 | The Complete Works of Sir Philip Sidney |  |
IV. Volume IV
1
The First Booke or Acte of the Countess of Pembrookes ARCADIA
2
[Thy Elder care shall from thy carefull face]
Thy Elder care shall from thy carefull faceBy Princely meane bee stolne, and yet not lost;
Thy Younger shall with Natures bliss embrace
An uncouth Love, whiche Nature hateth moste:
Thow with thy Wyffe adultery shalt committ,
And in thy Throne, a forreyn State shall sitt,
All this on thee this fatall yeare shall hitt.
25
[Transformde in shewe, but more transformde in mynde]
Transformde in shewe, but more transformde in mynde,
I cease to stryve, with duble Conquest foylde;
For, woe ys mee, my powers all (I fynde)
With owtewarde force, and inward treason spoylde.
I cease to stryve, with duble Conquest foylde;
For, woe ys mee, my powers all (I fynde)
With owtewarde force, and inward treason spoylde.
For, from withoute, came to myne eyes the blowe,
Whereto, myne Inwarde thoughtes did faintly yeelde:
Bothe these conspirde pore Reasons overthrowe,
False in my self, thus have I lost the feelde.
Whereto, myne Inwarde thoughtes did faintly yeelde:
Bothe these conspirde pore Reasons overthrowe,
False in my self, thus have I lost the feelde.
And thus myne eyes are plaste still in one sighte,
And thus my thoughtes can thinck but one thing still:
Thus, reason to his servantes gives his righte,
Thus ys my power transformed to youre will.
What marvell then I take a Womans hewe?
Since, what I see, thincke, knowe, ys all but yow?
And thus my thoughtes can thinck but one thing still:
Thus, reason to his servantes gives his righte,
Thus ys my power transformed to youre will.
What marvell then I take a Womans hewe?
Since, what I see, thincke, knowe, ys all but yow?
27
[What lengthe of verse can serve, brave Mopsas good to showe]
What lengthe of verse can serve, brave Mopsas good to showe,
Whose vertues strange, & beutyes suche, as no man them may knowe:
Thus shrewdly burdened then, how can my Muse escape;
The godds must help, and precyous thinges must serve to shew her shape.
Whose vertues strange, & beutyes suche, as no man them may knowe:
Thus shrewdly burdened then, how can my Muse escape;
The godds must help, and precyous thinges must serve to shew her shape.
Like great god Saturne, faire, and like faire Venus chaste,
As smoothe as Pan, as Juno, mylde, lyke goddess Iris faste.
With Cupid shee foresees, and goes god Vulcans pace,
And for a taste of all these giftes shee borowes Momus grace.
As smoothe as Pan, as Juno, mylde, lyke goddess Iris faste.
With Cupid shee foresees, and goes god Vulcans pace,
And for a taste of all these giftes shee borowes Momus grace.
Her forehead Jacincth lyke, her cheekes of Opall hewe,
Her twinckling eyes bedect wth perle, her lippes of Saphire blewe.
Her heare pure Crapall stone, her Mouthe, O heavenly wyde,
Her skinne like burnisht golde, her handes like silver Owir untryde.
As for those partes unknowne, whiche hidden sure are best
Happy bee they wch well beleeve, and never seeke the rest.
Her twinckling eyes bedect wth perle, her lippes of Saphire blewe.
Her heare pure Crapall stone, her Mouthe, O heavenly wyde,
Her skinne like burnisht golde, her handes like silver Owir untryde.
As for those partes unknowne, whiche hidden sure are best
Happy bee they wch well beleeve, and never seeke the rest.
36
[Come Shepearde weedes become youre Masters mynde]
Come Shepearde weedes become youre Masters mynde,
Yeelde owteward shewe, what Inwarde chaunge hee tryes:
Nor bee abashed, synce suche a guest yow fynde,
Whose strongest hope in youre weyke comforte lyes.
Yeelde owteward shewe, what Inwarde chaunge hee tryes:
Nor bee abashed, synce suche a guest yow fynde,
Whose strongest hope in youre weyke comforte lyes.
Come Shepeard weedes attend my woofull Cryes,
Disuse youre selves from sweete Menalcas voyce:
For others bee those Tunes wch sorrowes tyes,
From those clere notes wch freely may rejoyce.
Disuse youre selves from sweete Menalcas voyce:
For others bee those Tunes wch sorrowes tyes,
From those clere notes wch freely may rejoyce.
Then powre oute pleynte, and in one worde say this:
Helples his pleynte, who spoyles him self of blis.
Helples his pleynte, who spoyles him self of blis.
47
[Now thancked bee the great god Pan]
Now thancked bee the great god Pan,
That thus preserves my loved lyfe:
Thancked bee I that keepe A man,
Who ended hathe this fearefull stryfe.
So, yf my Man must prayses have;
What then must I, that keepe the knave?
That thus preserves my loved lyfe:
Thancked bee I that keepe A man,
Who ended hathe this fearefull stryfe.
So, yf my Man must prayses have;
What then must I, that keepe the knave?
For, as the Moone the eye dothe please,
With gentle beames not hurting sighte:
Yet hathe Sir Sunn the greatest prayse,
Bycause from him dothe come her lighte.
So, yf my man must prayses have;
What then must I, that keepe the knave?
With gentle beames not hurting sighte:
Yet hathe Sir Sunn the greatest prayse,
Bycause from him dothe come her lighte.
So, yf my man must prayses have;
What then must I, that keepe the knave?
54
[Come Dorus come, Let Songes thy sorrowes signify]
Lalus.Come Dorus come, Let Songes thy sorrowes signify,
And, yf for want of use thy mynde ashamed ys,
That very shame, with Loves hye tytle Dignify:
No style ys helde for base, where Love well named ys.
Eche eare suckes up the wordes a true Love scattereth,
And playne speeche ofte, then quaynte phrase better framed ys.
Dorus.
Nightingales sildome singe, the Pye still chattereth,
The wood cryes moste, before yt throwly kindled bee,
Deadly woundes inward bleede, eche sleight sore mattereth:
Hardly they hearde, wch by good Hunters singled bee,
Shallow brookes murmer moste, Depe sylent slyde away,
Nor true Love Loves, his Loves with others mingled bee.
Lalus.
Yf thow wilt not bee seene, thy face goo hyde away,
Bee none of us, or else meynteyne oure fashyon,
Who frownes at others feastes, dothe better byde away,
But yf thow haste a Love in that Loves passyon
I Challenge thee by shewe of her perfection
Whiche of us Twoo deserveth moste Compassyon.
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Thy Chalenge greate, but greater my protection,
Singe then, and see, for now thow haste enflamed mee,
Thy healthe to meane a Matche for my infection,
No though the Heavens for highe Attempt have blamed mee
Yet, highe ys myne Attempt (O Muse) historify
Her prayse, whose prayse to learne, youre skill hathe framed mee.
Lalus.
Muse, holde youre peace, but thow my God Pan glorify,
My Kalas giftes, who with all good giftes filled ys.
Thy Pype (O Pan) shall help, thoughe I singe sorily,
A heape of sweetes shee ys where no thing spilled ys;
Who, thoughe shee bee no Bee, yet full of hony ys
A Litle feelde, with plowe of Rose wch tilled ys.
idem.
Mylde as a Lambe, more deynty than a Cony ys,
Her eyes my eye sighte ys, her Conversacyon,
More glad to mee, then to a Myser mony ys:
What Coy accoumpte shee makes of estimacyon,
Howe nice to tuche, how all her speeches peized bee,
A Nimphe thus turned, but mended in translation.
Dorus.
Suche Kala ys, but, Ah, my fancyes raysed bee,
In one whose name, to name were highe presumption,
Synce vertues all to make her Tytle pleased bee,
O happy goddes, wch by Inward assumption;
Enjoy her sowle, in bodyes fayre possession,
And keepe yt joyned fearing youre Seates consumption.
idem.
Howe ofte with rayne of teares, Skyes make Confession,
Theyre Duellers rapt with sighte of her perfection,
From heavenly throane to her heaven use digression:
Of best thinges then, what worlde can yeelde confection,
To licken her, deck youres with youre Comparyson
She ys herself of best thinges the Collection.
56
Howe ofte my Dolefull Sire, cryed to mee, tarry, sonne,
(When firste hee spyde my Love) howe ofte hee saide to mee,
Thow arte no Souldyer fitt for Cupides guarryson,
My sonne keepe this, that my long toyle hathe layde to mee,
Love well thyne owne (mee thincke) wolles whitenes passeth all.
I never founde longe Love, suche wealthe hathe payde to mee,
idem.
This wynde, hee spent, but when my Kala glasseth all
My sighte, in her faire Lym̄es, I then assure my self,
Not rotten sheepe, but hye Crownes, shee surpasseth all,
Can I bee pore, that her golde hayer procure my self.
Want I white woolle, whose eyes her white skinne garnished?
Till I gett her, shall I to keepe enure my self?
Dorus.
Howe ofte when reason sawe Love of her harnished,
With Armor of my harte hee cryed, O, vanitye?
To sett a Perle in steele, so meanely varnished?
Looke to thy self, reache not beyonde humanity?
Her mynde, beames, state, farr from thy weyke winges banished
And Love whiche Lover hurtes ys inhumanity.
idem.
Thus reason sayde, but shee came, reason vanished,
Her eyes so mastering mee, that suche objection
Seemde but to spoyle the foode of thought longe famished;
Her pereles heighte, my mynde to hye erection,
Drawes up, and yf (hope fayling) ende lyves pleasure,
Of fayrer Deathe how can I make election.
Lalus.
Once my well wayting eyes espyed my treasure
With sleeves turnde up, loose hayer, and brestes enlarged,
Her Fathers Corne mooving, her fayres Lym̄es measure,
O (Cryed I) of so meane worcke bee discharged?
Measure my Case, how by thy Beutyes fillinge
With seede of woes, my harte brym̄full ys charged.
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Thy Father biddes thee save, and Chydes for spilling,
Save then my sowle, spill not my thoughtes well heaped,
No Lovely prayse was ever gott by killinge,
These bolde wordes shee did heare, this fruite I reaped,
That shee whose Looke alone mighte make mee blessed
Did smyle on mee, and then away shee leaped.
Dorus.
O sweete, once, I sawe with Drede oppressed,
Her whome I Drede, so that, with prostrate lying,
Her Lengthe the earthe in Loves cheef Clothing dressed,
I sawe that Riches falle, and fell a Cryinge,
Lett not deade Earthe enjoy so deare a Cover,
But Deck there with my sowle, for youre sake dyinge.
Idem.
Lay all youre feare uppon youre Fearefull Lover;
Shyne eyes on mee, that bothe oure Lyves bee guarded;
So I youre sighte, yow shall youre selves recover,
I cryed, and was with open Rayes, rewarded,
But, streight they fledd, summond' by crewell honor,
Honor, the Cause, Desert ys not regarded.
Lalus.
This Mayde thus made for joyes, (O Pan) bemone her,
That withoute Love, shee spendes her yeares of Love,
So fayre a feelde woulde well become an Owner,
And yf enchauntement can a hard harte moove,
Teache mee what Circle can acquaynte her spirite
Affections charmes in my behalf to proove.
The Circle ys my (Rounde aboute her) sighte
The power I will Invoke dwelles in her eyes
My Charme shoulde bee, shee haunte mee day and nighte.
Dorus.
Farr other Case, (O Muse) my sorrowe tryes,
Bent to suche one in whome my self must saye,
No thing can mende one poynte, that in her lyes:
What Circle then in so rare force beares sway,
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No Charme holdes her, but well possess shee may
Possess shee dothe and makes my sowle her Slave,
My eyes the bandes, my thoughtes the fatall knott,
No thralles like them, that Inwarde bondage have.
Lalus.
Kala, at lengthe conclude my Lingering Lott,
Disdayne mee not, allthoughe I bee not fayre,
Who ys an heyre, of many hundred sheepe
Dothe beutyes kepe, whiche never sone can burne,
Nor stormes do turne, fayrenes serves ofte to wealthe.
Yet, all my healthe, I place in youre good will.
idem.
Whiche, yf yow will, (O Doo) bestowe on mee,
Suche as yow see, suche still yow shall mee fynde,
Constant, and kynde, my sheepe youre foode shall breede,
Theyre woolle youre weede, I will yow musick yeelde,
In flowery fielde, and as the day beginnes,
With Twenty ginnes, wee will the smalle Byrdes take,
And pastymes make, as Nature thinges hathe made,
But when in shade, wee meete of Mirtle bowes,
Then Love allowes, Oure pleasures to enriche,
The thoughte of whiche, dothe pass all worldly pelf.
Dorus.
Lady youre self, whome neyther name I dare,
And tytles are, but spottes to suche a worthe,
Her playntes come forthe, from Dongeon of my mynde,
The Noblest kynde, rejectes not others woes,
I have no shewes of welthe, my Wealthe ys yow,
My Beutyes hew, youre beames, my healthe youre Deedes,
My mynde for weedes, youre vertuous Livery weares,
My foode ys teares, my Tunes Weymenting yeelde.
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Dispayre my feelde, the flowers, Spirittes, Warres
My day newe Cares, my ginnes my daily sighte,
In whiche do lighte, smalle Byrdes of thoughtes overthrown
My Pastymes none, Tyme passeth on my falle,
Nature made all, But mee of Doloures made
I fynde no shade, But where my sunne dothe burne,
No place to turne, Withowte, Within yt fryes,
Nor help by lyfe, or Deathe who living dyes.
Lalus.
But yf my Kala, this my suite denyes,
Whiche so muche reason beares:
Let Crowes pick owte myne eyes,
Whiche to muche sawe,
Yf shee still hate loves Lawe, my earthy moulde dothe melt in watery teares.
Dorus.
My earthy moulde do melt in watery teares,
And they ageane resolve, to ayer of sighes,
Sighes to the hartes fyer turne, wch dothe to Asshes burne,
Thus dothe my lyfe within yt self dissolve.
Lalus.
Thus dothe my Lyfe within yt self Dissolve,
That I growe like the Beaste,
Whiche beares the Bitt:
A weyker force dothe guyde:
Yet pacyence must abyde.
Suche weight yt hathe, whiche once ys full possest.
Dorus.
