Diana of George of Montemayor :: :: University of Virginia Library

Haire in change what libertie,
Since I sawe you, haue I seene?
How vnseemely hath this greene
Bene a signe of hope to me?
Once I thought no Shepherd might
In these fieldes be found (O haire)
(Though I did it with some feare)
Worthy to come neere your sight.
Haire, how many times and tydes
Did my faire Diana spie,
If I ware or left you by
And a thousand toyes besides.
And how oft in weeping sort
(Of deceitfull teares O springs)
Was she iealous of the things,
Which I spake or did in sport?
Those faire eies which wrought my woe,
(Golden haire) tell me what fault
In beleeuing them I caught,
When they did assure me soe?
Saw you not how she did greeue,
Spilling daily many a teare,
Vnto her till I did sweare,
That I did her words beleeue?
Who more beautie euer knew
In a subiect of such change,
Or more sorrowes or more strange
In a loue so perfect true?
On the sand her did I see
Sitting by yon riuer bright,
Where her finger this did wright
Rather dead then changed be.
See how loue beares vs in hand,
Making vs beleeue the wordes,
That a womans wit affordes,
And recorded in the sand.

[I am a louer, but was neuer loued]

I am a louer, but was neuer loued,
Well haue I lou'd, and will though hated euer,
Troubles I passe, but neuer any mooued,
Sighes haue I giuen, and yet she heard me neuer:
I would complaine, and she would neuer heare me,

And flie from loue, but it is euer neere me:
Obliuion onely blamelesse doth beset me,
For that remembreth neuer to forget me.

For euery ill one semblant I doe beare still,
To day not sad, nor yesterday contented,
To looke behinde, or go before I feare still,
All things to passe alike I haue consented:
I am besides my selfe like him that daunceth,
And mooues his feete at euery sound that chaunceth:
And so all like a senselesse foole disdaines me,
But this is nothing to the greefe that paines me.

The night to certaine louers is a trouble,
When in the day some good they are attending:
And other some doe hope to gaine some double
Pleasure by night, and wish the day were ending:
With that, that greeueth some, some others ease them,
And all do follow that, that best doth please them:
But for the day with teares I am a crying,
Which being come, for night I am a dying.

Of Cupid to complaine who euer craue it,
In waues he writes and to the windes he crieth:
Or seeketh helpe of him, that neuer gaue it:
For he at last thy paines and thee defieth.
Come but to him some good aduise to lend thee,
To thousand od conceits he will commend thee.
What thing is then this loue? It is a science,
That sets both proofe and study at defiance.

My Mistresse loued her Syrenus deerely,
And scorned me, whose loues yet I auouched,
Left to my greefe, for good I held it cleerely,
Though narrowly my life and soule it touched:
Had I but had a heauen as he once shining,
Loue would I blame, if it had bene declining.
But loue did take no good from me he sent me,
For how can loue take that he neuer lent me.

Loue's not a thing, that any may procure it,
Loue's not a thing, that may be bought for treasure;
Loue's not a thing, that comes when any lure it,
Loue's not a thing, that may be found at pleasure:
For if it be not borne with thee, refraine it
To thinke, thou must be borne anew to gaine it:
Then since that loue shuns force, and doth disclame it,
The scorned louer hath no cause to blame it.

[For a fauour of such woorth]

For a fauour of such woorth
In no debt I doe remaine,
Since with selfe same coyne againe
(Mistresse) thou art paide right foorth.
For if I enioy with free
Pleasure, seeing before me
Face and eies, where Cupid stands:
So thou seeing in my hands,
That which in thine eies I see.

Let not this to thee seeme ill,
That of thy beautie diuine
Thou see'st but the figure shine,
And I natures perfect skill:

Yet a thought, that's free and set
Neuer yet in Cupids net,
Better then the bond beholdes,
Though the one the liuely mouldes,
Th' other but the counterfet.

[O eies, that see not him, who look'd on yow]

O eies , that see not him, who look'd on yow
When that they were the mirrours of his sight,
What can you now behold to your content?

