University of Virginia Library

I. THE FIRST PART.

Sonnet. [i]

[In my first Yeeres, and Prime yet not at Hight]

In my first Yeeres, and Prime yet not at Hight,
When sweet Conceits my Wits did entertaine,
Ere Beauties Force I knew or false Delight,
Or to what Oareshee did her Captiues chaine;
Led by a sacred Troupe of Phœbus Traine,
I first beganne to reade, then Loue to write,
And so to praise a perfect Red and White,
But (God wot) wist not what was in my Braine:
Loue smylde to see in what an awfull Guise
I turn'd those Antiques of the Age of Gold,
And that I might moe Mysteries behold,
Hee set so faire a Volumne to mine Eyes,
That I [quires clos'd which (dead) dead Sighs but breath]
Ioye on this liuing Booke to reade my Death.

Son. [ii]

[I know that all beneath the Moone decayes]

I know that all beneath the Moone decayes,
And what by Mortalles in this World is brought,
In Times great Periods shall returne to nought,
That fairest States haue fatall Nights and Dayes:
I know how all the Muses heauenly Layes,
With Toyle of Spright which are so dearely bought,
As idle Sounds of few, or none are sought,
And that nought lighter is than airie Praise.
I know fraile Beautie like the purple Flowre,
To which one Morne oft Birth and Death affords,
That Loue a Iarring is of Mindes Accords,
Where Sense and Will inuassall Reasons Power:
Know what I list, this all can not mee moue,
But that (ô mee!) I both must write, and loue.

Son. [iii]

[Yee who so curiously doe paint your Thoughts]

Yee who so curiously doe paint your Thoughts,
Enlightning eu'rie Line in such a Guise,
That they seeme rather to haue fallen from Skies,
Than of a humane Hand bee mortall Draughts;
In one Part Sorrow so tormented lies,
As if his Life at eu'ry Sigh would parte,
Loue here blindfolded stands with Bow and Dart,
There Hope lookes pale, Despaire with rainie Eyes:
Of my rude Pincell looke not for such Arte,
My Wit I finde now lessened to deuise
So high Conceptions to expresse my Smart,
And some thinke Loue but fain'd, if too too wise:
These troubled Words and Lines confus'd you finde,
Are like vnto their Modell my sicke Minde.

Son. [iv]

[Faire is my Yoke, though grieuous bee my Paines]

Faire is my Yoke, though grieuous bee my Paines,
Sweet are my Wounds, although they deeply smart,
My Bit is Gold, though shortned bee the Raines,
My Bondage braue, though I may not depart:
Although I burne, the Fire which doth impart
Those Flames, so sweet reuiuing Force containes,
That (like Arabias Bird) my wasted Heart
Made quicke by Death, more liuely still remaines.
I joye, though oft my waking Eyes spend Teares,
I neuer want Delight, euen when I grone,
Best companied when most I am alone,
A Heauen of Hopes I haue midst Hells of Feares:
Thus euery Way Contentment strange I finde,
But most in Her rare Beautie, my rare Minde.

Son. [v]

[How that vaste Heauen intitled First is rold]

How that vaste Heauen intitled First is rold,
If any other Worlds beyond it lie,
And People liuing in Eternitie,
Or Essence pure that doth this All vphold:
What Motion haue those fixed Sparkes of Gold,
The wandring Carbuncles which shine from hie,
By Sprights, or Bodies, contrare-Wayes in Skie
If they bee turn'd, and mortall Things behold:
How Sunne postes Heauen about, how Nights pale Queene
With borrowed Beames lookes on this hanging Round,
What Cause faire Iris hath, and Monsters seene
In Aires large Fields of Light, and Seas profound,
Did hold my wandring Thoughts; when thy sweet Eye
Bade mee leaue all, and only thinke on Thee.

Son. [vi]

[Vaunt not, faire Heauens, of your two glorious Lights]

Vaunt not, faire Heauens, of your two glorious Lights,
Which though most bright, yet see not when they shine,
And shining, cannot shew their Beames diuine
Both in one Place, but parte by Dayes and Nights,
Earth, vaunt not of those Treasures yee enshrine,
Held only deare because hidde from our Sights,
Your pure and burnish'd Gold, your Diamonds fine,
Snow-passing Iuorie that the Eye delights:
Nor Seas of those deare Wares are in you found,
Vaunt not, rich Pearle, red Corrall, which doe stirre
A fond Desire in Fooles to plunge your Ground;
Those all (more faire) are to bee had in Her:
Pearle, Iuorie, Corrall, Diamond, Sunnes, Gold,
Teeth, Necke, Lips, Heart, Eyes, Haire, are to behold.

Son. [vii]

[That learned Græcian (who did so excell]

That learned Græcian (who did so excell
In Knowledge passing Sense, that hee is nam'd
Of all the after-Worlds Diuine) doth tell,
That at the Time when first our Soules are fram'd,
Ere in these Mansions blinde they come to dwell,
They liue bright Rayes of that Eternall Light,
And others see, know, loue, in Heauens great Hight,
Not toylde with ought to Reason doth rebell;
Most true it is, for straight at the first Sight
My Minde mee told, that in some other Place
It elsewhere saw the Idea of that Face,
And lou'd a Loue of heauenly pure Delight.
No Wonder now I feele so faire a Flame,
Sith I Her lou'd ere on this Earth shee came.

Son. [viii]

[Now while the Night her sable Vaile hath spred]

Now while the Night her sable Vaile hath spred,
And silently her restie Coach doth rolle,
Rowsing with Her from Tethis azure Bed
Those starrie Nymphes which dance about the Pole.
While Cynthia, in purest Cipres cled,
The Latmian Shepheard in a Trance descries,
And whiles lookes pale from hight of all the Skies,
Whiles dyes her Beauties in a bashfull Red,
While Sleepe (in Triumph) closed hath all Eyes,
And Birds and Beastes a Silence sweet doe keepe,
And Protevs monstrous People in the Deepe,
The Winds and Waues (husht vp) to rest entise,
I wake, muse, weepe, and who my Heart hath slaine
See still before me to augment my Paine.