Suche weighte yt hathe, whiche once ys full possest,
That I became a Vision,
Whiche hathe in others hed his onely beeyng,
And lives in Francyes seeyng,
O wretched state of man, in self Division?
Lalus.
O wretched state of man in self Division?
O, well thow sayest, a feeling declaracion?
Thy tongue hathe made of Cupides deepe incision,
But now hoârse voyce dothe fayle this occupacyon.
And others longe to tell theyre Loves Condicion,
Of singing, thow haste gott the Reputacyon.
60
Of singing, thow haste gott the Reputacyon,
Good Lalus myne, I yeelde to thy habillity
My harte dothe seeke an other estimacyon,
But, Ah (my Muse) I woulde thow hadst facility?
To worcke my Goddess so by thy Invention;
On mee to cast those eyes, where shyne Nobility,
Seene & knowne, hearde, but, withoute attention.
61
[Pore Paynters ofte, with silly Poettes joyne]
Pore Paynters ofte, with silly Poettes joyne,
To fill the worlde wth straunge but vayne Conceyptes:
One bringes the Stuff, the other stampes the Coyne,
Whiche breedes nought else but glosses of Deceiptes:
Thus Paynters Cupid paynte, thus Poettes doo,
A naked god, blynde, younge, with Arrowes twoo.
To fill the worlde wth straunge but vayne Conceyptes:
One bringes the Stuff, the other stampes the Coyne,
Whiche breedes nought else but glosses of Deceiptes:
Thus Paynters Cupid paynte, thus Poettes doo,
A naked god, blynde, younge, with Arrowes twoo.
Is hee a God, that ever flies the Lighte?
Or naked hee disguysd' in all untruthe:
Yf hee bee blynde how hitteth hee so righte,
Or ys hee younge, that tamed oulde Phebus youthe.
But, Arrowes twoo and tipt wth golde or leade,
Some hurt accuse a thirde with horned heade.
Or naked hee disguysd' in all untruthe:
Yf hee bee blynde how hitteth hee so righte,
Or ys hee younge, that tamed oulde Phebus youthe.
But, Arrowes twoo and tipt wth golde or leade,
Some hurt accuse a thirde with horned heade.
No, no thinge so; an oulde false knave hee ys,
By Argus gott on Io, then a Cowe:
What tyme for her Juno her Jove did misse,
And charge of her to Argus did allowe.
Mercury killed his false Syre for this Acte:
His Damme a Beast was pardoned beastly facte.
By Argus gott on Io, then a Cowe:
What tyme for her Juno her Jove did misse,
And charge of her to Argus did allowe.
Mercury killed his false Syre for this Acte:
His Damme a Beast was pardoned beastly facte.
With fathers Deathe, and Mothers guilty shame,
With Joves disdayne, at suche a Rivalls seede,
The wretche compelde, a Rouneagate became;
And learned what evell a miser state dothe breede,
To lye, to steale, to prye and to accuse,
Nought in him self eche other to abuse.
With Joves disdayne, at suche a Rivalls seede,
The wretche compelde, a Rouneagate became;
And learned what evell a miser state dothe breede,
To lye, to steale, to prye and to accuse,
Nought in him self eche other to abuse.
62
Yet, beares hee still his Parentes stately giftes,
A horned head Cloven feete, and thowsand eyes,
Some gasing still some winckinge wyly shiftes,
With longe large eares where never Rumor dyes,
His horned heade dothe seeme the heaven to spighte:
His Cloven feete dothe never treade arighte,
A horned head Cloven feete, and thowsand eyes,
Some gasing still some winckinge wyly shiftes,
With longe large eares where never Rumor dyes,
His horned heade dothe seeme the heaven to spighte:
His Cloven feete dothe never treade arighte,
Thus half a Man, with many easily hauntes,
Clothde in the shape wch soonest may deceyve,
Thus half a Beast, eche beastly vyce hee plantes,
In those weyke hartes, that his advyce receyve.
Hee proulles eche place, still in newe Coloures deckt,
Sucking ones evill, an other to infect.
Clothde in the shape wch soonest may deceyve,
Thus half a Beast, eche beastly vyce hee plantes,
In those weyke hartes, that his advyce receyve.
Hee proulles eche place, still in newe Coloures deckt,
Sucking ones evill, an other to infect.
To narrow brestes hee comes all wrapte in gayne,
To swelling hartes hee shynes in honors fyer,
To open eyes all Beutyes hee dothe Rayne,
Creeping to eche, with flatering of Desyer,
But, for that Love ys worste wch Rules the eyes,
Thereon his Name, there his cheef tryumphe lyes.
To swelling hartes hee shynes in honors fyer,
To open eyes all Beutyes hee dothe Rayne,
Creeping to eche, with flatering of Desyer,
But, for that Love ys worste wch Rules the eyes,
Thereon his Name, there his cheef tryumphe lyes.
Millions of yeares this oulde Drivell Cupid lives,
While still more wretche, more wicked hee dothe prove;
Till nowe at lengthe, that Jove him office gives,
At Junos sute, who muche did Argus love:
In this oure worlde, a hangman for to bee:
Of all those fooles, that will have all they see.
While still more wretche, more wicked hee dothe prove;
Till nowe at lengthe, that Jove him office gives,
At Junos sute, who muche did Argus love:
In this oure worlde, a hangman for to bee:
Of all those fooles, that will have all they see.
68
[Upp, upp Philisides, Let sorowes goo]
Geron. Philisides. Histor.Geron.
Upp, upp Philisides, Let sorowes goo,
Who yeeldes to woo, dothe but encrease his smarte.
Doo not thy hart, to playntfull Custome bringe,
But, let us singe, sweete tunes doo passyons ease,
And olde man heare, who woulde thy fancyes rayse.
Philisides.
Who myndes to please the mynde drownde in Annoyes?
With outeward Joyes, whiche inlie can not sincke,
As well may thinck, with Oyle to coole the fyer,
Or with desyer, to make suche foe a frende,
Who dothe his sowle to endles mallice bend.
Geron.
Yet sure, an ende, to eche thing tyme dothe give,
Thoughe woes now live, at length thy woes must dye,
Then vertue trye, yf shee can worcke in thee,
That whiche wee see, in many tyme hathe wroughte
And weykest hartes to Constant temper broughte.
Philisides.
Who ever taughte a skilless man to teache,
Or stopp a breache, that never Canon sawe,
Sweete vertues Lawe, barres not a Causefull moane,
Tyme shall in one, my lyfe and sorowes ende,
And mee perchaunce youre Constant temper lende.
Geron.
What can amend, where Phisick ys refused,
The wittes abusde, with will, no Counsell take,
Yet, for my sake, Discover us thy greef
Ofte comes Releef when moste wee seeme in trapp,
The starres thy state, fortune may chaunge thy happ.
Philisides.
Yf fortunes Lapp became my duelling place,
And all the starres conspired to my good
Still were I one, this still shoulde bee my Case,
Ruyns Relique, Cares webb, and sorowes foode,
Synce shee faire fierce to suche estate mee Galles
Whose witt the starres, whose fortune fortune thralles.
69
Alas what falles are fallen unto thy mynde,
That there where thow confest thy mischeef lyes,
Thy witt doste use still, still more harmes to fynde,
Whome witt makes vayne or blynded with his eyes,
What Counsell can preveyle, or Lighte give lighte,
Synce all his force ageanst him self hee tryes,
That there where thow confest thy mischeef lyes,
Thy witt doste use still, still more harmes to fynde,
Whome witt makes vayne or blynded with his eyes,
What Counsell can preveyle, or Lighte give lighte,
Synce all his force ageanst him self hee tryes,
Then eche Conceypt that enters in by sighte,
Ys made forsoothe a Jurate of his woes,
Earthe, sea, Aire, heaven, hell and gastly spirit,
Then cryes to senceles thinges wch neither knowes,
What eyleth thee, and yf they know thy mynde
Woulde scorne (in man) theyre kinge, suche feeble shewes.
Ys made forsoothe a Jurate of his woes,
Earthe, sea, Aire, heaven, hell and gastly spirit,
Then cryes to senceles thinges wch neither knowes,
What eyleth thee, and yf they know thy mynde
Woulde scorne (in man) theyre kinge, suche feeble shewes.
Rebell, rebell in golden fetters bynde,
This tyrant Love or rather do suppress,
Those rebell thoughtes wch are thy slaves by kynde,
Let not a glittering name thy fancy dresse,
In paynted Clothes because they calle yt love
There ys no hate that can thee more oppresse.
This tyrant Love or rather do suppress,
Those rebell thoughtes wch are thy slaves by kynde,
Let not a glittering name thy fancy dresse,
In paynted Clothes because they calle yt love
There ys no hate that can thee more oppresse.
Begin, and half the worcke ys done, to proove,
By raysing up, uppon thy self to stande,
And thincke shee ys a Shee that dothe thee moove
Hee water plowes, and soweth in the sande,
And hopes the flickering wynde with nett to holde
Who hathe his hopes layde up in womans hande.
By raysing up, uppon thy self to stande,
And thincke shee ys a Shee that dothe thee moove
Hee water plowes, and soweth in the sande,
And hopes the flickering wynde with nett to holde
Who hathe his hopes layde up in womans hande.
What man ys hee that hathe his freedome soulde?
Ys hee a manlike man, that dothe not knowe a Man?
Hathe power that sexe with brydle to withholde,
A ficle sex and true in trust to no man.
A servant sex, soone prowde yf they bee coyde
And to Conclude, thy Mistris ys a woman.
Ys hee a manlike man, that dothe not knowe a Man?
Hathe power that sexe with brydle to withholde,
A ficle sex and true in trust to no man.
A servant sex, soone prowde yf they bee coyde
And to Conclude, thy Mistris ys a woman.
Those wordes did once the Lovelyest Shepearde use,
That erste I knewe and with moste playnefull Muse
Yet not of woemen Judging, as hee sayde,
But forste with rage, his Rage on them obrayde.
That erste I knewe and with moste playnefull Muse
Yet not of woemen Judging, as hee sayde,
But forste with rage, his Rage on them obrayde.
70
O Godds how longe this oulde foole hathe anoyde?
My wearyed eares, O gods yet graunte mee this,
That, soone the worlde of his false tongue bee voyde,
O Noble aige who past theyre onely blisse
In beeyng hearde, untill the hearer dye,
Uttering a Serpentes mynde, with Serpentes hisse.
My wearyed eares, O gods yet graunte mee this,
That, soone the worlde of his false tongue bee voyde,
O Noble aige who past theyre onely blisse
In beeyng hearde, untill the hearer dye,
Uttering a Serpentes mynde, with Serpentes hisse.
Then, who will heare a well authorized lye?
And patience hathe, let him go learne of him,
What swarmes of vertues did in his youthe flie
Suche hartes of brass, wyse heddes, and garmentes trym̄,
Were in his dayes, whiche hearde, one no thing heares,
Yf from his wordes the falsehoodes hee do skym.
And patience hathe, let him go learne of him,
What swarmes of vertues did in his youthe flie
Suche hartes of brass, wyse heddes, and garmentes trym̄,
Were in his dayes, whiche hearde, one no thing heares,
Yf from his wordes the falsehoodes hee do skym.
And here in moste theyre folly vayne appeares,
That since they still alledge when they were younge,
Yt shewes they fetche theyre witt from yowthfull yeares,
Lyke beaste for sacrifice, where (save the tongue,
And Belly) noughte ys lefte, suche sure ys hee,
This lyfe Deade man in this oulde Dongeon flonge.
That since they still alledge when they were younge,
Yt shewes they fetche theyre witt from yowthfull yeares,
Lyke beaste for sacrifice, where (save the tongue,
And Belly) noughte ys lefte, suche sure ys hee,
This lyfe Deade man in this oulde Dongeon flonge.
Oulde howses are throwne Downe, for newe wee see,
The Ouldest Rammes are called from the flock,
No man dothe wishe his Horse shoulde aged bee,
The Auncyent Oke well makes a fyered block,
Olde men them selves do love younge wyves to choose,
Onely fond youthe admires a Rotten stock.
The Ouldest Rammes are called from the flock,
No man dothe wishe his Horse shoulde aged bee,
The Auncyent Oke well makes a fyered block,
Olde men them selves do love younge wyves to choose,
Onely fond youthe admires a Rotten stock.
Who once a white long bearde well handle Doose,
(As his bearde him, not hee his bearde did beare)
Thoughe Cradle witted must not honor loose,
O, when will men leave of to judge by heare,
And thinck them Oulde, that have the Ouldest mynde,
With vertue fraughte, and full of holy feare.
(As his bearde him, not hee his bearde did beare)
Thoughe Cradle witted must not honor loose,
O, when will men leave of to judge by heare,
And thinck them Oulde, that have the Ouldest mynde,
With vertue fraughte, and full of holy feare.
[Geron.]
Yf that thy face were hidd, or I were blynde,
I yet shoulde knowe, a young man speaketh now?
Suche wandering reasons in thy speeche I fynde,
Hee ys a Beaste, that Beastes use will allowe,
For proof of man, who spronge of heavenly fyer
Hathe strongest sowle, when moste his Raynes do bowe.
I yet shoulde knowe, a young man speaketh now?
Suche wandering reasons in thy speeche I fynde,
Hee ys a Beaste, that Beastes use will allowe,
For proof of man, who spronge of heavenly fyer
Hathe strongest sowle, when moste his Raynes do bowe.
71
But fondlinges fonde knowe not youre owne desyer,
Loathe to dye younge, and then yow must bee oulde,
Fondly blame that to whiche youre selves aspier,
But, this lighte Choler, that dothe make yow bolde,
Rather to wronge, then unto just Defence,
Ys past with mee, my blood ys waxen colde.
Loathe to dye younge, and then yow must bee oulde,
Fondly blame that to whiche youre selves aspier,
But, this lighte Choler, that dothe make yow bolde,
Rather to wronge, then unto just Defence,
Ys past with mee, my blood ys waxen colde.
