University of Virginia Library

[Come Dorus, come, let songs thy sorowes signifie]

Lalus and Dorus.
Lalus.
Come Dorus, come, let songs thy sorowes signifie:
And if for want of use thy minde ashamed is,
That verie shame with Loves high title dignifie.
No stile is held for base, where Love well named is:
Ech eare suckes up the words, a true love scattereth,
And plaine speach oft, then quaint phrase, better framed is.

Dorus.
Nightingales seldome sing, the Pie still chattereth:
The wood cries most, before it throughly kindled be,
Deadly wounds inward bleed, ech sleight sore mattereth.
Hardly they heard, which by good hunters singled be.
Shallow brookes murmure most, deep silent slide away;
Nor true love loves those loves with others mingled be.

Lalus.
If thou wilt not be seene, thy face goe hide away,
Be none of us, or els maintaine our fashion:
Who frownes at others feastes, dooth better bide away.
But if thou hast a Love, in that Loves passion,
I challenge thee by shew of her perfection,
Which of us two deserveth most compassion.

Dorus.
Thy challenge great, but greater my protection:
Sing then, and see (for now thou hast inflamed me)
Thy health too meane a match for my infection.
No, though the heav'ns for high attempts have blamed me,
Yet high is my attempt, O Muse historifie
Her praise, whose praise to learne your skill hath framed me.

Lalus.
Muse hold your peace: but thou, my God Pan, glorifie
My Kalas giftes: who with all good gifts filled is.
Thy pipe, ô Pan, shall helpe, though I sing sorilie.
A heape of sweetes she is, where nothing spilled is;
Who though she be no Bee, yet full of honie is:
A Lillie field, with plowe of Rose which tilled is.
Milde as a Lambe, more daintie then a Conie is;
Her eyes my eyesight is, her conversation
More gladde to me, then to a miser monie is.
What coye account she makes of estimation?
How nice to touch, how all her speeches peized be?
A Nimph thus turnde, but mended in translation.

Dorus.
Such Kala is: but ah, my fancies raysed be
In one, whose name to name were high presumption,
Since vertues all, to make her title, pleased be.
O happie Gods, which by inward assumption
Enjoy her soule, in bodies faire possession,
And keep it joynde, fearing your seates consumption.
How oft with raine of teares skies make confession,
Their dwellers rapt with sight of her perfection
From heav'nly throne to her heav'n use digression?
Of best things then what world can yeeld confection
To liken her? Decke yours with your comparison:
She is her selfe, of best things the collection.

Lalus.
How oft my dolefull Sire cried to me, tarrie sonne
When first he spied my love? how oft he said to me,
Thou art no souldier fitte for Cupids garrison?
My sonne, keepe this, that my long toyle hath laide to me:
Love well thine owne: me thinkes, woolles whitenes passeth all:
I never found long love such wealth hath paide to me.
This winde he spent: but when my Kala glasseth all
My sight in her faire limmes, I then assure my selfe,
Not rotten sheepe, but high crownes she surpasseth all.
Can I be poore, that her golde haire procure my selfe?
Want I white wooll, whose eyes her white skinne garnished?
Till I get her, shall I to keepe enure my selfe?

Dorus
How oft, when reason saw, love of her harnised
With armour of my hart, he cried, O vanitie,
To set a pearle in steele so meanely varnished?
Looke to thy selfe; reach not beyond humanitie:
Her minde, beames, state farre from thy weake wings banished:
And Love, which lover hurts is inhumanitie.
Thus Reason said: but she came, Reason vanished;
Her eyes so maistering me, that such objection
Seemde but to spoyle the foode of thoughts long famished.
Her peereles height my minde to high erection
Drawes up; and if hope-fayling ende lives pleasure,
Of fayrer death how can I make election?

Lalus.
Once my well-waiting eyes espied my treasure,
With sleeves turnde up, loose haire, and brest enlarged,
Her fathers corne (moving her faire limmes) measure.
O cried I, of so meane worke be discharged:
Measure my case, how by thy beauties filling
With seede of woes my hart brimme-full is charged.
Thy father bids thee save, and chides for spilling.
Save then my soule, spill not my thoughts well heaped,
No lovely praise was ever got by killing.
These bolde words she did heare, this fruite I reaped,
That she, whose looke alone might make me blessed,
Did smile on me, and then away she leaped.