Son. [ix]

[Sleepe, Silence Child, sweet Father of soft Rest]

Sleepe , Silence Child, sweet Father of soft Rest,
Prince whose Approach Peace to all Mortalls brings,
Indifferent Host to Shepheards and to Kings,
Sole Comforter of Minds with Griefe opprest.
Loe, by thy charming Rod all breathing things
Lie slumbring, with forgetfulnesse possest,
And yet o're me to spred thy drowsie Wings
Thou spares (alas) who cannot be thy Guest.
Since I am thine, O come, but with that Face
To inward Light which thou art wont to show,
With fained Solace ease a true felt Woe,
Or if deafe God thou doe denie that Grace,
Come as thou wilt, and what thou wilt bequeath,
I long to kisse the Image of my Death.

Son. [x]

[Faire Moone who with thy Cold and Siluer Shine]

Faire Moone who with thy Cold and Siluer Shine
Makes sweet the Horrour of the dreadfull Night,
Delighting the weake Eye with Smiles diuine,
Which Phebvs dazells with his too much Light.
Bright Queene of the first Heauen, if in thy Shrine
By turning oft, and Heauens eternall Might,
Thou hast not yet that once sweet Fire of thine
Endemion, forgot, and Louers Plight?
If Cause like thine may Pitie breede in thee,
And Pitie somewhat els to it obtaine,
Since thou hast Power of Dreames as well as Hee
Who paints strange Figures in the slumbring Braine:
Now while She sleepes in dolefull Guise her Show
These Teares, and the blacke Mappe of all my Woe.

Son. [xi]

[Lampe of Heauens Christall Hall that brings the Hours]

Lampe of Heauens Christall Hall that brings the Hours,
Eye-dazaler who makes the vglie Night
At thine Approach flie to her slumbrie Bowrs,
And fills the World with Wonder and Delight:
Life of all Lifes, Death-giuer by thy Flight
To Southerne Pole from these sixe Signes of ours,
Gold-smith of all the Starres, with Siluer bright
Who Moone enamells, Apelles of the Flowrs.
Ah, from those watrie Plaines thy golden Head
Raise vp, and bring the so long lingring Morne,
A Graue, nay Hell, I finde become this Bed,
This Bed so grieuously where I am torne:
But (woe is me) though thou now brought the Day,
Day shall but serue more Sorrowe to display.

Song. [i]

[It was the time when to our Northerne Pole]

Son. [xii]

[Ah burning Thoughts now let me take some Rest]

Ah burning Thoughts now let me take some Rest,
And your tumultuous Broyles a while appease,
Is't not enough, Starres, Fortune, Loue molest
Me all at once, but yee must to displease?
Let Hope (though false) yet lodge within my Brest,
My high Attempt (though dangerous) yet praise,
What though I trace not right Heauens steppie Wayes?
It doth suffice, my Fall shall make me blest.
I doe not doate on Dayes, nor feare not Death,
So that my Life be braue, what though not long?
Let me Renown'd liue from the vulgare Throng,
And when yee list (Heauens) take this borrowed Breath.
Men but like Visions are, Time all doth claime,
He liues, who dies to winne a lasting Name.

Madrigall. [i]

[A dedale of my Death]

A dedale of my Death,
Now I resemble that subtile Worme on Earth
Which prone to its owne euill can take no rest.
For with strange Thoughts possest,
I feede on fading Leaues
Of Hope, which me deceaues,
And thousand Webs doth warpe within my Brest.
And thus in end vnto my selfe I weaue
A fast-shut Prison, no, but euen a Graue.

Sextain. [i]

[The Heauen doth not containe so many Starres]

Son. [xiii]

[O sacred Blush impurpling Cheekes pure Skies]

O sacred Blush impurpling Cheekes pure Skies,
With crimson Wings which spred thee like the Morne,
O bashfull Looke sent from those shining Eyes,
Which (though cast down on Earth) couldst Heauen adorne!
O Tongue in which most lushious Nectar lies,
That can at once both blesse and make forlorne,
Deare Corrall Lip which Beautie beautifies,
That trembling stood ere that her words were borne.
And you her Words, Words no, but Golden Chaines
Which did captiue mine Eares, ensnare my Soule,
Wise Image of her Minde, Minde that containes
A Power all Power of Senses to controule:
Yee all from Loue disswade so sweetly mee,
That I loue more, if more my Loue could bee.

Son. [xiv]

[Nor Arne, nor Mincius, nor stately Tyber]

Nor Arne, nor Mincius, nor stately Tyber,
Sebethus, nor the Floud into whose Streames
He fell who burnt the World with borrow'd Beames,
Gold-rolling Tagus, Munda, famous Iber;
Sorgue, Rosne, Loire, Garron, nor prowd-banked Seine,
Peneus, Phasis, Xanthus, humble Ladon,
Nor Shee whose Nymphes excell her who lou'd Adon
Faire Tamesis, nor Ister large, nor Rheine,
Euphrates, Tigris, Indus, Hermus, Gange,
Pearlie Hydaspes, Serpent-like Meander,
The Golfe bereft sweet Hero her Leander,
Nile that farre farre his hidden Head doth range,
Haue euer had so rare a Cause of Praise,
As Ora, where this Northerne Phenix stayes.

Son. [xv]

[To heare my Plaints faire Riuer Christalline]

To heare my Plaints faire Riuer Christalline
Thou in a silent Slumber seemes to stay,
Delicious Flowrs, Lillie and Columbine,
Yee bowe your Heades when I my Woes display.
Forrests, in you the Mirtle, Palme, and Bay,
Haue had compassion listning to my Grones,
The Winds with Sighes haue solemniz'd my Mones
Mong Leaues, which whisper'd what they could not say.
The Caues, the Rockes, the Hills the Syluans Thrones
(As if euen Pitie did in them appeare)
Haue at my Sorrowes rent their ruethlesse Stones,
Each thing I finde hath sense except my Deare
Who doth not thinke I loue, or will not know
My Griefe, perchance delighting in my Woe.