Greene flowrie meade where often I did vew,
And staid for my sweete friend with great delight,
The ill, which I doe feele with me lament.
Heer did he tell me how his thoughts were bent,
And (wretch) I lent an eare;
But angry more then whelplesse Beare
Presumptuous him I call'd, and vndiscreete:
And he layde at my feete,
Where yet (poore man) me thinkes I see him lye:
And now I wish that I
Might see him so as then I did: O happy time were this,
Sweete shadowed riuer bankes tell me where my Syrenus is.

Yon is the riuer banke this is the meade,
From thence the hedge appeeres and shadowed lay,
Wherein my flockes did feede the sauourie grasse:
Behold the sweete noys'd spring, where I did leade
My sheepe to drinke in heate of all the day,
When heere my sweetest friend the time did passe:
Vnder that hedge of liuely greene he was;
And there behold the place,
Where first I saw his sweetest face
And where he sawe me, happy was that day,
Had not my ill haps way
To end such happy times, O spring,
O hedge, and euery thing
Is heere, but he, for whom I paine continually, and misse,
Sweete shadowed riuer bankes tell me where my Syrenus is.

Heere haue I yet his picture that deceaues me,
Since that I see my Shepherd when I view it,
(Though it were better from my soule absented)
When I desire to see the man, that leaues me
(Which fond deceipt time showes and makes me rue it)
To yonder spring I goe, where I consented
To hang it on yon Sallow, then contented
I sit by it, and after
(Fond loue) I looke into the water,
And see vs both then am I so content heere,
As when his life he spent heere:
This bare deuise a while my life sustaineth;
But when no more it faineth,
My hart surcharg'd with anguish, and cries out, but yet amisse,
Sweete shadowed riuer bankes tell me where my Syrenus is.

Speaking to it no wordes it is replying,
And then (me thinkes) reuenge of me it taketh,
Bicause sometime an answere I despised.

But (wofull soule) I say vnto it crying,
Syrenus speake, since now thy presence maketh
Aboade, where neuer once my thoughts surmized:
Say, in my soule art thou not onely prized?
But not a word it saieth,
And as before me there it staieth,
To speake, my soule doth pray it (in conclusion)
O what a braue delusion,
To aske a simple picture toong or sences?
O time, in what offences
Of vainest hope is my poore soule so subiect vnto his?
Sweete shadowed riuer bankes tell me where my Syrenus is.

I neuer can go homeward with my sheepe,
When to the west the sunne begins to gyre,
Nor to the foldes returne from our towne,
But euery where I see, and (seeing) weepe
The sheepe cote of my ioy and sweete desire
Broken, decaied, and throwen vnto the ground:
Carelesse of lambes and sheepe, there sit I downe
A little while, vntill
The herdesmen feeding on the hill,
Cry out to me, saying, O Shepherdesse
What doe thy thoughts possesse,
And let thy sheepe goe feeding in the graine?
Our eies doe see it plaine:
For them the tender grasse in pleasant vales doth growe ywisse,
Sweete shadowed riuer bankes tell me where my Syrenus is.

Yet in thine owne opinion greater reason
(Syrenus) it had bene, thus to haue started
With more constraint, and force then I did see yet,
But whom doe I accuse of guiltlesse treason?
For what could make him stay and not haue parted,
If fate and fortune thereto did agree yet?
No fault of thine it was, nor could it be yet
In my beleefe, haue ended
Thou wouldst in ought, or haue offended
Our loue so plaine and simple, as to leaue it
Nor will I once conceaue it,
Though many shewes and signes thereof there were yet:
O no, the fates did sweare it,
With cloudes of sorrow to obscure my heauen of ioy and blisse,
Sweete shadowed riuer bankes tell me where my Syrenus is.

My song take heede thou goest where I betake thee,
Yet shalt thou not forsake me:
For it may be that fortune will with such a humour place thee,
That may terme thee importunate and by that meanes disgrace thee.

