could his hands by art have cunning such;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I showed my heart, wherein you printed were,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You, naked you, as here you painted are;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In that my love your picture I must wear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And show't to all, unless you have more care.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then take my heart, and place it with your own;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So shall you naked never more be known.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>VII</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Death in a rage assaulted once my heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With love of her, my love that doth deny.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I scorned his force, and wished him to depart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I heartless was, and therefore could not die.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I live in her, in her I placed my life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She guides my soul, and her I honour must.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor is this life but yet a living strife,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A thing unmeet, and yet a thing most just.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cupid enraged did fly to make me love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My heart lay guarded with those burning eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sparks whereof denied him to remove;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So conquered now, he like a captive lies;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus two at once by love were both undone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My heart not loved, and armless Venus' son.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>VIII</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hard are the rocks, the marble, and the steel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ancient oak with wind and weather tossed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But you, my love, far harder do I feel<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than flint, or these, or is the winter's frost.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My tears too weak, your heart they cannot move;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My sighs, that rock, like wind it cannot rent;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too tiger-like you swear you cannot love;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But tears and sighs you fruitless back have sent.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The frost too hard, not melted with my flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I cinders am, and yet you feel no heat.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Surpass not these, sweet love, for very shame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But let my tears, my vows, my sighs entreat;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then shall I say as by trial find;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These all are hard, but you, my love, are kind.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>IX</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Love was laid down, all weary fast asleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whereas my love his armor took away;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The boy awaked, and straight began to weep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But stood amazed, and knew not what to say.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Weep not, my boy," said Venus to her son,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Thy weapons none can wield, but thou alone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Licia the fair, this harm to thee hath done,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw her here, and presently was gone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She will restore them, for she hath no need<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To take thy weapons where thy valour lies;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For men to wound the Fates have her decreed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With favour, hands, with beauty, and with eyes."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No, Venus, no: she scorns them, credit me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But robbed thy son that none might care for thee.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>X</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A painter drew the image of the boy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swift love, with wings all naked, and yet blind;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With bow and arrows, bent for to destroy;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I blamed his skill, and fault I thus did find:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"A needless task I see thy cunning take;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Misled by love, thy fancy thee betrayed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love is no boy, nor blind, as men him make,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor weapons wears, whereof to be affrayed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But if thou, love, wilt paint with greatest skill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A love, a maid, a goddess, and a queen;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wonder and view at Licia's picture still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For other love the world hath never seen;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For she alone all hope all comfort gives;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Men's hearts, souls, all, led by her favour lives."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XI</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In Ida vale three queens the shepherd saw,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Queens of esteem, divine they were all three,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sight of worth. But I a wonder shaw,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their virtues all in one alone to be.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Licia the fair, surpassing Venus' pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(The matchless queen, commander of the gods,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When drawn with doves she in her pomp doth ride)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hath far more beauty, and more grace by odds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Juno, Jove's wife, unmeet to make compare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I grant a goddess, but not half so mild;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Minerva wise, a virtue, but not rare;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet these are mean, if that my love but smiled.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She them surpasseth, when their prides are full<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As far as they surpass the meanest trull.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XII</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I wish sometimes, although a worthless thing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spurred by ambition, glad to aspire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Myself a monarch, or some mighty king,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then my thoughts do wish for to be higher.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But when I view what winds the cedars toss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What storms men feels that covet for renown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I blame myself that I have wished my loss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And scorn a kingdom, though it give a crown.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah Licia, though the wonder of my thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My heart's content, procurer of my bliss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For whom a crown I do esteem as naught,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As Asia's wealth, too mean to buy a kiss!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Kiss me, sweet love, this favor do for me;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then crowns and kingdoms shall I scorn for thee.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XIII</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Enamored Jove commanding did entreat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cupid to wound my love, which he denied,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And swore he could not for she wanted heat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And would not love, as he full oft had tried.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jove in a rage, impatient this to hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Replied with threats; "I'll make you to obey!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whereat the boy did fly away for fear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To Licia's eyes, where safe intrenched he lay.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then Jove he scorned, and dared him to his face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For now more safe than in the heavens he dwelled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor could Jove's wrath do wrong to such a place<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where grace and honour have their kingdom held.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus in the pride and beauty of her eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The seely boy the greatest god defies.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XIV</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My love lay sleeping, where birds music made,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shutting her eyes, disdainful of the light;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The heat was great but greater was the shade<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which her defended from his burning sight.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This Cupid saw, and came a kiss to take,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sucking sweet nectar from her sugared breath;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She felt the touch, and blushed, and did awake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seeing t'was love, which she did think was death,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She cut his wings and causèd him to stay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Making a vow, he should not thence depart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unless to her the wanton boy could pay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The truest, kindest and most loving heart.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His feathers still she usèd for a fan,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till by exchange my heart his feathers won.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XV</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I stood amazed, and saw my Licia shine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fairer than Phœbus, in his brightest pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Set forth in colors by a hand divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where naught was wanting but a soul to guide.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was a picture, that I could descry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet made with art so as it seemed to live,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Surpassing fair, and yet it had no eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whereof my senses could no reason give.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With that the painter bid me not to muse;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Her eyes are shut, but I deserve no blame;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For if she saw, in faith, it could not choose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But that the work had wholly been a flame,"—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then burn me, sweet, with brightness of your eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That phœnix-like from thence I may arise.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XVI</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Grant, fairest kind, a kiss unto thy friend!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A blush replied, and yet a kiss I had.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is not heaven that can such nectar send<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whereat my senses all amazed were glad.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This done, she fled as one that was affrayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I desired to kiss by kissing more;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My love she frowned, and I my kissing stayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet wished to kiss her as I did before.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then as the vine the propping elm doth clasp,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Loath to depart till both together die,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So fold me, sweet, until my latest gasp,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That in thy arms to death I kissed may lie.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus whilst I live for kisses I must call;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Still kiss me, sweet, or kiss me not at all.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XVII</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As are the sands, fair Licia, on the shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or colored flowers, garlands of the spring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or as the frosts not seen, not felt before,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or as the fruits that autumn forth doth bring;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As twinkling stars, the tinsel of the night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or as the fish that gallop in the seas;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As airs each part that still escapes our sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So are my sighs, controllers of my ease.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet these are such as needs must have an end,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For things finite none else hath nature done;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Only the sighs, which from my heart I send,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will never cease, but where they first begun.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Accept them, sweet, as incense due to thee;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For you immortal made them so to be.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XVIII</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I swear, fair Licia, still for to be thine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By heart, by eyes, by what I held most dear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou checked mine oath, and said: these were not mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And that I had no right by them to swear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then by my sighs, my passions, and my tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My vows, my prayers, my sorrow, and my love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My grief, my joy, my hope, and hopeless fears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My heart is thine, and never shall remove.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These are not thine, though sent unto thy view,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All else I grant, by right they are thine own;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let these suffice that what I swear is true,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And more than this if that it could be known.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So shall all these though troubles ease my grief;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If that they serve to work in thee belief.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XIX</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That time, fair Licia, when I stole a kiss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From off those lips, where Cupid lovely laid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I quaked for cold, and found the cause was this:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My life which loved, for love behind me staid.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I sent my heart my life for to recall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But that was held, not able to return,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And both detained as captives were in thrall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And judged by her, that both by sighs should burn.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fair, burn them both, for that they were so bold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But let the altar be within thy heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I shall live because my life you hold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You that give life, to every living part;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A flame I took whenas I stole the kiss;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Take you my life, yet can I live with this.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XX</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">First did I fear, when first my love began;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Possessed in fits by watchful jealousy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I sought to keep what I by favour won,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And brooked no partner in my love to be.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But tyrant sickness fed upon my love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And spread his ensigns, dyed with colour white;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then was suspicion glad for to remove,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And loving much did fear to lose her quite.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Erect, fair sweet, the colors thou didst wear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dislodge thy griefs; the short'ners of content;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For now of life, not love, is all my fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lest life and love be both together spent.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Live but, fair love, and banish thy disease,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And love, kind heart, both where and whom thou please.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XXI</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Licia my love was sitting in a grove,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tuning her smiles unto the chirping songs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But straight she spied where two together strove,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each one complaining of the other's wrongs.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cupid did cry lamenting of the harm;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jove's messenger, thou wrong'st me too too far;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Use thou thy rod, rely upon the charm;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Think not by speech my force thou canst debar.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A rod, Sir boy, were fitter for a child,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My weapons oft and tongue and mind you took;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in my wrong at my distress thou smiled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And scorned to grace me with a loving look.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Speak you, sweet love, for you did all the wrong<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That broke his arrows, and did bind his tongue.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XXII</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I might have died before my life begun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whenas my father for his country's good<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Persian's favor and the Sophy won<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet with danger of his dearest blood.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy father, sweet, whom danger did beset,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Escapèd all, and for no other end<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But only this, that you he might beget,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whom heavens decreed into the world to send.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then father, thank thy daughter for thy life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Neptune praise that yielded so to thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To calm the tempest when the storms were rife,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And that thy daughter should a Venus be.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I call thee Venus, sweet, but be not wroth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou art more chaste, yet seas did favor both.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XXIII</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My love was masked, and armèd with a fan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To see the sun so careless of his light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which stood and gazed, and gazing waxèd wan<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To see a star himself that was more bright.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some did surmize she hid her from the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of whom in pride she scorned for to be kissed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or feared the harm by him to others done.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But these the reason of this wonder missed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor durst the sun, if that her face were bare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In greatest pride, presume to take a kiss.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But she more kind did show she had more care<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than with her eyes eclipse him of his bliss.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unmask you, sweet, and spare not; dim the sun;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Your light's enough, although that his were done.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XXIV</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Whenas my love lay sickly in her bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pale death did post in hope to have a prey;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But she so spotless made him that he fled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Unmeet to die," she cried, and could not stay.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Back he retired, and thus the heavens he told;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"All things that are, are subject unto me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Both towns, and men, and what the world doth hold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But her fair Licia still immortal be."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The heavens did grant; a goddess she was made,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Immortal, fair, unfit to suffer change.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So now she lives, and never more shall fade;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In earth a goddess, what can be more strange?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then will I hope, a goddess and so near,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She cannot choose my sighs and prayers but hear.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XXV</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Seven are the lights that wander in the skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And at these seven, I wonder in my love.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So see the moon, how pale she doth arise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Standing amazed, as though she durst not move;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So is my sweet much paler than the snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Constant her looks, these looks that cannot change.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mercury the next, a god sweet-tongued we know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But her sweet voice doth wonders speak more strange.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rising Sun doth boast him of his pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet my love is far more fair than he.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The warlike Mars can wieldless weapons guide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But yet that god is far more weak than she.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lovely Venus seemeth to be fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But at her best my love is far more bright.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saturn for age with groans doth dim the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whereas my love with smiles doth give it light.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gaze at her brows, where heaven ingrafted is;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then sigh, and swear, there is no heaven but this.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XXVI</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I live, sweet love, whereas the gentle wind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Murmurs with sport in midst of thickest boughs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where loving woodbine doth the harbor bind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And chirping birds do echo forth my vows;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where strongest elm can scarce support the vine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sweetest flowers enameled have the ground;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where Muses dwell; and yet hereat repine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That on the earth so rare a place was found.