Thy wordes, though full of malapert offence,
I weyghe them not, but still will thee advise,
How thow from foolish Love mayste purge thy sence,
First, thincke they err, that thinck them gayly wyse,
Who well can sett a passion oute to shewe,
Suche sighte have they that see with gogling eyes,
I weyghe them not, but still will thee advise,
How thow from foolish Love mayste purge thy sence,
First, thincke they err, that thinck them gayly wyse,
Who well can sett a passion oute to shewe,
Suche sighte have they that see with gogling eyes,
Passyon beares hye, when puffing witt dothe blowe,
But ys in deede a Toye, yf not a Toye,
Trewe Cause of evills, and Cause of Causeles woe,
Yf once thow mayste that fancyes glosse destroy,
Within thy self thow soone wilt bee asshamed,
To bee a Player of thyne owne Anoy.
But ys in deede a Toye, yf not a Toye,
Trewe Cause of evills, and Cause of Causeles woe,
Yf once thow mayste that fancyes glosse destroy,
Within thy self thow soone wilt bee asshamed,
To bee a Player of thyne owne Anoy.
Then let thy mynde with better Bookes bee tamed,
Seeke to espye her faultes aswell as prayse,
And let thy eyes to other sportes bee framed,
In hunting Fearefull Beastes, do spende some dayes,
Or catche the Byrdes with Pittfoldes, or with Lyme,
Or trayne the foxe, that traynes so Crafty layes.
Seeke to espye her faultes aswell as prayse,
And let thy eyes to other sportes bee framed,
In hunting Fearefull Beastes, do spende some dayes,
Or catche the Byrdes with Pittfoldes, or with Lyme,
Or trayne the foxe, that traynes so Crafty layes.
Lye but to sleepe, and in the earthly Prime,
Seeke skill of herbes in hilles, haunte brookes nere nighte,
And trye with bayte, howe fish will byte some tyme,
Go grafte ageane, and seeke to grafte them righte,
Those pleasant plantes, those sweete and fruitfull trees,
Whiche bothe the Pallat, and the eyes delighte,
Seeke skill of herbes in hilles, haunte brookes nere nighte,
And trye with bayte, howe fish will byte some tyme,
Go grafte ageane, and seeke to grafte them righte,
Those pleasant plantes, those sweete and fruitfull trees,
Whiche bothe the Pallat, and the eyes delighte,
Cherish the hyves of wysely paynfull Bees,
Let speciall Care uppon thy flock bee stayde,
Suche Active mynde, but sildome passyon sees.
Let speciall Care uppon thy flock bee stayde,
Suche Active mynde, but sildome passyon sees.
Philisides.
Hathe any man hearde, what this Oulde man sayde?
Truely not, I, who did my thoughtes engage?
Where all my paynes, one Looke of hers hathe payde.
72
Thus may yow see howe youthe esteemeth aige,
And never hathe therof a rightly deemde
While hott desyers do raigne in fancyes rage,
Till Age yt self do make yt self esteemed.
[Downe, Downe Melampus, what? youre fellowe byte?]
Geron. Mastix.Geron.
Downe, Downe Melampus, what? youre fellowe byte?
I sett yow ore the Flock I dearely Love,
Them to Defend, not with youre selves to feighte,
Do yow not thinck this will the wolves remove?
From former feare they had of youre good myndes?
When they shall suche devyded weykenes prove?
I sett yow ore the Flock I dearely Love,
Them to Defend, not with youre selves to feighte,
Do yow not thinck this will the wolves remove?
From former feare they had of youre good myndes?
When they shall suche devyded weykenes prove?
What yf Lelanx a better morsell fyndes?
Then thow erste knowe, rather take parte wth him,
Then jarle, Loo, Loo, even these how envy blyndes?
And thow Lelanx, let not pryde make thee brym,
Bycause thow haste thy fellowe overgon̄,
But thanck the Cause thow seest, when hee ys Dym̄.
Then thow erste knowe, rather take parte wth him,
Then jarle, Loo, Loo, even these how envy blyndes?
And thow Lelanx, let not pryde make thee brym,
Bycause thow haste thy fellowe overgon̄,
But thanck the Cause thow seest, when hee ys Dym̄.
Here Lelanx here, in deede ageanst thy foen,
Of my good sheepe, thow never truce tyme tooke,
Bee as thow arte, but bee with myne at one,
For thoughe Melampus though a wolfe do looke,
(For Age dothe make him of a wolvish hewe)
Yet have I seene, when well a wolfe hee shooke.
Of my good sheepe, thow never truce tyme tooke,
Bee as thow arte, but bee with myne at one,
For thoughe Melampus though a wolfe do looke,
(For Age dothe make him of a wolvish hewe)
Yet have I seene, when well a wolfe hee shooke.
73
Foole, that I am, that with my Dogges speake grewe,
Come nere good Mastix tis now full tway score,
Of yeares alas, synce I good Mastix knewe,
Thow heardest even now a young man snebb mee sore,
Bycause I redd him, as I woulde my sone.
Yowthe will have will, Aige must to age therefore.
Come nere good Mastix tis now full tway score,
Of yeares alas, synce I good Mastix knewe,
Thow heardest even now a young man snebb mee sore,
Bycause I redd him, as I woulde my sone.
Yowthe will have will, Aige must to age therefore.
Mastix.
What merveyle yf in youthe suche faultes bee done?
Synce that wee see oure saddest Shepeardes oute,
Who have theyre Lesson so longe tyme begun,
Quickly secure, and easily in doubte.
Eyther a sleepe bee all, yf noughte assayle,
Or all abroade, yf but a Cubb start oute.
Synce that wee see oure saddest Shepeardes oute,
Who have theyre Lesson so longe tyme begun,
Quickly secure, and easily in doubte.
Eyther a sleepe bee all, yf noughte assayle,
Or all abroade, yf but a Cubb start oute.
Wee Shepeardes are like them that under sayle,
Do speake hye wordes, when all the Coaste ys clere,
Yet, to a Passinger, will Bonnett vayle,
I Con thee thanck to whome, thy Dogges bee dere,
But comonly like Curres wee do them intreate,
Save, when greate neede of them perforce appeare.
Do speake hye wordes, when all the Coaste ys clere,
Yet, to a Passinger, will Bonnett vayle,
I Con thee thanck to whome, thy Dogges bee dere,
But comonly like Curres wee do them intreate,
Save, when greate neede of them perforce appeare.
Then him wee kiss, whome late before wee beate,
With suche Intemperance, that eche way growes,
Hate of the first, Contempt of Later feate.
And suche discord tuixt greatest Shepeardes flowes
That, sporte yt ys, to see, with how greate Arte,
By Justice worcke they, theyre owne faultes disclose.
With suche Intemperance, that eche way growes,
Hate of the first, Contempt of Later feate.
And suche discord tuixt greatest Shepeardes flowes
That, sporte yt ys, to see, with how greate Arte,
By Justice worcke they, theyre owne faultes disclose.
Like buysy boyes to wynn theyre Tutors harte,
One saythe hee mockes, the other saythe hee playes,
The Thirde his lesson myst, till all doo smart,
As for the rest, how Shepeardes spend theyre dayes
At Blow-poynte, Hott Cockles, or Keles
(Whyle let us pass oure tyme, eche Shepeheardes sayes)
One saythe hee mockes, the other saythe hee playes,
The Thirde his lesson myst, till all doo smart,
As for the rest, how Shepeardes spend theyre dayes
At Blow-poynte, Hott Cockles, or Keles
(Whyle let us pass oure tyme, eche Shepeheardes sayes)
So smalle accoumpte of tyme, the Shepearde feeles,
And dothe not feele, that lyfe ys noughte but tyme,
And when that tyme ys past, dethe holde his heeles,
To age, thus do they drawe theyre youthfull pryme
Knowyng no more, then what pore Tryall showes,
As fish sure tryall hathe of muddy slyme.
And dothe not feele, that lyfe ys noughte but tyme,
And when that tyme ys past, dethe holde his heeles,
To age, thus do they drawe theyre youthfull pryme
Knowyng no more, then what pore Tryall showes,
As fish sure tryall hathe of muddy slyme.
74
This Pattern good unto oure Children goes,
For, what they see, theyre Parentes love or hate,
Theyre first taughte sence preferrs to Teachers blowes,
These Cocklinges cokered, wee bewayle too late,
When that wee see oure ofspring gayly bent,
Woemen, Manwood, and men effeminate.
For, what they see, theyre Parentes love or hate,
Theyre first taughte sence preferrs to Teachers blowes,
These Cocklinges cokered, wee bewayle too late,
When that wee see oure ofspring gayly bent,
Woemen, Manwood, and men effeminate.
[Geron.]
Fye Man, Fye man what wordes hathe thy toungue lent?
Yet, thow arte mickle worse, than ere was I,
Thy too muche zeale, I feare thy Brayne hathe spent,
Wee ofte are angryer with the feeble flie,
For buysynes, where yt perteynes him not,
Then with the poysonous toades, that quyett lye.
Yet, thow arte mickle worse, than ere was I,
Thy too muche zeale, I feare thy Brayne hathe spent,
Wee ofte are angryer with the feeble flie,
For buysynes, where yt perteynes him not,
Then with the poysonous toades, that quyett lye.
I pray thee, what hathe ere the Parrett gott,
And yet (, they say) hee talkes in great mens bowers,
A Cage, (Gylded perchance) ys all his Lott,
Who, of his toungue the licoure gladly powers,
A good foole calde, with payne perhaps may bee,
But even for that shall suffer mighty Lowers.
And yet (, they say) hee talkes in great mens bowers,
A Cage, (Gylded perchance) ys all his Lott,
Who, of his toungue the licoure gladly powers,
A good foole calde, with payne perhaps may bee,
But even for that shall suffer mighty Lowers.
Let Swanns example, siker serve for thee,
Who once all Byrdes in sweetly singing past,
But, now to scylence turnde his Minstrelsy,
For, hee woulde singe, that others were defaste,
The Peacockes pryde, The Pyes pilde flatery,
Cormorauntes glutt, Kytes spoile, Kinges fishers waste,
Who once all Byrdes in sweetly singing past,
But, now to scylence turnde his Minstrelsy,
For, hee woulde singe, that others were defaste,
The Peacockes pryde, The Pyes pilde flatery,
Cormorauntes glutt, Kytes spoile, Kinges fishers waste,
The faulcons fiercenes, Sparowes lechery,
The Cocowes shame, the gooses good intent,
Even Turtle toughte hee with hypocrisy,
And worse of other more, till by assent,
Of all the Byrdes, but namely these were greeved:
Of Fowles there called was a Parlement.
The Cocowes shame, the gooses good intent,
Even Turtle toughte hee with hypocrisy,
And worse of other more, till by assent,
Of all the Byrdes, but namely these were greeved:
Of Fowles there called was a Parlement.
There, was the swann̄ of dignity deprived,
And statutes made, hee never shoulde have voyce,
Synce, when I thinck, hee hathe in sylence lived,
I warne thee therefore, synce thow mayste have choyse,
Let not thy toungue become a fyery matche?
No sworde so bytes, as that evill Toole anoyes.
And statutes made, hee never shoulde have voyce,
Synce, when I thinck, hee hathe in sylence lived,
I warne thee therefore, synce thow mayste have choyse,
Let not thy toungue become a fyery matche?
No sworde so bytes, as that evill Toole anoyes.
75
Let oure unparciall eyes, a litle watche,
Oure owne Demeane, and soone wee wonder shall,
That, hunting faultes, oure selves wee did not Catche,
Into oure myndes, let us a litle falle,
And wee shall fynde more faultes then Leoperdes skynn̄,
Then who makes us suche Judges over all,
But, farewell nowe, thy faulte ys no greate sinne,
Come, Come, my Curres, tis late, I will goo in.
Oure owne Demeane, and soone wee wonder shall,
That, hunting faultes, oure selves wee did not Catche,
Into oure myndes, let us a litle falle,
And wee shall fynde more faultes then Leoperdes skynn̄,
Then who makes us suche Judges over all,
But, farewell nowe, thy faulte ys no greate sinne,
Come, Come, my Curres, tis late, I will goo in.
[Fortune, Nature, Love, longe hathe contended aboute mee]
Dorus.
Fortune, Nature, Love, longe hathe contended aboute mee,
Whiche shoulde moste misery Cast on A worme yt I am;
Fortune thus can say, Misery & misfortune ys al one,
And of mysfortune, Fortune hathe onely the gifte,
With stronge Foes on Lande, on Seas wth contrary tempestes
Still doo I Crosse this wretche, what so hee taketh in hand.
Whiche shoulde moste misery Cast on A worme yt I am;
Fortune thus can say, Misery & misfortune ys al one,
And of mysfortune, Fortune hathe onely the gifte,
With stronge Foes on Lande, on Seas wth contrary tempestes
Still doo I Crosse this wretche, what so hee taketh in hand.
Tush, Tush, saide Nature, this ys all but a Tryfle, a mans lyfe
Gives happes or Misshapps, eeven as hee ordereth his harte,
But, so his humor I frame in a Molde of Choler adusted,
That the Delightes of lyfe shall bee to him dolorus.
Gives happes or Misshapps, eeven as hee ordereth his harte,
But, so his humor I frame in a Molde of Choler adusted,
That the Delightes of lyfe shall bee to him dolorus.
Love smyled, and thus sayde, want, joyned to desyer ys unhappy,
But yf hee noughte doo desyer, what can Heraclitus ayle?
None, but I worckes by desyer, by desyer have I kindled in his sowle,
Infernall Agonyes unto a Bewty Devyne.
But yf hee noughte doo desyer, what can Heraclitus ayle?
None, but I worckes by desyer, by desyer have I kindled in his sowle,
Infernall Agonyes unto a Bewty Devyne.
76
Where thow pore Nature lefte all thy due glory to fortune,
Her vertue ys Soveraigne, Fortune a vassall of hers,
Nature abasht went back, Fortune blusht, yet, shee replyed thus,
And even in that Love shall I reserve him a spyte,
Thus, Thus alas wofull in Nature, happy by Fortune,
But moste wretched I am nowe Love wakes my desyer.
Her vertue ys Soveraigne, Fortune a vassall of hers,
Nature abasht went back, Fortune blusht, yet, shee replyed thus,
And even in that Love shall I reserve him a spyte,
Thus, Thus alas wofull in Nature, happy by Fortune,
But moste wretched I am nowe Love wakes my desyer.