Son. [xvi]

[Sweet Brooke, in whose cleare Christall I mine Eyes]

Sweet Brooke, in whose cleare Christall I mine Eyes
Haue oft seene great in Labour of their Teares,
Enamell'd Banke, whose shining Grauell beares
These sad Characters of my Miseries.
High Woods, whose mounting Tops menace the Spheares,
Wild Citizens, Amphions of the Trees,
You gloomie Groues at hottest Noones which freeze,
Elysian Shades which Phebus neuer cleares,
Vaste solitarie Mountaines, pleasant Plaines,
Embrodred Meads that Ocean-wayes you reach,
Hills, Dales, Springs, all that my sad Cry constraines
To take part of my Plaints, and learne Woes Speach,
Will that remorselesse Faire e're Pitie show,
Of Grace now answere if yee ought know? No.

Son. [xvii]

[With flaming Hornes the Bull now brings the Yeare]

With flaming Hornes the Bull now brings the Yeare,
Melt doe the horride Mountaines Helmes of Snow,
The siluer Flouds in pearlie Channells flow,
The late-bare Woods greene Anadeams doe weare.
The Nightingall forgetting Winters Woe,
Calls vp the lazie Morne her Notes to heare,
Those Flowrs are spred which Names of Princes beare,
Some red, some azure, white, and golden grow.
Here lowes a Heifer, there bea-wailing strayes.
A harmelesse Lambe, not farre a Stag rebounds,
The Sheepe-heards sing to grazing Flockes sweet Layes,
And all about the Ecchoing Aire resounds.
Hills, Dales, Woods, Flouds, & euery thing doth change,
But Shee in Rigour, I in Loue am strange.

Son. [xviii]

[When Nature now had wonderfully wrought]

When Nature now had wonderfully wrought
All Avristellas Parts, except her Eyes,
To make those Twinnes two Lamps in Beauties Skies,
Shee Counsell of her starrie Senate sought.
Mars and Apollo first did Her aduise
In Colour Blacke to wrappe those Comets bright,
That Loue him so might soberly disguise,
And vnperceiued Wound at euery Sight.
Chaste Phebe spake for purest azure Dyes,
But Iove and Venvs greene about the Light
To frame thought best, as bringing most Delight,
That to pin'd Hearts Hope might for ay arise:
Nature (all said) a Paradise of Greene
There plac'd, to make all loue which haue them seene.

Mad. [ii]

[To the delightfull Greene]

To the delightfull Greene
Of you faire radiant Eine,
Let each Blacke yeeld beneath the starrie Arche.
Eyes, burnisht Heauens of Loue,
Sinople Lampes of Ioue,
Saue that those Hearts which with your Flames yee parche
Two burning Sunnes you proue,
All other Eyes compar'd with you (deare Lights)
Bee Hells, or if not Hells yet dumpish Nights.
The Heauens (if we their Glasse
The Sea beleeue) bee greene, not perfect blew.
They all make faire what euer faire yet was,
And they bee faire because they looke like you.

Son. [xix]

[In vaine I haunt the colde and siluer Springs]

In vaine I haunt the colde and siluer Springs,
To quench the Feuer burning in my Vaines,
In vaine (Loues Pilgrime) Mountaines, Dales, and Plaines,
I ouer-runne, vaine Helpe long Absence brings.
In vaine (my Friends) your Counsell me constraines
To flie, and place my Thoughts on other Things,
Ah! like the Bird that fired hath her Wings,
The more I moue, the greater are my Paines.
Desire (alas) Desire a Zeuxis new,
From Indies borrowing Gold, from Westerne Skies
Most bright Cynoper, sets before mine Eyes
In euery Place, her Haire, sweet Looke and Hew:
That flie, runne, rest I, all doth proue but vaine,
My Life lies in those Lookes which haue me slaine.

Son. [xx]

[All other Beauties how so e're they shine]

All other Beauties how so e're they shine
In Haires more bright than is the golden Ore,
Or Cheekes more faire than fairest Eglantine,
Or Hands like Hers who comes the Sunne before:
Match'd with that Heauenly Hue, and Shape diuine,
With those deare Starres which my weake Thoughts adore,
Looke but like Shaddowes, or if they bee more,
It is in that that they are like to thine.
Who sees those Eyes, their Force and doth not proue,
Who gazeth on the Dimple of that Chinne,
And findes not Venus Sonne entrench'd therein,
Or hath not Sense, or knowes not what is Loue.
To see thee had Narcissus had the Grace,
Hee sure had died with wondring on thy Face.

Son. [xxi]

[My Teares may well Numidian Lions tame]

My Teares may well Numidian Lions tame,
And Pitie breede into the hardest Hart
That euer Pirrha did to Maide impart,
When Shee them first of blushing Rockes did frame.
Ah Eyes which only serue to waile my Smart,
How long will you mine inward Woes proclaime?
Let it suffice you beare a weeping Part
All Night, at Day though yee doe not the same:
Cease idle Sighes to spend your Stormes in vaine,
And these calme secret Shades more to molest,
Containe you in the Prison of my Brest,
You not doe ease but aggrauate my Paine,
Or (if burst foorth you must?) that Tempest moue
In Sight of Her whome I so dearely loue.

Son. [xxii]

[Nymphes, Sister Nymphes which haunt this christall Brooke]

Nymphes , Sister Nymphes which haunt this christall Brooke,
And (happie) in these Floting Bowrs abide,
Where trembling Roofes of Trees from Sunne you hide,
Which make Ideall Woods in euery Crooke,
Whether yee Garlands for your Lockes prouide,
Or pearlie Letters seeke in sandie Booke,
Or count your Loues when Thetis was a Bride?
Lift vp your golden Heads and on mee looke.
Read in mine Eyes mine agonizing Cares,
And what yee read recount to Her againe:
Faire Nymphes, say all these Streames are but my Teares,
And if Shee aske you how they sweet remaine,
Tell that the bittrest Teares which Eyes can powre,
When shed for Her doe cease more to be sowre.

Mad. [iii]

[Like the Idalian Queene]

Like the Idalian Queene
Her Haire about her Eyne,
With Necke and Brests ripe Apples to be seene,
At first Glance of the Morne
In Cyprus Gardens gathering those faire Flowrs
Which of her Bloud were borne,
I saw, but fainting saw, my Paramours.
The Graces naked danc'd about the Place,
The Winds and Trees amaz'd
With Silence on Her gaz'd,
The Flowrs did smile, like those vpon her Face,
And as their Aspine Stalkes those Fingers band,
(That Shee might read my Case)
A Hyacinth I wisht mee in her Hand.