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But winds delight, I wish to be content;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I praise the woodbine, but I take no joy;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I moan the birds that music thus have spent;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As for the rest, they breed but mine annoy.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Live then, fair Licia, in this place alone;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then shall I joy though all of these were gone.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XXVII</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The crystal stream wherein my love did swim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Melted in tears as partners of my woe;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her shine was such as did the fountain dim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pearl-like fountain whiter than the snow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then like perfume, resolvèd with a heat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fountain smoked, as if it thought to burn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A wonder strange to see the cold so great,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet the fountain into smoke to turn.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I searched the cause, and found it to be this:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She touched the water, and it burned with love.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now by her means it purchased hath that bliss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which all diseases quickly can remove.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then if by you these streams thus blessèd be,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sweet, grant me love, and be not worse to me.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XXVIII</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In time the strong and stately turrets fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In time the rose and silver lilies die,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In time the monarchs captive are and thrall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In time the sea and rivers are made dry;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hardest flint in time doth melt asunder;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still living fame in time doth fade away;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mountains proud we see in time come under;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And earth for age we see in time decay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sun in time forgets for to retire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From out the east where he was wont to rise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The basest thoughts we see in time aspire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And greedy minds in time do wealth despise.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus all, sweet fair, in time must have an end,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Except thy beauty, virtues, and thy friend.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XXIX</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Why died I not whenas I last did sleep?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O sleep too short that shadowed forth my dear!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heavens, hear my prayers, nor thus me waking keep!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For this were heaven, if thus I sleeping were.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For in that dark there shone a princely light;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Two milk-white hills, both full of nectar sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her ebon thighs, the wonder of my sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where all my senses with their objects meet,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I pass these sports, in secret that are best,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wherein my thoughts did seem alive to be;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We both did strive, and weary both did rest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I kissed her still, and still she kissèd me.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Heavens, let me sleep, and shows my senses feed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or let me wake and happy be indeed!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XXX</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Whenas my Licia sailèd in the seas,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Viewing with pride god Neptune's stately crown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A calm she made, and brought the merchant ease,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The storm she stayed, and checked him with a frown.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love at the stern sate smiling and did sing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To see how seas had learned for to obey;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And balls of fire into the waves did fling;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And still the boy full wanton thus did say:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Both poles we burnt whereon the world doth turn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The round of heaven from earth unto the skies;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now the seas we both intend to burn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I with my bow, and Licia with her eyes."<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then since thy force, heavens, earth, nor seas can move,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I conquered yield, and do confess I love.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XXXI</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Whenas her lute is tunèd to her voice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The air grows proud for honour of that sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And rocks do leap to show how they rejoice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That in the earth such music should be found.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whenas her hair more worth, more pale than gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like silver thread lies wafting in the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Diana-like she looks, but yet more bold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cruel in chase, more chaste and yet more fair.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whenas she smiles, the clouds for envy breaks;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She Jove in pride encounters with a check;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sun doth shine for joy whenas she speaks;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus heaven and earth do homage at her beck.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet all these graces, blots, not graces are,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If you, my love, of love do take no care.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XXXII</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Years, months, days, hours, in sighs I sadly spend;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I black the night wherein I sleepless toss;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I love my griefs yet wish them at an end;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus time's expense increaseth but my loss.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I musing stand and wonder at my love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That in so fair should be a heart of steel;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then I think my fancy to remove,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But then more painful I my passions feel;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus must I love, sweet fair, until I die,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And your unkindness doth my love increase.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I conquered am, I can it not deny;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My life must end, yet shall my love not cease.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then heavens, make Licia fair most kind to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or with my life my loss may finished be!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XXXIII</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I wrote my sighs, and sent them to my love;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I praised that fair that none enough could praise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But plaints nor praises could fair Licia move;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above my reach she did her virtues raise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thus replied: "False Scrawl, untrue thou art,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To feign those sighs that nowhere can be found;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For half those praises came not from his heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose faith and love as yet was never found.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy master's life, false Scrawl shall be thy doom;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because he burns, I judge thee to the flame;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Both your attempts deserve no better room."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus at her word we ashes both became.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Believe me, fair, and let my paper live;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or be not fair, and so me freedom give.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XXXIV</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Pale are my looks, forsaken of my life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cinders my bones, consumèd with thy flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Floods are my tears, to end this burning strife,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet I sigh for to increase the same;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I mourn alone because alone I burn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who doubts of this, then let him learn to love;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her looks cold ice into a flame can turn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As I distressèd in myself do prove.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Respect, fair Licia, what my torments are;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Count but the tithe both of my sighs and tears;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">See how my love doth still increase my care,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And care's increase my life to nothing wears.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Send but a sigh my flame for to increase,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or lend a tear and cause it so to cease.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XXXV</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Whenas I wish, fair Licia, for a kiss<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From those sweet lips where rose and lilies strive,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Straight do mine eyes repine at such a bliss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And seek my lips thereof for to deprive;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whenas I seek to glut mine eyes by sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My lips repine and call mine eyes away;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus both contend to have each other's right,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And both conspire to work my full decay.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O force admired of beauty in her pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In whose each part such strange effects there be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That all my forces in themselves divide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And make my senses plainly disagree.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If all were mine, this envy would be gone;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then grant me all, fair sweet, or grant me none!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XXXVI</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hear how my sighs are echoed of the wind;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">See how my tears are pitied by the rain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Feel what a flame possessèd hath my mind;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Taste but the grief which I possess in vain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then if my sighs the blustering winds surpass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wat'ry tears the drops of rain exceed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And if no flame like mine nor is nor was,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor grief like that whereon my soul doth feed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Relent, fair Licia, when my sighs do blow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yield at my tears, that flintlike drops consume;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Accept the flame that doth my incense show,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Allow the grief that is my heart's perfume.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus sighs and tears, flame, grief shall plead for me;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So shall I pray, and you a goddess be.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XXXVII</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I speak, fair Licia, what my torments be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But then my speech too partial do I find;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For hardly words can with those thoughts agree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those thoughts that swarm in such a troubled mind.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then do I vow my tongue shall never speak<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor tell my grief that in my heart doth lie;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But cannon-like, I then surcharged do break,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so my silence worse than speech I try.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus speech or none, they both do breed my care;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I live dismayed, and kill my heart with grief;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In all respects my case alike doth fare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To him that wants, and dare not ask relief.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then you, fair Lucia, sovereign of my heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Read to yourself my anguish and my smart.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XXXVIII</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sweet, I protest, and seal it with an oath:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I never saw that so my thoughts did please;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet content displeased I see them wroth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To love so much and cannot have their ease.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I told my thoughts, my sovereign made a pause,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Disposed to grant, but willing to delay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They then repined, for that they knew no cause,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And swore they wished she flatly would say nay.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus hath my love, my thoughts with treason filled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And 'gainst my sovereign taught them to repine.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So thus my treason all my thoughts hath killed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And made fair Licia say she is not mine.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But thoughts too rash my heart doth now repent;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And as you please, they swear, they are content.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XXXIX</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fair matchless nymph, respect but what I crave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My thoughts are true, and honour is my love;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I fainting die whom yet a smile might save;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You gave the wound, and can the hurt remove.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those eyes like stars that twinkle in the night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cheeks like rubies pale in lilies dyed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those ebon hands that darting hath such might<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That <i>in</i> my soul my love and life divide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Accept the passions of a man possessed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let love be loved and grant me leave to live;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Disperse those clouds that darkened have my rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And let your heaven a sun-like smile but give!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then shall I praise that heaven for such a sun<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That saved my life, whenas my grief begun.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XL</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My grief begun, fair saint, when first I saw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love in those eyes sit ruling with disdain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose sweet commands did keep a world in awe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And caused them serve your favor to obtain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I stood as one enchanted with a frown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet smiled to see all creatures serve those eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where each with sighs paid tribute to that crown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thought them gracèd by your dumb replies.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I, ambitious, could not be content<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till that my service more than sighs made known;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And for that end my heart to you I sent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To say and swear that, fair, it is your own.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then greater graces, Licia, do impart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Not dumb replies unto a speaking heart.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>SONNET MADE UPON THE TWO TWINS, DAUGHTERS OF THE LADY MOLLINEUX, BOTH +PASSING LIKE, AND EXCEEDING FAIR</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Poets did feign that heavens a Venus had,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Matchless herself, and Cupid was her son;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Men sued to these, and of their smiles were glad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By whom so many famous were undone.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now Cupid mourns that he hath lost his might,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And that these two so comely are to see;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Venus frowns because they have her right.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet both so like that both shall blameless be;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With heaven's two twins for godhead these may strive,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And rule a world with least part of a frown;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fairer than these two twins are not alive,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Both conquering queens, and both deserve a crown.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My thoughts presage, which time to come shall try,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That thousands conquered for their love shall die.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XLI</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If, aged Charon, when my life shall end,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I pass thy ferry and my waftage pay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy oars shall fall, thy boat and mast shall rend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And through the deep shall be a dry foot-way.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For why? My heart with sighs doth breathe such flame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That air and water both incensèd be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The boundless ocean from whose mouth they came,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For from my heat not heaven itself is free.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then since to me thy loss can be no gain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Avoid thy harm and fly what I foretell.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Make thou thy love with me for to be slain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That I with her and both with thee may dwell.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy fact thus, Charon, both of us shall bless,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou save thy boat and I my love possess.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XLII</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For if alone thou think to waft my love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her cold is such as can the sea command,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And frozen ice shall let thy boat to move,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor can thy forces row it from the land.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But if thou friendly both at once shalt take,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thyself mayst rest. For why? My sighs will blow.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our cold and heat so sweet a thaw shall make,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As that thy boat without thy help shall row.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then will I sit and glut me on those eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wherewith my life my eyes could never fill.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus from my boat that comfort shall arise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The want whereof my life and hope did kill.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Together placed so thou her scorn shalt cross,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where if we part thy boat must suffer loss.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XLIII</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Are those two stars, her eyes, my life's light gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By which my soul was freèd from all dark?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And am I left distressed to live alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where none my tears and mournful tale shall mark?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah sun, why shine thy looks, thy looks like gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When horsemen brave thou risest in the east?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah Cynthia pale, to whom my griefs I told,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why do you both rejoice both man and beast?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I alone, alone that dark possess<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By Licia's absence brighter than the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose smiling light did ease my sad distress,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And broke the clouds, when tears like rain begun.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Heavens, grant that light and so me waking keep,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or shut my eyes and rock me fast asleep!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XLIV</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Cruel fair love, I justly do complain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of too much rigor and thy heart unkind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That for mine eyes thou hast my body slain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And would not grant that I should favour find.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I looked, fair love, and you my love looked fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I sighed for love and you for sport did smile.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your smiles were such as did perfume the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And this perfumèd did my heart beguile.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus I confess the fault was in mine eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Begun with sighs and ended with a flame.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I for your love did all the world despise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in these poems honored have your name.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then let your love so with my fault dispense,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That all my parts feel not mine eyes' offense.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XLV</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There shone a comet, and it was full west.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My thoughts presagèd what it did portend;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I found it threatened to my heart unrest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And might in time my joys and comfort end.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I further sought and found it was a sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which day nor night did never use to set.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It constant stood when heavens did restless run,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And did their virtues and their forces let.