[Yf myne eyes can speake to doo harty Arrant]
Cleophila.
Yf myne eyes can speake to doo harty Arrant,
Or myne eyes Language, shee doo happ to judge of,
So that eyes Message bee of her receyved,
Hope, wee do live yet?
Or myne eyes Language, shee doo happ to judge of,
So that eyes Message bee of her receyved,
Hope, wee do live yet?
But, yf eyes fayle then, when I moste do neede them,
Or yf eyes language bee not unto her knowne,
So that eyes Message do returne rejected,
Hope, wee do bothe dye.
Or yf eyes language bee not unto her knowne,
So that eyes Message do returne rejected,
Hope, wee do bothe dye.
Yet, Dying, and Deade, do wee singe her Honor,
So become oure Tombes, Monumentes of her prayse,
So becomes oure Losse the Tryumph of her game,
Hers bee the glory.
So become oure Tombes, Monumentes of her prayse,
So becomes oure Losse the Tryumph of her game,
Hers bee the glory.
Yf the senceles Spheares do yet holde a Musick,
Yf the Swanns sweete voyce bee not hearde, but at deathe,
Yf Mute Tymber when yt hathe the lyfe loste,
Yeeldeth a Lutes tune.
Yf the Swanns sweete voyce bee not hearde, but at deathe,
Yf Mute Tymber when yt hathe the lyfe loste,
Yeeldeth a Lutes tune.
77
Are then humane myndes priviledged so meanely?
As that hatefull Deathe can abridge them of power,
With the voyce of Truthe, to recorde to all worldes,
That wee bee her spoyles.
As that hatefull Deathe can abridge them of power,
With the voyce of Truthe, to recorde to all worldes,
That wee bee her spoyles.
Thus not ending endes the due prayse of her prayse,
Fleshly vaile Consumes, but a Sowle hathe his lyfe,
Whiche ys helde in Love, Love yt ys that hathe joynde,
Lyfe to this oure sowle.
Fleshly vaile Consumes, but a Sowle hathe his lyfe,
Whiche ys helde in Love, Love yt ys that hathe joynde,
Lyfe to this oure sowle.
But yf eyes can speake to doo harty Arraunt,
Or myne eyes Language shee dothe happ to judge of,
So that eyes Message bee of her receyved,
Hope, wee do live yet.
Or myne eyes Language shee dothe happ to judge of,
So that eyes Message bee of her receyved,
Hope, wee do live yet.
[Lady reserved by the heavens to doo Pastors Company, honor?]
Dorus. Cleophila.Dorus.
Lady reserved by the heavens to doo Pastors Company, honor?
Joyning youre sweete voyce to the Rurall Muse of a Dezart,
Here, yow fully do fynde this straunge operacyon of Love,
Howe, to the woodes Love ronnes, aswell, as ryde to the Pallace,
Neyther hee beares reverence to a Prince, nor pity to a Begger.
But like a poynte in mydst of a Circle, ys still of a nerenes,
All, to a Lesson hee drawes, Nor hilles, nor Caves can avoyde him.
78
Worthy Shepearde, by my Songe, to my self all favoure ys hapned,
That to the sacred Muse, my anoyes somewhat bee reveiled,
Sacred Muse, who, in one conteynes, what Nyne doo in all them?
But, O happy bee yow, whiche safe from fyery reflection,
Of Phebus vyolence, in shade of stately Cypres tree,
Or pleasant Mirtle may teache the unfortunate Eccho,
In these woodes to resounde the renoumed Name of a Goddess.
Happy bee yow that may to the Sainte youre onely Idea,
Allthough (simply attyrde) youre manly affections utter.
Happy bee those mysshapps, whiche justly proportion holding,
Give righte sounde to the eares, and enter arighte to ye judgment.
But wretched bee the sowles whiche vaylde in a Contrary subject,
Howe muche more wee do Love, so the less oure Loves bee beleeved.
What skill serveth a Sore, of a wrong infirmity judged,
What can Justice availe to a Man that telles not his owne Case?
Yow, thoughe feares do abashe, in youre still possible hopes, bee,
Nature ageanst, wee do seeme to rebell, seeme fooles in a vayne sute,
But, (so unhearde) Condempnd, kept thence, wee doo seeke to abyde in,
Self lost, and wandering, banisshed that place wee do come from.
What meane ys there, alas, wee can hope oure Losse to recover.
What place ys there lefte, wee may hope oure Woes to recomfort?
79
Ayer wee do still with sighes encrease to the fyer, wee do want none,
And yet, his outeward heate oure teares woulde quenche, but an inward,
Fyer, no Liquor allwayes, Neptunes seate woulde bee dryed up there.
Happy Shepeardes with thanckes to the Goddes, still thinck to bee thanckfull
That to thy advauncement, theyre wisdomes have thee abased.
Dorus.
Unto the Godds, with a thanckfull harte, all thanckes I do render,
That to my advauncement, theyre wisdomes have mee abased,
But, yet alas, O, but yet alas, Oure happes bee but hardd happs,
Whiche must frame Contempt to the highest purchase of honor,
Well may a Pastor playne, but, alas his playntes bee not esteemed,
Silly shepeardes, pore pype, where his harshe sounde testifyes oure woes,
Into the fayre Looker on, pastyme, not passyon enters,
And to the woodes or brookes, who do make suche dreary recitall,
What bee the panges they beare, and whence those panges bee deryved,
Pleasde to receyve that name by rebounding answer of Echo,
And hope thereby to ease theyre inward horrible anguish,
Then shall those thinges ease, theyre inward horrible anguish,
When Trees daunce to the pype, and swifte streames stay by Musick,
Or when an Echo unmooved begins to singe them a love songe,
80
Synce no estates bee so base, but love vouchsafeth his Arrowe,
Synce no Refuge dothe serve from woundes wee do carry aboute us,
Synce owteward pleasures bee but halting helps to decayed sowles,
Synce that dayly wee may discerne, what fyer wee do burne in,
Farre more happy bee yow, whose greatnes gettes a free Access,
Whose fayre bodily giftes are framed moste Lovely to eche eye,
Vertue yow have, of vertue yow have lefte proof to ye whole worlde,
And vertue ys gratefull with beuty and Richenes adurned,
Neyther Doubt yow a whitt, Tyme will youre passion utter,
Hardly remaynes fyer hidd, where skill ys bent to the hyding,
But in a mynde, that woulde his flames shoulde not bee expressed
Nature worcketh ynoughe with a small help, for the Reveiling,
Give therefore to the Muse greate prayse, in whose very likenes,
Yow do aproache to the fruite, youre onely Desyers bee, to gather.
Cleophila.
First shall fertile groundes not yeelde increase of a good seede,
First the Rivers shall Cease to repay theyre Floodes to the Occean,
Firste may a Trusty grayhound transforme him self to a Tyger,
First shall vertue bee vice, and Beuty bee coumpted a Blemish,
Ere that I leave with songe of prayse, her prayse to solempnish,
81
But, yet, well I do fynde eche man moste wyse in his owne Case,
None can speake of a wounde with skill, yf hee have not a wound felt,
Greate to thee, my estate faynes, thy estate ys blest by my judgment,
And yet neyther of us are blest, deemeth his owne self,
For yet, weighe this, alas, greate ys not greate, to the greater,
What, (Judge yow) dothe a hillock shewe, by the lofty Olympus
Suche this smalle greatenes dothe seeme comparde to the greatest,
When Cædars to the grounde bee opprest by the weighte of an Emmott
Or when a Riche Rubyes just pryce, by the worthe of a Wallnutt,
Or to the Sunne for wonders seeme smalle sparckes of a Candle,
Then by my highe Cædar, Riche Ruby, and onely shyning Sunne,
Vertue, Riches, Beautyes of myne shall greate bee reputed,
Oh no, no hardy Shepearde, Worthe can never enter a Tytle,
Where proofes justly do teache (thus machte) suche worthe to bee nought worthe
Lett not a puppitt abuse thy spirit, Kinges Crownes do not help them,
From the Cruell heade ache, nor shooes of golde, do the goute heale,
And precyous Cowches full ofte are shakte with a fever.
Yf then a bodily evell in a bodily glose bee not hidden,
Shall suche morning Dewes bee an ease to the heate of a Loves fyer.
82
O glittering miseryes of Man, yf this bee the fortune,
Of those fortune lulles, so smalle rest restes in a Kyngdome,
What Merveyle thoughe a Prince transforme him self to a Pastor?
Come from Marble bowers, many tymes the gay harber of anguish,
Unto a silly Cabban, thoughe weyke, yet stronger ageanst wooes,
Now, by the wordes, I begin (moste famous Lady) to gather,
Comforte into my sowle I do fynde, I do fynde, what a blessing,
Ys chaunced to my lyfe, that from suche muddy abundance,
Of Carcking Agonyes, (wch still to estates bee adherent,)
Desteny keepes mee aloof, for, yf all this estate to thy vertue,
Joynde by thy beuty adournd, bee no meanes this greef to abolish
Yf neyther by that help thow canst clyme up to thy fancy,
Nor yet fancy so drest, do receyve a plausible hearing,
Then, doo I thincke in deede, that better yt ys, to bee private,
In sorowes tormentes then tyed to the pompes of a Pallace,
Nurse inwarde Maladyes, wch have not scope, to bee breathed oute,
But perforce disgest all bitter Joyces of horror,
In sylence, from a Mans owne self, with Company robbed,
Better yet do I live, that thoughe by my thoughtes I bee plunged,
Into my Lyves bondage, yet may disburden a passyon,
(Opprest with Ruynous Conceiptes) by the help of an oute Crye,
Not limitted to a whispering note, the Lament of a Courtyer,
83
With boulde Clamoure, unhearde, unmarckte what I seeke, what I suffer,
And when I meete these Trees in the earthes fayre Livery cloathed,
Ease I do feele, (suche ease as falles to one wholly diseazed)
For, that I fynde in them parte of my estate represented,
Lawrell shewes what I seeke, by the Myrhe ys shewed how I seeke yt,
Ollyve payntes mee the peace, that I must aspire to the Conquest
Myrtle makes my Request, my Request ys crowned wth a Willowe,
Cyprus promyseth help, but a help, where comes no recomfort,
Sweet Jenuper saith thys, though I burne, I burne in a sweete fyer,
Ewe dothe make mee bethinck, what kynde of Bowe the Boy holdeth,
Whiche shootes strongly withoute any Noyse, & deadly withoute smarte,
Firre trees greate and greene, fixte on a hye hill but a barren,
Like to my Noble thoughtes still newe well plaste, too mee fruitless,
Figg that yeeldes moste pleasaunt fruite, his shadowe ys hurtfull,
Thus bee her giftes moste sweete, thus more daunger to bee nere her,
But in a Palme, when I marcke, howe hee dothe ryse under a burden,
And may not I (say I then) gett up, thoughe greefes bee so weighty;
Pyne ys a Mast to a Shipp, to my shipp, shall hope for a Mast serve,
Pyne ys hye, Hope ys as hye, sharpe leavde, sharp yt bee my hopes buddes.
84
Popler chaungeth his hewe from a rysing Sunne to a setting,
Thus to my sonne do I yeelde, suche beames her lookes do aforde mee,
Oulde aged Oke cutt downe, of newe worcke serves to ye buylding,
So my Desyers by my feare cutt downe, bee the frames of her Honor,
Asshe makes speares whiche shieldes do resist, her force no Repulse takes,
Palmes do rejoyce to bee joynde by the Matche of a Male to a female,
And shall sensive thinges bee so senceles, as to resist sence?
Thus bee my thoughtes dispearst, thus thincking nurseth a thincking,
Thus bothe Trees and eche thing else bee the Bookes of a fancy.
But to the Cedar, Queene of Woodes, when I lifte my beteared eyes,
Then do I shape to my self, that forme whiche raignes so wthin mee,
And thincke there shee do dwell, and here what playntes I do utter,
When that Noble Topp dothe nodd, I beleeve shee salutes mee,
When by the Wynde yt maketh a Noyse, I do thinck shee dothe answer,
Then kneeling to the grounde ofte thus do I speake to yt Image,
Onely Jewell, O onely Jewell, whiche onely deservest,
That Mens hartes bee thy seate, and endles fame bee thy servaunt
O descend for a while from this greate heighte, to beholde mee,
But noughte else do beholde, else ys nought worthe the beholding
Save what a worck by thy self ys wraughte, and since I am altered
85
In meane Caves ofte tresure abydes, to an Hostry a Kinge comes,
And so behynde foule Cloudes full ofte fayre starres do lye hidden.
Cleophila.
Hardy Shepeard, suche as thy merites, suche may bee her Insighte,
Justly to graunte thy rewarde, suche envy I beare to thy fortune,
But to my self, what wishe can I make for a salve to my sorowes,
Whome bothe Nature seemes to debarr from meanes to bee helped,
And yf a meane were founde, fortune ye whole Course of yt hinders,
Thus plagued how can I frame to my sore, any hope of amendement?
Whence may I shewe to my mynde, any lighte of a possible escape,
Bounde and bounde by so noble bandes, as lothe to bee unbounde,
Jaylor I am to my self, Prison and Prisoner to my owne self,
Yet bee my hopes thus plaste, here fixed lives all my recomforte,
That that dere Dyamond where wisdome holdeth a sure seate,
(Whose force had suche force so to transforme, nay to reforme mee,)
Will at lengthe perceyve these flames by her beames to bee kyndled,
And will pity the wounde festered so straungely within mee,
O bee yt so, graunte suche an event O goddes that event give.
And for a sure sacrifice I doo dayly oblation offer,
Of my owne harte, where thoughtes bee the Temple, sight ys an Alter,
86
With Monefull melodyes, for ynoughe oure greeves bee reveiled,
Yf by the partyes meant, oure meaninges rightly bee marcked,
And sorowes do require some respite unto the sences.
Here endes ye first Eglogues of ye Countess of Pembrookes Arcadia.
87
The Second Booke or Acte
89
[In vayne, myne eyes yow Laboure to amend]
In vayne, myne eyes yow Laboure to amend,
With flowing Teares youre fainte of Hasty sighte?
Synce to my harte her shape yow so did sende,
That her I see, though yow did lose youre sighte.
With flowing Teares youre fainte of Hasty sighte?