Dorus.
Once, ô sweete once, I saw with dread oppressed
Her whom I dread; so that with prostrate lying
Her length the earth in Loves chiefe clothing dressed.
I saw that riches fall, and fell a crying;
Let not dead earth enjoy so deare a cover,
But deck therewith my soule for your sake dying.
Lay all your feare upon your fearefull lover:
Shine eyes on me, that both our lives be guarded;
So I your sight, you shall your selves recover.
I cried, and was with open rayes rewarded:
But straight they fledde, summond by cruell honor,
Honor, the cause, desart is not regarded.

Lalus.
This mayde, thus made for joyes, ô Pan bemone her,
That without love she spends her yeares of love:
So faire a fielde would well become an owner.
And if enchantment can a harde hart move,
Teach me what circle may acquaint her sprite,
Affections charmes in my behalfe to prove.
The circle is my (round about her) sight:
The power I will invoke dwelles in her eyes:
My charme should be, she haunt me day and night.

Dorus.
Farre other care, ô Muse, my sorrow tries,
Bent to such one, in whom, my selfe must say,
Nothing can mend that point that in her lies.
What circle then in so rare force beares swaye?
Whose sprite all sprites can spoile, raise, damne, or save:
No charme holdes her, but well possesse she may;
Possesse she doth, and makes my soule her slave:
My eyes the bandes, my thoughts the fatall knot.
No thralles like them that inward bondage have.

Lalus.
Kala at length conclude my lingring lotte:
Disdaine me not, although I be not faire.
Who is an heire of many hundred sheep
Doth beauties keep, which never Sunne can burne,
Nor stormes doo turne: fairenes serves oft to wealth.
Yet all my health I place in your good-will.
Which if you will (ô doo) bestow on me,
Such as you see, such still you shall me finde.
Constant and kind: my sheep your foode shall breed,
Their wooll your weede, I will you Musique yeeld
In flowrie fielde; and as the day begins
With twenty ginnes we will the small birds take,
And pastimes make, as Nature things hath made.
But when in shade we meet of mirtle bowes,
Then Love allowes, our pleasures to enrich,
The thought of which doth passe all worldly pelfe.

Dorus.
Lady your selfe, whom nether name I dare,
And titles are but spots to such a worthe,
Heare plaints come forth from dungeon of my minde.
The noblest kinde rejects not others woes.
I have no shewes of wealth: my wealth is you,
My beauties hewe your beames, my health your deeds;
My minde for weeds your vertues liverie weares.
My foode is teares; my tunes waymenting yeeld:
Despaire my fielde; the flowers spirits warrs:
My day newe cares; my ginnes my daily sight,
In which do light small birds of thoughts orethrowne:
My pastimes none: time passeth on my fall:
Nature made all, but me of dolours made:
I finde no shade, but where my Sunne doth burne:
No place to turne; without, within it fryes:
Nor helpe by life or death who living dyes.

Lalus.
But if my Kala this my suite denies,
Which so much reason beares,
Let crowes picke out mine eyes, which saw too much:
If still her minde be such,
My earthy moulde will melte in watrie teares.

Dorus.
My earthy moulde doth melte in watrie teares,
And they againe resolve
To aire of sighes, sighes to the hartes fire turne,
Which doth to ashes burne:
So doth my life within it selfe dissolve,

Lalus.
So doth my life within it selfe dissolve,
That I am like a flower
New plucked from the place where it did breed,
Life showing, dead indeed:
Such force hath Love above poore Natures power.

Dorus.
Such force hath Love above poore Natures power,
That I growe like a shade,
Which being nought seems somewhat to the eyen,
While that one body shine.
Oh he is mard that is for others made.

Lalus.
Oh he is mard that is for others made.
Which thought doth marre my piping declaration,
Thinking how it hath mard my shepheards trade.
Now my hoarse voice doth faile this occupation,
And others long to tell their loves condition:
Of singing take to thee the reputation.

Dorus.
Of singing take to thee the reputation
New friend of mine; I yeeld to thy habilitie:
My soule doth seeke another estimation.
But ah my Muse I would thou hadst agilitie,
To worke my Goddesse so by thy invention,
On me to cast those eyes, where shine nobilitie.
Seen, and unknowne; heard, but without attention.