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The eighth.

[In a grove most rich of shade]

[1]

In a grove most rich of shade;
Where birds wanton Musicke made:
Maie then young his pide weeds shewing,
New perfumes with flowrs fresh growing.
295

2

Astrophel with Stella sweete,
Did for mutual comfort meete:
Both within themselves oppressed,
But either in each other blessed.

3

Him great harmes had taught much care,
Her faire necke a foule yoke bare:
But hir sight his cares did banish,
In his sight hir yoke did vanish.

4

Wept they had, alas the while:
But now teares themselves did smile,
While their eyes by Love directed,
Interchangeablie reflected.

5

Sighd they had: but now betwixt
Sighs of woe were glad sighs mixt:
With armes crost, yet testifying
Restles rest, and living dying.

6

Their eares hungrie of each word
Which the deare tongue would afford,
But their tongues restraind from walking,
Till their harts had ended talking.

7

But when their tongues could not speak,
Love it selfe did silence breake:
Love did set his lips asunder,
Thus to speake in love and wonder.

8

Stella, Sovereigne of my joy,
Fair Triumphres in annoy:
Stella, Starre of heavenly fire,
Stella, loadstarre of desire.

9

Stella, in whose shining eyes
Are the lights of Cupids skyes,
Whose beames where they are once darted
Love therewith is straight imparted.

10

Stella, whose voyce when it speakes,
Senses all asunder breakes:
Stella, whose voyce when it singeth,
Angels to acquaintance bringeth.
296

11

Stella, in whose bodie is
Writ the caracters of blis:
Whose sweete face all beauty passeth,
Save the minde which it surpasseth.

12

Graunt, ô graunt, but speach (alas)
Failes me, fearing on to passe:
Graunt to me, what am I saying?
But no sinne there is in praying.

13

Graunt (ô Deare) on knees I pray
(Knees on ground he then did stay)
That not I, but since I prove you,
Time and place for me nere move you.

14

Never season was more fit,
Never roome more apt for it:
Smiling aire allowes my reason:
These birds sing; now use the season.

15

This small winde which so sweete is,
See how it the leaves doth kis;
Each tree in his best attyring,
Sense of Love to Love inspiring.

16

Love makes earth the water drinke,
Love to earth makes water sinke:
And if dumb things be so wittie,
Shall a heavenly Grace want pittie?

17

There his hands (in their speach) faine
Would have made tongues language plaine:
But her hands his hands compelling,
Gave repulse, all grace expelling.

18

Therewithall, away she went,
Leaving him with passion rent,
With what she had done and spoken,
That therewith my song is broken.
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