Synce to my harte her shape yow so did sende,
That her I see, though yow did lose youre sighte.
In vayne my harte, now yow wth sighte are burnde
With sighes yow seeke to coole youre whott desyer;
Synce sighes into myne inwarde furnace turnde,
For Bellowes serve to kindell more the fyer.
With sighes yow seeke to coole youre whott desyer;
Synce sighes into myne inwarde furnace turnde,
For Bellowes serve to kindell more the fyer.
Reason, in vayne, now yow have lost my harte,
My heade yow seeke, as to youre strongest forte:
Synce there myne eyes have playde so false a parte,
That to youre strengthe youre foes have suche resorte?
And since in vayne (I fynde) were all my stryfe,
To this straunge deathe I vaynely yeelde my lyfe.
My heade yow seeke, as to youre strongest forte:
Synce there myne eyes have playde so false a parte,
That to youre strengthe youre foes have suche resorte?
And since in vayne (I fynde) were all my stryfe,
To this straunge deathe I vaynely yeelde my lyfe.
91
[Lett not Oulde age disgrace my hye desyer]
Lett not Oulde age disgrace my hye desyer,
O heavenly sowle in humane shape conteynde?
Oulde wood inflamde dothe yeelde the bravest fyer,
When younger dothe in smoake his vertue spende.
O heavenly sowle in humane shape conteynde?
Oulde wood inflamde dothe yeelde the bravest fyer,
When younger dothe in smoake his vertue spende.
Ne let white hayers, (whiche on my face dothe growe,)
Seeme to youre eyes, of a Disgracefull hewe,
Synce Whitenes dothe present the sweetest showe,
Whiche makes, all eyes do honor unto yow.
Seeme to youre eyes, of a Disgracefull hewe,
Synce Whitenes dothe present the sweetest showe,
Whiche makes, all eyes do honor unto yow.
Oulde age ys wyse and full of Constant truthe,
Oulde age well stayde, from raunging Honor lives,
Oulde age hathe knowne what ever was in youthe,
Oulde age orecome the greater Honor gives.
And to oulde age, since yow youre self aspyer,
Let not Oulde age disgrace my hye desyer?
Oulde age well stayde, from raunging Honor lives,
Oulde age hathe knowne what ever was in youthe,
Oulde age orecome the greater Honor gives.
And to oulde age, since yow youre self aspyer,
Let not Oulde age disgrace my hye desyer?
95
[Synce so myne Eyes are subject to her sighte]
Synce so myne Eyes are subject to her sighte,
That, in youre sighte they fixed have my brayne,
Since so my harte ys filled with my Lighte,
That onely Lighte dothe all my lyfe meynteyne.
That, in youre sighte they fixed have my brayne,
Since so my harte ys filled with my Lighte,
That onely Lighte dothe all my lyfe meynteyne.
Synce in sweete yow all goods so richely raigne,
That, where yow are, no wisshed good can want,
Synce so youre Living Image lives in mee;
That in my self youre self true Love dothe plant
Howe can yow him unworthy then decree?
In whose cheef parte, youre worthes implanted bee?
That, where yow are, no wisshed good can want,
Synce so youre Living Image lives in mee;
That in my self youre self true Love dothe plant
Howe can yow him unworthy then decree?
In whose cheef parte, youre worthes implanted bee?
102
[My Sheepe are Thoughtes wch I bothe guyde & serve]
My Sheepe are Thoughtes wch I bothe guyde & serve,
Theyre Pasture ys fayre Hilles of fruteles Love;
In barreyn sweetes they feede, and feeding sterve,
I wayle theyre Lott but will not other proove.
Theyre Pasture ys fayre Hilles of fruteles Love;
In barreyn sweetes they feede, and feeding sterve,
I wayle theyre Lott but will not other proove.
My Sheepehooke ys Wanhope, wch all upholdes:
My weedes Desyer, cutt oute in endles Foldes;
What wolle my Sheepe shalle beare, while thus they live?
In yow yt ys, yow must the judgment give.
My weedes Desyer, cutt oute in endles Foldes;
What wolle my Sheepe shalle beare, while thus they live?
In yow yt ys, yow must the judgment give.
104
[Yee Living Powers enclosde in stately shryne]
Yee Living Powers enclosde in stately shryne,
Of growyng Trees, yee Rurall goddes that weelde,
Youre scepters here, yf to youre eares devyne,
A voyce may come wch trubled sowle dothe yeelde.
This vowe receyve, this vowe O goddes meyntayne,
My virgyn Lyfe no spotted thoughte shall stayne.
Of growyng Trees, yee Rurall goddes that weelde,
Youre scepters here, yf to youre eares devyne,
A voyce may come wch trubled sowle dothe yeelde.
This vowe receyve, this vowe O goddes meyntayne,
My virgyn Lyfe no spotted thoughte shall stayne.
Thow purest stone, whose purenes dothe present,
My purest mynde, whose Temper, hardd dothe shewe:
My Tempered hart, by thee my promyse sent
Unto my self; Lett after Livers knowe;
No fancy myne, nor others wronge suspect,
Make mee (O vertuous shame,) thy Lawes neglect.
My purest mynde, whose Temper, hardd dothe shewe:
My Tempered hart, by thee my promyse sent
Unto my self; Lett after Livers knowe;
No fancy myne, nor others wronge suspect,
Make mee (O vertuous shame,) thy Lawes neglect.
O Chastity the cheef of Heavenly Lightes,
Whiche makes us moste Immortall shape to beare,
Holde thow my Harte, establish thow my Spirites
To onely thee, my Constant Course I beare,
Till spottles sowle unto thy bosome flye,
Suche lyfe to leade, suche Deathe I vowe to dye.
Whiche makes us moste Immortall shape to beare,
Holde thow my Harte, establish thow my Spirites
To onely thee, my Constant Course I beare,
Till spottles sowle unto thy bosome flye,
Suche lyfe to leade, suche Deathe I vowe to dye.
105
[My wordes, in hope to blase my stedfast mynde]
My wordes, in hope to blase my stedfast mynde,
This Marble chose, as of like Temper knowne:
But, Lo, (my wordes defaced) my fancyes blynde,
Blottes to the stone, shame to my self I fynde.
And witnes am, how yll agree in one,
A womans hand with constant Marble stone.
This Marble chose, as of like Temper knowne:
But, Lo, (my wordes defaced) my fancyes blynde,
Blottes to the stone, shame to my self I fynde.
And witnes am, how yll agree in one,
A womans hand with constant Marble stone.
My wordes full weyke, the Marble full of mighte,
My wordes in store, the Marble all alone,
My wordes black Inck, the Marble kyndly white,
My wordes unseene, The Marble still in sighte
May witnes beare how yll agree in one,
A womans hande with constant Marble stone.
My wordes in store, the Marble all alone,
My wordes black Inck, the Marble kyndly white,
My wordes unseene, The Marble still in sighte
May witnes beare how yll agree in one,
A womans hande with constant Marble stone.
108
[Loved I am, and yet Complayne of Love]
Loved I am, and yet Complayne of Love,
As Loving not, accusde, in Love I dye,
When pitty moste I Crave, I Cruell proove,
Still seeking Love, Love founde, as muche I dye.
As Loving not, accusde, in Love I dye,
When pitty moste I Crave, I Cruell proove,
Still seeking Love, Love founde, as muche I dye.
Burnde in my self, I muse at others fyer,
What I calle wronge, I do the same and more,
Barrd of my will, I doo beyonde desyer.
I wayle for want, and yet am chookt with store,
What I calle wronge, I do the same and more,
Barrd of my will, I doo beyonde desyer.
I wayle for want, and yet am chookt with store,
109
This ys thy worcke, thow God for ever blynde:
Thoughe thousandes olde a Boy entiteled still;
Thus Children do the silly byrdes they fynde,
With stroking, hurte, and too muche Cramming kyll.
Yet thus muche Love, (O Love) I crave of thee?
Let mee bee Loved, or els not Loved bee?
Thoughe thousandes olde a Boy entiteled still;
Thus Children do the silly byrdes they fynde,
With stroking, hurte, and too muche Cramming kyll.
Yet thus muche Love, (O Love) I crave of thee?
Let mee bee Loved, or els not Loved bee?
113
[Over these Brookes trusting to ease myne eyes]
Over these Brookes trusting to ease myne eyes,
(Myne eyes even greate in laboure with theyre teares)
I layed my face, my face wherein there lyes,
Clusters of Cloudes wch no Sunne ever cleares,
In watery glass my watery eyes I see:
Sorrowes yll easde, where Sorrowes paynted bee.
(Myne eyes even greate in laboure with theyre teares)
I layed my face, my face wherein there lyes,
Clusters of Cloudes wch no Sunne ever cleares,
In watery glass my watery eyes I see:
Sorrowes yll easde, where Sorrowes paynted bee.
My thoughtes imprisond, in my secrett woes,
With flamy breath dothe issue ofte in sounde:
The sounde to this straunge Ayer no sooner goes,
But that yt dothe with Echos force rebounde,
And makes mee heare, the playntes I wolde refrayne
Thus owteward helps my inward greef menteyne.
With flamy breath dothe issue ofte in sounde:
The sounde to this straunge Ayer no sooner goes,
But that yt dothe with Echos force rebounde,
And makes mee heare, the playntes I wolde refrayne
Thus owteward helps my inward greef menteyne.
Now in this Sande, I woulde discharge my mynde,
And Cast from mee parte of my Burdenous Cares:
But in the Sandes my paynes foretolde I fynde,
And see therein, howe well the wryter fares.
Synce streame, ayer, sand, myne eyes & eares conspire
What hope to quenche, where eche thing blowes ye fyer?
And Cast from mee parte of my Burdenous Cares:
But in the Sandes my paynes foretolde I fynde,
And see therein, howe well the wryter fares.
Synce streame, ayer, sand, myne eyes & eares conspire
What hope to quenche, where eche thing blowes ye fyer?
117
[With twoo straunge fyers of equall heate possest]
With twoo straunge fyers of equall heate possest,
The one of Love, the other Jelosy,
Bothe still doo worcke, in neyther fynde I rest:
For, bothe, alas theyre strengthes together lye,
The one alofte dothe holde the other hye,
Love wakes the Jelous eye leste thence yt mooves,
The Jelous eye, the more yt lookes, yt loves
The one of Love, the other Jelosy,
Bothe still doo worcke, in neyther fynde I rest:
For, bothe, alas theyre strengthes together lye,
The one alofte dothe holde the other hye,
Love wakes the Jelous eye leste thence yt mooves,
The Jelous eye, the more yt lookes, yt loves
These fyers increase, in these I dayly burne,
They feede on mee, and with my wynges do flye,
My Lyvely Joyes to dolefull asshes turne,
Theyre flames mount up, my powers prostrate lye:
They live in force, I quyte consumed dye.
One wonder yet farr passeth my Conceipt?
The fewell smalle, howe bee the fyers so greate?
They feede on mee, and with my wynges do flye,
My Lyvely Joyes to dolefull asshes turne,
Theyre flames mount up, my powers prostrate lye:
They live in force, I quyte consumed dye.
One wonder yet farr passeth my Conceipt?
The fewell smalle, howe bee the fyers so greate?
118
[Feede on my sheepe, my Charge, my Comforte, feede?]
Feede on my sheepe, my Charge, my Comforte, feede?
With Sunnes approche, youre pasture fertile growes,
O, onely Sunne, that, suche a frute can breede,
Feede on my sheepe youre fayre sweete feeding flowes
Eche flower, eche herbe dothe to youre service yeelde
O blessed Sunne, whence all this blessing goes,
With Sunnes approche, youre pasture fertile growes,
O, onely Sunne, that, suche a frute can breede,
Feede on my sheepe youre fayre sweete feeding flowes
Eche flower, eche herbe dothe to youre service yeelde
O blessed Sunne, whence all this blessing goes,
119
Feede on my sheepe, possess youre fruitfull fielde,
No Wolves dare howle, no murrayne can prevayle,
And from the stormes oure sweetest Sunne will sheelde,
Feede on my Sheepe, sorrowe hathe stricken sayle.
No Wolves dare howle, no murrayne can prevayle,
And from the stormes oure sweetest Sunne will sheelde,
Feede on my Sheepe, sorrowe hathe stricken sayle.
Enjoy my Joyes as yow did taste my payne,
While oure sonne shynes, no Cloudy greeves assayle.
Feede on my Sheepe, youre Native Joyes meynteyne,
Youre wolle ys riche, no toungue can tell my gayne.
While oure sonne shynes, no Cloudy greeves assayle.
Feede on my Sheepe, youre Native Joyes meynteyne,
Youre wolle ys riche, no toungue can tell my gayne.
[Leave of my sheepe, yt ys no tyme to feede]
Leave of my sheepe, yt ys no tyme to feede,
My Sunne ys gon̄, youre pasture bareyn growes,
O Crewell Sunne thy hate this harme dothe breede,
Leave of my Sheepe, my shower of Teres oreflowes
Youre sweetest flowers youre herbes no service yeelde
My Sunne, alas, from mee for ever gooes.
My Sunne ys gon̄, youre pasture bareyn growes,
O Crewell Sunne thy hate this harme dothe breede,
Leave of my Sheepe, my shower of Teres oreflowes
Youre sweetest flowers youre herbes no service yeelde
My Sunne, alas, from mee for ever gooes.
Leave of my Sheepe my sighes burne up youre feelde,
My Playntes calle wolves, my plagues in yow prevayle,
My Sunne ys gonn̄, from stormes that shoulde us shielde:
Leave of my Sheepe, sorowe hathe hoysed saile.
My Playntes calle wolves, my plagues in yow prevayle,
My Sunne ys gonn̄, from stormes that shoulde us shielde:
Leave of my Sheepe, sorowe hathe hoysed saile.
Wayle in my woes, taste of youre Masters payne,
My sunne ys gonne, now Cloudy greeves assayle;
Leave Leaving not my mourning to meyntayne,
Yow beare no wolle, and losse ys all my gayne.
My sunne ys gonne, now Cloudy greeves assayle;
Leave Leaving not my mourning to meyntayne,
Yow beare no wolle, and losse ys all my gayne.