[Syrenus, what thought'st thou when I was viewing thee]

Syluanus.
Syrenus, what thought'st thou when I was viewing thee
From yonder hedge, and in great greefe suspending me
To see with what affliction thou wert ruing thee?
There doe I leaue my flocke, that is attending me:
For while the cleerest sunne goeth not declining it,
Well may I be with thee, by recommending me
Thine ill (my Shepherd) for that (by defining it)
Is passed with lesse cost, then by concealing it:
And sorrow (in the end) departs resigning it.
My greefe I would recount thee, but reuealing it,
It doth increase, and more, by thus recording me
How in most vaine laments I am appealing it:
My life I see (O greefe) long time's affoording me
With dying hart, and haue not to reuiue me it,
And an vnwonted ill I see aboording me,
From whom I hop'd a meane, she doth depriue me it:
But (sooth) I hop'd it neuer, for bewraying it,
With reason she might gainsay to contriue me it.
My passions did sollicite her, essaying yet
With no importune meanes, but seemely grounding them,
And cruell loue went hindering and dismaying it.
My pensiue thoughts were carefully rebounding them
On euery side, to flie the worst, restraining them,
And in vnlawfull motions not confounding them.
They prai'd Diane, in ils that were not fayning them,
To giue a meane (but neuer to repell it thee)

And that a wretch might so be entertaining them.
But if to giue it me, I should refell it thee,
What wouldst thou doe (O greefe) that thus adiuring it,
Faine would I hide mine ill, and neuer tell it thee.
But after (my Syrenus) thus procuring it,
A Shepherdesse I doe inuoke (the fairest one)
And th' end goes thus, vnto my cost enduring it.

Syrenus.
Syluanus mine, a loue, of all the rarest one,
A beautie, blinding presently disclosing it,
A wit, and in discretion the waryest one.
A sweete discourse, that to the eare opposing it,
The hardest rocks entendereth in subduing them.
What shall a haplesse louer feele in loosing it?
My little sheepe I see, and thinke in viewing them,
How often times I haue beheld her feeding them,
And with her owne to foulde them, not eschewing them.
How often haue I met her driue, and speeding them
Vnto the riuer, in the heate, where resting her
With great care she was telling yet, and heeding them.
After, if that she was alone, deuesting her,
Thou shouldst haue seene the bright sunne beames enuying her
Resplendant hayre, to kembe them manifesting her.
But on the sudden meeting, and espying her,
(My deerest friend Syluane) how oft incended was
Her fairest face, with orient blushing dying her?
And with what grace, how mildly reprehended was
My staying long, which she did aske, correcting me?
Which if I greeu'd, with blandishments amended was.
How many daies haue I found her expecting me
At this cleere fountaine, when that I was seeking her
Along that thickest hedge, to greefe subiecting me?
All paines and troubles what so ere (in meeting her)
Of sheepe, or lambes, we straightway were forgetting them,
When she sawe me, or when that I was greeting her.
Some other times (Syluane) we tun'd (in setting them)
Our Bagpipe and the Rebeck, which we plaied on,
And then my verses sung we, nothing letting them.
After with bowe and arrowes we estraied on,
Sometimes with nets, and she neuer refraining me,
And came not home without some chase we prated on.
Thus fortune went by these meanes entertaining me:
Reseruing for some greater ill, and tendring me,
Which hath no end, but by deathes end restraining me.

Syluanus.
Syrenus, that most cruell loue, engendring me
Such greefe, stints not, nor hindreth the perswading me
Of so much ill: I die therein remembring me.

Diane I sawe, but straight my ioy was fading me,
When to my onely sight she was opposing her:
And (to my greefe) I saw long life inuading me.
How many tymes haue I found her, in losing her,
How often lost, in finding and espying her?
And I my death and seruice not disclosing her.
My life I lost, when meeting I was eying her
Faire louely eies, which, full of anger, cruelly
She turn'd to me, when that my speech was plying her:
But her faire haire, where Cupides in their fuell lye,
When she vndid and leemb'd, vnseene, then leauing me,
My ils return'd most sensibly, which rue well I.
But pitilesse Diana then perceiuing me,
Turn'd like a cruell serpent, that in winding it,
Assailes the lion: thus my life bereauing me.
One time false hope (deceitfully but blinding it)
My hart maintain'd, euen for my comfort choosing it,
But afterwardes in such an error finding it,
It mocked hope, and then it vanisht loosing it.

A Sonnet.

