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

Ah well away how firme and suer ar
Torments, and paines in each true louers hart:
For when I thought that I did wander far,
And changed place, this fierce and amorous war,
And wounding greefe would from my soule depart.
Yet now in fine by proofe too well I knowe,
That greefe, and sorrowes, absence doth not kill,
As some doe say; but makes them more to growe:
And wit so deerely bought with double woe,
Is bought (I needes must say) against my will.

I goe from place to place, and neuer yet
My haunting greefe, and cares doe goe away:
I am so diuers in my wandring wit,
That in one place I neuer rest, nor sit,
Yet still the same are sworne with me to stay.
My fainting legs my drooping bodie beares
From place to place, and yet fierce paine sustaines,
It is so seasoned with my swelling teares,
That since my Life of late my loue for sweares,
All comforts that I offer, it disdaines.

My cruell paine, wherewith my life is spent,
I would contemne, and would but little make,
If that my Mistresse would in minde consent,
That I should beare this ceaselesse punishment
Onely for her for her most sweetest sake.
But that which makes so wide, and deepe a tent
Of greefe within my hart, and makes it die,
As often as I thinke how she is bent,
Is, that to that she neuer will relent,
Where remedie, nor any helpe doth lie.

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After that loue so strong and firme a fort
Had built within my brest, vnto his minde,
Louing, a death I rather would support,
Then now to liue after another sort,
Or for my selfe in libertie to finde.
For speedie death I knowe must be my fate
With such a life, as now I doe endure,
With mine owne handes to end this hard debate,
To cruell death I will set ope the gate,
And in my brest will lodge it most secure.

Who doubts that if but once she came to knowe
My greeuous paines and passions which I feele,
But that to me some pitie she would showe,
Though in her brest, where pitie yet may growe,
She had a hart harder then any steele.
Who doubtes, if that she did but knowe the smart,
Her louer feeles, his plaintes and endlesse mone,
But that she would with milde and gentle hart
Pitie his case, although she had each part
Of it, as hard as craggie Dimond stone.

Orpheus, when descended into hell
For faire Euridice his wife, and past
The triple-headed-dog, that did not yell,
Nor barke, the Fiends that in Auernum dwell,
Made not so milde, at his sweete sound agast,
As my tormenting passions, and my paine
Would mooue the hardest hart to heauinesse,
And euery hart in all the world againe,
And not without great reason, nor in vaine,
But that of my most cruell Shepherdesse.

Ah woe how haue I thus deluded beene?
How haue I liu'd deceiued in this art?
Since that so simply I did ouerweene,
That there could be no difference betweene
Her fairest face, and her most cruell hart.
What man betwixt the cope of heauen and hell
Is there of wit so simple and so slender,
That could but thinke, or once imagine well,
That such a hard, and cruell hart could dwell
In such a daintie bodie and so tender?

What humane wit (O greefe that I doe see it)
Would euer thinke that crueltie possest
Her hart, or such a Tygresse hart to be yet
Placed in her, whose outward shew to me yet

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Should promise peace, and in so milde a brest?
Who would haue thought (it almost was in vaine)
That from her toong, distilling honie drops,
So fierce an answere should proceede againe,
And wordes she vttered with so great disdaine,
Bittrer to me then gall, or wildest hops.

And, that I am deceiued in this ground
Of my faire Nymph, I ioy with all my hart:
Bicause I would not thinke, there could be found
In so great good a thing, that should redound
To so great ill, and to so bad a part.
It shall be therefore best for me ywisse
Not to suspect in her so foule a crime,
That she is hard, or that she cruell is,
But my mishap, that euer went amisse
Euen from my birth-day to this very time.

Bicause my paines should neuer be aboue
My ioies, and care before my sweete content
Should come: I am most constant in my loue,
Sans widowhood, like to the turtle doue,
That losse of her companion doth lament.
In liuing, and in louing too amaine,
I thinke I goe beyond her euery howre,
But yet I am not like to her againe,
In that I did not first a sweete obtaine,
Before I tasted of a bitter sowre.

All that my wofull minde should recreate,
The water, that is christall pure and cleere,
I cannot choose, nor otherwise but hate,
Bicause I would not see so bad a state,
And such a haplesse body wander heere.
Like as the snake, or adder that doth bite
I flie, with hastie foote, and doe not stay
In any place, where greene may giue delight,
For this doth leese his hew, and vigour quite,
Where hope begins to faile and to decay.

If musing all alone by chaunce I stay
Vpon my greefe, that smallest ioy denies,
And see some spring or fountaine in the way
I flie, and softly to my selfe I say,
Let that suffice, that runneth fro mine eies.
And if in taking some poore little pleasure
(If pleasure in a haplesse state I take)
And view the greene, the countries hope and treasure,

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I flie, and say, that hope of death must measure
My minde with ioy, that doth my pleasures make.

According to my life in great disgrace,
And miseries, euen from my mothers wombe,
I thinke (and as I am in such a case)
That if I follow death with happie pace,
Death will not yet vnto my succour come.
I thinke sometimes (alas weake is my might)
To giue my selfe some comfort and some rest,
But they doe flie from me by day and night,
In me (poore wretch) they can take no delight,
And so my paines doe double in my brest.

It wearies me (for greefe doth euer range)
To be so long together in a place:
Yet my vnwearied greefes doe neuer change
Their place, but still my seldome ioies in strange
And cruell manner from my brest doe chace:
Heere stay my song, and tell the world my smart,
And let this tree with thee haue neuer end,
For with me shall my haunting greefe depart,
For it will neuer leaue my wofull hart,
Like to a trustie good and faithfull friend.