126
[A Hatefull Cry, with hate to heale]
A Hatefull Cry, with hate to heale,
A bloody help, with blood to save,
A foolish thinge, with fooles to deale:
Let hym bee boulde, that Bobbes will have.
But, who by meanes of wysdome hye:
Hathe saved his Charge? yt ys even I.
A bloody help, with blood to save,
A foolish thinge, with fooles to deale:
Let hym bee boulde, that Bobbes will have.
But, who by meanes of wysdome hye:
Hathe saved his Charge? yt ys even I.
Lett other deck theyre pryde with scarres,
And of theyre woundes make brave lame showes,
First lett them dye, then passe the starres,
When rotten fame will tell theyre Blowes.
But eye from blood, and eare frome Crye,
Who hathe saved all? It ys even I.
And of theyre woundes make brave lame showes,
First lett them dye, then passe the starres,
When rotten fame will tell theyre Blowes.
But eye from blood, and eare frome Crye,
Who hathe saved all? It ys even I.
127
[Apollo greate, whose beames the greater worlde do lighte]
Apollo greate, whose beames the greater worlde do lighte,And in oure litle worlde doste clere oure inwarde sighte:
Whiche ever shynes, thoughe hidd from earthe, by earthly shade,
Whose Lightes do ever live, but in oure Darcknes fade.
Thow God whose youth was deckt with spoyle of Pithons skynn
So humble knowledge can throwe downe the Snakish synn
Latonas sonne, whose byrthe in paynes and travell longe,
Dothe teache to learne the good, which Travells doo belonge.
In travell of oure lyfe, a short, but tedyous space,
Whyle brickle Hower glass ronnes, guyde thow oure panting Race,
128
What foresight telles oure thoughtes uppon thy knowledg stay,
Lett so oure fruites growe up, that nature bee meyntaynde,
But so oure hartes keepe downe, wth vyce they bee not staynde.
Lett this assured Holde, oure Judgementes ever take,
That, no thinge wynnes the heaven, but what dothe earthe forsake.
Here endes the Second Booke or Acte.
129
HERE BEGIN THE SECOND EGLOGUES.
[Thow Rebell vyle, come, to thy Master yeelde]
Reason.Thow Rebell vyle, come, to thy Master yeelde;
Passion.
No Tyrant, no, myne, myne shall bee the feelde.
R.
Can Reason, then a Tyrant coumpted bee?
P.
Yf Reason will that Passyons bee not free.
R.
But Reason will, that Reason governe moste:
P.
And Passyon will that passyon rule the Roste.
R.
Youre will ys will but Reason, Reason ys:
P.
Will hathe his will, when Reasons will dothe mysse.
R.
Whome passyon leades unto his deathe, ys bent:
P.
And lett hym dye, so that hee dye content.
R.
By Nature yow, to Reason faythe hathe sworne:
P.
Not so; but Fellowlike together borne.
R.
Who passyon dothe ensewe lives in anoye;
P.
Who passyon dothe forsake, lives voyde of Joye.
R.
Passyon ys blynde, and treades an unknowne trace:
P.
Reason hathe eyes, to see his owne evell Case.
Reason.
Dare passyons then abyde in Reasons lighte?
Passyon.
And ys not Reason dym̄ed with passyons mighte?
R.
O Foolish thinge, whiche glory doest destroy.
P.
O gloryous Tytle of a Foolish Toye.
130
Weykenes yow are, dare yow with oure strengthe feighte?
P.
Bycause, oure Weykenes weykeneth all youre mighte.
R.
O sacred Reason helpp oure vertuous Toyles?
P.
O passyon pass, on feeble Reasons spoylles.
R.
Wee with oure selves abyde a dayly stryfe:
P.
Wee gladly use the sweetenes of oure Lyfe.
R.
But, yet oure stryfe sure peace in ende dothe breede?
P.
Wee now have peace, youre peace wee doo not neede.
R.
Wee are too stronge, but, reason, seekes not blood;
P.
Whoo bee too weyke, do fayne they bee too good.
R.
Thoughe wee can not orecome, oure Cause ys Just:
P.
Lett us orecome, and lett us bee unjust.
R.
Yet, passyon yeelde, at lengthe to Reasons strooke:
P.
What shall wee wynn by taking Reasons yooke.
R.
The Joyes yow have shall bee made permanent:
P.
And so wee shall with greef Learne to repent.
R.
Repent in Deede, but, that shall bee youre Blisse:
P.
Howe knowe wee that, synce present Joyes wee misse.
R.
Yow knowe yt not, of Reason, therefore knowe yt:
P.
No Reason yet, had ever skill to showe yt.
Then Let us bothe to Heavenly Rules give place:
Whiche Reasons skill, and Passyons doo deface.
Whiche Reasons skill, and Passyons doo deface.
131
[Dorus tell mee, where ys thy wonted Motyon?]
Dicus. Dorus.Dicus.
Dorus tell mee, where ys thy wonted Motyon?
To make these woodes resound thy Lamentacyon:
Thy Sainte ys Deade, or Deade ys thy Devotyon,
For, who dothe holde his Love in estimatyon,
(To witnes that hee thinckes his thoughtes Delicious)
Seekes to make eche thing Badge of his sweet passyon.
Dorus.
But what dothe make thee Dicus, so suspicyous?
Of my due faythe whiche needes must bee Immutable,
Who others vertue doubtes, them selves are vicyous?
Not so, allthoughe my mettle were moste mutable,
Her Beames hathe wroughte therein moste sure impressyon.
To suche a force, soone Chaunge were nothing sutable.
Dicus.
The hart well sett, dothe never shonne Confessyon,
Yf Noble bee thy Bandes, make them Notoryous,
Sylence dothe seeme the Maske of base oppressyon.
Who gloryes in his Love dothe make Love gloryous,
But who dothe beare, or bydes mute willfully,
Shewes guylty hart dothe deeme his state opprobrious.
Then thow that framest bothe wordes and voyce moste skillfully
Yeelde to oure eares a sweete & sounde Relacyon,
Yf Love tooke thee by force, or caughte thee guylefully:
Dorus.
Yf Sunnye Beames shame Heavenly habitatyon,
Yf Three leaved grasse seeme to the Sheepe unsavery,
Then base and sowre ys Loves moste hye vocatyon,
Or yf sheepes Cryes can help the Sunnes owne bravery,
Then may I hope, my pype may have abillity,
To help her prayes, who deckes mee in her slavery.
No, No, No wordes enoble self Nobility.
As for youre Doubtes, her voyce was yt deceyved mee,
Her eyes the force beyonde my possibility.
Dicus.
Thy wordes, well voyste, well graste, had allmoste heaved mee,
Quite from my self to Love Loves Contemplacyon,
Till of these thoughtes thy soeden end bereved mee,
Go on therefore, and tell us by what fashyon,
In thy owne proof hee gettes so straunge possession,
And howe possest, hee strengthens the Invasyon?
132
Sighte ys his Roote, in thoughte ys his progressyon,
His Chyldehood wonder, Prentiship, attention,
His youthe Delighte, his Age the sowles oppressyon.
Doubt ys his sleepe, hee waketh in Inventyon,
Fancy ys his foode, his Cloathing all of Carefullnes,
Beuty his Booke, his play Lovers Discention,
His eyes are curyous searche, but wylde with warefullnes.
His wynges Desyer ofte Clipte with Desperatyon,
Largess his handes coulde never skill of sparefullnes,
But howe hee dothe by mighte, or by perswasyon,
To Conquer and his Conquest howe to ratify,
Experyence Doubtes, and Schooles holde Disputatyon.
Dicus.
But so thy Sheepe may thy good wisshes satisfy,
With large encrease, and woolle of fyne perfection,
So shee thy Love, her eyes, thy eyes may gratify,
As thow wilte give oure sowles a dere refection,
By telling how shee was, howe nowe shee framed ys,
To help oure hurte in thee her owne infection.
Dorus.
Blessed bee the Name, wherewith my Mistris named ys,
Whose woundes are salves, whose yokes please more then plesure dothe
Her staynes are beames vertue the faulte shee blamed ys,
The harte, eye, eare, here onely fynde his treasures dothe
All Nombring Artes her endles graces nomber not,
Tyme, Place, lyfe witt scarcely her rare giftes mesure dothe,
Ys shee in rage? So ys the Sunne is Somer hott,
Yet harvest bringes, Dothe shee (alas) absent her self?
The Sunn̄ ys hidd his kyndely shadowe Combers nott.
Whose woundes are salves, whose yokes please more then plesure dothe
Her staynes are beames vertue the faulte shee blamed ys,
The harte, eye, eare, here onely fynde his treasures dothe
All Nombring Artes her endles graces nomber not,
Tyme, Place, lyfe witt scarcely her rare giftes mesure dothe,
Ys shee in rage? So ys the Sunne is Somer hott,
Yet harvest bringes, Dothe shee (alas) absent her self?
The Sunn̄ ys hidd his kyndely shadowe Combers nott.
But when to give some grace shee dothe content her self,
O then yt shynes, then are the heavens distributed,
And Venus seemes to make up her, shee spent her self,
Thus then I say, my myscheefes have contributed,
A greater good by her devyne Reflection,
My harmes to mee my Bliss to her attributed,
Thus shee ys framed, her eyes are my direction,
Her Love my Lyfe, her Anger my Instruction,
Lastly what so shee bee ys my protection.
O then yt shynes, then are the heavens distributed,
And Venus seemes to make up her, shee spent her self,
Thus then I say, my myscheefes have contributed,
A greater good by her devyne Reflection,
My harmes to mee my Bliss to her attributed,
Thus shee ys framed, her eyes are my direction,
Her Love my Lyfe, her Anger my Instruction,
Lastly what so shee bee ys my protection.
133
Thy saftye sure ys wrapped in Destruction,
For that Construction thy owne wordes do beare,
A Man to feare a Womans muddy eye,
Or Reason lye, a slave to servyle sence,
There seeke defence, where weykenes ys the force,
Ys Late Remorse, in folly dearely boughte,
Dorus.
If I had thoughte, to heare Blaspheymous wordes,
My Brest to swordes, My sowle to hell have soulde,
I sooner woulde, then thus my eares defyle,
With wordes too vyle, whiche vyler breath dothe brede.
My Brest to swordes, My sowle to hell have soulde,
I sooner woulde, then thus my eares defyle,
With wordes too vyle, whiche vyler breath dothe brede.
O Hearde, take heede, for I a wolffe have founde,
Who hunting rounde the strongest for to kill,
His Chest dothe fill with earthe of others woe,
And Loden so, pulles downe, pulde downe destroyes.
Who hunting rounde the strongest for to kill,
His Chest dothe fill with earthe of others woe,
And Loden so, pulles downe, pulde downe destroyes.
O Shepeheardes boyes, eschewe these toungues of venym
Whiche doo envenym, bothe the Sowle and senses,
Oure best Defences, are to flee theyre adders,
O tungues, even Ladders, made to clyme Dishonour.
Who judge that Honor, whiche hathe scoape to slaunder?
Whiche doo envenym, bothe the Sowle and senses,
Oure best Defences, are to flee theyre adders,
O tungues, even Ladders, made to clyme Dishonour.
Who judge that Honor, whiche hathe scoape to slaunder?
Dicus.
Dorus, yow wander, farr in greate Reproches,
So Love encroaches, in youre charmed reason,
But yt ys season, for to ende oure singinge,
Suche Anger bringing, as for my fancy
In sicke mans franzy, rather takes Compassyon,
Then Rage for Rage, rather my wish I send to thee,
Thow soone may have some help, or chaunge of passyon,
Shee ofte her Lookes the starres theyre favoure bend to thee,
Fortune, store, Nature, healthe, Love graunte perswasyon,
A Quyet mynde, none but thy self can lend to thee,
Thus I commend all oure Former Love.
Dorus.
Well doo I prove, error lyes ofte in zeale,
Yet ys yt zeale, thoughe error of true harte,
Noughte coulde Imparte, suche heates to frendly mynde,
But for to fynde, thy wordes did her disgrace,
Whose onely face, the litle heaven ys,
Whiche whoo dothe myss his eyes are but Dilusyons,
Barred from his cheefest object of Delightfullnes,
Throwne on this earthe the Chaos of Confusyons,
134
The Lovely blowe with rare Rewarde my prayer ys,
Thow mayste Love her, that I may see thy spytefullnes,
The quyet mynde wherof my self ympairer ys,
As thow doest thincke, shoulde moste of all disquyet mee,
Withoute her Love, then any mynde who fayrer ys,
Her onely Care, from surfett woes can dyet mee,
Shee holdes the Ballance of my Contentacyon,
Her cleared lookes (nought ellse) in stormes can quyet mee
Nay, rather then my ease, Discontentatyon
Shoulde breede to her, Lett mee for aye dejected bee,
From my Joye whiche might her greef occasyon,
With so sweete plaigues my happy harmes infected bee,
Payne willes mee dye, yet payne of Deathe I mortify,
For thoughe lyfe yrckes, in lyfe my Loves protected bee,
Thus for eche Chaunge, my Chaungeles harte I fortify.
[And are yow there oulde Pas? in trouthe I ever thoughte]
Nico. Pas. Dicus.Nico.
And are yow there oulde Pas? in trouthe I ever thoughte,
Amongst us all wee should fynde oute some thing of noughte.
Pas.
And I am here the same, so mote I thryving bee,
Dispayrde, in all this flock, to fynde a knave, but thee,
Nico.
A, nowe I see why thow arte in thy self so blynde?
Thy gray hoode hydes the thinge that thow dispayrst to fynde.
Pas.
My gray hood ys myne owne, all bee yt bee but graye,
Nott as the scripp thow stolest while Dorus sleeping lay.
135
Myne was the scripp but thow that seeming rayed wth Love,
Did snatche from Hyppas hand her greeny wroughten glove,
Pas.
Ah foole, so Courtyers doo, but, who did lyvely skipp?
When for a Treene dish stollen the father did thee whipp,
Nico.
In deed the witche thy Dame her Crouche from shoulder spredd,
For pillfering Lalus lambe wth Crouche to bless thy hedd.
Pas.
My voyce the Lambe did wynn̄, Menalchas was the Judge,
Of singing Matche wee made, when hee wth shame did trudge,
Nico.