Son. [xxiii]

[Then is Shee gone? O Foole and Coward I!]

Then is Shee gone? O Foole and Coward I!
O good Occasion lost, ne're to bee found!
What fatall Chaines haue my dull Senses bound
When best they may that they not Fortune trie?
Here is the flowrie Bed where Shee did lie,
With Roses here Shee stellified the Ground,
Shee fix'd her Eyes on this (yet smyling) Pond,
Nor Time, nor courteous Place seem'd ought denie.
Too long, too long (Respect) I doe embrace
Your Counsell, full of Threats and sharpe Disdaine;
Disdaine in her sweet Heart can haue no Place,
And though come there, must straight retire againe:
Hencefoorth Respect farewell, I oft heare tolde
Who liues in Loue can neuer bee too bolde.

Son. [xxiv]

[In Minds pure Glasse when I my selfe behold]

In Minds pure Glasse when I my selfe behold,
And viuely see how my best Dayes are spent,
What Clouds of Care aboue my Head are roll'd,
What comming Harmes, which I can not preuent:
My begunne Course I (wearied) doe repent,
And would embrace what Reason oft hath told,
But scarce thus thinke I, when Loue hath controld
All the best Reasons Reason could inuent.
Though sure I know my Labours End is Griefe,
The more I striue that I the more shall pine,
That only Death can be my last Reliefe:
Yet when I thinke vpon that Face diuine,
Like one with Arrow shot in Laughters Place,
Malgre my Heart I ioye in my Disgrace.

Son. [xxv]

[Deare Quirister, who from those Shaddowes sends]

Deare Quirister, who from those Shaddowes sends
(Ere that the blushing Dawne dare show her Light)
Such sad lamenting Straines, that Night attends
Become all Eare, Starres stay to heare thy Plight.
If one whose Griefe euen Reach of Thought transcends,
Who ne're (not in a Dreame) did taste Delight,
May thee importune who like Case pretends,
And seemes to ioy in Woe, in Woes Despight?
Tell me (so may thou Fortune milder trie,
And long long sing) for what thou thus complaines?
Sith (Winter gone) the Sunne in dapled Skie
Now smiles on Meadowes, Mountaines, Woods and Plaines:
The Bird, as if my questions did her moue,
With trembling Wings sobb'd foorth I loue, I loue.

Son. [xxvi]

[Trust not sweet Soule those curled Waues of Gold]

Trust not sweet Soule those curled Waues of Gold
With gentle Tides which on your Temples flow,
Nor Temples spread with Flackes of Virgine Snow,
Nor Snow of Cheekes with Tyrian Graine enroll'd.
Trust not those shining Lights which wrought my Woe,
When first I did their burning Rayes beholde,
Nor Voyce, whose Sounds more strange Effects doe show
Than of the Thracian Harper haue beene tolde:
Looke to this dying Lillie, fading Rose,
Darke Hyacinthe, of late whose blushing Beames
Made all the neighbouring Herbes and Grasse reioyce,
And thinke how litle is twixt Lifes Extreames:
The cruell Tyrant that did kill those Flowrs,
Shall once (aye mee) not spare that Spring of yours.

Son. [xxvii]

[That I so slenderly set foorth my Minde]

That I so slenderly set foorth my Minde,
Writing I wote not what in ragged Rimes,
And charg'd with Brasse into these golden Times
When others towre so high am left behinde:
I craue not Phebvs leaue his sacred Cell
To binde my Browes with fresh Aonian Bayes,
Let them haue that who tuning sweetest Layes
By Tempe sit, or Aganippe Well,
Nor yet to Venus Tree doe I aspire,
Sith Shee for whome I might affect that Praise,
My best Attempts with cruell Words gainsayes,
And I seeke not that Others me admire.
Of weeping Myrrhe the Crowne is which I craue,
With a sad Cypresse to adorne my Graue.

Son. [xxviii]

[Sound hoarse sad Lute, true Witnesse of my Woe]

Sound hoarse sad Lute, true Witnesse of my Woe,
And striue no more to ease selfe-chosen Paine
With Soule-enchanting Sounds, your Accents straine
Vnto these Teares vncessantly which flow.
Shrill Treeble weepe, and you dull Basses show
Your Masters Sorrow in a deadly Vaine,
Let neuer ioyfull Hand vpon you goe,
Nor Consort keepe but when you doe complaine.
Flie Phœbus Rayes, nay, hate the irkesome Light,
Woods solitarie Shades for thee are best,
Or the blacke Horrours of the blackest Night,
When all the World (saue Thou and I) doth rest:
Then sound sad Lute, and beare a mourning Part,
Thou Hell may'st mooue, though not a Womans Heart.

Son. [xxix]

[You restlesse Seas, appease your roaring Waues]

You restlesse Seas, appease your roaring Waues,
And you who raise hudge Mountaines in that Plaine
Aires Trumpeters, your blustring Stormes restraine,
And listen to the Plaints my Griefe doth cause.
Eternall Lights, though adamantine Lawes
Of Destinies to mooue still you ordaine,
Turne hitherward your Eyes, your Axetree pause,
And wonder at the Torments I sustaine.
Earth (if thou bee not dull'd by my Disgrace,
And senselesse made?) now aske those Powers aboue
Why they so crost a Wretch brought on thy Face?
Fram'd for Mis-hap, th' Anachorite of Loue,
And bid them if they would moe Ætnas burne,
In Rhodopee or Erimanthe mee turne.

Son. [xxx]

[What cruell Starre into this World mee brought?]

What cruell Starre into this World mee brought?
What gloomie Day did dawne to giue mee Light?
What vnkinde Hand to nourse mee (Orphane) sought,
And would not leaue mee in eternall Night?
What thing so deare as I hath Essence bought?
The Elements, drie, humid, heauie, light,
The smallest liuing things by Nature wrought,
Bee freed of Woe if they haue small Delight.
Ah only I, abandon'd to Despaire,
Nail'd to my Torments, in pale Horrours Shade,
Like wandring Clouds see all my Comforts fled,
And Euill on Euill with Hours my Life impaire:
The Heauen and Fortune which were wont to turne,
Fixt in one Mansion staye to cause mee mourne.