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The world did muse and wonder what it meant,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A sun to shine and in the west to rise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To search the truth, I strength and spirits spent;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At length I found it was my Licia's eyes.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now never after soul shall live in dark,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That hath the hap this western sun to mark.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XLVI</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If he be dead, in whom no heart remains,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or lifeless be in whom no life is found;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If he do pine that never comfort gains,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And be distressed that hath his deadly wound;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then must I die whose heart elsewhere is clad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lifeless pass the greedy worms to feed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then must I pine that never comfort had,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And be distressed whose wound with tears doth bleed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which if I do, why do I not wax cold?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why rest I not like one that wants a heart?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why move I still like him that life doth hold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sense enjoy both of my joy and smart?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like Niobe queen which made a stone did weep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Licia my heart dead and alive doth keep.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XLVII</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Like Memnon's rock, touched with the rising sun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which yields a sound and echoes forth a voice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But when it's drowned in western seas is done,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And drowsy-like leaves off to make a noise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So I, my love, enlightened with your shine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A poet's skill within my soul I shroud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not rude like that which finer wits decline,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But such as Muses to the best allowed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But when your figure and your shape is gone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I speechless am like as I was before;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or if I write, my verse is filled with moan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And blurred with tears by falling in such store.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then muse not, Licia, if my Muse be slack,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For when I wrote I did thy beauty lack.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XLVIII</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I saw, sweet Licia, when the spider ran<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within your house to weave a worthless web,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You present were and feared her with your fan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So that amazèd speedily she fled.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She in your house such sweet perfumes did smell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And heard the Muses with their notes refined,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus filled with envy, could no longer dwell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But straight returned and at your house repined.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then tell me, spider, why of late I saw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thee lose thy poison, and thy bowels gone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Did these enchant and keep thy limbs in awe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And made thy forces to be small or none?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No, no, thou didst by chance my Licia see,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who for her look Minerva seemed to thee.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>XLIX</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If that I die, fair Licia, with disdain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or heartless live surprisèd with thy wrong,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then heavens and earth shall accent both my pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And curse the time so cruel and so long.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If you be kind, my queen, as you are fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And aid my thoughts that still for conquest strive,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then will I sing and never more despair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And praise your kindness whilst I am alive.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till then I pay the tribute of my tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To move thy mercy and thy constant truth.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Respect, fair love, how these with sorrow wears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The truest heart unless it find some ruth.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then grace me, sweet, and with thy favor raise me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So shall I live and all the world shall praise thee.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>L</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah Licia, sigh and say thou art my own;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nay, be my own, as you full oft have said.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So shall your truth unto the world be known,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I resolved where now I am afraid.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And if my tongue eternize can your praise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or silly speech increase your worthy fame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If ought I can, to heaven your worth can raise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The age to come shall wonder at the same.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In this respect your love, sweet love, I told,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My faith and truth I vowed should be forever.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You were the cause if that I was too bold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then pardon this my fault or love me never.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But if you frown I wish that none believe me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For slain with sighs I'll die before I grieve thee.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>LI</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When first the sun whom all my senses serve,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Began to shine upon this earthly round,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The heavens for her all graces did reserve,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Pandor-like with all she might abound.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Apollo placed his brightness in her eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His skill presaging and his music sweet.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mars gave his force; all force she now defies;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Venus her smiles wherewith she Mars did meet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Python a voice, Diana made her chaste,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ceres gave plenty, Cupid lent his bow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thetis his feet, there Pallas wisdom placed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With these she queen-like kept a world in awe.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet all these honors deemèd are but pelf,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For she is much more worthy of herself.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>LII</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O sugared talk, wherewith my thoughts do live!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O brows, love's trophy and my senses' shine!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O charming smiles, that death or life can give!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O heavenly kisses from a mouth divine!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O wreaths too strong, and trammels made of hair!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O pearls inclosèd in an ebon pale!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O rose and lilies in a field most fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where modest white doth make the red seem pale!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O voice whose accents live within my heart!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O heavenly hand that more than Atlas holds!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O sighs perfumed, that can release my smart!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O happy they whom in her arms she folds!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now if you ask where dwelleth all this bliss,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Seek out my love and she will tell you this.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>AN ODE</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Love, I repent me that I thought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My sighs and languish dearly bought.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For sighs and languish both did prove<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That he that languished sighed for love.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cruel rigor, foe to state,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looks disdainful, fraught with hate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I did blame, but had no cause;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love hath eyes, but hath no laws.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She was sad and could not choose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To see me sigh and sit and muse.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We both did love and both did doubt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Least any should our love find out.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our hearts did speak, by sighs most hidden;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This means was left, all else forbidden.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I did frown her love to try,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She did sigh and straight did cry.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Both of us did sighs believe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet either grievèd friend to grieve.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I did look and then did smile;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She left sighing all that while.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Both were glad to see that change,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Things in love that are not strange.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Suspicion, foolish foe to reason,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Causèd me seek to find some treason.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I did court another dame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">False in love, it is a shame!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She was sorry this to view,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thinking faith was proved untrue.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then she swore she would not love<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One whom false she once did prove.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I did vow I never meant<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From promise made for to relent.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The more I said the worse she thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My oaths and vows were deemed as naught.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"False," she said "how can it be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To court another yet love me?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crowns and love no partners brook;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If she be liked I am forsook.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Farewell, false, and love her still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your chance was good, but mine was ill.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No harm to you, but this I crave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That your new love may you deceive,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And jest with you as you have done,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For light's the love that quickly won."<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> +<span class="i0">"Kind, and fair-sweet, once believe me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jest I did but not to grieve thee.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Court I did, but did not love;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All my speech was you to prove.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Words and sighs and what I spent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In show to her, to you were meant.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fond I was your love to cross;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jesting love oft brings this loss.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forget this fault, and love your friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which vows his truth unto the end."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Content," she said, "if this you keep."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus both did kiss, and both did weep.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For women long they cannot chide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As I by proof in this have tried.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>A DIALOGUE BETWIXT TWO SEA-NYMPHS DORIS AND GALATEA CONCERNING +POLPHEMUS; BRIEFLY TRANSLATED OUT OF LUCIAN</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The sea-nymphs late did play them on the shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And smiled to see such sport was new begun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A strife in love, the like not heard before,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Two nymphs contend which had the conquest won.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doris the fair with Galate did chide;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She liked her choice, and to her taunts replied.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="center">DORIS</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thy love, fair nymph, that courts thee on this plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As shepherds say and all the world can tell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is that foul rude Sicilian Cyclop-swain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A shame, sweet nymph, that he with thee should mell.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center">GALATEA</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Smile not, fair Doris, though he foul do seem,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let pass thy words that savour of disgrace;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He's worth my love, and so I him esteem,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Renowned by birth, and come of Neptune's race,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Neptune that doth the glassy ocean tame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Neptune, by birth from mighty Jove which came.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="center">DORIS</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I grant an honour to be Neptune's child,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A grace to be so near with Jove allied.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But yet, sweet nymph, with this be not beguiled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where nature's graces are by looks decried,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So foul, so rough, so ugly as a clown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And worse than this, a monster with one eye!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Foul is not gracèd, though it wear a crown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But fair is beauty, none can that deny.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="center">GALATEA</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nor is he foul or shapeless as you say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or worse; for that he clownish seems to be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rough, satyr-like, the better he will play,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And manly looks the fitter are for me.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> +<span class="i0">His frowning smiles are gracèd by his beard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His eye-light, sun-like, shrouded is in one.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This me contents, and others make afeard.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sees enough, and therefore wanteth none.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="center">DORIS</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nay, then I see, sweet nymph, thou art in love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And loving, dotes; and doting, dost commend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Foul to be fair; this oft do lovers prove;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I wish him fairer, or thy love an end.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="center">GALATEA</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Doris, I love not, yet I hardly bear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Disgraceful terms, which you have spoke in scorn.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You are not loved; and that's the cause I fear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For why? My love of Jove himself was born.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Feeding his sheep of late amidst this plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whenas we nymphs did sport us on the shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He scorned you all, my love for to obtain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That grieved your hearts; I knew as much before.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nay, smile not, nymphs, the truth I only tell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For few can brook that others should excel.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center">DORIS</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Should I envy that blind did you that spite?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or that your shape doth please so foul a groom?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shepherd thought of milk, you looked so white;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The clown did err, and foolish was his doom.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Your look was pale, and so his stomach fed;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But far from fair, where white doth want his red.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="center">GALATEA</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Though pale my look, yet he my love did crave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lovely you, unliked, unloved I view;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It's better far one base than none to have;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your fair is foul, to whom there's none will sue.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My love doth tune his love unto his harp.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His shape is rude, but yet his wit is sharp.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="center">DORIS</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Leave off, sweet nymph, to grace a worthless clown.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He itched with love, and then did sing or say;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The noise was such as all the nymphs did frown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And well suspected that some ass did bray.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The woods did chide to hear this ugly sound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The prating echo scorned for to repeat;<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> +<span class="i0">This grisly voice did fear the hollow ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst artless fingers did his harpstrings beat.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Two bear-whelps in his arms this monster bore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With these new puppies did this wanton play;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their skins was rough but yet your loves was more;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He fouler was and far more fierce than they.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I cannot choose, sweet nymph, to think, but smile<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That some of us thou fear'st will thee beguile.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="center">GALATEA</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Scorn not my love, until it can be known<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That you have one that's better of your own.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="center">DORIS</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I have no love, nor if I had, would boast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet wooed have been by such as well might speed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But him to love, the shame of all the coast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So ugly foul, as yet I have no need.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now thus we learn what foolish love can do,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To think him fair that's foul and ugly too.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To hear this talk, I sat behind an oak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And marked their words and penned them as they spoke.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>AD LECTOREM, DISTICHON</h4> + +<h4>CUJUSDAM DE AUTORE</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Lascivi quaeres fuerit cur carminis autor:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Carmine lascivus, mente pudicus erat.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>A LOVER'S MAZE</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">True are my thoughts, my thoughts that are untrue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blind are my eyes, my eyes that are not blind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">New is my love, my love that is not new,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kind is that fair, that fair that is not kind.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus eyes and thoughts, that fairest fair, my love,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Blind and untrue, unkind, unconstant prove.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">True are my thoughts because they never flit,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Untrue my thoughts because they me betrayed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blind are my eyes because in clouds I sit,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not blind my eyes because I looks obeyed.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus eyes and thoughts, my dearest fair may view<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In sight, in love, not blind, nor yet untrue.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">New is my love because it never dies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old is my love because it ever lives;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kind is that fair because it hate denies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unkind that fair because no hope it gives.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus new my love, and still that fair unkind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Renews my love, and I no favour find.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet are my dreams, my dreams that are not sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long are the nights, the nights that are not long,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meet are the pangs, these pangs that are unmeet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wronged is my heart, my heart that hath no wrong.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus dreams, and night, my heart, my pangs, and all<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In taste, in length, conspire to work my fall.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sweet are my dreams because my love they show,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unsweet my dreams because but dreams they are;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long are the nights because no help I know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meet are the nights because they end my care.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus dreams and nights wherein my love take sport,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are sweet, unsweet, are long, and yet too short.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Meet are my pangs because I was too bold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unmeet my pangs because I loved so well;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wronged was my heart because my grief it told,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not wronged. For why? My grief it could not tell.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus you my love unkindly cause this smart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That will not love to ease my pangs and heart.