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Epitaphes, Epigrams, Songs and Sonets

with a Discourse of the Friendly affections of Tymetes to Pyndara his Ladie. Newly corrected with additions, and set out by George Turbervile
 

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The Louer declareth how first he was taken and enamoured by the sight of his Ladie.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

The Louer declareth how first he was taken and enamoured by the sight of his Ladie.

I hauing neuer earst
the craft of Cupid tride,
Ne yet the wylie wanton wayes
of Ladie Venus spide,
But spent my time in sporte
as youth is woont by kinde,
Not forcing fansies pinching powre
that other Wights did blinde:

[7]

By fortune founde a face
that lykte my hart so well,
As by the sodaine vewe thereof
to fansies frame I fell.
No sooner had mine eies
vpon hir beautie stayde,
But Wit and Will without respect
were altogither wayde.
Unwarely so was none
in such a snare before:
The more I gazde vpon hir face,
I lykte my Loue the more.
Forthwith I thought my hart
out of his roome was rapt:
And wits (that woonted were to wayte
on Reason) were intrapt,
Downe by mine eies the stroke
descended to the hart:
Which Cupid neuer crazde before
by force of golden dart.
My bloud that thought it bounde
his Maisters part to take,
No longer durst abide abroade,
but outwarde limmes forsake.
Which hauing beene in breast
and frostie colde dismayde:
It hasted from the hart againe
externall partes to ayde.

8

And brought with it such heate
as did enflame the face,
Distayning it with Scarlet redde
by rashnesse of the race.
And since that time I feele
such pangues and inwarde fits,
As now with hope, and then with feare
encombred are my wits.
Thus must I Miser liue
till shee by friendly ruth
Doe pittie mee hir louing Thrall
whose deedes shall trie his truth.
Thrise luckie was the day,
thrise happie eake the place,
And yee (mine eies) thrise blessed were
that lighted on hir face.
If I in fine may force
hir pittie by my plaint:
I shall in cunningst verse I may
hir worthie prayse depaint.
There is one thing makes me ioy
and bids me think the best:
That cruell rigor can not lodge
where beautie is possest.
And sure vnlesse she salue
and heale this cankred wounde
By yeelding grace, it must in time
of force my corps confounde.

[8]

For long it may not last
that in such anguish lies:
Extreames in no case can endure
as Sages did deuise.
No Tyger gaue hir Teate,
she is no Lyons whelpe:
Ne was she bred of cruell rocks,
nor will renounce to helpe
Such as she paines with loue,
and doth procure to wo:
She is not of the Currish kinde,
hir nature is not so.