Son. [xxxi]

[Deare Eye which daign'st on this sad Monument]

Deare Eye which daign'st on this sad Monument
The sable Scroule of my Mis-haps to view,
Though with the mourning Muses Teares besprent,
And darkly drawne, which is not fain'd, but true,
If thou not dazell'd with a Heauenly Hue,
And comely Feature, didst not yet lament?
But happie liu'st vnto thy selfe content,
O let not Loue thee to his Lawes subdue.
Looke on the wofull Shipwracke of my Youth,
And let my Ruines for a Phare thee serue
To shunne this Rocke Capharean of Vntrueth,
And serue no God who doth his Church-men sterue:
His Kingdome is but Plaints, his Guerdon Teares,
What hee giues more are Iealousies and Feares.

Son. [xxxii]

[If crost with all Mis-haps bee my poore Life]

If crost with all Mis-haps bee my poore Life,
If one short Day I neuer spent in Mirth,
If my Spright with it selfe holds lasting Strife,
If Sorrowes Death is but new Sorrowes Birth?
If this vaine World bee but a sable Stage
Where slaue-borne Man playes to the scoffing Starres,
If Youth bee toss'd with Loue, with Weaknesse Age,
If Knowledge serue to holde our Thoughts in Warres?
If Time can close the hundreth Mouths of Fame,
And make what long since past, like that to bee,
If Vertue only bee an idle Name,
If I when I was borne was borne to die?
Why seeke I to prolong these loathsome Dayes,
The fairest Rose in shortest time decayes?

Son. [xxxiii]

[Let Fortune triumph now, and Iö sing]

Let Fortune triumph now, and Iö sing,
Sith I must fall beneath this Load of Care,
Let Her what most I prize of eu'rie Thing
Now wicked Trophees in her Temple reare.
Shee who high Palmie Empires doth not spare,
And tramples in the Dust the prowdest King,
Let Her vaunt how my Blisse Shee did impaire,
To what low Ebbe Shee now my Flow doth bring.
Let Her count how (a new Ixion) Mee
Shee in her Wheele did turne, how high nor low
I neuer stood, but more to tortur'd bee:
Weepe Soule, weepe plaintfull Soule, thy Sorrowes know,
Weepe, of thy Teares till a blacke Riuer swell,
Which may Cocytus be to this thy Hell.

Son. [xxxiv]

[O cruell Beautie, Meekenesse inhumaine]

O cruell Beautie, Meekenesse inhumaine,
That Night and day contend with my Desire,
And seeke my Hope to kill, not quench my Fire,
By Death, not Baulme to ease my pleasant Paine.
Though yee my Thoughts tread downe which would aspire,
And bound my Blisse, doe not (alas) disdaine
That I your matchlesse Worth and Grace admire,
And for their Cause these Torments sharpe sustaine.
Let great Empedocles vaunt of his Death
Found in the midst of those Sicylian Flames,
And Phaëton that Heauen him reft of Breath,
And Dædals Sonne He nam'd the Samian Streames:
Their Haps I enuie not, my Praise shall bee,
The fairest Shee that liu'd gaue Death to mee.

Son. [xxxv]

[The Hyperborean Hills, Ceraunus Snow]

The Hyperborean Hills, Ceraunus Snow,
Or Arimaspus (cruell) first thee bred,
The Caspian Tigers with their Milke thee fed,
And Faunes did humane Bloud on thee bestow.
Fierce Orithyas Louer in thy Bed
Thee lull'd asleepe, where he enrag'd doth blow,
Thou didst not drinke the Flouds which here doe flow,
But Teares, or those by ycie Tanais Hed.
Sith thou disdaines my Loue, neglects my Griefe,
Laughs at my Grones, and still affects my Death,
Of thee, nor Heauen I'll seeke no more Reliefe,
Nor longer entertaine this loathsome Breath,
But yeeld vnto my Starre, that thou mayst proue,
What Losse thou hadst in losing such a Loue.

Song. [ii]

[Phoebus arise]

Phoebus arise,
And paint the sable Skies
With azure, white, and Red:
Rowse Memnons Mother from her Tythons Bed,
That Shee thy Cariere may with Roses spred,
The Nightingalles thy Comming each where sing,
Make an eternall Spring,
Giue Life to this darke World which lieth dead.
Spreade foorth thy golden Haire
In larger Lockes than thou wast wont before,
And Emperour-like decore
With Diademe of Pearle thy Temples faire:
Chase hence the vglie Night
Which serues but to make deare thy glorious Light.
This is that happie Morne,
That Day long wished Day,
Of all my Life so darke,
(If cruell Starres haue not my Ruine sworne,
And Fates not Hope betray?)
Which (only white) deserues
A Diamond for euer should it marke:
This is the Morne should bring vnto this Groue
My Loue, to heare, and recompense my loue.
Faire King who all preserues,
But show thy blushing Beames,
And thou two sweeter Eyes
Shalt see than those which by Peneus Streames
Did once thy Heart surprise:
Nay, Sunnes, which shine as cleare
As thou when two thou did to Rome appeare.
Now Flora decke thy selfe in fairest Guise,
If that yee, Winds, would heare
A Voyce surpassing farre Amphions Lyre,
Your stormie chiding stay,
Let Zephyre only breath,
And with her Tresses play,
Kissing sometimes these purple Ports of Death.
The Windes all silent are,
And Phœbus in his Chaire
Ensaffroning Sea and Aire,
Makes vanish euery Starre:
Night like a Drunkard reeles
Beyond the Hills to shunne his flaming Wheeles.
The Fields with Flowrs are deckt in euery Hue,
The Clouds bespangle with bright Gold their Blew:
Here is the pleasant Place
And eu'ry thing, saue Her, who all should grace.