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Proud is her look, her look that is not proud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Done all my days, my days that are not done,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Loud are my sighs, my sighs that are not loud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Begun my death, my death not yet begun.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus looks and days and sighs and death might move<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So kind, so fair, to give consent to love.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Proud is her look because she scorns to see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not proud her look for none dare say so much;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Done are my days because they hapless be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not done my days because I wish them such.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus looks and days increase this loving strife.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Not proud, nor done, nor dead, nor giving life.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Loud are my sighs because they pierce the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not loud my sighs because they are not heard;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My death begun because I artless cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But not begun because I am debarred.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus sighs and death my heart no comfort give;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Both life deny, and both do make me live.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Bold are her smiles, her smiles that are not bold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wise are her words, those words that are not wise,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Cold are her lips, those lips that are not cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ice are those hands, those hands that are not ice.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus smiles and words, her lips, her hands, and she,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bold, wise, cold, ice, love's cruel torments be.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Bold are her smiles, because they anger slay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not bold her smiles because they blush so oft;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wise are her words because they wonders say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not wise her words because they are not soft.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus smiles and words, so cruel and so bold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So blushing wise, my thoughts in prison hold.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Cold are her lips because they breathe no heat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not cold her lips because my heart they burn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ice are her hands because the snow's so great,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not ice her hands that all to ashes turn.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus lips and hands cold ice my sorrow brew;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hands, warm white snow and lips cold cherry-red.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Small was her waist, the waist that was not small,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gold was her hair, the hair that was not gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tall was her shape, the shape that was not tall;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Folding the arms, the arms that did not fold.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> +<span class="i2">Thus hair and shape, those folding arms and waist,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Did make me love, and loving made me waste.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Small was her waist, because I could it span,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not small her waist because she wanted all;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gold was her hair because a crown it wan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not gold her hair because it was more pale.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus smallest waist, the greatest waste doth make,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And finest hair most fast a lover take.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tall was her shape because she touched the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not tall her shape because she comely was;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Folding her arms because she hearts could tie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not folded arms because all bands they pass.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus shape and arms with love my heart did ply,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That hers I am, and must be till I die.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sad was her joy, her joy that was not sad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Short was her stay, her stay that was not short,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glad was her speech, her speech that was not glad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sporting those toys, those toys that were not sport.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> +<span class="i2">Thus was my heart with joy, speech, toys and stay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Possessed with love, and so stol'n quite away.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sad was her joy because she did respect,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not sad her joy because her joy she had,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Short was her stay because to small effect,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long was her stay because I was so sad.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus joy and stay, both crossed a lover's sport,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The one was sad, the other too too short.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Glad was her speech because she spake her mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not glad her speech because afraid to speak;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sporting her toys because my love was kind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not toys in sport because my heart they break.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus speech and toys my love began in jest;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sweet, yield to love, and make thy servant blest.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tread you the maze, sweet love, that I have run,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mark but the steps which I imprinted have;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">End but your love whereas my thoughts begun;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So shall I joy and you a servant have.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If not, sweet love, then this my suit deny;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So shall you live, and so your servant die.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span></p> + + +<h3>AN ELEGY</h3> + +<h4>I</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Down in a bed and on a bed of down,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love, she, and I to sleep together lay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She like a wanton kissed me with a frown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sleep, sleep, she said, but meant to steal away;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I could not choose but kiss, but wake, but smile,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To see how she thought us two to beguile.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She feigned a sleep, I waked her with a kiss;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A kiss to me she gave to make me sleep;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If I did wrong, sweet love, my fault was this,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In that I did not you thus waking keep.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Then kiss me, sweet, that so I sleep may take,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or let me kiss to keep you still awake."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The night drew on and needs she must be gone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She wakèd Love, and bid him learn to wait;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She sighed, she said, to leave me there alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bid Love stay but practise no deceit.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> +<span class="i2">Love wept for grief, and sighing made great moan,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And could not sleep nor stay if she were gone.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Then stay, sweet love;" a kiss with that I gave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She could not stay, but gave my kiss again;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A kiss was all that I could get or crave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with a kiss she bound me to remain.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Ah Licia," still I in my dreams did cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Come, Licia, come, or else my heart will die."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>II</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Distance of place my love and me did part,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet both did swear we never would remove;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In sign thereof I bid her take my heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which did, and doth, and can not choose but love.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thus did we part in hope to meet again,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where both did vow most constant to remain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A she there was that passed betwixt us both,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By whom each knew how other's cause did fare;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For men to trust men in their love are loth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus had we both of love a lover's care.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Haply he seeks his sorrows to renew,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That for his love doth make another sue.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By her a kiss, a kiss to me she sent.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A kiss for price more worth than purest gold.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She gave it her, to me the kiss was meant;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A she to kiss, what harm if she were bold?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Happy those lips that had so sweet a kiss,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For heaven itself scarce yields so sweet a bliss!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> +<span class="i0">This modest she, blushing for shame of this,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or loth to part from that she liked so well,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Did play false play, and gave me not the kiss;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet my love's kindness could not choose to tell.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then blame me not, that kissing sighed and swore<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I kissed but her whom you had kissed before.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sweet, love me more, and blame me not, sweet love;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I kissed those lips, yet harmless I do vow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scarce would my lips from off those lips remove,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For still methought, sweet fair, I kissèd you.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And thus, kind love, the sum of all my bliss<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was but begun and ended in a kiss.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then send me more, but send them by your friend;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kiss none but her, nor her, nor none at all.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beware by whom such treasures you do send,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I must them lose except I for them call.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And love me, dear, and still still kissing be;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Both like and love, but none, sweet love, but me.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p> + + +<h4>III</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If sad complaint would show a lover's pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or tears express the torments of my heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If melting sighs would ruth and pity gain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or true laments but ease a lover's smart;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then should my plaints the thunder's noise surmount,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tears like seas should flow from out my eyes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then sighs like air should far exceed all count,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And true laments with sorrow dim the skies.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But plaints and tears, laments and sighs I spend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet greater torments do my heart destroy;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I could all these from out my heart still send,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If after these I might my love enjoy.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But heavens conspire, and heavens I must obey,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That seeking love I still must want my ease;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For greatest joys are tempered with delay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Things soon obtained do least of all us please.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> +<span class="i0">My thoughts repine and think the time too long,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My love impatient wisheth to obtain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I blame the heavens that do me all this wrong<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To make me loved and will not ease my pain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No pain like this, to love and not enjoy;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No grief like this, to mourn and not be heard;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No time so long as that which breeds annoy;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No hell like this, to love and be deferred!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But heaven shall stand and earth inconstant fly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sun shall freeze and ice inconstant burn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mountains flow and all the earth be dry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere time shall force my loving thoughts to turn.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Do you resolve, sweet love, to do the same,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Say that you do, and seal it with a kiss.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then shall our truths the heavens' unkindness blame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That can not hurt yet show their spite in this.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The silly 'prentice bound for many years,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doth hope that time his service will release;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The town beseiged that lives in midst of fears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doth hope in time the cruel wars will cease.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The toiling plough-man sings in hope to reap,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tosséd bark expecteth for a shore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The boy at school to be at play doth leap,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And straight forgets the fear he had before.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If those by hope do joy in their distress,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And constant are in hope to conquer time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then let not hope in us, sweet friend, be less,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cause our love to wither in the prime.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Let me conspire and time will have an end,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So both of us in time shall have a friend.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h4>FINIS.</h4> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h5>Printed by <span class="smcap">Ballantyne, Hanson & Co.</span>, London & Edinburgh.</h5> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> <i>hery</i>, praise.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_B_2" id="Footnote_B_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_B_2"><span class="label">[B]</span></a> steer empoop (<i>text</i>: steerem poop): <i>en poupe</i>.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_C_3" id="Footnote_C_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_C_3"><span class="label">[C]</span></a> Our?</p></div> + +</div> + + + + + 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + +*** END: FULL LICENSE *** + + + +</pre> + +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/18841-h/images/01.jpg b/18841-h/images/01.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d3f541c --- /dev/null +++ b/18841-h/images/01.jpg diff --git a/18841.txt b/18841.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8528299 --- /dev/null +++ b/18841.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3512 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Elizabethan Sonnet Cycles, by +Thomas Lodge and Giles Fletcher + +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 + Phillis - Licia + +Author: Thomas Lodge and Giles Fletcher + +Editor: Martha Foote Crow + +Release Date: July 16, 2006 [EBook #18841] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ELIZABETHAN SONNET CYCLES *** + + + + +Produced by David Starner, Taavi Kalju and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +ELIZABETHAN SONNET-CYCLES + +EDITED BY + +MARTHA FOOTE CROW + + +PHILLIS + +BY THOMAS LODGE + +LICIA + +BY GILES FLETCHER + + +KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUeBNER AND CO. +PATERNOSTER HOUSE LONDON W.C. + +1896 + + + + +INTRODUCTION + + +The last decade of the sixteenth century was marked by an outburst of +sonneteering. To devotees of the sonnet, who find in that poetic form +the moat perfect vehicle that has ever been devised for the expression +of a single importunate emotion, it will not seem strange that at the +threshold of a literary period whose characteristic note is the most +intense personality, the instinct of poets should have directed them to +the form most perfectly fitted for the expression of this inner motive. + +The sonnet, a distinguished guest from Italy, was ushered to by those +two "courtly makers," Wyatt and Surrey, in the days of Henry VIII. But +when, forty years later, the foreigner was to be acclimatised in +England, her robe had to be altered to suit an English fashion. Thus +the sonnet, which had been an octave of enclosed or alternate rhymes, +followed by a sestette of interlaced tercets, was now changed to a +series of three quatrains with differing sets of alternate rhymes in +each, at the close of which the insidious couplet succeeded in +establishing itself. But these changes were not made without a great +deal of experiment; and during the tentative period the name "sonnet" +was given, to a wide variety of forms, in the moulding of which but one +rule seemed to be uniformly obeyed--that the poem should be the +expression of a single, simple emotion. This law cut the poem, to a +relative shortness and defined its dignity and clearness. Beyond this +almost every combination of rhymes might be found, verses were +occasionally lengthened or shortened, and the number of lines in the +poem, though generally fourteen, showed considerable variation. + +The sonnet-sequence was also a suggestion from Italy, a literary fashion +introduced by Sir Philip Sidney, in his _Astrophel and Stella_, written +soon after 1580, but not published till 1591. In a sonnet-cycle Sidney +recorded his love and sorrow, and Spenser took up the strain with his +story of love and joy. Grouped about these, and following in their wake, +a number of poets, before the decade was over, turned this Elizabethan +"toy" to their purpose in their various self-revealings, producing a +group of sonnet-cycles more or less Italianate in form or thought, more +or less experimental, more or less poetical, more or less the expression +of a real passion. For while the form of the sonnet was modified by +metrical traditions and habits, the content also was strongly +influenced, not to say restricted, by certain conventions of thought +considered at the time appropriate to the poetic attitude. The passion +for classic colour in the poetic world, which had inspired and +disciplined English genius in the sixties and seventies, was rather +nourished than repressed when in the eighties Spenser's _Shepherd's +Calendar_ and Sidney's _Arcadia_ made the pastoral imagery a necessity. +Cupid and Diana were made very much at home in the golden world of the +renaissance Arcadia, and the sonneteer singing the praises of his +mistress's eyebrow was not far removed from the lovelorn shepherd of the +plains. + +It may reasonably be expected that in any sonnet-cycle there will be +found many sonnets in praise of the loved one's beauty, many lamenting +her hardness of heart; all the wonders of heaven and earth will be +catalogued to find comparisons for her loveliness; the river by which +she dwells will be more pleasant than all other rivers in the world, a +list of them being appended in proof; the thoughts of night-time, when +the lover bemoans himself and his rejected state, or dreams of happy +love, will be dwelt upon; oblivious sleep and the wan-faced moon will be +invoked, and death will be called upon for respite. Love and the praises +of the loved one was the theme. On this old but ever new refrain the +sonneteer devised his descant, trilling joyously on oaten pipe in praise +of Delia or Phyllis, Coelia, Caelica, Aurora, or Castara. + +But this melody and descant were not, in some ears at least, without +monotony. For after Daniel's _Delia_, Constable's _Diana_, Lodge's +_Phillis_, Drayton's _Idea_, Fletcher's _Licia_, Brooke's _Caelica_, +Percy's _Coelia_, N.L.'s _Zepheria_, and J.C.'s _Alcilia_, and perhaps +a few other sonnet-cycles had been written, Chapman in 1595 made his +_Coronet for his Mistress Philosophy_, the opening sonnet of which +reveals his critical attitude: + + "Muses that sing Love's sensual empery, + And lovers kindling your enraged fires + At Cupid's bonfires burning in the eye, + Blown with the empty breath of vain desires, + You that prefer the painted cabinet + Before the wealthy jewels it doth store ye, + That all your joys in dying figures set, + And stain the living substance of your glory, + Abjure those joys, abhor their memory, + And let my love the honoured subject be + Of love, and honour's complete history; + Your eyes were never yet let in to see + The majesty and riches of the mind, + But dwell in darkness; for your god is blind." + +It must be confessed that the "painted cabinet" of the lady's beauty +absorbs more attention than the "majesty and riches of the mind," but +the glints of a loftier ideal shining now and then among the +conventions, lift the cycle above the level of mere ear-pleasing rhythms +and fantastical imageries. Moreover, the sonnet-cycles on the whole show +an independence and spontaneousness of poetic energy, a delight in the +pure joy of making, a _naivete_, that richly frame the picture of the +golden world they present. When Lodge, addressing his "pleasing +thoughts, apprentices of love," cries out: + + "Show to the world, though poor and scant my skill is, + How sweet thoughts be that are but thought on Phillis," + +we feel that we are being taken back to an age more childlike than our +own; and when the sonneteers vie with each other on the themes of sleep, +death, time, and immortality, the door often stands open toward +sublimity. Then when the sonnet-cycle was consecrated to noble and +spiritual uses in Chapman's _Coronet for his Mistress Philosophy_, +Barnes's _Divine Century of Spiritual Sonnets_, Constable's _Spiritual +Sonnets in Honour of God and His Saints_, and Donne's _Holy Sonnets_, +all made before 1600, the symbolic theme was added to the conventions of +the sonnet-realm, the scope of its content was broadened; and the sonnet +was well on its way toward a time when it could be named a trumpet, +upon which a mighty voice could blow soul-animating strains. + +One of the most fascinating questions in the study of the sonnet-cycles +is as to how much basis the story has in reality. Stella we know, the +star-crossed love of Sidney, and Spenser's happy Elizabeth, but-- + + "Who is Silvia? What is she + That all the swains commend her?" + +Who is Delia, Diana, Coelia, Caelica, and all the rhyming of musical +names? And who is the Dark Lady? What personalities hide behind these +poet's imaginings? We know that now, as in troubadour days, the praises +of grand ladies were sung with a warmth of language that should indicate +personal acquaintance when no such acquaintance existed; and the +sonneteers sometimes frankly confessed their passion "but supposed." All +this adds to the difficulty of interpretation. In most cases the poet +has effectually kept his secret; the search is futile, in spite of all +the "scholastic labour-lost" devoted to it. Equally tantalising are the +fleeting symbolisms that suggest themselves now and then. The +confession sometimes made by the poet, that high-flown compliment and +not true despair is intended, prepares us to accept the symbolic +application where it forces itself upon us, and to feel the presence +here and there of platonic or spiritual shadowings. Those who do not +find pleasure in the Arcadian world of the sonneteer's fancy, may still +justify their taste in the aspiration that speaks in his flashes of +philosophy. + + + + +PHILLIS + +HONORED WITH PASTORAL +SONNETS, ELEGIES, AND +AMOROUS DELIGHTS + +BY + +THOMAS LODGE + + + + +THOMAS LODGE + + +One of the first to take up the new fashion of the sonnet-cycle, was +Thomas Lodge, whose "Phillis" was published in 1595. Lodge had a wide +acquaintance among the authors of his time, and was in the thick of the +literary activity in the last two decades of the sixteenth century. But +in spite of his interesting personality and genius, he has had to wait +until the present time for full appreciation. To his own age he may have +appeared as a literary dilettante, who tried his hand at several forms +of writing, and being outshone by the more excellent in each field, gave +up the attempt and turned to the practice of medicine. This profession +engaged him for the last twenty-five years of his life, until his death +in 1625 at the advanced age of sixty-seven or eight. During all these +years the gay young "university wit" of earlier days was probably +forgotten in the venerable and successful physician. It was as "old +Doctor Lodge" that he was satirised in a Cambridge student's +Common-place Book in 1611. Heywood mentions him in 1609 among the six +most famous physicians in England, and in the _Return from Parnassus_, a +play acted in 1602, he is described as "turning over Galen every day." + +Yet no one had been in the last twenty years the sixteenth century more +responsive than Lodge to the shifting moods of that excitable period. +Lodge was the son of a Lord Mayor of London, and was a contemporary at +Oxford with Sidney, Gosson, Chapman, Lyly, Peele and Watson. His life +included a round of varied experiences. A student at Lincoln's Inn, a +young aspirant for literary honours, friends with Greene, Rich, Daniel, +Drayton, Lyly and Watson, a taster of the sorrows that many of the +University wits endured when usurers got their hands upon them, for a +time perhaps a soldier, certainly a sailor following the fortunes of +Captain Clarke to Terceras and the Canaries, and of Cavendish to Brazil +and the Straits of Magellan, in London again making plays with Greene, +off to Avignon to take his degree in medicine, back again to be +incorporated an M.D. at Oxford and to practise in London, adopting +secretly the Roman Catholic faith, and sometimes hiding on the continent +as a recusant from persecution at home, imprisoned perhaps once for +debt, and entertaining a concourse of patients of his own religion till +his death in 1625:--the life of Lodge thus presents a view of the ups +and downs possible in that picturesque age. + +The wide variety of his literary ventures reflects the interests of his +life. Some controversial papers, some unsuccessful plays, two dull +historical sketches in prose, some satirical and moralising works in +prose and in verse, two romantic tales in verse and three in prose, a +number of eclogues, metrical epistles and lyrics, some ponderous +translations from Latin and French, and two medical treatises; these +widely differing kinds of writing are the products of Lodge's industry +and genius. All, however, have but an antiquarian interest save two; the +prose romance called _Rosalynde, Euphues' Golden Legacy_, could not be +spared since Shakespeare borrowed its charming plot for _As You Like +It_; and _Phillis_, bound up with a sheaf of his lyrics gathered from +the pages of his stories and from the miscellanies of the time, should +be treasured for its own sake and should keep Lodge's memory green for +lovers of pure poetry. + +Lodge's lyric genius was a clear if slender rill. His faults are the +more unpardonable since they spring from sheer carelessness and a lack +of appreciation of the sacred responsibility of creative power. He took +up the literary fashion of the month and tried his hand at it; that +done, he was ready for the next mode. He did not wait to perfect his +work or to compare result with result; therefore he probably never found +himself, probably never realised that after three centuries he would be +esteemed, not for the ponderous tomes of his translation of Josephus, +not for all the catalogues of his satirical and religious and scientific +writings, but for mere lyrics like the "Heigh ho, fair Rosaline," and +"Love in my bosom like a bee," heedlessly imbedded in the heart of a +prose romance. + +Lodge was one of the earliest to follow the example of Sidney in linking +a sequence of sonnets together into a sonnet-cycle. The _Astrophel and +Stella_ was published in 1591, though it had doubtless before this been +handed about, as was the Elizabethan fashion, in manuscript. Early in +1591 also when Daniel was probably abroad, twenty-seven of the +fifty-seven sonnets that a year later formed the sonnet-cycle _Delia_ +were published in his absence. Now in August of 1591 Lodge set sail with +Cavendish on that long voyage to Brazil and the Straits of Magellan from +which he did not return till early in ninety-three, and it was during +his absence that Daniel's and Constable's sonnet-cycles came out. It is +possible that Lodge saw Daniel's series, as he doubtless did Sidney's, +in manuscript before he left England, but the Induction to _Phillis_, +which carries a message to Delia's "sweet prophet," was almost certainly +written later, and in the absence of further proof it seems no more than +fair to allow Lodge to share with Daniel and Constable the honour of +being the earliest to take the hint Sidney had offered. + +On the whole, Lodge's sonnets show a much more cheerful and buoyant +temper than Daniel's "wailing verse." The "sad horror, pale grief, +prostrate despair" that inform the _Delia_, are replaced in the +_Phillis_ by a spirit of airy toying, a pleasure in the graces of fancy +even when they cluster around a feeling of sadness. During Lodge's +absence, his friend Robert Green published several pieces for him, and +in one of the prefaces promised the public to present on his return +"what labours Lodge's sea-studies afford." _Phillis_ was the chief of +these sea-studies, and was like _Rosalynde_ "hatcht in the stormes of +the ocean and feathered in the surges of many perillous seas." But as +far as the imagery of the sonnets is concerned, the pageantry of day and +night at sea might have passed before blinded eyes; if it made any +impression, it was in the form of ocean-nymphs and Cupid at the helm. +The poet was in Arcadia, Phillis was a shepherdess, and the conventional +imageries of the pastoral valley were the environment. "May it please +you," he says in dedicating the book to the Countess of Shrewsbury, "to +looke and like of homlie Phillis in her Country caroling, and to +countenance her poore and affectionate sheapheard." The Countess of +Shrewsbury he chooses for the "Sovereign and she-Maecenas" of his toil, +and promises her "as much in affection as any other can performe in +perfection;" but the name of Phillis is no cover for the personality of +a grand lady, and therefore no puzzling questions disturb the pleasure +of the reader as the gentle modulations, the insidious alliterations, +and the musical cadences of his double rhymes fall upon the ear. + +Yet for this name or ideal, or whatever Phillis represented in the +poet's thought, he has poured forth a passion that has an air of +sincerity, an artless freshness, a flute-like clearness of tone, as rare +as delightful. It is the very voice of the oaten pipe itself, thin, +clear, and pure. The touches of seriousness are impossible, to mistake. +When the poet avows his faith in Phillis' constancy, after giving the +usual catalogue of her beauties, he says: + + "At thy fair hands who wonders not at all + Wonder itself through ignorance embases; + Yet not the less though wondrous gifts you call these + My faith is far more wonderful than all these." + +When Phillis persists in her disdain, he cries out impulsively: + + "Burst, burst, poor heart, thou hast no longer hope!" + +Even when re-moulding the familiar pastoral conceits, he makes the +fancies his own and gives to them a unique touch and spirit. Mere +conventions he rates at their proper value. His pen shall not "riot in +pompous style." He claims a brighter aspect for his poetical devotion +than his fellow-sonneteers manifest: + + "No stars her; eyes.... + .... but beams that clear the sight + Of him that seeks the true philosophy." + +In spite of its defects, the lax structure of the sonnet-form, the +obscurities and needless blurring, and the disappointing inequalities, +_Phillis_ takes a high place among the sonnet-cycles, and must ever be +dear to lovers of quiet, melodious verse, who have made themselves at +home in the golden world of the pastoral poets and mislike not the +country-carolling heard therein. + + + + +THE INDUCTION + + + I that obscured have fled the scene of fame, + Intitling my conceits to nought but care, + I that have lived a phoenix in love's flame, + And felt that death I never would declare, + Now mount the theater of this our age, + To plead my faith and Cupid's cursed rage. + + Oh you high sp'rited paragons of wit, + That fly to fame beyond our earthly pitch, + Whose sense is sound, whose words are feat and fit, + Able to make the coyest ear to itch; + Shroud with your mighty wings that mount so well, + These little loves, new crept from out the shell. + + And thou the true Octavia of our time, + Under whose worth beauty was never matched, + The genius of my muse and ragged rime, + Smile on these little loves but lately hatched, + Who from the wrastling waves have made retreat, + To plead for life before thy judgment seat. + + And though the fore-bred brothers they have had, + Who in their swan-like songs Amintas wept, + For all their sweet-thought sighs had fortune bad, + And twice obscured in Cinthia's circle slept, + Yet these I hope, under your kind aspect, + Most worthy Lady, shall escape neglect. + + And if these infants of mine artless brain, + Not by their worth but by thy worthiness, + A mean good liking of the learned gain, + My Muse enfranchised from forgetfulness + Shall hatch such breed in honour of thy name, + As modern poets shall admire the same. + + As modern poets shall admire the same; + I mean not you (you never matched men) + Who brought the chaos of our tongue in frame, + Through these Herculean labours of your pen; + I mean the mean, I mean no men divine, + But such whose feathers are but waxed like mine. + + Go, weeping truce-men in your sighing weeds, + Under a great Maecenas I have passed you; + If so you come where learned Colin feeds + His lovely flock, pack thence and quickly haste you; + You are but mists before so bright a sun, + Who hath the palm for deep invention won. + + Kiss Delia's hand for her sweet prophet's sake, + Whose not affected but well couched tears + Have power, have worth, a marble mind to shake, + Whose fame no iron-age or time outwears. + Then lay you down in Phillis' lap and sleep, + Until the weeping read, and reading weep. + + +I + + Oh pleasing thoughts, apprentices of love, + Fore-runners of desire, sweet mithridates + The poison of my sorrows to remove, + With whom my hopes and fear full oft debates! + Enrich yourselves and me by your self riches, + Which are the thoughts you spend on heaven-bred beauty, + Rouse you my muse beyond our poets' pitches, + And, working wonders, yet say all is duty! + Use you no eaglets' eyes, nor phoenix' feathers, + To tower the heaven from whence heaven's wonder sallies. + For why? Your sun sings sweetly to her weathers, + Making a spring of winter in the valleys. + Show to the world though poor and scant my skill is + How sweet thoughts be, that are but thought on Phillis! + + +II + + You sacred sea-nymphs pleasantly disporting + Amidst this wat'ry world, where now I sail; + If ever love, or lovers sad reporting, + Had power sweet tears from your fair eyes to hail; + And you, more gentle-hearted than the rest, + Under the northern noon-stead sweetly streaming, + Lend those moist riches of your crystal crest, + To quench the flames from my heart's AEtna streaming; + And thou, kind Triton, in thy trumpet relish + The ruthful accents of my discontent, + That midst this travel desolate and hellish, + Some gentle wind that listens my lament + May prattle in the north in Phillis' ears: + "Where Phillis wants, Damon consumes in tears." + + +III + + In fancy's world an Atlas have I been, + Where yet the chaos of my ceaseless care + Is by her eyes unpitied and unseen, + In whom all gifts but pity planted are; + For mercy though still cries my moan-clad muse, + And every paper that she sends to beauty, + In tract of sable tears brings woeful news, + Of my true heart-kind thoughts, and loyal duty. + But ah the strings of her hard heart are strained + Beyond the harmony of my desires; + And though the happy heavens themselves have pained, + To tame her heart whose will so far aspires, + Yet she who claims the title of world's wonder, + Thinks all deserts too base to bring her under. + + +IV + + Long hath my sufferance laboured to enforce + One pearl of pity from her pretty eyes, + Whilst I with restless rivers of remorse, + Have bathed the banks where my fair Phillis lies. + The moaning lines which weeping I have written, + And writing read unto my ruthful sheep, + And reading sent with tears that never fitten, + To my love's queen, that hath my heart in keep, + Have made my lambkins lay them down and sigh; + But Phillis sits, and reads, and calls them trifles. + Oh heavens, why climb not happy lines so high, + To rent that ruthless heart that all hearts rifles! + None writes with truer faith, or greater love, + Yet out, alas! I have no power to move. + + +V + + Ah pale and dying infant of the spring, + How rightly now do I resemble thee! + That selfsame hand that thee from stalk did wring, + Hath rent my breast and robbed my heart from me. + Yet shalt thou live. For why? Thy native vigour + Shall thrive by woeful dew-drops of my dolor; + And from the wounds I bear through fancy's rigour, + My streaming blood shall yield the crimson color. + The ravished sighs that ceaseless take their issue + From out the furnace of my heart inflamed, + To yield you lasting springs shall never miss you; + So by my plaints and pains, you shall be famed. + Let my heart's heat and cold, thy crimson nourish, + And by my sorrows let thy beauty flourish. + + +VI + + It is not death which wretched men call dying, + But that is very death which I endure, + When my coy-looking nymph, her grace envying, + By fatal frowns my domage doth procure. + It is not life which we for life approve, + But that is life when on her wool-soft paps + I seal sweet kisses which do batten love, + And doubling them do treble my good haps. + 'Tis neither love the son, nor love the mother, + Which lovers praise and pray to; but that love is + Which she in eye and I in heart do smother. + Then muse not though I glory in my miss, + Since she who holds my heart and me in durance, + Hath life, death, love and all in her procurance. + + +VII + + How languisheth the primrose of love's garden! + How trill her tears, th' elixir of my senses! + Ambitious sickness, what doth thee so harden? + Oh spare, and plague thou me for her offences! + Ah roses, love's fair roses, do not languish; + Blush through the milk-white veil that holds you covered. + If heat or cold may mitigate your anguish, + I'll burn, I'll freeze, but you shall be recovered. + Good God, would beauty mark now she is crased, + How but one shower of sickness makes her tender, + Her judgments then to mark my woes amazed, + To mercy should opinion's fort surrender! + And I,--oh would I might, or would she meant it! + Should hery[A] love, who now in heart lament it. + +[Footnote A: _hery_, praise.] + + +VIII + + No stars her eyes to clear the wandering night, + But shining suns of true divinity, + That make the soul conceive her perfect light! + No wanton beauties of humanity + Her pretty brows, but beams that clear the sight + Of him that seeks the true philosophy! + No coral is her lip, no rose her fair, + But even that crimson that adorns the sun. + No nymph is she, but mistress of the air, + By whom my glories are but new begun. + But when I touch and taste as others do, + I then shall write and you shall wonder too. + + +IX + + The dewy roseate Morn had with her hairs + In sundry sorts the Indian clime adorned; + And now her eyes apparreled in tears, + The loss of lovely Memnon long had mourned, + When as she spied the nymph whom I admire, + Combing her locks, of which the yellow gold + Made blush the beauties of her curled wire, + Which heaven itself with wonder might behold; + Then red with shame, her reverend locks she rent, + And weeping hid the beauty of her face, + The flower of fancy wrought such discontent; + The sighs which midst the air she breathed a space, + A three-days' stormy tempest did maintain, + Her shame a fire, her eyes a swelling rain. + + +X + + The rumour runs that here in Isis swim + Such stately swans so confident in dying, + That when they feel themselves near Lethe's brim, + They sing their fatal dirge when death is nighing. + And I like these that feel my wounds are mortal, + Contented die for her whom I adore; + And in my joyful hymns do still exhort all + To die for such a saint or love no more. + Not that my torments or her tyranny + Enforce me to enjoin so hard a task, + But for I know, and yield no reason why, + But will them try that have desire to ask. + As love hath wreaths his pretty eyes to seel, + So lovers must keep secret what they feel. + + +XI + + My frail and earthly bark, by reason's guide, + Which holds the helm, whilst will doth wield the sail, + By my desires, the winds of bad betide, + Hath sailed these worldly seas with small avail, + Vain objects serve for dreadful rocks to quail + My brittle boat from haven of life that flies + To haunt the sea of mundane miseries. + My soul that draws impressions from above, + And views my course, and sees the winds aspire, + Bids reason watch to scape the shoals of love; + But lawless will enflamed with endless ire + Doth steer empoop,[B] whilst reason doth retire. + The streams increase; love's waves my bark do fill; + Thus are they wracked that guide their course by will. + +[Footnote B: steer empoop (_text_: steerem poop): _en poupe_.] + + +XII + + Ah trees, why fall your leaves so fast? + Ah rocks, where are your robes of moss? + Ah flocks, why stand you all aghast? + Trees, rocks, and flocks, what, are you pensive for my loss? + The birds methinks tune naught but moan, + The winds breathe naught but bitter plaint, + The beasts forsake their dens to groan; + Birds, winds, and beasts, what doth my loss your powers attaint? + Floods weep their springs above their bounds, + And echo wails to see my woe, + The robe of ruth doth clothe the grounds; + Floods, echo, grounds, why do you all these tears bestow? + The trees, the rocks, and flocks reply, + The birds, the winds, the beasts report, + Floods, echo, grounds, for sorrow cry, + We grieve since Phillis nill kind Damon's love consort. + + +XIII + + Love guides the roses of thy lips, + And flies about them like a bee; + If I approach he forward skips, + And if I kiss he stingeth me. + Love in thine eyes doth build his bower, + And sleeps within their pretty shine; + And if I look the boy will lower, + And from their orbs shoots shafts divine. + Love works thy heart within his fire, + And in my tears doth firm the same; + And if I tempt it will retire, + And of my plaints doth make a game. + Love, let me cull her choicest flowers, + And pity me, and calm her eye, + Make soft her heart, dissolve her lowers, + Then will I praise thy deity. + But if thou do not love, I'll truly serve her + In spite of thee, and by firm faith deserve her. + + +XIV + + I wrote in Mirrha's bark, and as I wrote, + Poor Mirrha wept because I wrote forsaken; + 'Twas of thy pride I sung in weeping note, + When as her leaves great moan for pity maken. + The falling fountains from the mountains falling, + Cried out, alas, so fair and be so cruel! + And babbling echo never ceased calling, + Phillis, disdain is fit for none but truthless. + The rising pines wherein I had engraved + Thy memory consulting with the wind, + Are trucemen to thy heart and thoughts depraved, + And say, thy kind should not be so unkind. + But, out alas! so fell is Phillis fearless, + That she hath made her Damon well nigh tearless. + + +XV + + My Phillis hath the morning sun + At first to look upon her. + And Phillis hath morn-waking birds, + Her risings for to honour. + My Phillis hath prime-feathered flowers, + That smile when she treads on them, + And Phillis hath a gallant flock, + That leaps since she doth own them. + But Phillis hath so hard a heart-- + Alas that she should have it!-- + As yields no mercy to desert, + Nor grace to those that crave it. + Sweet sun, when thou look'st on, + Pray her regard my moan. + Sweet birds, when you sing to her, + To yield some pity woo her. + Sweet flowers, whenas she treads on, + Tell her, her beauty deads one. + And if in life her love she nill agree me, + Pray her before I die, she will come see me. + + +XVI + + I part; but how? from joy, from hope, from life; + I leave; but whom? love's pride, wit's pomp, heart's bliss; + I pine; for what? for grief, for thought, for strife; + I faint; and why? because I see my miss. + Oh ceaseless pains that never may be told, + You make me weep as I to water would! + Ah weary hopes, in deep oblivious streams + Go seek your graves, since you have lost your grounds! + Ah pensive heart, seek out her radiant gleams! + For why? Thy bliss is shut within those bounds! + All traitorous eyes, to[o] feeble in for[e] sight, + Grow dim with woe, that now must want your light! + I part from bliss to dwell with ceaseless moan, + I part from life, since I from beauty part, + I part from peace, to pine in care alone, + I part from ease to die with dreadful smart. + I part--oh death! for why? this world contains + More care and woe than with despair remains. + Oh loath depart, wherein such sorrows dwell, + As all conceits are scant the same to tell! + + +XVII + + Ah fleeting weal, ah sly deluding sleep, + That in one moment giv'st me joy and pain! + How do my hopes dissolve to tears in vain, + As wont the snows, 'fore angry sun to weep! + Ah noisome life that hath no weal in keep! + My forward grief hath form and working might; + My pleasures like the shadows take their flight; + My path to bliss is tedious, long and steep. + Twice happy thou Endymion that embracest + The live-long night thy love within thine arms, + Where thou fond dream my longed weal defacest + Whilst fleeting and uncertain shades thou placest + Before my eyes with false deluding charms! + Ah instant sweets which do my heart revive, + How should I joy if you were true alive! + + +XVIII + + As where two raging venoms are united, + Which of themselves dissevered life would sever, + The sickly wretch of sickness is acquited, + Which else should die, or pine in torments ever; + So fire and frost, that hold my heart in seizure, + Restore those ruins which themselves have wrought, + Where if apart they both had had their pleasure, + The earth long since her fatal claim had caught. + Thus two united deaths keep me from dying; + I burne in ice, and quake amidst the fire, + No hope midst these extremes or favour spying; + Thus love makes me a martyr in his ire. + So that both cold and heat do rather feed + My ceaseless pains, than any comfort breed. + + +XIX + + Thou tyrannizing monarch that dost tire + My love-sick heart through those assaulting eyes, + That are the lamps which lighten my desire! + If nought but death thy fury may suffice, + Not for my peace, but for thy pleasure be it, + That Phillis, wrathful Phillis that repines me + All grace but death, may deign to come and see it, + And seeing grieve at that which she assigns me. + This only boon for all my mortal bane + I crave and cry for at thy mercy seat: + That when her wrath a faithful heart hath slain, + And soul is fled, and body reft of heat, + She might perceive how much she might command, + That had my life and death within her hand. + + +XX + + Some praise the looks, and others praise the locks + Of their fair queens, in love with curious words; + Some laud the breast where love his treasure locks, + All like the eye that life and love affords. + But none of these frail beauties and unstable + Shall make my pen riot in pompous style; + More greater gifts shall my grave muse enable, + Whereat severer brows shall never smile. + I praise her honey-sweeter eloquence, + Which from the fountain of true wisdom floweth, + Her modest mien that matcheth excellence, + Her matchless faith which from her virtue groweth; + And could my style her happy virtues equal, + Time had no power her glories to enthral. + + +EGLOGA PRIMA DEMADES DAMON + +DEMADES + + Now scourge of winter's wrack is well nigh spent, + And sun gins look more longer on our clime, + And earth no more to sorrow doth consent, + Why been thy looks forlorn that view the prime? + Unneth thy flocks may feed to see thee faint, + Thou lost, they lean, and both with woe attaint. + For shame! Cast off these discontented looks; + For grief doth wait on life, though never sought; + So Thenot wrote admired for pipe and books. + Then to the spring attemper thou thy thought, + And let advice rear up thy drooping mind, + And leave to weep thy woes unto the wind. + +DAMON + + Ah Demades, no wonder though I wail, + For even the spring is winter unto me! + Look as the sun the earth doth then avail, + When by his beams her bowels warmed be; + Even so a saint more sun-bright in her shining + First wrought my weal, now hastes my winter's pining. + Which lovely lamp withdrawn from my poor eyes, + Both parts of earth and fire drowned up in woe + In winter dwell. My joy, my courage dies; + My lambs with me that do my winter know + For pity scorn the spring that nigheth near, + And pine to see their master's pining cheer. + The root which yieldeth sap unto the tree + Draws from the earth the means that make it spring; + And by the sap the scions fostered be, + All from the sun have comfort and increasing + And that fair eye that lights this earthly ball + Kills by depart, and nearing cheereth all. + As root to tree, such is my tender heart, + Whose sap is thought, whose branches are content; + And from my soul they draw their sweet or smart, + And from her eye, my soul's best life is lent; + Which heavenly eye that lights both earth and air, + Quells by depart and quickens by repair. + +DEMADES + + Give period to the process of thy plaint, + Unhappy Damon, witty in self-grieving; + Tend thou thy flocks; let tyrant love attaint + Those tender hearts that made their love their living. + And as kind time keeps Phillis from thy sight, + So let prevention banish fancy quite. + + Cast hence this idle fuel of desire, + That feeds that flame wherein thy heart consumeth; + Let reason school thy will which doth aspire, + And counsel cool impatience that presumeth; + Drive hence vain thoughts which are fond love's abettors, + For he that seeks his thraldom merits fetters. + + The vain idea of this deity + Nursed at the teat of thine imagination, + Was bred, brought up by thine own vanity, + Whose being thou mayst curse from the creation; + And so thou list, thou may as soon forget love, + As thou at first didst fashion and beget love. + +DAMON + + Peace, Demades, peace shepherd, do not tempt me; + The sage-taught wife may speak thus, but not practise; + Rather from life than from my love exempt me, + My happy love wherein my weal and wrack lies; + Where chilly age first left love, and first lost her, + There youth found love, liked love, and love did foster. + + Not as ambitious of their[C] own decay, + But curious to equal your fore-deeds, + So tread we now within your wonted way; + We find your fruits of judgments and their seeds; + We know you loved, and loving learn that lore; + You scorn kind love, because you can no more. + + Though from this pure refiner of the thought + The gleanings of your learnings have you gathered + Your lives had been abortive, base and naught, + Except by happy love they had