Couldest thow make Lalus flee, so Nightingales avoyde,
When with the Cawyng Crowes theyre musick ys anoyde,
Pas.
Na, like to Nightingales, the other byrdes give eare,
My pype and songe made hym bothe songe & pype forsweare.
Nico.
I thincke yt well suche voyce woulde make one Musick hate,
But yf I had bene there thaddst founde an other Mate.
Pas.
An other sure as ys a Gander from a Goose,
But still when thow doest singe mee thinckes a Coulte ys loose.
Nico.
Well aymed by my hatt, for as thow sangest last day,
The Neighboures all did crye, Alas what Asse dothe bray,
Pas.
But here ys Dicus oulde, Lett hym then speake the worde,
To whither with best Cause the Nymphes fayre flowers afforde,
Nico.
Content, but I will Lay a wager thereunto,
That, proffett may ensue to hym that best can doo.
I have, and longe shall have a white greate Nymble Catt,
A Kinge uppon a Mowse a strong foe to a Ratt.
Fyne eares, Longe tayle hee hathe with lyons curbed Clawe,
Whiche ofte hee lifteth up and stayes his lifted pawe.
136
Till with likt berde his eye of fyer, espyes his foes.
Yf yow (alas pore yf) doo wynn̄, then wynn̄ yow this,
And yf I better singe lett mee thy Hyppa kisse.
Pas.
Kisse her, now mayste thow kiss, I have a fitter Matche,
A prity Curr yt ys, his name, I wus ys Catche.
No eare nor taile hee hathe, least they shoulde hym disgrace,
A Ruddy hayer his Coate with fyne longe speckled face
Hee never musing standes, but, with hym self will playe,
Leaping at every flee, and angry with a Flea.
Hee efte woulde kill a Mouse, but hee disdaynes the feighte,
And makes oure home good sporte wth dauncing bolte uprighte,
This ys my Pawne, the pryce, let Dicus Judgment showe,
Suche Oddes I willing laye, for hym and yow I knowe.
Dicus.
Singe then my Laddes, and singe, wth better vayne, then yett,
Or else with singing worse, my skill may hardly hitt.
Nico.
Who doubtes but Pas fyne pype, ageane will bringe,
The auncyent prayse to Arcadia Shepeheardes skill,
Pan ys not deade synce Pas begyns to singe.
Pas.
Who ever more will love Appollos quyll?
Synce Nico dothe to singe, so wydely gape,
Nico his place farr better furnish will.
Nico.
Was this not hee, who for Siringas scape,
Raging in woes, first pastors tought to play,
Do yow not heare his voyce, and see his shape.
Pas.
This ys not hee, that fayled her to gayne,
(Whiche made a Bay) made Bay a holly tree
But this ys one that doth his Musick stayne.
Nico.
O Faunes, O Fayries all, and doo yow see?
And suffer suche a wronge, a wronge, I trowe,
That Nico must with Pas compared bee.
Pas.
O Nymphes, I tell yow newes, for Pas yow knowe,
Whyle I was warbling oute youre wonted prayse,
Nico woulde needes with Pas his baggpype blowe.
Nico.
Yf never I did fayle youre holy dayes,
With Daunces, Carrolls, or with Barley breake,
Let Pas now knowe how Nico maketh layes.
137
Yf eche day hathe bene holly for youre sake,
Unto my Pype, O Nymphes now help my pype,
For Pas well knowes what Layes can Nico make.
Nico.
Alas, howe ofte I looke on Cheryes rype,
Mee thinckes I see the Lippes my Leuca hathe,
And wanting her, my weeping eyes I wype.
Pas.
Alas when I in springe mete Roses rathe,
And thinck from Hyppas sweete redd Lippes I live,
I leave my eyes unwypte, my Cheekes to bathe,
Nico.
As I of late, nere Busshes used my sive,
I spyde my Thrush, where shee did make her Nest,
That will I take, and to my Leuca give.
Pas.
But, longe have I a Sparrowe gayly drest
As white as Milke, and comming to the Calle,
To putt yt with my hande in Hyppas brest.
Nico.
I ofte doo sue, and Leuca saythe, I shall,
But, when I did come nere with heate and hope
Shee ranne away, and threwe at mee a Balle.
Pas.
Hyppa once sayde, shee lefte the wickett ope,
For mee to come, and so shee did, I came,
But in the place founde no thinge, but a Rope.
Nico.
When Leuca dothe appeare, the Sunne for shame,
Dothe hyde hym self, for to hym self hee sayes,
Yf Leuca live, shee darcken will my fame,
Pas.
When Hyppa dothe come forthe, the Sunne displayes,
His uttmoste Lighte, for well his witt dothe knowe,
Hyppas fayre Beames emblemish muche his Rayes.
Nico.
Leuca to mee, did yester morninge shewe,
In perfect Lighte, whiche coulde mee not deceyve,
Her naked Legg, more whyte then snowe.
Pas.
But, yester nighte by Lighte I did receyve,
From Hyppas eyes wch full in Darckenes shyne,
I sawe her Arme, where purest Lillyes cleave.
Nico.
Shee once starcke nakte did bathe a litle tyne,
But still mee thoughte with Beutyes from her fell
Shee did the water washe and make more fyne.
Pas.
Shee once to coole her self stoode in a well,
But ever synce, that well ys well besoughte,
And for Rose water soulde of rarest smell.
138
To Rivers bancke, beeyng a wallking broughte,
Shee bid mee spye her Baby in the brooke,
Alas sayde I, this Babe dothe nurse my thoughte.
Pas.
As in a glasse I helde, shee once did looke,
I sayde my handes well payde her for myne eyes,
Synce in my handes self goodly sighte shee tooke.
Nico.
O yf I had a Ladder for the skyes,
I woulde clyme upp and bringe a prety starr,
To weare uppon her neck that open lyes.
Pas.
O yf I had Appolloes golden Carre,
I woulde come downe, and yeelde to her my place,
That shyning now shee then might shyne more farr.
Nico.
No thinge O Leuca, shall thy fame deface,
Whyles Shepeheardes Tunes bee hearde or Rhymes bee redd,
Or while that Shepeheardes love a Lovely face,
Pas.
Thy Name O Hyppa shall with prayse bee spredd
As farr as any Shepeheardes pyping bee.
As farr as Love possesseth any hedd.
Nico.
Thy Monument ys layde in many a Tree,
With Name engraved so thoughe thy body dye,
The after Folckes shall wonder still at thee.
Pas.
So ofte these woodes have hearde my Hyppa crye,
That after deathe, to heaven in woodes resounde,
With Ecchos help shall Hyppa, hippa flye.
Nico.
Peace, peace good Pas, thow wearest eeven the grounde,
With sluttish songe, I pray thee learne to blea?
For, good thow mayest yet prove in Sheepish sounde.
Pas.
My father hathe at home a prety Jay,
Goo wynne of hym for chattering prayse or shame,
For so yet of a Conquest, speake thow may.
Nico.
Tell mee, (and, bee my Pan) the Monsters name?
That hathe fowre Legges and with twoo onely goes?
That hathe fowre eyes, and onely Twoo can frame?
Pas.
Tell this (and Phebus bee,) what Monster growes?
With so strange Lyves, that body can not rest?
In ease, untill that body lyfe forgoes?
Dicus.
Inuff, inuff, so evell hathe done the best,
That since the having of them to neyther ys due,
Lett Catt and Dogg feight whiche shall have bothe yow.
139
[As I behynde a Busshe did sitt]
Histor.As I behynde a Busshe did sitt,
I sylent hearde more Wordes of witt,
Then earst I knew, but first did playne,
The one whiche tother woulde refrayne.
[Alas how longe this Pillgrimage dothe last]
Plangus. Boulon.Plangus.
Alas how longe this Pillgrimage dothe last,
What greater evills have now the Heavens in store?
To cupple com̄yng harmes with sorrowes past,
Longe synce my voyce ys hoarse, and throate ys sore
With Cryes to skyes, and Curses to the grounde,
But, more I playne, I feele my woes the more.
What greater evills have now the Heavens in store?
To cupple com̄yng harmes with sorrowes past,
Longe synce my voyce ys hoarse, and throate ys sore
With Cryes to skyes, and Curses to the grounde,
But, more I playne, I feele my woes the more.
Ah where was first, that Crewell Cunning founde,
To frame of earthe a vessell of the mynde
Where yt shoulde bee the self destruction bounde,
What needed so hye spirites suche Mansions blynde?
Or wrapt in flessh, what doo they here obtayne?
But gloryous Name of wretched humane kynde,
To frame of earthe a vessell of the mynde
Where yt shoulde bee the self destruction bounde,
What needed so hye spirites suche Mansions blynde?
Or wrapt in flessh, what doo they here obtayne?
But gloryous Name of wretched humane kynde,
140
Balles to the starres, and Thralles to fortunes raigne,
Turned from them selves infected with theyre Cage
Where deathe ys fearde, and lyfe ys helde wth payne,
Lyke Players placed to fill a filthy stage,
Where Chaunge of thoughtes one foole to other shewes
And all but Jestes, save onely sorowes rage?
Turned from them selves infected with theyre Cage
Where deathe ys fearde, and lyfe ys helde wth payne,
Lyke Players placed to fill a filthy stage,
Where Chaunge of thoughtes one foole to other shewes
And all but Jestes, save onely sorowes rage?
The Chylde feeles that the Man that feeling knowes,
With Cryes first borne, the presage of his lyfe,
Where witt butt serves to have true taste of woes,
A Shopp of shame, a Booke where Blottes are ryfe,
This Body ys, this Body so composde,
As in yt self, to nourish mortall stryfe.
With Cryes first borne, the presage of his lyfe,
Where witt butt serves to have true taste of woes,
A Shopp of shame, a Booke where Blottes are ryfe,
This Body ys, this Body so composde,
As in yt self, to nourish mortall stryfe.
So dyvers bee the Elementes disposde,
In this weyke worcke, that yt can never bee,
Made uniforme to any estate reposde,
Greef onely makes his wretched state to see,
Even lyke a Topp, wch noughte, but whipping mooves,
This Man, this talking beaste, this walking Tree.
In this weyke worcke, that yt can never bee,
Made uniforme to any estate reposde,
Greef onely makes his wretched state to see,
Even lyke a Topp, wch noughte, but whipping mooves,
This Man, this talking beaste, this walking Tree.
Greef ys the Stone whiche fynest Judgment prooves,
For, who greeves not hathe but a blockish brayne,
Synce Cause of greef, no Cause from lyfe remooves,
For, who greeves not hathe but a blockish brayne,
Synce Cause of greef, no Cause from lyfe remooves,
Boulon.
Howe longe wilt thow with monefull Musick stayne?
The Cherefull Notes, these pleasaunt places yeelde,
Where as good happes a perfect state meynteyne.
Plangus.
Curste bee good happes, and Curst bee they that buylde,
Theyre hopes on happes, and do not make dispayre,
For all these certeyne Blowes, the surest sheelde,
Shall I that sawe Eronas shyning hayre?
Torne with her handes, and those same handes of snowe,
With Losse of purest blood, them selves to teare.
Theyre hopes on happes, and do not make dispayre,
For all these certeyne Blowes, the surest sheelde,
Shall I that sawe Eronas shyning hayre?
Torne with her handes, and those same handes of snowe,
With Losse of purest blood, them selves to teare.
Shall I that sawe those Brestes, where Beutyes flowe
Swelling with sighes made pale, wth myndes diseaze
And sawe those eyes (those sunnes) suche showers to showe
Shall I whose eares her mornefull wordes do seaze,
(Her wordes in Syrop layde of sweetest breathe)
Relent those thoughtes wch then did so displease.
Swelling with sighes made pale, wth myndes diseaze
And sawe those eyes (those sunnes) suche showers to showe
Shall I whose eares her mornefull wordes do seaze,
(Her wordes in Syrop layde of sweetest breathe)
Relent those thoughtes wch then did so displease.
141
No, no, Dispayre, my daily Lesson sayeth,
And saythe allthoughe I seeke my Lyfe to flye,
Plangus must live to see Eronas deathe,
Plangus must live some help for her to trye,
Thoughe Dispayre (for love so forceth mee)
Plangus dothe Lyve, and shall Erona dye?
And saythe allthoughe I seeke my Lyfe to flye,
Plangus must live to see Eronas deathe,
Plangus must live some help for her to trye,
Thoughe Dispayre (for love so forceth mee)
Plangus dothe Lyve, and shall Erona dye?
Erona dye? O heaven, yf heaven there bee,
Hathe all the whirling Course so smalle effect?
Serve all thy Starry eyes this shame to see,
Lett Doltes in haste some Alters fayre erect,
To those hye powers wch idely sitt above,
And vertue doo in greatest neede neglect.
Hathe all the whirling Course so smalle effect?
Serve all thy Starry eyes this shame to see,
Lett Doltes in haste some Alters fayre erect,
To those hye powers wch idely sitt above,
And vertue doo in greatest neede neglect.
Boulon.
O Man take heede, how thow the goddes do moove,
To Causefull Wrathe, whiche thow canst not resist,
Blaspheymous wordes the Speaker vayne dothe prove,
Alas, whyle wee are wrapt in Foggy Myst,
Of oure self Love, (so passyons doo deceyve)
Wee thincke they hurte, where moste they doo assist.
To Causefull Wrathe, whiche thow canst not resist,
Blaspheymous wordes the Speaker vayne dothe prove,
Alas, whyle wee are wrapt in Foggy Myst,
Of oure self Love, (so passyons doo deceyve)
Wee thincke they hurte, where moste they doo assist.
To harme us wormes, shoulde they by Justice leave,
His Nature, nay, hym self for so yt ys,
What glory from oure Losse can wee receyve,
But still oure daseled eyes theyre way do myss,
Whyle that wee doo at his sweete scourge repyne,
The kyndely way to beate us on to bliss.
His Nature, nay, hym self for so yt ys,
What glory from oure Losse can wee receyve,
But still oure daseled eyes theyre way do myss,
Whyle that wee doo at his sweete scourge repyne,
The kyndely way to beate us on to bliss.
Yf shee must dye then hathe shee lost the lyne,
Of loathsome dayes, whose losse how canst thow mone,
That doest so well theyre myseryes defyne,
But, suche wee are with inward Tempest blowne,
Of wyndes cleane Contrary, in waves of will,
Wee moane that Losse, (wch had) wee did bemone.