Son. [xxxvi]

[Who hath not seene into her saffron Bed]

Who hath not seene into her saffron Bed
The Mornings Goddesse mildly Her repose,
Or Her of whose pure Bloud first sprang the Rose,
Lull'd in a Slumber by a Mirtle Shade.
Who hath not seene that sleeping White and Red
Makes Phœbe looke so pale, which Shee did close
In that Iönian Hill, to ease her Woes,
Which only liues by Nectare Kisses fed:
Come but and see my Ladie sweetly sleepe,
The sighing Rubies of those heauenly Lips,
The Cupids which Brests golden Apples keepe,
Those Eyes which shine in midst of their Ecclipse,
And Hee them all shall see (perhaps) and proue
Shee waking but perswades, now forceth Loue.

Son. [xxxvii]

[Of Cithereas Birds that milke-white paire]

Of Cithereas Birds that milke-white paire
On yonder leauie Mirtle Tree which grone,
And waken with their kisses in the Aire
Enamour'd Zephyres murmuring one by one,
If thou but Sense hadst like Pigmalions Stone?
Or hadst not seene Medusas snakie haire,
Loues Lessons thou mightst learne? and learne sweete Faire,
To Summers Heat ere that thy Spring bee growne.
And if those kissing Louers seeme but Cold,
Looke how that Elme this Iuie doth embrace,
And bindes, and claspes with many a wanton Fold,
And courting Sleepe o'reshadowes all the Place:
Nay seemes to say, deare Tree we shall not parte,
In Signe whereof loe in each Leafe a Heart.

Son. [xxxviii]

[The Sunne is faire when hee with crimson Crowne]

The Sunne is faire when hee with crimson Crowne,
And flaming Rubies leaues his Easterne Bed,
Faire is Thaumantias in her christall Gowne
When Clouds engemm'd hang azure, greene, and Red.
To Westerne Worlds when wearied Day goes downe,
And from Heauens Windowes each Starre showes her Hed,
Earths silent Daughter Night is faire, though browne,
Faire is the Moone though in Loues Liuerie cled.
Faire Chloris is when Shee doth paint Aprile,
Faire are the Meads, the Woods, the Flouds are faire,
Faire looketh Ceres with her yellow Haire,
And Apples Queene when Rose-cheekt Shee doth smile.
That Heauen, and Earth, and Seas are faire is true,
Yet true that all not please so much as you.

Mad. [iv]

[When as shee smiles I finde]

When as shee smiles I finde
More light before mine Eyes,
Nor when the Sunne from Inde
Brings to our World a flowrie Paradise:
But when shee gently weepes,
And powres foorth pearlie Showres,
On Cheekes faire blushing Flowres,
A sweet Melancholie my Senses keepes.
Both feede so my Disease,
So much both doe me please,
That oft I doubt, which more my Heart doth burne,
Like Loue to see her smile, or Pitie mourne.

Son. [xxxix]

[Slide soft faire Forth, and make a christall Plaine]

Slide soft faire Forth, and make a christall Plaine,
Cut your white Lockes, and on your foamie Face
Let not a Wrinckle bee, when you embrace
The Boat that Earths Perfections doth containe.
Windes wonder, and through wondring holde your Peace,
Or if that yee your Hearts cannot restraine
From sending Sighes, mou'd by a Louers Case,
Sigh, and in her faire Haire your selues enchaine:
Or take these Sighes which Absence makes arise
From mine oppressed Brest and waue the Sailes,
Or some sweet Breath new brought from Paradise:
Flouds seeme to smile, Loue o're the Winds preueails,
And yet hudge Waues arise, the Cause is this,
The Ocean striues with Forth the Boate to kisse.

Son. [xl]

[Ah! who can see those Fruites of Paradise]

Ah! who can see those Fruites of Paradise,
Celestiall Cherries which so sweetly swell
That Sweetnesse selfe confinde there seemes to dwell,
And all those sweetest Parts about despise?
Ah! who can see and feele no Flame surprise
His hardened Heart? for mee (alas) too well
I know their Force, and how they doe excell,
Now burne I through Desire, now doe I freeze:
I die (deare Life) vnlesse to mee bee giuen
As many Kisses as the Spring hath Flowrs,
Or as the siluer Drops of Iris Showrs,
Or as the Starres in all-embracing Heauen,
And if displeas'd yee of the Match complaine,
Yee shall haue leaue to take them backe againe.

Son. [xli]

[Is't not enough (aye mee) mee thus to see]

Is't not enough (aye mee) mee thus to see
Like some Heauen-banish'd Ghost still wailing goe?
A Shadow which your Rayes doe only show,
To vexe mee more, vnlesse yee bid mee die?
What could yee worse allotte vnto your Foe?
But die will I, so yee will not denie
That Grace to mee which mortall Foes euen trie,
To chuse what sort of Death should ende my Woe.
One Time I found when as yee did mee kisse,
Yee gaue my panting Soule so sweet a Touch,
That halfe I sown'd in midst of all my Blisse,
I doe but craue my Deaths Wound may bee such:
For though by Griefe I die not and Annoy,
Is't not enough to die through too much Ioy?

Mad. [v]

[Sweete Rose whence is this Hue]

Sweete Rose whence is this Hue
Which doth all Hues excell?
Whence this most fragrant Smell?
And whence this Forme and gracing Grace in you?
In flowrie Paestums Field (perhaps) yee grew,
Or Hyblas Hills you bred,
Or odoriferous Ennas Plaines you fed,
Or Tmolus, or where Bore yong Adon slew,
Or hath the Queene of Loue you dy'd of new
In that deare Bloud, which makes you looke so red?
No, none of those, but Cause more high you blist,
My Ladies Brest you bare, and Lips you kist.

Son. [xlii]

[Shee whose faire flowrs no Autumne makes decay]

Shee whose faire flowrs no Autumne makes decay,
Whose Hue celestiall, earthly Hues doth staine,
Into a pleasant odoriferous Plaine
Did walke alone, to braue the Pride of Maye:
And whilst through chekred Lists shee made her Way,
Which smil'd about her Sight to entertaine,
Loe (vnawares) where Loue did hid remaine
Shee spide, and sought to make of him her Prey:
For which of golden Lockes a fairest Haire
(To binde the Boy) shee tooke, But hee afraid
At her Approach sprang swiftly in the Aire,
And mounting farre from Reach look'd backe and said,
Why shouldst thou (Sweet) me seeke in Chaines to binde,
Sith in thine Eyes I dayly am confinde.