been fathered; + Then still the swain, for I will still avow it; + They have no wit nor worth that disallow it. + + Then to renew the ruins of my tears + Be thou no hinderer, Demades, I pray thee. + If my love-sighs grow tedious in thine ears, + Fly me, that fly from joy, I list not stay thee. + Mourn sheep, mourn lambs, and Damon will weep by you; + And when I sigh, "Come home, sweet Phillis," cry you. + + Come home, sweet Phillis, for thine absence causeth + A flowerless prime-tide in these drooping meadows; + To push his beauties forth each primrose pauseth, + Our lilies and our roses like coy widows + Shut in their buds, their beauties, and bemoan them, + Because my Phillis doth not smile upon them. + + The trees by my redoubled sighs long blasted + Call for thy balm-sweet breath and sunny eyes, + To whom all nature's comforts are hand-fasted; + Breathe, look on them, and they to life arise; + They have new liveries with each smile thou lendest, + And droop with me, when thy fair brow thou bendest. + + I woo thee, Phillis, with more earnest weeping + Than Niobe for her dead issue spent; + I pray thee, nymph who hast our spring in keeping, + Thou mistress of our flowers and my content, + Come home, and glad our meads of winter weary, + And make thy woeful Damon blithe and merry. + + Else will I captive all my hopes again, + And shut them up in prisons of despair, + And weep such tears as shall destroy this plain, + And sigh such sighs as shall eclipse the air, + And cry such cries as love that hears my crying + Shall faint and weep for grief and fall a-dying. + + My little world hath vowed no sun shall glad it, + Except thy little world her light discover, + Of which heavens would grow proud if so they had it. + Oh how I fear lest absent Jove should love her! + I fear it, Phillis, for he never saw one + That had more heaven-sweet looks to lure and awe one. + + I swear to thee, all-seeing sovereign + Rolling heaven's circles round about our center, + Except my Phillis safe return again, + No joy to heart, no meat to mouth shall enter. + All hope (but future hope to be renowned, + For weeping Phillis) shall in tears be drowned. + +DEMADES + + How large a scope lends Damon to his moan, + Wafting those treasures of his happy wit + In registering his woeful woe-begone! + Ah bend thy muse to matters far more fit! + For time shall come when Phillis is interred, + That Damon shall confess that he hath erred. + + When nature's riches shall, by time dissolved, + Call thee to see with more judicial eye + How Phillis' beauties are to dust resolved, + Thou then shalt ask thyself the reason why + Thou wert so fond, since Phillis was so frail, + To praise her gifts that should so quickly fail. + + Have mercy on thyself, cease being idle, + Let reason claim and gain of will his homage; + Rein in these brain-sick thoughts with judgment's bridle, + A short prevention helps a mighty domage. + If Phillis love, love her, yet love her so + That if she fly, thou may'st love's fire forego. + + Play with the fire, yet die not in the flame; + Show passions in thy words, but not in heart; + Lest when thou think to bring thy thoughts in frame, + Thou prove thyself a prisoner by thine art. + Play with these babes of love, as apes with glasses, + And put no trust in feathers, wind, or lasses. + +DAMON + + Did not thine age yield warrantise, old man, + Impatience would enforce me to offend thee; + Me list not now thy forward skill to scan, + Yet will I pray that love may mend or end thee. + Spring flowers, sea-tides, earth, grass, sky, stars shall banish, + Before the thoughts of love or Phillis vanish. + + So get thee gone, and fold thy tender sheep, + For lo, the great automaton of day + In Isis stream his golden locks doth steep; + Sad even her dusky mantle doth display; + Light-flying fowls, the posts of night, disport them, + And cheerful-looking vesper doth consort them. + + Come you, my careful flock, forego you master, + I'll fold you up and after fall a-sighing; + Words have no worth my secret wounds to plaster; + Naught may refresh my joys but Phillis nighing. + Farewell, old Demades. + +DEMADES + + Damon, farewell. + How 'gainst advice doth headlong youth rebel! + +[Footnote C: Our?] + + +AN ELEGY + + Ah cruel winds, why call you hence away? + Why make you breach betwixt my soul and me? + Ye traitorous floods, why nil your floats delay + Until my latest moans discoursed be? + For though ye salt sea-gods withhold the rain + Of all your floats and gentle winds be still, + While I have wept such tears as might restrain + The rage of tides and winds against their will. + Ah shall I love your sight, bright shining eyes? + And must my soul his life and glory leave? + Must I forsake the bower where solace lives, + To trust to tickle fates that still deceive? + Alas, so wills the wanton queen of change, + That each man tract this labyrinth of life + With slippery steps, now wronged by fortune strange, + Now drawn by counsel from the maze of strife! + Ah joy! No joy because so soon thou fleetest, + Hours, days, and times inconstant in your being! + Oh life! No life, since with such chance thou meetest! + Oh eyes! No eyes, since you must lose your seeing! + Soul, be thou sad, dissolve thy living powers + To crystal tears, and by their pores express + The grief that my distressed soul devours! + Clothe thou my body all in heaviness; + My suns appeared fair smiling full of pleasure, + But now the vale of absence overclouds them; + They fed my heart with joys exceeding measure + Which now shall die, since absence needs must shroud them. + Yea, die! Oh death, sweet death, vouchsafe that blessing, + That I may die the death whilst she regardeth! + For sweet were death, and sweet were death's oppressing, + If she look on who all my life awardeth. + Oh thou that art the portion of my joy, + Yet not the portion, for thou art the prime; + Suppose my griefs, conceive the deep annoy + That wounds my soul upon this sorry time! + Pale is my face, and in my pale confesses + The pain I suffer, since I needs must leave thee. + Red are mine eyes through tears that them oppresses, + Dulled are my sp'rits since fates do now bereave thee. + And now, ah now, my plaints are quite prevented! + The winds are fair the sails are hoised high, + The anchors weighed, and now quite discontented, + Grief so subdues my heart as it should die. + A faint farewell with trembling hand I tender, + And with my tears my papers are distained. + Which closed up, my heart in them I render, + To tell thee how at parting I complained. + Vouchsafe his message that doth bring farewell, + And for my sake let him with beauty dwell. + + +THIRSIS EGLOGA SECUNDA + + Muses help me, sorrow swarmeth, + Eyes are fraught with seas of languish; + Heavy hope my solace harmeth, + Mind's repast is bitter anguish. + + Eye of day regarded never + Certain trust in world untrusty; + Flattering hope beguileth ever + Weary, old, and wanton lusty. + + Dawn of day beholds enthroned + Fortune's darling, proud and dreadless; + Darksome night doth hear him moaned, + Who before was rich and needless. + + Rob the sphere of lines united, + Make a sudden void in nature; + Force the day to be benighted, + Reave the cause of time and creature; + + Ere the world will cease to vary, + This I weep for, this I sorrow. + Muses, if you please to tarry, + Further helps I mean to borrow. + + Courted once by fortune's favour, + Compassed now with envy's curses, + All my thoughts of sorrow savour, + Hopes run fleeting like the sources. + + Ay me! Wanton scorn hath maimed + All the joy my heart enjoyed; + Thoughts their thinking have disclaimed, + Hate my hopes hath quite annoyed. + + Scant regard my weal hath scanted, + Looking coy hath forced my lowering; + Nothing liked where nothing wanted + Weds mine eyes to ceaseless showering. + + Former love was once admired, + Present favour is estranged, + Loath the pleasure long desired; + Thus both men and thoughts are changed. + + Lovely swain with lucky guiding, + Once (but now no more so friended) + Thou my flocks hast had in minding, + From the morn till day was ended. + + Drink and fodder, food and folding, + Had my lambs and ewes together; + I with them was still beholding, + Both in warmth and winter weather. + + Now they languish since refused, + Ewes and lambs are pained with pining; + I with ewes and lambs confused, + All unto our deaths declining. + + Silence, leave thy cave obscured; + Deign a doleful swain to tender; + Though disdains I have endured, + Yet I am no deep offender. + + Phillis' son can with his finger + Hide his scar, it is so little; + Little sin a day to linger, + Wise men wander in a tittle. + + Thriftless yet my swain have turned, + Though my sun he never showeth: + Though I weep, I am not mourned; + Though I want, no pity groweth. + + Yet for pity love my muses; + Gentle silence be their cover; + They must leave their wonted uses, + Since I leave to be a lover. + + They shall live with thee inclosed, + I will loathe my pen and paper + Art shall never be supposed, + Sloth shall quench the watching taper. + + Kiss them, silence, kiss them kindly + Though I leave them, yet I love them; + Though my wit have led them blindly, + Yet my swain did once approve them. + + I will travel soils removed, + Night and morrow never merry; + Thou shalt harbour that I loved, + I will love that makes me weary. + + If perchance the sheep estrayeth, + In thy walks and shades unhaunted, + Tell the teen my heart betrayeth, + How neglect my joys hath daunted. + + +XXI + + Ye heralds of my heart, mine ardent groans, + O tears which gladly would burst out to brooks, + Oh spent on fruitless sand my surging moans, + Oh thoughts enthralled unto care-boding looks! + Ah just laments of my unjust distress, + Ah fond desires whom reason could not guide! + Oh hopes of love that intimate redress, + Yet prove the load-stars unto bad betide! + When will you cease? Or shall pain never-ceasing, + Seize oh my heart? Oh mollify your rage, + Lest your assaults with over-swift increasing, + Procure my death, or call on timeless age. + What if they do? They shall but feed the fire, + Which I have kindled by my fond desire. + + +XXII + + Fair art thou, Phillis, ay, so fair, sweet maid, + As nor the sun, nor I have seen more fair; + For in thy cheeks sweet roses are embayed, + And gold more pure than gold doth gild thy hair. + Sweet bees have hived their honey on thy tongue, + And Hebe spiced her nectar with thy breath; + About thy neck do all the graces throng, + And lay such baits as might entangle death. + In such a breast what heart would not be thrall? + From such sweet arms who would not wish embraces? + At thy fair hands who wonders not at all, + Wonder itself through ignorance embases? + Yet natheless though wondrous gifts you call these, + My faith is far more wonderful than all these. + + +XXIII + + Burst, burst, poor heart! Thou hast no longer hope; + Captive mine eyes unto eternal sleep; + Let all my senses have no further scope; + Let death be lord of me and all my sheep! + For Phillis hath betrothed fierce disdain, + That makes his mortal mansion in her heart; + And though my tongue have long time taken pain + To sue divorce and wed her to desert, + She will not yield, my words can have no power; + She scorns my faith, she laughs at my sad lays, + She fills my soul with never ceasing sour, + Who filled the world with volumes of her praise. + In such extremes what wretch can cease to crave + His peace from death, who can no mercy have! + + +XXIV + + No glory makes me glorious or glad, + Nor pleasure may to pleasure me dispose, + No comfort can revive my senses sad, + Nor hope enfranchise me with one repose. + Nor in her absence taste I one delight, + Nor in her presence am I well content; + Was never time gave term to my despite, + Nor joy that dried the tears of my lament. + Nor hold I hope of weal in memory, + Nor have I thought to change my restless grief, + Nor doth my conquest yield me sovereignty, + Nor hope repose, nor confidence relief. + For why? She sorts her frowns and favours so, + As when I gain or lose I cannot know. + + +XXV + + I wage the combat with two mighty foes, + Which are more strong than I ten thousand fold; + The one is when thy pleasure I do lose, + The other, when thy person I behold. + In seeing thee a swarm of loves confound me, + And cause my death in spite of my resist, + And if I see thee not, thy want doth wound me, + For in thy sight my comfort doth consist. + The one in me continual care createth, + The other doth occasion my desire; + The one the edge of all my joy rebateth, + The other makes me a phoenix in love's fire. + So that I grieve when I enjoy your presence, + And die for grief by reason of your absence. + + +XXVI + + I'll teach thee, lovely Phillis, what love is. + It is a vision seeming such as thou, + That flies as fast as it assaults mine eyes; + It is affection that doth reason miss; + It is a shape of pleasure like to you, + Which meets the eye, and seen on sudden dies; + It is a doubled grief, a spark of pleasure + Begot by vain desire. And this is love, + Whom in our youth we count our chiefest treasure, + In age for want of power we do reprove. + Yea, such a power is love, whose loss is pain, + And having got him we repent our gain. + + +XXVII + + Fair eyes, whilst fearful I your fair admire, + By unexpressed sweetness that I gain, + My memory of sorrow doth expire, + And falcon-like, I tower joy's heavens amain. + But when your suns in oceans of their glory + Shut up their day-bright shine, I die for thought; + So pass my joys as doth a new-played story, + And one poor sigh breathes all delight to naught. + So to myself I live not, but for you; + For you I live, and you I love, but none else, + Oh then, fair eyes, whose light I live to view, + Or poor forlorn despised to live alone else, + Look sweet, since from the pith of contemplation + Love gathereth life, and living, breedeth passion. + + +XXVIII + + Not causeless were you christened, gentle flowers, + The one of faith, the other fancy's pride; + For she who guides both faith and fancy's power, + In your fair colors wraps her ivory side. + As one of you hath whiteness without stain, + So spotless is my love and never tainted; + And as the other shadoweth faith again, + Such is my lass, with no fond change acquainted. + And as nor tyrant sun nor winter weather + May ever change sweet amaranthus' hue, + So she though love and fortune join together, + Will never leave to be both fair and true. + And should I leave thee then, thou pretty elf? + Nay, first let Damon quite forget himself. + + +XXIX + + I feel myself endangered beyond reason, + My death already 'twixt the cup and lip, + Because my proud desire through cursed treason, + Would make my hopes mount heaven, which cannot skip; + My fancy still requireth at my hands + Such things as are not, cannot, may not be, + And my desire although my power withstands, + Will give me wings, who never yet could flee. + What then remains except my maimed soul + Extort compassion from love-flying age, + Or if naught else their fury may control, + To call on death that quells affection's rage; + Which death shall dwell with me and never fly, + Since vain desire seeks that hope doth deny. + + +XXX + + I do compare unto thy youthly clear, + Which always bides within thy flow'ring prime, + The month of April, that bedews our clime + With pleasant flowers, when as his showers appear. + Before thy face shall fly false cruelty, + Before his face the doly season fleets; + Mild been his looks, thine eyes are full of sweets; + Firm is his course, firm is thy loyalty. + He paints the fields through liquid crystal showers, + Thou paint'st my verse with Pallas, learned flowers; + With Zephirus' sweet, breath he fills the plains, + And thou my heart with weeping sighs dost wring; + His brows are dewed with morning's crystal spring, + Thou mak'st my eyes with tears bemoan my pains. + + +XXXI + + Devoid of reason, thrall to foolish ire, + I walk and chase a savage fairy still, + Now near the flood, straight on the mounting hill, + Now midst the woods of youth, and vain desire. + For leash I bear a cord of careful grief; + For brach I lead an over-forward mind; + My hounds are thoughts, and rage despairing blind, + Pain, cruelty, and care without relief. + But they perceiving that my swift pursuit + My flying fairy cannot overtake, + With open mouths their prey on me do make, + Like hungry hounds that lately lost their suit. + And full of fury on their master feed, + To hasten on my hapless death with speed. + + +XXXII + + A thousand times to think and think the same, + To two fair eyes to show a naked heart, + Great thirst with bitter liquor to restrain, + To take repast of care and crooked smart; + To sigh full oft without relent of ire, + To die for grief and yet conceal the tale, + To others' will to fashion my desire, + To pine in looks disguised through pensive-pale; + A short dispite, a faith unfeigned true, + To love my foe, and set my life at naught, + With heedless eyes mine endless harms to view, + A will to speak, a fear to tell the thought; + To hope for all, yet for despair to die, + Is of my life the certain destiny. + + +XXXIII + + When first sweet Phillis, whom I must adore, + Gan with her beauties bless our wond'ring sky, + The son of Rhea, from their fatal store + Made all the gods to grace her majesty. + Apollo first his golden rays among, + Did form the beauty of her bounteous eyes; + He graced her with his sweet melodious song, + And made her subject of his poesies. + The warrior Mars bequeathed her fierce disdain, + Venus her smile, and Phoebe all her fair, + Python his voice, and Ceres all her grain, + The morn her locks and fingers did repair. + Young Love, his bow, and Thetis gave her feet; + Clio her praise, Pallas her science sweet. + + +XXXIV + + I would in rich and golden-coloured rain, + With tempting showers in pleasant sort descend + Into fair Phillis' lap, my lovely friend, + When sleep her sense with slumber doth restrain. + I would be changed to a milk-white bull, + When midst the gladsome fields she should appear, + By pleasant fineness to surprise my dear, + Whilst from their stalks, she pleasant flowers did pull. + I were content to weary out my pain, + To be Narsissus so she were a spring, + To drown in her those woes my heart do wring. + And more; I wish transformed to remain, + That whilst I thus in pleasure's lap did lie, + I might refresh desire, which else would die. + + +XXXV + + I hope and fear, I pray and hold my peace, + Now freeze my thoughts and straight they fry again, + I now admire and straight my wonders cease, + I loose my bonds and yet myself restrain; + This likes me most that leaves me discontent, + My courage serves and yet my heart doth fail, + My will doth climb whereas my hopes are spent, + I laugh at love, yet when he comes I quail; + The more I strive, the duller bide I still. + I would be thralled, and yet I freedom love, + I would redress, yet hourly feed mine ill, + I would repine, and dare not once reprove; + And for my love I am bereft of power, + And strengthless strive my weakness to devour. + + +XXXVI + + If so I seek the shades, I presently do see + The god of love forsakes his bow and sit me by; + If that I think to write, his Muses pliant be + If so I plain my grief, the wanton boy will cry, + If I lament his pride, he doth increase my pain; + If tears my cheeks attaint, his cheeks are moist with moan; + If I disclose the wounds the which my heart hath slain, + He takes his fascia off, and wipes them dry anon. + If so I walk the woods, the woods are his delight; + If I myself torment, he bathes him in my blood; + He will my soldier be if once I wend to fight, + If seas delight, he steers my bark amidst the hood. + In brief, the cruel god doth never from me go, + But makes my lasting love eternal with my woe. + + +XXXVII + + These fierce incessant waves that stream along my face, + Which show the certain proof of my ne'er-ceasing pains, + Fair Phillis, are no tears that trickle from my brains; + For why? Such streams of ruth within me find no place. + These floods that wet my cheeks are gathered from thy grace + And thy perfections, and from hundred thousand flowers + Which from thy beauties spring; whereto I medley showers + Of rose and lilies too, the colours of thy face. + My love doth serve for fire, my heart the furnace is, + The aperries of my sighs augment the burning flame, + The limbec is mine eye that doth distil the same; + And by how much my fire is violent and sly, + By so much doth it cause the waters mount on high, + That shower from out mine eyes, for to assuage my miss. + + +XXXVIII + + Who lives enthralled to Cupid and his flame, + From day to day is changed in sundry sort; + The proof whereof myself may well report, + Who oft transformed by him may teach the same. + I first was turned into a wounded hart, + That bare the bloody arrow in my side; + Then to a swan that midst the waters glide, + With piteous voice presaged my deadly smart; + Eftsoons I waxed a faint and fading flower; + Then was I made a fountain sudden dry, + Distilling all my tears from troubled eye; + Now am I salamander by his power, + Living in flames, but hope ere long to be + A voice, to talk my mistress' majesty. + + +XXXIX + + My matchless mistress, whose delicious eyes + Have power to perfect nature's privy wants, + Even when the sun in greatest pomp did rise, + With pretty tread did press the tender plants. + Each stalk whilst forth she stalks, to kiss her feet + Is proud with pomp, and prodigal of sweet. + Her fingers fair in favouring every flower + That wooed their ivory for a wished touch, + By chance--sweet chance!--upon a blessed hour + Did pluck the flower where Love himself did couch. + Where Love did couch by summer toil suppressed, + And sought his sleeps within so sweet a nest. + The virgin's hand that held the wanton thrall, + Imprisoned him within the roseate leaves; + And twixt her teats, with favour did install + The lovely rose, where Love his rest receives. + The lad that felt the soft and sweet so nigh, + Drowned in delights, disdains his liberty; + And said, let Venus seek another son, + For here my only matchless mother is; + From whose fair orient orbs the drink doth run, + That deifies my state with greater bliss. + This said, he sucked, my mistress blushing smiled, + Since Love was both her prisoner and her child. + + +AN ODE + + Now I find thy looks were feigned, + Quickly lost, and quickly gained; + Soft thy skin, like wool of wethers, + Heart unstable, light as feathers, + Tongue untrusty, subtile-sighted, + Wanton will, with change delighted, + Siren pleasant, foe to reason, + Cupid plague thee for this treason! + + Of thine eyes, I made my mirror, + From thy beauty came mine error, + All thy words I counted witty, + All thy smiles I deemed pity. + Thy false tears that me aggrieved, + First of all my trust deceived. + Siren pleasant, foe to reason, + Cupid plague thee for this treason! + + Feigned acceptance when I asked, + Lovely words with cunning masked, + Holy vows but heart unholy; + Wretched man, my trust was folly! + Lily white and pretty winking, + Solemn vows, but sorry thinking. + Siren pleasant, foe to reason, + Cupid plague thee for this treason! + + Now I see, O seemly cruel, + Others warm them at my fuel! + Wit shall guide me in this durance, + Since in love is no assurance. + Change thy pasture, take thy pleasure; + Beauty is a fading treasure. + Siren pleasant, foe to reason, + Cupid plague thee for this treason! + + Prime youth lusts not age still follow, + And make white these tresses yellow; + Wrinkled face for looks delightful + Shall acquaint the dame despightful; + And when time shall eat thy glory, + Then too late thou wilt be sorry. + Siren pleasant, foe to reason, + Cupid plague thee for thy treason! + + +XL + + Resembling none, and none so poor as I, + Poor to the world, and poor in each esteem, + Whose first-born loves at first obscured did die, + And bred no fame but flame of base misdeem, + Under the ensign of whose tired pen, + Love's legions forth have masked, by others masked; + Think how I live wronged by ill-tongued men, + Not master of myself, to all wrongs tasked! + Oh thou that canst, and she that may do all things, + Support these languishing conceits that perish! + Look on their growth; perhaps these silly small things + May win this wordly palm, so you do cherish. + Homer hath vowed, and I with him do vow this, + He will and shall revive, if you allow this. + + + + +LICIA + +OR + +POEMS OF LOVE IN HONOR OF +THE ADMIRABLE AND SINGULAR +VIRTUES OF HIS LADY, TO THE +IMITATION OF THE BEST LATIN +POETS AND OTHERS + +BY + +GILES FLETCHER, LL.D. + + + + +GILES FLETCHER, LL.D. + + +Giles Fletcher, author of _Licia_, was one of that distinguished family +that included Richard Fletcher, the Bishop of London, and his son John +Fletcher, the dramatist. The two sons of Dr. Giles Fletcher were also +men of marked poetic ability: Phineas, the author of that extraordinary +allegorical poem, _The Purple Island_; and Giles, of _Christ's Victory +and Triumph_. There was a strong family feeling in this circle; Phineas +and Giles pay compliments to each other in their verse and show great +reverence and tenderness toward the memory of the poetic powers of their +father. But Giles Fletcher the elder was not thought of in his own time +as a poet. Educated at Eton and Trinity, Cambridge, where he was made +LL.D. in 1581, a member of Parliament in '85, employed in many public +services at home and abroad during a career that lasted until 1611, in +which year Dr. Fletcher died at the age of seventy-two, he was known as +a man of action, a man for public responsibility, rather than as the +retired scholar or riming courtier. Most important among the foreign +embassages undertaken by Fletcher was the one to Russia. The results +were of great import to England, commercially and otherwise, but the +book he wrote on his return was, for political reasons, suppressed. + +It happened that the years of enforced idleness that followed the +suppression of this book came in the time when the young sonneteers at +London were all busy. He returned from his embassage in '89; the book +was suppressed in '91. _Licia_ was published in '93. The writing of +_Licia_ was "rather an effect than a cause of idleness;" he did it "only +to try his humor," he says apologetically in the dedicatory addresses. +"Whereas my thoughts and some reasons drew me rather to have dealt in +causes of greater weight, yet the present jar of this disagreeing age +drives me into a fit so melancholy, as I had only leisure to grow +passionate." + +In case wise heads should think him to be treating "an idle subject and +so frivolous," or that it has been "vainly handled and so odious," he +sets forth the nobility of his view. "Howsoever, Love in this age hath +behaved himself in that loose manner as it is counted a disgrace to give +him but a kind look, yet I take the passion in itself to be of that +honor and credit, as it is a perfect resemblance of the greatest +happiness, and rightly valued at his just price (in a mind that is +sincerely and truly amorous), an affection of greatest virtue and able +of himself to eternise the meanest vassal." "For Love," he declares, "is +a goddess (pardon me though I speak like a poet) not respecting the +contentment of him that loves, but the virtues of the beloved; satisfied +with wondering, fed with admiration; respecting nothing but his lady's +worthiness; made as happy by love as by all favors; chaste by honor; far +from violence; respecting but one, and that one in such kindness, +honesty, truth, constancy, and honor, as were all the world offered to +make a change, yet the boot were too small and therefore bootless. This +is love, and far more than this, which I know a vulgar head, a base +mind, an ordinary conceit, a common