Mine eies, once haue I seene you more contented,
And my poore hart, more ioyfull I haue knowne thee:
Woe to the cause, whose greefes haue ouer growne thee,

And yet whose sight your comforts once presented.
But as this cruell fortune hath inuented
(Sweete ioy) to roote thee vp, where she had sowen thee,
So now (Seluagia) she hath ouerthrowen thee:
Thy pleasures scarce begun, she hath tormented.
Let me to time or to his changing take me,
Let me with motions out of order leade me,
Then I shall see how free my hart is to me.
Then will I trust in hopes that not forsake me,
When I haue staide her wheeles that ouertread me,
And beaten downe the fates that doe vndoe me.

[No more (O cruell Nymph) now hast thou prayed]

No more (O cruell Nymph) now hast thou prayed
Ynough in thy reuenge, prooue not thine ire
On him that yeeldes, the fault is now apayed
Vnto my cost: now mollifie thy dire,
Hardnes and brest of thine so much obdured:
And now raise vp (though lately it hath erred)
A poore repenting soule, that in the obscured
Darknes of thy obliuion lies enterred.
For it fals not in that, that doth commend thee,
That such a Swaine as I may once offend thee.

If that the little sheepe with speede is flying
From angrie Shepherd (with his wordes affraied)
And runneth here and there with fearfull crying,
And with great greefe is from the flocke estraied:
But when it now perceiues that none doth follow,
And all alone, so far estraying, mourneth,
Knowing what danger it is in, with hollow
And fainting bleates, then fearefull it returneth
Vnto the flocke, meaning no more to leaue it,
Should it not be a iust thing to receiue it?

Lift vp these eies (Ismenia) which so stately
To view me, thou hast lifted vp before me

That libertie, which was mine owne but lately,
Giue me againe, and to the same restore me:
And that milde hart, so full of loue and pittie,
Which thou didst yeeld to me, and euer owe me.
Behold (my Nymph) I was not then so witty
To knowe that sincere loue, that thou didst shew me:
Now wofull man full well I knowe and rue it,
Although it was too late before I knew it.

How could it be (my enemie) say, tell me,
How thou (in greater fault and errour being.
Then euer I was thought) should'st thus repell me?
And with new league and cruell title seeing
Thy faith so pure and woorthy to be changed.
And what is that Ismenia, that doth binde it
To loue, whereas the same is most estranged,
And where it is impossible to finde it?
But pardon me, if herein I abuse thee,
Since that the cause thou gau'st me doth excuse me.

But tell me now what honour hast thou gained,
Auenging such a fault by thee committed;
And thereunto by thy occasion trained:
What haue I done, that I haue not acquitted?
Or what excesse, that is not amply paied,
Or suffer more, that I haue not endured?
What cruell minde, what angry brest displaied,
With sauage hart, to fiercenes so adiured,
Would not such mortall greefe make milde and tender,
But that, which my fell Shepherdesse doth render?

Now as I haue perceiued well thy reasons,
Which thou hast had, or hast yet to forget me,
The paines, the greefes, the guiltes of forced treasons,
That I haue done, wherein thou first didst set me:
The passions, and thine eares, and eies refusing
To heare, and seeme, meaning to vndoe me:
Cam'st thou to know, or be but once perusing
Th' vnsought occasions, which thou gau'st vnto me,
Thou should'st not haue wherewith to more torment me,
Nor I to pay the fault my rashnes lent me.

[How fond am I to hope for any rest]

How fond am I to hope for any rest
In endlesse plaints, vaine sighes, and bootelesse teares?
The present now at hand to be exprest,
Yet few to these, that, with ten thousand feares,
I haue powr'd out vnto thy cruell eares.
And if at any time my life did tend
To other loues in earnest or in iest,
This loue by that I neuer could offend,
Bicause I did but then begin to prooue,
And learne, how well Montanus I could loue.

Then did I learne to loue, my selfe I taught
To loue, by him, who lou'd me not againe:
For I suspected that I should be brought
Vnto thy loue (Montanus) when in vaine
I loued him, that did my loue disdaine:
I try'de (I say) my free and carelesse hart
Of loue to taste some sorrow, that it sought:
And let that Shepherd with his loue depart,
That loues with thee, for all his paine and greefe
Is but in vaine, when vaine is his releefe.