Mad. [vi]

[On this colde World of Ours]

On this colde World of Ours,
Flowre of the Seasons, Season of the Flowrs,
Sonne of the Sunne sweet Spring,
Such hote and burning Dayes why doest thou bring?
Is this for that those high Eternall Pow'rs
Flash downe that Fire this All enuironing?
Or that now Phœbus keepes his Sisters Spheare?
Or doth some Phaëton
Enflame the Sea and Aire?
Or rather is it (Vsher of the Yeare)
For that last Day amongst thy Flowrs alone
Vnmask'd thou saw'st my Faire?
And whilst thou on her gaz'd shee did thee burne,
And in thy Brother Summer doth thee turne.

Son. [xliii]

[Deare Wood, and you sweet solitarie Place]

Deare Wood, and you sweet solitarie Place,
Where from the vulgare I estranged liue,
Contented more with what your Shades mee giue,
Than if I had what Thetis doth embrace:
What snakie Eye growne iealous of my Peace,
Now from your silent Horrours would mee driue?
When Sunne progressing in his glorious Race
Beyond the Twinnes, doth neare our Pole arriue.
What sweet Delight a quiet Life affords,
And what it is to bee of Bondage free,
Farre from the madding Worldlings hoarse Discords,
Sweet flowrie Place I first did learne of thee:
Ah! if I were mine owne, your deare Resorts
I would not change with Princes stately Courts.

Sextain. [ii]

[Sith gone is my Delight and only Pleasure]

Son. [xliv]

[Thou Window, once which serued for a Spheare]

Thou Window, once which serued for a Spheare
To that deare Planet of my Heart, whose Light
Made often blush the glorious Queene of Night,
While Shee in thee more beautious did appeare,
What mourning Weedes (alas) now do'st thou weare?
How loathsome to mine Eyes is thy sad Sight?
How poorely look'st thou, with what heauie cheare,
Since that Sunne set, which made thee shine so bright?
Vnhappie now thee close, for as of late
To wondring Eyes thou wast a Paradise,
Bereft of Her who made thee fortunate,
A Gulfe thou art, whence Cloudes of Sighes arise:
But vnto none so noysome as to mee,
Who hourly see my murth'red Ioyes in thee.

Son. [xlv]

[Are these the flowrie Bankes? is this the Mead]

Are these the flowrie Bankes? is this the Mead
Where Shee was wont to passe the pleasant hours?
Did here her Eyes exhale mine Eyes salt Showrs,
When on her Lap I laide my wearie Head?
Is this the goodly Elme did vs o'respread,
Whose tender Rine cut out in curious Flowrs
By that white Hand, containes those Flames of Ours?
Is this the rusling Spring vs Musicke made?
Deflourish'd Mead where is your heauenly Hue?
Banke, where that Arras did you late adorne,
How looke yee Elme all withered and forlorne?
Onely sweet Spring nought altered seemes in you:
But while here chang'd each other thing appeares,
To sowre your Streames take of mine Eyes these Teares.

Son. [xlvi]

[Alexis, here shee stay'd among these Pines]

Alexis , here shee stay'd among these Pines
(Sweet Hermitresse) shee did alone repaire,
Here did shee spreade the Treasure of her Haire,
More rich than that brought from the Colchian Mines.
Shee set Her by these musket Eglantines,
The happie Place the Print seemes yet to beare,
Her Voyce did sweeten here thy sugred Lines,
To which Winds, Trees, Beasts, Birds did lend their Eare.
Mee here shee first perceiu'd, and here a Morne
Of bright Carnations did o'respreade her Face,
Here did shee sigh, here first my Hopes were borne,
And I first got a Pledge of promis'd Grace:
But (ah) what seru'd it to bee happie so?
Sith passed Pleasures double but new Woe.

Son. [xlvii]

[O Night, cleare Night, O darke and gloomie Day!]

O Night, cleare Night, O darke and gloomie Day!
O wofull Waking! O Soule-pleasing Sleepe!
O sweet Conceits which in my Braines did creepe!
Yet sowre Conceits which went so soone away.
A Sleepe I had more than poore Words can say,
For clos'd in Armes (mee thought) I did thee keepe,
A sorie Wretch plung'd in Mis-fortunes deepe
Am I not wak'd? when Light doth Lies bewray.
O that that Night had euer still bene blacke!
O that that Day had neuer yet begunne!
And you mine Eyes would yee no time saw Sunne!
To haue your Sunne in such a Zodiacke:
Loe, what is good of Life is but a Dreame,
When Sorrow is a neuer-ebbing Streame.

Son. [xlviii]

[Haire, precious Haire which Midas Hand did straine]

Haire, precious Haire which Midas Hand did straine,
Part of the Wreathe of Gold that crownes those Browes
Which Winters whitest White in Whitenesse staine,
And Lillie, by Eridans Banke that growes.
Haire (fatall Present) which first caus'd my Woes,
When loose yee hang like Danaës golden Raine,
Sweet Nettes, which sweetly doe all Hearts enchaine,
Strings, deadly Strings, with which Loue bends his Bowes.
How are yee hither come? tell me, O Haire,
Deare Armelet, for what thus were yee giuen?
I know a Badge of Bondage I you weare,
Yet Haire for you, ô that I were a Heauen!
Like Berenices Locke that yee might shine
(But brighter farre) about this Arme of mine.

Mad. [vii]

[Vnhappie Light]

Vnhappie Light,
Doe not approach to bring the wofull Day,
When I must bid for ay
Farewell to Her, and liue in endlesse Plight.
Faire Moone, with gentle Beames
The Sight who neuer marres,
Long cleare Heauens sable Vault, and you bright Starres
Your golden Lockes long glasse in Earths pure Streames,
Let Phœbus neuer rise
To dimme your watchfull Eyes:
Prolong (alas) prolong my short Delight,
And if yee can, make an eternall Night.