person will not nor cannot have. +Thus do I commend that love wherewith in these poems I have honoured the +worthy Licia." + +The sonnet-cycle is inscribed "To the worthie kinde wise and virtuous +ladie, the Ladie Mollineux; wife to the right worshipful Sir Richard +Mollineux Knight." Nothing is known of this lady, except that her family +may possibly have been very distantly connected with that of Fletcher. +What the poet's feeling was towards his patroness he defines +sufficiently. "Now in that I have written love sonnets, if any man +measure my affection by my style, let him say I am in love.... Yet take +this by the way; though I am so liberal to grant thus much, a man may +write of love and not be in love, as well as of husbandry and not go to +the plough, or of witches and be none, or of holiness and be flat +profane." + +What "shadowings" the poet may intend he refuses to confide to us. "If +thou muse what my Licia is, take her to be some Diana, at the least +chaste; or some Minerva; no Venus, fairer far. It may be she is +Learning's image, or some heavenly wonder, which the precisest may not +dislike: perhaps under that name I have shadowed Discipline. It may be I +mean that kind courtesy which I found at the patroness of these poems. +It may be some college; it may be my conceit, and portend nothing." It +is evident then that the patroness herself is not the real person behind +the poetic title. He therefore dedicates _Licia_ to Lady Molineux, not +because the sonnets themselves are addressed to her, but because he has +received "favours undeserved" at her hands and those of "wise Sir +Richard" for which he "wants means to make recompence," and therefore in +the meantime he begs her to accept this. "If thou like it," he says to +the reader, "take it, and thank the worthy Lady Mollineux, for whose +sake thou hast it; worthy, indeed, and so not only reputed by me in +private affection of thankfulness but so equally to be esteemed by all +that know her. For if I had not received of her ... those unrequitable +favours, I had not thus idly toyed." + +A warm admirer of Fletcher has expressed his opinion that _Licia_ +"sparkles with brilliants of the first water." A more temperate +judgment is that of another, who says that he "took part without +discredit in the choir of singers who were men of action too." _Licia_ +is what a typical sonnet-cycle ought to be, a delicate and almost +intangible thread of story on which are strung the separate +sonnet-pearls. In this case the jewels have a particular finish. +Fletcher has adopted the idea of a series of quatrains, often extending +the number to four, and a concluding couplet, which he seems fond of +utilising to give an epigrammatic finish to the ingenious incident he so +often makes the subject of the sonnet. He is fully in the spirit of the +Italian mode, however, acknowledging in his title page his indebtedness +to poets of other nationalities than his own. + + + + +TO LICIA + +THE WISE, KIND, VIRTUOUS, AND FAIR + + + Bright matchless star, the honour of the sky, + From whose clear shine heaven's vault hath all his light, + I send these poems to your graceful eye; + Do you but take them, and they have their right. + I build besides a temple to your name, + Wherein my thoughts shall daily sing your praise; + And will erect an altar for the same, + Which shall your virtues and your honour raise. + But heaven the temple of your honour is, + Whose brasen tops your worthy self made proud; + The ground an altar, base for such a bliss + With pity torn, because I sighed so loud. + And since my skill no worship can impart, + Make you an incense of my loving heart. + Sad all alone not long I musing sat, + But that my thoughts compelled me to aspire, + A laurel garland in my hand I gat; + So the Muses I approached the nigher. + My suite was this, a poet to become, + To drink with them, and from the heavens be fed. + Phoebus denied, and sware there was no room, + Such to be poets as fond fancy led. + With that I mourned and sat me down to weep. + Venus she smiled, and smiling to me said, + "Come, drink with me, and sit thee still and sleep." + This voice I heard; and Venus I obeyed. + That poison sweet hath done me all this wrong, + For now of love must needs be all my song. + + +II + + Weary was love and sought to take his rest, + He made his choice, upon a virgin's lap; + And slyly crept from thence unto her breast, + Where still he meant to sport him in his hap; + The virgin frowned like Phoebus in a cloud; + "Go pack, sir boy, here is no room for such, + My breast no wanton foolish boy must shroud." + This said, my love did give the wag a touch; + Then as the foot that treads the stinging snake + Hastes to be gone, for fear what may ensue, + So love my love was forced for to forsake, + And for more speed, without his arrows flew. + "Pardon," he said, "For why? You seemed to me + My mother Venus in her pride to be." + + +III + + The heavens beheld the beauty of my queen, + And all amazed, to wonder thus began: + "Why dotes not Jove, as erst we all have seen, + And shapes himself like to a seemly man? + Mean are the matches which he sought before, + Like bloomless buds, too base to make compare, + And she alone hath treasured beauty's store, + In whom all gifts and princely graces are." + Cupid replied: "I posted with the sun + To view the maids that lived in those days, + And none there was that might not well be won, + But she, most hard, most cold, made of delays." + Heavens were deceived, and wrong they do esteem, + She hath no heat, although she living seem. + + +IV + + Love and my love did range the forest wild, + Mounted alike, upon swift coursers both. + Love her encountered, though he was a child. + "Let's strive," saith he, whereat my love was wroth, + And scorned the boy, and checked him with a smile. + "I mounted am, and armed with my spear; + Thou art too weak, thyself do not beguile; + I could thee conquer if I naked were." + With this love wept, and then my love replied: + "Kiss me, sweet boy, so weep my boy no more." + Thus did my love, and then her force she tried; + Love was made ice, that fire was before. + A kiss of hers, as I, poor soul, do prove, + Can make the hottest freeze and coldest love. + + +V + + Love with her hair my love by force hath tied, + To serve her lips, her eyes, her voice, her hand; + I smiled for joy, when I the boy espied + To lie unchained and live at her command. + She if she look, or kiss, or sing, or smile, + Cupid withal doth smile, doth sing, doth kiss, + Lips, hands, voice, eyes, all hearts that may beguile, + Because she scorns all hearts but only this. + Venus for this in pride began to frown + That Cupid, born a god, enthralled should be. + She in disdain her pretty son threw down, + And in his place, with love she chained me. + So now, sweet love, though I myself be thrall, + Not her a goddess, but thyself I call. + + +VI + + My love amazed did blush herself to see, + Pictured by art, all naked as she was. + "How could the painter know so much by me, + Or art effect what he hath brought to pass? + It is not like he naked me hath seen, + Or stood so nigh for to observe so much." + No, sweet; his eyes so near have never been, + Nor could his hands by art have cunning such; + I showed my heart, wherein you printed were, + You, naked you, as here you painted are; + In that my love your picture I must wear, + And show't to all, unless you have more care. + Then take my heart, and place it with your own; + So shall you naked never more be known. + + +VII + + Death in a rage assaulted once my heart + With love of her, my love that doth deny. + I scorned his force, and wished him to depart, + I heartless was, and therefore could not die. + I live in her, in her I placed my life, + She guides my soul, and her I honour must. + Nor is this life but yet a living strife, + A thing unmeet, and yet a thing most just. + Cupid enraged did fly to make me love, + My heart lay guarded with those burning eyes + The sparks whereof denied him to remove; + So conquered now, he like a captive lies; + Thus two at once by love were both undone, + My heart not loved, and armless Venus' son. + + +VIII + + Hard are the rocks, the marble, and the steel, + The ancient oak with wind and weather tossed; + But you, my love, far harder do I feel + Than flint, or these, or is the winter's frost. + My tears too weak, your heart they cannot move; + My sighs, that rock, like wind it cannot rent; + Too tiger-like you swear you cannot love; + But tears and sighs you fruitless back have sent. + The frost too hard, not melted with my flame, + I cinders am, and yet you feel no heat. + Surpass not these, sweet love, for very shame, + But let my tears, my vows, my sighs entreat; + Then shall I say as by trial find; + These all are hard, but you, my love, are kind. + + +IX + + Love was laid down, all weary fast asleep, + Whereas my love his armor took away; + The boy awaked, and straight began to weep, + But stood amazed, and knew not what to say. + "Weep not, my boy," said Venus to her son, + "Thy weapons none can wield, but thou alone; + Licia the fair, this harm to thee hath done, + I saw her here, and presently was gone; + She will restore them, for she hath no need + To take thy weapons where thy valour lies; + For men to wound the Fates have her decreed, + With favour, hands, with beauty, and with eyes." + No, Venus, no: she scorns them, credit me; + But robbed thy son that none might care for thee. + + +X + + A painter drew the image of the boy, + Swift love, with wings all naked, and yet blind; + With bow and arrows, bent for to destroy; + I blamed his skill, and fault I thus did find: + "A needless task I see thy cunning take; + Misled by love, thy fancy thee betrayed; + Love is no boy, nor blind, as men him make, + Nor weapons wears, whereof to be affrayed; + But if thou, love, wilt paint with greatest skill + A love, a maid, a goddess, and a queen; + Wonder and view at Licia's picture still, + For other love the world hath never seen; + For she alone all hope all comfort gives; + Men's hearts, souls, all, led by her favour lives." + + +XI + + In Ida vale three queens the shepherd saw, + Queens of esteem, divine they were all three, + A sight of worth. But I a wonder shaw, + Their virtues all in one alone to be. + Licia the fair, surpassing Venus' pride, + (The matchless queen, commander of the gods, + When drawn with doves she in her pomp doth ride) + Hath far more beauty, and more grace by odds + Juno, Jove's wife, unmeet to make compare, + I grant a goddess, but not half so mild; + Minerva wise, a virtue, but not rare; + Yet these are mean, if that my love but smiled. + She them surpasseth, when their prides are full + As far as they surpass the meanest trull. + + +XII + + I wish sometimes, although a worthless thing, + Spurred by ambition, glad to aspire, + Myself a monarch, or some mighty king, + And then my thoughts do wish for to be higher. + But when I view what winds the cedars toss, + What storms men feels that covet for renown, + I blame myself that I have wished my loss, + And scorn a kingdom, though it give a crown. + Ah Licia, though the wonder of my thought, + My heart's content, procurer of my bliss, + For whom a crown I do esteem as naught, + As Asia's wealth, too mean to buy a kiss! + Kiss me, sweet love, this favor do for me; + Then crowns and kingdoms shall I scorn for thee. + + +XIII + + Enamored Jove commanding did entreat + Cupid to wound my love, which he denied, + And swore he could not for she wanted heat + And would not love, as he full oft had tried. + Jove in a rage, impatient this to hear, + Replied with threats; "I'll make you to obey!" + Whereat the boy did fly away for fear + To Licia's eyes, where safe intrenched he lay. + Then Jove he scorned, and dared him to his face, + For now more safe than in the heavens he dwelled, + Nor could Jove's wrath do wrong to such a place + Where grace and honour have their kingdom held. + Thus in the pride and beauty of her eyes + The seely boy the greatest god defies. + + +XIV + + My love lay sleeping, where birds music made, + Shutting her eyes, disdainful of the light; + The heat was great but greater was the shade + Which her defended from his burning sight. + This Cupid saw, and came a kiss to take, + Sucking sweet nectar from her sugared breath; + She felt the touch, and blushed, and did awake, + Seeing t'was love, which she did think was death, + She cut his wings and caused him to stay, + Making a vow, he should not thence depart, + Unless to her the wanton boy could pay + The truest, kindest and most loving heart. + His feathers still she used for a fan, + Till by exchange my heart his feathers won. + + +XV + + I stood amazed, and saw my Licia shine, + Fairer than Phoebus, in his brightest pride, + Set forth in colors by a hand divine, + Where naught was wanting but a soul to guide. + It was a picture, that I could descry, + Yet made with art so as it seemed to live, + Surpassing fair, and yet it had no eye, + Whereof my senses could no reason give. + With that the painter bid me not to muse; + "Her eyes are shut, but I deserve no blame; + For if she saw, in faith, it could not choose + But that the work had wholly been a flame,"-- + Then burn me, sweet, with brightness of your eyes, + That phoenix-like from thence I may arise. + + +XVI + + Grant, fairest kind, a kiss unto thy friend! + A blush replied, and yet a kiss I had. + It is not heaven that can such nectar send + Whereat my senses all amazed were glad. + This done, she fled as one that was affrayed, + And I desired to kiss by kissing more; + My love she frowned, and I my kissing stayed, + Yet wished to kiss her as I did before. + Then as the vine the propping elm doth clasp, + Loath to depart till both together die, + So fold me, sweet, until my latest gasp, + That in thy arms to death I kissed may lie. + Thus whilst I live for kisses I must call; + Still kiss me, sweet, or kiss me not at all. + + +XVII + + As are the sands, fair Licia, on the shore, + Or colored flowers, garlands of the spring, + Or as the frosts not seen, not felt before, + Or as the fruits that autumn forth doth bring; + As twinkling stars, the tinsel of the night, + Or as the fish that gallop in the seas; + As airs each part that still escapes our sight, + So are my sighs, controllers of my ease. + Yet these are such as needs must have an end, + For things finite none else hath nature done; + Only the sighs, which from my heart I send, + Will never cease, but where they first begun. + Accept them, sweet, as incense due to thee; + For you immortal made them so to be. + + +XVIII + + I swear, fair Licia, still for to be thine, + By heart, by eyes, by what I held most dear; + Thou checked mine oath, and said: these were not mine, + And that I had no right by them to swear. + Then by my sighs, my passions, and my tears, + My vows, my prayers, my sorrow, and my love, + My grief, my joy, my hope, and hopeless fears, + My heart is thine, and never shall remove. + These are not thine, though sent unto thy view, + All else I grant, by right they are thine own; + Let these suffice that what I swear is true, + And more than this if that it could be known. + So shall all these though troubles ease my grief; + If that they serve to work in thee belief. + + +XIX + + That time, fair Licia, when I stole a kiss, + From off those lips, where Cupid lovely laid, + I quaked for cold, and found the cause was this: + My life which loved, for love behind me staid. + I sent my heart my life for to recall, + But that was held, not able to return, + And both detained as captives were in thrall, + And judged by her, that both by sighs should burn. + Fair, burn them both, for that they were so bold, + But let the altar be within thy heart; + And I shall live because my life you hold, + You that give life, to every living part; + A flame I took whenas I stole the kiss; + Take you my life, yet can I live with this. + + +XX + + First did I fear, when first my love began; + Possessed in fits by watchful jealousy, + I sought to keep what I by favour won, + And brooked no partner in my love to be. + But tyrant sickness fed upon my love, + And spread his ensigns, dyed with colour white; + Then was suspicion glad for to remove, + And loving much did fear to lose her quite. + Erect, fair sweet, the colors thou didst wear; + Dislodge thy griefs; the short'ners of content; + For now of life, not love, is all my fear, + Lest life and love be both together spent. + Live but, fair love, and banish thy disease, + And love, kind heart, both where and whom thou please. + + +XXI + + Licia my love was sitting in a grove, + Tuning her smiles unto the chirping songs, + But straight she spied where two together strove, + Each one complaining of the other's wrongs. + Cupid did cry lamenting of the harm; + Jove's messenger, thou wrong'st me too too far; + Use thou thy rod, rely upon the charm; + Think not by speech my force thou canst debar. + A rod, Sir boy, were fitter for a child, + My weapons oft and tongue and mind you took; + And in my wrong at my distress thou smiled, + And scorned to grace me with a loving look. + Speak you, sweet love, for you did all the wrong + That broke his arrows, and did bind his tongue. + + +XXII + + I might have died before my life begun, + Whenas my father for his country's good + The Persian's favor and the Sophy won + And yet with danger of his dearest blood. + Thy father, sweet, whom danger did beset, + Escaped all, and for no other end + But only this, that you he might beget, + Whom heavens decreed into the world to send. + Then father, thank thy daughter for thy life, + And Neptune praise that yielded so to thee, + To calm the tempest when the storms were rife, + And that thy daughter should a Venus be. + I call thee Venus, sweet, but be not wroth; + Thou art more chaste, yet seas did favor both. + + +XXIII + + My love was masked, and armed with a fan, + To see the sun so careless of his light, + Which stood and gazed, and gazing waxed wan + To see a star himself that was more bright. + Some did surmize she hid her from the sun, + Of whom in pride she scorned for to be kissed, + Or feared the harm by him to others done. + But these the reason of this wonder missed, + Nor durst the sun, if that her face were bare + In greatest pride, presume to take a kiss. + But she more kind did show she had more care + Than with her eyes eclipse him of his bliss. + Unmask you, sweet, and spare not; dim the sun; + Your light's enough, although that his were done. + + +XXIV + + Whenas my love lay sickly in her bed, + Pale death did post in hope to have a prey; + But she so spotless made him that he fled; + "Unmeet to die," she cried, and could not stay. + Back he retired, and thus the heavens he told; + "All things that are, are subject unto me, + Both towns, and men, and what the world doth hold; + But her fair Licia still immortal be." + The heavens did grant; a goddess she was made, + Immortal, fair, unfit to suffer change. + So now she lives, and never more shall fade; + In earth a goddess, what can be more strange? + Then will I hope, a goddess and so near, + She cannot choose my sighs and prayers but hear. + + +XXV + + Seven are the lights that wander in the skies, + And at these seven, I wonder in my love. + So see the moon, how pale she doth arise, + Standing amazed, as though she durst not move; + So is my sweet much paler than the snow, + Constant her looks, these looks that cannot change. + Mercury the next, a god sweet-tongued we know, + But her sweet voice doth wonders speak more strange. + The rising Sun doth boast him of his pride, + And yet my love is far more fair than he. + The warlike Mars can wieldless weapons guide, + But yet that god is far more weak than she. + The lovely Venus seemeth to be fair, + But at her best my love is far more bright. + Saturn for age with groans doth dim the air, + Whereas my love with smiles doth give it light. + Gaze at her brows, where heaven ingrafted is; + Then sigh, and swear, there is no heaven but this. + + +XXVI + + I live, sweet love, whereas the gentle wind + Murmurs with sport in midst of thickest boughs, + Where loving woodbine doth the harbor bind, + And chirping birds do echo forth my vows; + Where strongest elm can scarce support the vine, + And sweetest flowers enameled have the ground; + Where Muses dwell; and yet hereat repine + That on the earth so rare a place was found. + But winds delight, I wish to be content; + I praise the woodbine, but I take no joy; + I moan the birds that music thus have spent; + As for the rest, they breed but mine annoy. + Live then, fair Licia, in this place alone; + Then shall I joy though all of these were gone. + + +XXVII + + The crystal stream wherein my love did swim, + Melted in tears as partners of my woe; + Her shine was such as did the fountain dim, + The pearl-like fountain whiter than the snow; + Then like perfume, resolved with a heat, + The fountain smoked, as if it thought to burn; + A wonder strange to see the cold so great, + And yet the fountain into smoke to turn. + I searched the cause, and found it to be this: + She touched the water, and it burned with love. + Now by her means it purchased hath that bliss, + Which all diseases quickly can remove. + Then if by you these streams thus blessed be, + Sweet, grant me love, and be not worse to me. + + +XXVIII + + In time the strong and stately turrets fall, + In time the rose and silver lilies die, + In time the monarchs captive are and thrall, + In time the sea and rivers are made dry; + The hardest flint in time doth melt asunder; + Still living fame in time doth fade away; + The mountains proud we see in time come under; + And earth for age we see in time decay; + The sun in time forgets for to retire + From out the east where he was wont to rise; + The basest thoughts we see in time aspire, + And greedy minds in time do wealth despise. + Thus all, sweet fair, in time must have an end, + Except thy beauty, virtues, and thy friend. + + +XXIX + + Why died I not whenas I last did sleep? + O sleep too short that shadowed forth my dear! + Heavens, hear my prayers, nor thus me waking keep! + For this were heaven, if thus I sleeping were. + For in that dark there shone a princely light; + Two milk-white hills, both full of nectar sweet, + Her ebon thighs, the wonder of my sight, + Where all my senses with their objects meet,-- + I pass these sports, in secret that are best, + Wherein my thoughts did seem alive to be; + We both did strive, and weary both did rest; + I kissed her still, and still she kissed me. + Heavens, let me sleep, and shows my senses feed, + Or let me wake and happy be indeed! + + +XXX + + Whenas my Licia sailed in the seas, + Viewing with pride god Neptune's stately crown, + A calm she made, and brought the merchant ease, + The storm she stayed, and checked him with a frown. + Love at the stern sate smiling and did sing + To see how seas had learned for to obey; + And balls of fire into the waves did fling; + And still the boy full wanton thus did say:-- + "Both poles we burnt whereon the world doth turn, + The round of heaven from earth unto the skies; + And now the seas we both intend to burn, + I with my bow, and Licia with her eyes." + Then since thy force, heavens, earth, nor seas can move, + I conquered yield, and do confess I love. + + +XXXI + + Whenas her lute is tuned to her voice, + The air grows proud for honour of that sound, + And rocks do leap to show how they rejoice + That in the earth such music should be found. + Whenas her hair more worth, more pale than gold, + Like silver thread lies wafting in the air, + Diana-like she looks, but yet more bold; + Cruel in chase, more chaste and yet more fair. + Whenas she smiles, the clouds for envy breaks; + She Jove in pride encounters with a check; + The sun doth shine for joy whenas she speaks; + Thus heaven and earth do homage at her beck. + Yet all these graces, blots, not graces are, + If you, my love, of love do take no care. + + +XXXII + + Years, months, days, hours, in sighs I sadly spend; + I black the night wherein I sleepless toss; + I love my griefs yet wish them at an end; + Thus time's expense increaseth but my loss. + I musing stand and wonder at my love, + That in so fair should be a heart of steel; + And then I think my fancy to remove, + But then more painful I my passions feel; + Thus must I love, sweet fair, until I die, + And your unkindness doth my love increase. + I conquered am, I can it not deny; + My life must end, yet shall my love not cease. + Then heavens, make Licia fair most kind to me, + Or with my life my loss may finished be! + + +XXXIII + + I wrote my sighs, and sent them to my love; + I praised that fair that none enough could praise; + But plaints nor praises could fair Licia move; + Above my reach she did her virtues raise, + And thus replied: "False Scrawl, untrue thou art, + To feign those sighs that nowhere can be found; + For half those praises came not from his heart + Whose faith and love as yet was never found. + Thy master's life, false Scrawl shall be thy doom; + Because he burns, I judge thee to the flame; + Both your attempts deserve no better room." + Thus at her word we ashes both became. + Believe me, fair, and let my paper live; + Or be not fair, and so me freedom give. + + +XXXIV + + Pale are my looks, forsaken of my life, + Cinders my bones, consumed with thy flame, + Floods are my tears, to end this burning strife, + And yet I sigh for to increase the same; + I mourn alone because alone I burn; + Who doubts of this, then let him learn to love; + Her looks cold ice into a flame can turn, + As I distressed in myself do prove. + Respect, fair Licia, what my torments are; + Count but the tithe both of my sighs and tears; + See how my love doth still increase my care, + And care's increase my life to nothing wears. + Send but a sigh my flame for to increase, + Or lend a tear and cause it so to cease. + + +XXXV + + Whenas I wish, fair Licia, for a kiss + From those sweet lips where rose and lilies strive, + Straight do mine eyes repine at such a bliss, + And seek my lips thereof for to deprive; + Whenas I seek to glut mine eyes by sight, + My lips repine and call mine eyes away; + Thus both contend to have each other's right, + And both conspire to work my full decay. + O force admired of beauty in her pride, + In whose each part such strange effects there be, + That all my forces in themselves divide, + And make my senses plainly disagree. + If all were mine, this envy would be gone; + Then grant me all, fair sweet, or grant me none! + + +XXXVI + + Hear how my sighs are echoed of the wind; + See how my tears are pitied by the rain; + Feel what a flame possessed hath my mind; + Taste but the grief which I possess in vain. + Then if my sighs the blustering winds surpass, + And wat'ry tears the drops of rain exceed, + And if no flame like mine nor is nor was, + Nor grief like that whereon my soul doth feed, + Relent, fair Licia, when my sighs do blow; + Yield at my tears, that flintlike drops consume; + Accept the flame that doth my incense show, + Allow the grief that is my heart's perfume. + Thus sighs and tears, flame, grief shall plead for me; + So shall I pray, and you a goddess be. + + +XXXVII + + I speak, fair Licia, what my torments be, + But then my speech too partial do I find; + For hardly words can with those thoughts agree, + Those thoughts that swarm in such a troubled mind. + Then do I vow my tongue shall never speak + Nor tell my grief that in my heart doth lie; + But cannon-like, I then surcharged do break, + And so my silence worse than speech I try. + Thus speech or none, they both do breed my care; + I live dismayed, and kill my heart with grief; + In all respects my case alike doth fare + To him that wants, and dare not ask relief. + Then you, fair Lucia, sovereign of my heart, + Read to yourself my anguish and my smart. + + +XXXVIII + + Sweet, I protest, and