Let none accuse me then if I disdaine
Alanius loues, whose loues are but a showe,
For I could neuer loue nor entertaine
Any but thee, for whom I will bestowe
My deerest life, since heauens will haue it soe.
And if at any time I fein'd to like,
I lik'd (I say) but how I did I knowe,
For neuer any Shepherd els could strike
My hart indeede, but thou, to whom I giue
My faith kept for thee since I first did liue.

Let burning sighes go forth and still increase,
Let both mine eies become two strings of teares,
Let accidents, repugnant to mine ease
Arise, for thoughts, which now my minde for sweares,
Shall neuer hurt that loue which now it beares:
Let sorrow goe, and ill which way they will,
And now let ioies returne which way they please,
For where they are, there will I houer still,
Since that no harme my purpose may reclame,
Nor cruell death it selfe, although it came.

[Foolish loue, ah foolish louer]

Foolish loue, ah foolish louer,
I for thee, thou for another.

I am a foole, and seeme no lesse,
For thee who will not be?
For he's a foole I doe confesse,
That is not one for thee:
And yet this doth not well agree,
To be a foolish louer,
Or foole for her, that is a foole for louing of another.

Now seeing thee, thou seest not mee,
And diest for my foe,
Eate me with sauce (that loueth thee)
Of him thou louest soe:
So shalt thou make me (to my woe)
To be a foolish louer,
And such a foole for louing thee as thou art for another.

[Although my quiet it doth let]

Although my quiet it doth let,
Rather then blame discredit me,
(For God forbid that I forget)
Let me with wrong forgotten be.

Not onely where obliuion raineth,
There is no loue, nor can be none,
Nay, where there is suspicion,
There is no loue, but such as faineth;
Great harme it is to loue, where set
In bootelesse hopes, the minde they free,
But God defend that I forget,
Forgotten though a iest it bee.

If that I loue, why then loue I,
To sport or leaue to loue at all?
For what more honor can befall,
Then die for that, for which I die:
To liue therefore and to forget,
Is such a shamefull life I see,
That I had rather loue one yet,
Forgotten though to death I bee.

[Shepherd, who can passe such wrong]

Shepherd , who can passe such wrong
And a life in woes so deepe?
Which to liue is to too long,
As it is too short to weepe.

Greeuous sighes in vaine I waste,
Leesing my affiance, and
I perceiue my hope at last
With a candle in the hand.

What time then to hope among
Bitter hopes, that euer sleepe?
When this life is to too long,
As it is too short to weepe.

This greefe which I feele so rife,
(Wretch) I doe deserue as hire,
Since I came to put my life
In the handes of my desire.

Then cease not my plaints so strong,
For (though life her course doth keepe)
It is not to liue so long,
As it is too short to weepe.

[Weepe not my dolefull eies]

Weepe not my dolefull eies,
But if you weepe, thinke (at the lest)
They tolde no trueth but lies,
And then it may be you may rest.

Since that imagination
Doth cause so much in euery state,
Thinke that she loues thee as of late,
And thou shalt haue lesse passion.

And if you will (mine eies)
Haue ease, imagine then the best,
And that they told you lies:
And so perhaps you may haue rest.

Thinke that she loues as well,
As euer she did heretofore:
But this sad men cannot restore,
To thinke what once befell:

Then mournfull eies, where lies
Your helpe? Yet thinke of some at lest,
If not, weepe still mine eies,
Or make an end, and you shall rest.

[My life (yoong Shepherdesse) for thee]

My life (yoong Shepherdesse) for thee
Of needes to death must post;
But yet my greefe must stay with mee
After my life is lost.

The greeuous ill, by death that cured is
Continually hath remedie at hand:
But not that torment, that is like to this,
That in slowe time, and fortunes meanes doth stand.

And if this sorrow cannot be
Ended with life (as most)
What then doth this thing profit me,
A sorrow wonne or lost?

Yet all is one to me, as now I trie
A flattring hope, or that that had not bene yet.
For if to day for want of it I die,
Next day I doe no lesse for hauing seene it.

Faine would I die, to end and free
This greefe, that kils me most
If that it might be lost with me,
Or die when life is lost.

The end of the first book of Diana.