Son. [xlix]

[With Griefe in Heart, and Teares in sowning Eyes]

With Griefe in Heart, and Teares in sowning Eyes,
When I to Her had giu'n a sad Fare-well,
Close sealed with a Kisse, and Dew which fell
On my else-moystned Face from Beauties Skies.
So strange Amazement did my Minde surprise,
That at each Pace I fainting turn'd againe,
Like One whome a Torpedo stupifies,
Not feeling Honours Bit, nor Reasons Raine.
But when fierce Starres to parte mee did constraine,
With backe-cast Lookes I enui'd both and bless'd
The happie Walles and Place did Her containe,
Till that Sights Shafts their flying Obiect miss'd,
So wailing parted Ganamede the faire,
When Eagles Talents bare him through the Aire.

Mad. [viii]

[I feare not hencefoorth Death]

I feare not hencefoorth Death,
Sith after this Departure yet I breath,
Let Rocks, and Seas, and Wind,
Their highest Treasons show,
Let Skie and Earth combinde
Striue (if they can) to ende my Life and Woe:
Sith Griefe can not, mee nothing can o'rethrow,
Or if that ought can cause my fatall Lot,
It will bee when I heare I am forgot.

Son. [l]

[How many times Nights silent Queene her Face]

How many times Nights silent Queene her Face
Hath hid, how oft with Starres in siluer Maske
In Heauens great Hall shee hath begunne her Taske,
And chear'd the waking Eye in lower Place:
How oft the Sunne hath made by Heauens swift Race
The happie Louer to forsake the Brest
Of his deare Ladie, wishing in the West
His golden Coach to runne had larger Space:
I euer count, and number, since alas
I bade Farewell to my Hearts dearest Guest,
The Miles I compasse, and in Minde I chase
The Flouds and Mountaines holde mee from my Rest:
But (woe is mee) long count and count may I,
Ere I see Her whose Absence makes mee die.

Son. [li]

[So grieuous is my Paine, so painefull Life]

So grieuous is my Paine, so painefull Life,
That oft I finde mee in the Armes of Death,
But (Breath halfe gone) that Tyrant called Death
Who others killes, restoreth mee to Life:
For while I thinke how Woe shall ende with Life,
And that I quiet Peace shall ioye by Death,
That Thought euen doth o'repowre the Paines of Death,
And call mee home againe to lothed Life:
Thus doth mine euill transcend both Life and Death,
While no Death is so bad as is my Life,
Nor no Life such which doth not ende by Death,
And Protean Changes turne my Death and Life:
O happie those who in their Birth finde Death,
Sith but to languish Heauen affordeth Life.

Son. [lii]

[Fame, who with golden Pennes abroad dost range]

Fame , who with golden Pennes abroad dost range
Where Phœbus leaues the Night, and brings the Day,
Fame, in one Place who (restlesse) dost not stay
Till thou hast flowne from Atlas vnto Gange:
Fame, Enemie to Time that still doth change,
And in his changing Course would make decay
What here below he findeth in his Way,
Euen making Vertue to her selfe looke strange.
Daughter of Heauen; Now all thy Trumpets sound,
Raise vp thy Head vnto the highest Skie,
With Wonder blaze the Gifts in Her are found,
And when shee from this mortall Globe shall flie,
In thy wide Mouth, keepe long long keepe her Name,
So thou by Her, shee by thee liue shall Fame.

Mad. [ix]

[The Iuorie, Corrall, Gold]

The Iuorie, Corrall, Gold,
Of Brest, of Lips, of Haire,
So liuely Sleepe doth show to inward Sight,
That wake I thinke I hold
No Shadow, but my Faire:
My selfe so to deceaue
With long-shut Eyes I shunne the irkesome Light.
Such Pleasure thus I haue
Delighting in false Gleames,
If Death Sleepes Brother bee?
And Soules relieu'd of Sense haue so sweete Dreames?
That I would wish mee thus to dreame and die.

Son. [liii]

[I curse the Night, yet doth from Day mee hide]

I curse the Night, yet doth from Day mee hide,
The Pandionian Birds I tyre with Mones,
The Ecchoes euen are weari'd with my Grones,
Since Absence did mee from my Blisse diuide.
Each Dreame, each Toy, my Reason doth affright,
And when Remembrance reades the curious Scroule
Of pass'd Contentments caused by her Sight,
Then bitter Anguish doth inuade my Soule.
While thus I liue ecclipsed of her Light
(O mee!) what better am I than the Mole?
Or those whose Zenith is the only Pole,
Whose Hemispheare is hid with so long Night?
Saue that in Earth he rests, they hope for Sunne,
I pine, and finde mine endlesse Night begunne.

Son. [liv]

[Of Death some tell, some of the cruell Paine]

Of Death some tell, some of the cruell Paine
Which that bad Crafts-man in his Worke did trie,
When (a new Monster) Flames once did constraine
A humane Corps to yeeld a brutish Crie.
Some tell of those in burning Beds who lie,
For that they durst in the Phlegræan Plaine
The mightie Rulers of the Skie defie,
And siege those christall Towres which all containe.
An other countes of Phlegethons hote Floods
The Soules which drinke, Ixions endlesse Smart,
And his to whom a Vulture eates the Heart,
One telles of Specters in enchanted Woods:
Of all those Paines he who the worst would proue,
Let him bee absent, and but pine in Loue.

Mad. [x]

[Tritons, which bounding diue]

Tritons, which bounding diue
Through Neptunes liquide Plaine,
When as yee shall arriue
With tilting Tides where siluer Ora playes,
And to your King his watrie Tribute payes,
Tell how I dying liue,
And burne in midst of all the coldest Maine.

Son. [lv]

[Place mee where angry Titan burnes the More]

Place mee where angry Titan burnes the More,
And thirstie Africke firie Monsters brings,
Or where the new-borne Phœnix spreades her Wings,
And Troupes of wondring Birds her Flight adore.
Place mee by Gange, or Indes empampred Shore,
Where smyling Heauens on Earth cause double Springs,
Place mee where Neptunes Quire of Syrens sings,
Or where (made hoarse through Cold) hee leaues to roare.
Mee place where Fortune doth her Darlings crowne,
A Wonder, or a Sparke in Enuies Eye,
Or late outragious Fates vpon mee frowne,
And Pittie wailing see disastred Mee,
Affections Print my Minde so deepe doth proue,
I may forget my Selfe, but not my Loue.