seal it with an oath: + I never saw that so my thoughts did please; + And yet content displeased I see them wroth + To love so much and cannot have their ease. + I told my thoughts, my sovereign made a pause, + Disposed to grant, but willing to delay; + They then repined, for that they knew no cause, + And swore they wished she flatly would say nay. + Thus hath my love, my thoughts with treason filled, + And 'gainst my sovereign taught them to repine. + So thus my treason all my thoughts hath killed, + And made fair Licia say she is not mine. + But thoughts too rash my heart doth now repent; + And as you please, they swear, they are content. + + +XXXIX + + Fair matchless nymph, respect but what I crave; + My thoughts are true, and honour is my love; + I fainting die whom yet a smile might save; + You gave the wound, and can the hurt remove. + Those eyes like stars that twinkle in the night, + And cheeks like rubies pale in lilies dyed, + Those ebon hands that darting hath such might + That _in_ my soul my love and life divide, + Accept the passions of a man possessed; + Let love be loved and grant me leave to live; + Disperse those clouds that darkened have my rest, + And let your heaven a sun-like smile but give! + Then shall I praise that heaven for such a sun + That saved my life, whenas my grief begun. + + +XL + + My grief begun, fair saint, when first I saw + Love in those eyes sit ruling with disdain, + Whose sweet commands did keep a world in awe, + And caused them serve your favor to obtain. + I stood as one enchanted with a frown, + Yet smiled to see all creatures serve those eyes, + Where each with sighs paid tribute to that crown, + And thought them graced by your dumb replies. + But I, ambitious, could not be content + Till that my service more than sighs made known; + And for that end my heart to you I sent + To say and swear that, fair, it is your own. + Then greater graces, Licia, do impart, + Not dumb replies unto a speaking heart. + + +SONNET MADE UPON THE TWO TWINS, DAUGHTERS OF THE LADY MOLLINEUX, BOTH +PASSING LIKE, AND EXCEEDING FAIR + + Poets did feign that heavens a Venus had, + Matchless herself, and Cupid was her son; + Men sued to these, and of their smiles were glad, + By whom so many famous were undone. + Now Cupid mourns that he hath lost his might, + And that these two so comely are to see; + And Venus frowns because they have her right. + Yet both so like that both shall blameless be; + With heaven's two twins for godhead these may strive, + And rule a world with least part of a frown; + Fairer than these two twins are not alive, + Both conquering queens, and both deserve a crown. + My thoughts presage, which time to come shall try, + That thousands conquered for their love shall die. + + +XLI + + If, aged Charon, when my life shall end, + I pass thy ferry and my waftage pay, + Thy oars shall fall, thy boat and mast shall rend, + And through the deep shall be a dry foot-way. + For why? My heart with sighs doth breathe such flame + That air and water both incensed be, + The boundless ocean from whose mouth they came, + For from my heat not heaven itself is free. + Then since to me thy loss can be no gain, + Avoid thy harm and fly what I foretell. + Make thou thy love with me for to be slain, + That I with her and both with thee may dwell. + Thy fact thus, Charon, both of us shall bless, + Thou save thy boat and I my love possess. + + +XLII + + For if alone thou think to waft my love, + Her cold is such as can the sea command, + And frozen ice shall let thy boat to move, + Nor can thy forces row it from the land. + But if thou friendly both at once shalt take, + Thyself mayst rest. For why? My sighs will blow. + Our cold and heat so sweet a thaw shall make, + As that thy boat without thy help shall row. + Then will I sit and glut me on those eyes + Wherewith my life my eyes could never fill. + Thus from my boat that comfort shall arise, + The want whereof my life and hope did kill. + Together placed so thou her scorn shalt cross, + Where if we part thy boat must suffer loss. + + +XLIII + + Are those two stars, her eyes, my life's light gone, + By which my soul was freed from all dark? + And am I left distressed to live alone, + Where none my tears and mournful tale shall mark? + Ah sun, why shine thy looks, thy looks like gold, + When horsemen brave thou risest in the east? + Ah Cynthia pale, to whom my griefs I told, + Why do you both rejoice both man and beast? + And I alone, alone that dark possess + By Licia's absence brighter than the sun, + Whose smiling light did ease my sad distress, + And broke the clouds, when tears like rain begun. + Heavens, grant that light and so me waking keep, + Or shut my eyes and rock me fast asleep! + + +XLIV + + Cruel fair love, I justly do complain + Of too much rigor and thy heart unkind, + That for mine eyes thou hast my body slain, + And would not grant that I should favour find. + I looked, fair love, and you my love looked fair, + I sighed for love and you for sport did smile. + Your smiles were such as did perfume the air, + And this perfumed did my heart beguile. + Thus I confess the fault was in mine eyes, + Begun with sighs and ended with a flame. + I for your love did all the world despise; + And in these poems honored have your name. + Then let your love so with my fault dispense, + That all my parts feel not mine eyes' offense. + + +XLV + + There shone a comet, and it was full west. + My thoughts presaged what it did portend; + I found it threatened to my heart unrest, + And might in time my joys and comfort end. + I further sought and found it was a sun, + Which day nor night did never use to set. + It constant stood when heavens did restless run, + And did their virtues and their forces let. + The world did muse and wonder what it meant, + A sun to shine and in the west to rise; + To search the truth, I strength and spirits spent; + At length I found it was my Licia's eyes. + Now never after soul shall live in dark, + That hath the hap this western sun to mark. + + +XLVI + + If he be dead, in whom no heart remains, + Or lifeless be in whom no life is found; + If he do pine that never comfort gains, + And be distressed that hath his deadly wound; + Then must I die whose heart elsewhere is clad, + And lifeless pass the greedy worms to feed; + Then must I pine that never comfort had, + And be distressed whose wound with tears doth bleed. + Which if I do, why do I not wax cold? + Why rest I not like one that wants a heart? + Why move I still like him that life doth hold, + And sense enjoy both of my joy and smart? + Like Niobe queen which made a stone did weep, + Licia my heart dead and alive doth keep. + + +XLVII + + Like Memnon's rock, touched with the rising sun + Which yields a sound and echoes forth a voice, + But when it's drowned in western seas is done, + And drowsy-like leaves off to make a noise; + So I, my love, enlightened with your shine, + A poet's skill within my soul I shroud, + Not rude like that which finer wits decline, + But such as Muses to the best allowed. + But when your figure and your shape is gone + I speechless am like as I was before; + Or if I write, my verse is filled with moan, + And blurred with tears by falling in such store. + Then muse not, Licia, if my Muse be slack, + For when I wrote I did thy beauty lack. + + +XLVIII + + I saw, sweet Licia, when the spider ran + Within your house to weave a worthless web, + You present were and feared her with your fan, + So that amazed speedily she fled. + She in your house such sweet perfumes did smell, + And heard the Muses with their notes refined, + Thus filled with envy, could no longer dwell, + But straight returned and at your house repined. + Then tell me, spider, why of late I saw + Thee lose thy poison, and thy bowels gone; + Did these enchant and keep thy limbs in awe, + And made thy forces to be small or none? + No, no, thou didst by chance my Licia see, + Who for her look Minerva seemed to thee. + + +XLIX + + If that I die, fair Licia, with disdain, + Or heartless live surprised with thy wrong, + Then heavens and earth shall accent both my pain, + And curse the time so cruel and so long. + If you be kind, my queen, as you are fair, + And aid my thoughts that still for conquest strive, + Then will I sing and never more despair, + And praise your kindness whilst I am alive. + Till then I pay the tribute of my tears, + To move thy mercy and thy constant truth. + Respect, fair love, how these with sorrow wears + The truest heart unless it find some ruth. + Then grace me, sweet, and with thy favor raise me, + So shall I live and all the world shall praise thee. + + +L + + Ah Licia, sigh and say thou art my own; + Nay, be my own, as you full oft have said. + So shall your truth unto the world be known, + And I resolved where now I am afraid. + And if my tongue eternize can your praise, + Or silly speech increase your worthy fame, + If ought I can, to heaven your worth can raise, + The age to come shall wonder at the same. + In this respect your love, sweet love, I told, + My faith and truth I vowed should be forever. + You were the cause if that I was too bold; + Then pardon this my fault or love me never. + But if you frown I wish that none believe me, + For slain with sighs I'll die before I grieve thee. + + +LI + + When first the sun whom all my senses serve, + Began to shine upon this earthly round, + The heavens for her all graces did reserve, + That Pandor-like with all she might abound. + Apollo placed his brightness in her eyes, + His skill presaging and his music sweet. + Mars gave his force; all force she now defies; + Venus her smiles wherewith she Mars did meet; + Python a voice, Diana made her chaste, + Ceres gave plenty, Cupid lent his bow, + Thetis his feet, there Pallas wisdom placed. + With these she queen-like kept a world in awe. + Yet all these honors deemed are but pelf, + For she is much more worthy of herself. + + +LII + + O sugared talk, wherewith my thoughts do live! + O brows, love's trophy and my senses' shine! + O charming smiles, that death or life can give! + O heavenly kisses from a mouth divine! + O wreaths too strong, and trammels made of hair! + O pearls inclosed in an ebon pale! + O rose and lilies in a field most fair, + Where modest white doth make the red seem pale! + O voice whose accents live within my heart! + O heavenly hand that more than Atlas holds! + O sighs perfumed, that can release my smart! + O happy they whom in her arms she folds! + Now if you ask where dwelleth all this bliss, + Seek out my love and she will tell you this. + + +AN ODE + + Love, I repent me that I thought + My sighs and languish dearly bought. + For sighs and languish both did prove + That he that languished sighed for love. + Cruel rigor, foe to state, + Looks disdainful, fraught with hate, + I did blame, but had no cause; + Love hath eyes, but hath no laws. + She was sad and could not choose + To see me sigh and sit and muse. + We both did love and both did doubt + Least any should our love find out. + Our hearts did speak, by sighs most hidden; + This means was left, all else forbidden. + I did frown her love to try, + She did sigh and straight did cry. + Both of us did sighs believe, + Yet either grieved friend to grieve. + I did look and then did smile; + She left sighing all that while. + Both were glad to see that change, + Things in love that are not strange. + Suspicion, foolish foe to reason, + Caused me seek to find some treason. + I did court another dame, + False in love, it is a shame!-- + She was sorry this to view, + Thinking faith was proved untrue. + Then she swore she would not love + One whom false she once did prove. + I did vow I never meant + From promise made for to relent. + The more I said the worse she thought, + My oaths and vows were deemed as naught. + "False," she said "how can it be, + To court another yet love me? + Crowns and love no partners brook; + If she be liked I am forsook. + Farewell, false, and love her still, + Your chance was good, but mine was ill. + No harm to you, but this I crave, + That your new love may you deceive, + And jest with you as you have done, + For light's the love that quickly won." + "Kind, and fair-sweet, once believe me; + Jest I did but not to grieve thee. + Court I did, but did not love; + All my speech was you to prove. + Words and sighs and what I spent, + In show to her, to you were meant. + Fond I was your love to cross; + Jesting love oft brings this loss. + Forget this fault, and love your friend, + Which vows his truth unto the end." + "Content," she said, "if this you keep." + Thus both did kiss, and both did weep. + For women long they cannot chide, + As I by proof in this have tried. + + +A DIALOGUE BETWIXT TWO SEA-NYMPHS DORIS AND GALATEA CONCERNING +POLPHEMUS; BRIEFLY TRANSLATED OUT OF LUCIAN + + The sea-nymphs late did play them on the shore, + And smiled to see such sport was new begun, + A strife in love, the like not heard before, + Two nymphs contend which had the conquest won. + Doris the fair with Galate did chide; + She liked her choice, and to her taunts replied. + +DORIS + + Thy love, fair nymph, that courts thee on this plain, + As shepherds say and all the world can tell, + Is that foul rude Sicilian Cyclop-swain; + A shame, sweet nymph, that he with thee should mell. + +GALATEA + + Smile not, fair Doris, though he foul do seem, + Let pass thy words that savour of disgrace; + He's worth my love, and so I him esteem, + Renowned by birth, and come of Neptune's race, + Neptune that doth the glassy ocean tame, + Neptune, by birth from mighty Jove which came. + +DORIS + + I grant an honour to be Neptune's child, + A grace to be so near with Jove allied. + But yet, sweet nymph, with this be not beguiled; + Where nature's graces are by looks decried, + So foul, so rough, so ugly as a clown, + And worse than this, a monster with one eye! + Foul is not graced, though it wear a crown, + But fair is beauty, none can that deny. + +GALATEA + + Nor is he foul or shapeless as you say, + Or worse; for that he clownish seems to be, + Rough, satyr-like, the better he will play, + And manly looks the fitter are for me. + His frowning smiles are graced by his beard, + His eye-light, sun-like, shrouded is in one. + This me contents, and others make afeard. + He sees enough, and therefore wanteth none. + +DORIS + + Nay, then I see, sweet nymph, thou art in love, + And loving, dotes; and doting, dost commend + Foul to be fair; this oft do lovers prove; + I wish him fairer, or thy love an end. + +GALATEA + + Doris, I love not, yet I hardly bear + Disgraceful terms, which you have spoke in scorn. + You are not loved; and that's the cause I fear; + For why? My love of Jove himself was born. + Feeding his sheep of late amidst this plain, + Whenas we nymphs did sport us on the shore, + He scorned you all, my love for to obtain; + That grieved your hearts; I knew as much before. + Nay, smile not, nymphs, the truth I only tell, + For few can brook that others should excel. + +DORIS + + Should I envy that blind did you that spite? + Or that your shape doth please so foul a groom? + The shepherd thought of milk, you looked so white; + The clown did err, and foolish was his doom. + Your look was pale, and so his stomach fed; + But far from fair, where white doth want his red. + +GALATEA + + Though pale my look, yet he my love did crave, + And lovely you, unliked, unloved I view; + It's better far one base than none to have; + Your fair is foul, to whom there's none will sue. + My love doth tune his love unto his harp. + His shape is rude, but yet his wit is sharp. + +DORIS + + Leave off, sweet nymph, to grace a worthless clown. + He itched with love, and then did sing or say; + The noise was such as all the nymphs did frown, + And well suspected that some ass did bray. + The woods did chide to hear this ugly sound + The prating echo scorned for to repeat; + This grisly voice did fear the hollow ground, + Whilst artless fingers did his harpstrings beat. + Two bear-whelps in his arms this monster bore, + With these new puppies did this wanton play; + Their skins was rough but yet your loves was more; + He fouler was and far more fierce than they. + I cannot choose, sweet nymph, to think, but smile + That some of us thou fear'st will thee beguile. + +GALATEA + + Scorn not my love, until it can be known + That you have one that's better of your own. + +DORIS + + I have no love, nor if I had, would boast; + Yet wooed have been by such as well might speed: + But him to love, the shame of all the coast, + So ugly foul, as yet I have no need. + Now thus we learn what foolish love can do, + To think him fair that's foul and ugly too. + + To hear this talk, I sat behind an oak, + And marked their words and penned them as they spoke. + + +AD LECTOREM, DISTICHON + +CUJUSDAM DE AUTORE + + Lascivi quaeres fuerit cur carminis autor: + Carmine lascivus, mente pudicus erat. + + +A LOVER'S MAZE + + True are my thoughts, my thoughts that are untrue, + Blind are my eyes, my eyes that are not blind, + New is my love, my love that is not new, + Kind is that fair, that fair that is not kind. + Thus eyes and thoughts, that fairest fair, my love, + Blind and untrue, unkind, unconstant prove. + + True are my thoughts because they never flit, + Untrue my thoughts because they me betrayed; + Blind are my eyes because in clouds I sit, + Not blind my eyes because I looks obeyed. + Thus eyes and thoughts, my dearest fair may view + In sight, in love, not blind, nor yet untrue. + + New is my love because it never dies, + Old is my love because it ever lives; + Kind is that fair because it hate denies, + Unkind that fair because no hope it gives. + Thus new my love, and still that fair unkind, + Renews my love, and I no favour find. + + Sweet are my dreams, my dreams that are not sweet, + Long are the nights, the nights that are not long, + Meet are the pangs, these pangs that are unmeet, + Wronged is my heart, my heart that hath no wrong. + Thus dreams, and night, my heart, my pangs, and all + In taste, in length, conspire to work my fall. + + Sweet are my dreams because my love they show, + Unsweet my dreams because but dreams they are; + Long are the nights because no help I know, + Meet are the nights because they end my care. + Thus dreams and nights wherein my love take sport, + Are sweet, unsweet, are long, and yet too short. + + Meet are my pangs because I was too bold, + Unmeet my pangs because I loved so well; + Wronged was my heart because my grief it told, + Not wronged. For why? My grief it could not tell. + Thus you my love unkindly cause this smart, + That will not love to ease my pangs and heart. + + Proud is her look, her look that is not proud, + Done all my days, my days that are not done, + Loud are my sighs, my sighs that are not loud, + Begun my death, my death not yet begun. + Thus looks and days and sighs and death might move + So kind, so fair, to give consent to love. + + Proud is her look because she scorns to see, + Not proud her look for none dare say so much; + Done are my days because they hapless be, + Not done my days because I wish them such. + Thus looks and days increase this loving strife. + Not proud, nor done, nor dead, nor giving life. + + Loud are my sighs because they pierce the sky, + Not loud my sighs because they are not heard; + My death begun because I artless cry, + But not begun because I am debarred. + Thus sighs and death my heart no comfort give; + Both life deny, and both do make me live. + + Bold are her smiles, her smiles that are not bold, + Wise are her words, those words that are not wise, + Cold are her lips, those lips that are not cold, + Ice are those hands, those hands that are not ice. + Thus smiles and words, her lips, her hands, and she, + Bold, wise, cold, ice, love's cruel torments be. + + Bold are her smiles, because they anger slay, + Not bold her smiles because they blush so oft; + Wise are her words because they wonders say, + Not wise her words because they are not soft. + Thus smiles and words, so cruel and so bold, + So blushing wise, my thoughts in prison hold. + + Cold are her lips because they breathe no heat, + Not cold her lips because my heart they burn; + Ice are her hands because the snow's so great, + Not ice her hands that all to ashes turn. + Thus lips and hands cold ice my sorrow brew; + Hands, warm white snow and lips cold cherry-red. + + Small was her waist, the waist that was not small, + Gold was her hair, the hair that was not gold, + Tall was her shape, the shape that was not tall; + Folding the arms, the arms that did not fold. + Thus hair and shape, those folding arms and waist, + Did make me love, and loving made me waste. + + Small was her waist, because I could it span, + Not small her waist because she wanted all; + Gold was her hair because a crown it wan, + Not gold her hair because it was more pale. + Thus smallest waist, the greatest waste doth make, + And finest hair most fast a lover take. + + Tall was her shape because she touched the sky, + Not tall her shape because she comely was; + Folding her arms because she hearts could tie, + Not folded arms because all bands they pass. + Thus shape and arms with love my heart did ply, + That hers I am, and must be till I die. + + Sad was her joy, her joy that was not sad, + Short was her stay, her stay that was not short, + Glad was her speech, her speech that was not glad, + Sporting those toys, those toys that were not sport. + Thus was my heart with joy, speech, toys and stay, + Possessed with love, and so stol'n quite away. + + Sad was her joy because she did respect, + Not sad her joy because her joy she had, + Short was her stay because to small effect, + Long was her stay because I was so sad. + Thus joy and stay, both crossed a lover's sport, + The one was sad, the other too too short. + + Glad was her speech because she spake her mind, + Not glad her speech because afraid to speak; + Sporting her toys because my love was kind, + Not toys in sport because my heart they break. + Thus speech and toys my love began in jest; + Sweet, yield to love, and make thy servant blest. + + Tread you the maze, sweet love, that I have run, + Mark but the steps which I imprinted have; + End but your love whereas my thoughts begun; + So shall I joy and you a servant have. + If not, sweet love, then this my suit deny; + So shall you live, and so your servant die. + + +AN ELEGY + +I + + Down in a bed and on a bed of down, + Love, she, and I to sleep together lay; + She like a wanton kissed me with a frown, + Sleep, sleep, she said, but meant to steal away; + I could not choose but kiss, but wake, but smile, + To see how she thought us two to beguile. + + She feigned a sleep, I waked her with a kiss; + A kiss to me she gave to make me sleep; + If I did wrong, sweet love, my fault was this, + In that I did not you thus waking keep. + "Then kiss me, sweet, that so I sleep may take, + Or let me kiss to keep you still awake." + + The night drew on and needs she must be gone; + She waked Love, and bid him learn to wait; + She sighed, she said, to leave me there alone, + And bid Love stay but practise no deceit. + Love wept for grief, and sighing made great moan, + And could not sleep nor stay if she were gone. + + "Then stay, sweet love;" a kiss with that I gave; + She could not stay, but gave my kiss again; + A kiss was all that I could get or crave, + And with a kiss she bound me to remain. + "Ah Licia," still I in my dreams did cry, + "Come, Licia, come, or else my heart will die." + + +II + + Distance of place my love and me did part, + Yet both did swear we never would remove; + In sign thereof I bid her take my heart, + Which did, and doth, and can not choose but love. + Thus did we part in hope to meet again, + Where both did vow most constant to remain. + + A she there was that passed betwixt us both, + By whom each knew how other's cause did fare; + For men to trust men in their love are loth; + Thus had we both of love a lover's care. + Haply he seeks his sorrows to renew, + That for his love doth make another sue. + + By her a kiss, a kiss to me she sent. + A kiss for price more worth than purest gold. + She gave it her, to me the kiss was meant; + A she to kiss, what harm if she were bold? + Happy those lips that had so sweet a kiss, + For heaven itself scarce yields so sweet a bliss! + + This modest she, blushing for shame of this, + Or loth to part from that she liked so well, + Did play false play, and gave me not the kiss; + Yet my love's kindness could not choose to tell. + Then blame me not, that kissing sighed and swore + I kissed but her whom you had kissed before. + + Sweet, love me more, and blame me not, sweet love; + I kissed those lips, yet harmless I do vow; + Scarce would my lips from off those lips remove, + For still methought, sweet fair, I kissed you. + And thus, kind love, the sum of all my bliss + Was but begun and ended in a kiss. + + Then send me more, but send them by your friend; + Kiss none but her, nor her, nor none at all. + Beware by whom such treasures you do send, + I must them lose except I for them call. + And love me, dear, and still still kissing be; + Both like and love, but none, sweet love, but me. + + +III + + If sad complaint would show a lover's pain, + Or tears express the torments of my heart, + If melting sighs would ruth and pity gain, + Or true laments but ease a lover's smart; + + Then should my plaints the thunder's noise surmount, + And tears like seas should flow from out my eyes; + Then sighs like air should far exceed all count, + And true laments with sorrow dim the skies. + + But plaints and tears, laments and sighs I spend, + Yet greater torments do my heart destroy; + I could all these from out my heart still send, + If after these I might my love enjoy. + + But heavens conspire, and heavens I must obey, + That seeking love I still must want my ease; + For greatest joys are tempered with delay, + Things soon obtained do least of all us please. + + My thoughts repine and think the time too long, + My love impatient wisheth to obtain; + I blame the heavens that do me all this wrong + To make me loved and will not ease my pain. + + No pain like this, to love and not enjoy; + No grief like this, to mourn and not be heard; + No time so long as that which breeds annoy; + No hell like this, to love and be deferred! + + But heaven shall stand and earth inconstant fly, + The sun shall freeze and ice inconstant burn, + The mountains flow and all the earth be dry, + Ere time shall force my loving thoughts to turn. + + Do you resolve, sweet love, to do the same, + Say that you do, and seal it with a kiss. + Then shall our truths the heavens' unkindness blame + That can not hurt yet show their spite in this. + + The silly 'prentice bound for many years, + Doth hope that time his service will release; + The town beseiged that lives in midst of fears, + Doth hope in time the cruel wars will cease. + + The toiling plough-man sings in hope to reap, + The tossed bark expecteth for a shore; + The boy at school to be at play doth leap, + And straight forgets the fear he had before. + + If those by hope do joy in their distress, + And constant are in hope to conquer time, + Then let not hope in us, sweet friend, be less, + And cause our love to wither in the prime. + + Let me conspire and time will have an end, + So both of us in time shall have a friend. + + +FINIS. + + +Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO., London & Edinburgh. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Elizabethan Sonnet Cycles, by +Thomas Lodge and Giles Fletcher + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ELIZABETHAN SONNET CYCLES *** + +***** This file should be named 18841.txt or 18841.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/8/4/18841/ + +Produced by David Starner, Taavi Kalju and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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