Of loathsome dayes, whose losse how canst thow mone,
That doest so well theyre myseryes defyne,
But, suche wee are with inward Tempest blowne,
Of wyndes cleane Contrary, in waves of will,
Wee moane that Losse, (wch had) wee did bemone.
Plangus.
And shall shee dye, shall crewell fyer spill?
Those Beames that sett so many hartes on fyer.
Hathe shee not force eeven deathe with Love to kyll,
Nay, eeven coulde Deathe enflamde with whott desyer?
Her to enjoy, where Joy yt self ys thralle?
Will spoyle the Earthe of his moste riche attyre.
Those Beames that sett so many hartes on fyer.
Hathe shee not force eeven deathe with Love to kyll,
Nay, eeven coulde Deathe enflamde with whott desyer?
Her to enjoy, where Joy yt self ys thralle?
Will spoyle the Earthe of his moste riche attyre.
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Thus, Deathe becomes a Rivall to us all,
And hopes with fowle embracementes her to gett,
In whose decay, vertues fayre shryne must falle,
O vertue weyke, shall Deathe his Tryumphe sett?
Uppon thy spoyles whiche never shoulde lye waste
Lett Deathe first dye, bee thow his worthy Lett.
And hopes with fowle embracementes her to gett,
In whose decay, vertues fayre shryne must falle,
O vertue weyke, shall Deathe his Tryumphe sett?
Uppon thy spoyles whiche never shoulde lye waste
Lett Deathe first dye, bee thow his worthy Lett.
By what Eclips shall that Sunne bee defaste?
What Myne hathe earst throwne downe so fayre a Tower?
What Sacriledg hathe suche a Sainte disgraste?
The worlde the garden ys, shee ys the Flower?
That sweetens all the place, shee ys the guest,
Of rarest pryce, bothe heaven & earth her Bower.
What Myne hathe earst throwne downe so fayre a Tower?
What Sacriledg hathe suche a Sainte disgraste?
The worlde the garden ys, shee ys the Flower?
That sweetens all the place, shee ys the guest,
Of rarest pryce, bothe heaven & earth her Bower.
And shall (O, mee) all this in Asshes rest?
Alas yf yow a Phenix now will have,
Burnt by the Sunne, shee first must buyld her Nest,
But well yow knowe, the gentle Sunne woulde save,
Suche Beames so like his owne wch mighte have Myghte,
In him the thoughtes of Phaetons Dam̄ to grave.
Alas yf yow a Phenix now will have,
Burnt by the Sunne, shee first must buyld her Nest,
But well yow knowe, the gentle Sunne woulde save,
Suche Beames so like his owne wch mighte have Myghte,
In him the thoughtes of Phaetons Dam̄ to grave.
Therefore alas, yow use vyle Vulcans spyte,
Whiche nothing spares to melt that virgin waxe,
Whiche while yt ys, yt ys all Asias lighte,
O Mars for what dothe serve thy armed Axe,
To let that witoulde Beast consume in flames,
Thy Venus Chylde, whose Beuty Venus lackes.
Whiche nothing spares to melt that virgin waxe,
Whiche while yt ys, yt ys all Asias lighte,
O Mars for what dothe serve thy armed Axe,
To let that witoulde Beast consume in flames,
Thy Venus Chylde, whose Beuty Venus lackes.
O Venus, yf her prayse, no Envy frames,
In thy hye mynde gett her thy husbandes grace,
Sweete speaking ofte, a Currish harte reclaymes,
O Eyes of myne, where once shee sawe her face,
(Her face whiche was more lyvely in her hart)
O Brayne, where thoughte of her hathe onely place?
In thy hye mynde gett her thy husbandes grace,
Sweete speaking ofte, a Currish harte reclaymes,
O Eyes of myne, where once shee sawe her face,
(Her face whiche was more lyvely in her hart)
O Brayne, where thoughte of her hathe onely place?
O hande wch tuched her hande when wee did parte,
O Lyppes that kist that hand with my Teares sprent.
O Toungue then dumbe, not daring tell my smarte,
O Sowle whose Love, in her ys onely spent?
What ere yow see thincke, tuche, kisse, speake or Love,
Let all for her, and unto her bee bent.
O Lyppes that kist that hand with my Teares sprent.
O Toungue then dumbe, not daring tell my smarte,
O Sowle whose Love, in her ys onely spent?
What ere yow see thincke, tuche, kisse, speake or Love,
Let all for her, and unto her bee bent.
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Thy wayling wordes doo muche my Spirites moove,
They uttered are in suche a feeling fashion,
That sorowes worcke ageanst my will I prove,
Mee thinckes I am partaker of youre passyon,
And in thy Case do glasse myne owne debility,
Self guylty folcke, must proove to feele Compassyon.
They uttered are in suche a feeling fashion,
That sorowes worcke ageanst my will I prove,
Mee thinckes I am partaker of youre passyon,
And in thy Case do glasse myne owne debility,
Self guylty folcke, must proove to feele Compassyon.
Yet Reason saythe, Reason shoulde have hability,
To holde these worldly thinges in suche proportion,
As let them come or goo with even facility.
But, oure Desyers Tyrannicall extortion,
Dothe force us there, to sett oure cheef Delightfullnes,
Where, but a Bayting place, ys all oure portion.
To holde these worldly thinges in suche proportion,
As let them come or goo with even facility.
But, oure Desyers Tyrannicall extortion,
Dothe force us there, to sett oure cheef Delightfullnes,
Where, but a Bayting place, ys all oure portion.
But still allthoughe wee faile of perfect Rightfullnes,
Seeke wee to tame these Chyldish Superfluityes,
Let us not wincke, thoughe voyde of purest sightfullnes.
For, what can breede more peevish Incongruityes,
Then Man to yeelde to female Lamentacyons.
Let us some Gram̄er learne of oure Congruityes?
Seeke wee to tame these Chyldish Superfluityes,
Let us not wincke, thoughe voyde of purest sightfullnes.
For, what can breede more peevish Incongruityes,
Then Man to yeelde to female Lamentacyons.
Let us some Gram̄er learne of oure Congruityes?
Plangus.
Yf throughe myne eares perse any Consolacyons,
By wyse Discourse, sweete Tunes or Poettes fiction,
Yf oughte I cease these Odyous exclamacyons,
Whyle that my sowle, shee shee Lives in affliction,
Then lett my Lyfe on earthe longe tyme maynteyned bee,
To wretched mee, the last worste Malediction.
By wyse Discourse, sweete Tunes or Poettes fiction,
Yf oughte I cease these Odyous exclamacyons,
Whyle that my sowle, shee shee Lives in affliction,
Then lett my Lyfe on earthe longe tyme maynteyned bee,
To wretched mee, the last worste Malediction.
Can I that knewe her sacred partes restrayned bee?
From any Joye, knowe fortunes vyle displacing her?
In morrall Rules, Lett raging woes conteyned bee,
Can I forgett, when they in prison placing her,
With swelling hart in spyte, and due Disdeynfullnes,
Shee lay for Deade, till I helpt with unlasing her.
From any Joye, knowe fortunes vyle displacing her?
In morrall Rules, Lett raging woes conteyned bee,
Can I forgett, when they in prison placing her,
With swelling hart in spyte, and due Disdeynfullnes,
Shee lay for Deade, till I helpt with unlasing her.
Can I forgett from howe muche mourning playnfullnes?
With Dyamond in wyndow glasse shee graved
Erona dye, and ende this ougly paynefullnes,
Can I forgett, in how strange phrase shee craved?
That quickly they woulde her burne downe or smother.
As yf by deathe shee onely mighte bee saved.
With Dyamond in wyndow glasse shee graved
Erona dye, and ende this ougly paynefullnes,
Can I forgett, in how strange phrase shee craved?
That quickly they woulde her burne downe or smother.
As yf by deathe shee onely mighte bee saved.
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Then lett mee eke forgett my hande from other,
Lett mee forgett that Plangus I am called,
Lett me forgett I am sonne to my Mother,
But, yf my memory thus must bee thralled,
To that straunge stroke wch conquerd all my sences,
Can thoughte still thincking so rest unappalled?
Lett mee forgett that Plangus I am called,
Lett me forgett I am sonne to my Mother,
But, yf my memory thus must bee thralled,
To that straunge stroke wch conquerd all my sences,
Can thoughte still thincking so rest unappalled?
Boulon.
Who still dothe seeke ageanst hym self Offences,
What pardon can avayle, or who employes hym?
To hurt hym self what sheeldes can bee defences.
Woo to pore Man, eche owteward thing anoyes hym,
In dyvers kyndes, yet, as hee were not filled,
Hee heapes in Inward greef, that moste destroyes hym.
What pardon can avayle, or who employes hym?
To hurt hym self what sheeldes can bee defences.
Woo to pore Man, eche owteward thing anoyes hym,
In dyvers kyndes, yet, as hee were not filled,
Hee heapes in Inward greef, that moste destroyes hym.
Thus ys oure Thoughte (with payne) for Thistells tilled,
Thus bee oure noblest partes dryed up with sorrowe,
Thus ys oure mynde, with too muche mynding spilled,
One daye layes up store of greef for the morowe.
And whose good happ dothe leave hym unprovyded
Condoling Cause, of Frendship hee will borrowe.
Thus bee oure noblest partes dryed up with sorrowe,
Thus ys oure mynde, with too muche mynding spilled,
One daye layes up store of greef for the morowe.
And whose good happ dothe leave hym unprovyded
Condoling Cause, of Frendship hee will borrowe.
Betuixt the good, and shade of good denyed,
Wee pity deeme that, whiche but weykenes ys,
So are wee from oure hye Creation slyded,
But Plangus leste I may youre sicknes mysse,
Or Rubbing hurt the sore I here do ende,
The Asse did hurt when hee did thincke to kisse.
Wee pity deeme that, whiche but weykenes ys,
So are wee from oure hye Creation slyded,
But Plangus leste I may youre sicknes mysse,
Or Rubbing hurt the sore I here do ende,
The Asse did hurt when hee did thincke to kisse.
Thus did they say, and then away did wende,
Hye tyme for mee, for scattered were my Sheepe,
While I theyre speeche in my Rude Ryming pend,
Yet for that Nighte my Cabban did them keepe,
Whyle Plangus did a Story straunge declare,
But, hoarse and Drye, my Pypes I now must spare.
Hye tyme for mee, for scattered were my Sheepe,
While I theyre speeche in my Rude Ryming pend,
Yet for that Nighte my Cabban did them keepe,
Whyle Plangus did a Story straunge declare,
But, hoarse and Drye, my Pypes I now must spare.
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[Fayre Rockes, goodly Rivers, sweete Woodes, when shall I see peace?]
Philisides.
Fayre Rockes, goodly Rivers, sweete Woodes, when shall I see peace?
Peace? what barres mee my toungue, who ys yt yt comes mee so nye?
Oh I, do knowe what Guest I have mett, yt ys Eccho.
Well mett Eccho, approche then tell mee thy will too?—
Peace? what barres mee my toungue, who ys yt yt comes mee so nye?
Oh I, do knowe what Guest I have mett, yt ys Eccho.
Well mett Eccho, approche then tell mee thy will too?—
Eccho, what doo I gett yeelding my spirit to my greeves?—
What Medcyn may I fynde for a payne yt drawes mee to deathe?
O poysonus Medecyn what worse to mee, can bee then yt?—
In what state was I then when I tooke this Deadly disease?
What maner of a mynde, wch had to that Honor a vayne?
Hathe not Reason enoughe vehemency the Desyer to reproove?
Ofte proove I but what salve, when reason seekes to bee gon̄?
Oh what ys yt, what ys yt that may bee a salve to my Love?
What doo Lovers seeke for, Long seeking for to enjoy?
What bee the Joyes for wch to enjoy they want to the paynes?
Then to an earnest Loove, what dothe best victory lende?
Ende, but I can never ende, love will not give mee the Leave.
Howe bee the myndes disposde that can not taste thy Phisick?
Yet, say ageane thy advyse, for the evills that I tolde thee?
Dothe the Infected wretche of his evell the extremity knowe?
But yf hee knowe not his harmes what guydes hathe hee while hee ys blynde?
What blynde Guydes can hee have that leanes to a fancye?
Can fancyes want eyes? or hee falle that steppeth a lofte?
What Causes first made these Tormentes on mee to lighte?
Can then a Cause bee so lighte, that forceth a Man to go dye?
Yet tell mee what lighte thing I had in mee to draw mee to dye?
Eye sight made mee to yeelde but what first prest to myne eyes?
Eyes hurters eyes hurte but what from them to mee falles?
But when I first did falle what broughte moste falle to my hart?
Arte? What can bee that Arte wch thow doest meane by thy speeche?
What bee the fruites of speaking Arte, what growes by the wordes?
O muche more then wordes, those wordes seemd more to mee blesse.
O when shall I bee knowne where moste to bee knowne I doo longe?
Long bee thy woes for suche Newes: But how Reckes shee my thoughtes?
Then, then what do I gayne, since unto her will I do wynde?
Wynde Tempestes and stormes yet in ende what gives shee desyer?
Silly Rewarde, yet among women hathe shee of vertue ye moste.
What greate name may I give to so heavenly a woman?
Woe, but seemes to mee Joy yt agrees to my thoughtes so?
Thincke so, for of my desyered blisse yt ys onely the Course.
Curst by thy self for cursing yt wch leades mee to Joyes?
What bee ye sweete Creatures where lovely demaundes bee not hearde?
Hard to bee gott, butt gott constant to bee helde like steeles.
How can they bee unkynde speake for thow haste nerely pryed?
Whence can pryde come there, since springes of beuty bee thence?
Horrible ys thy Blasphemy, unto the moste holy.
Thow lyest false Eccho, theyre myndes as vertue bee Just.
Mockest thow those Dyamondes wch onely bee matcht by ye goddes.
Oddes? what an oddes ys there synce them to ye heavens I preferr.
Tell yet ageane mee the names of these fayre formd to do evells?
Devills? yf in hell suche Devills do abyde to the helles I do go?
What Medcyn may I fynde for a payne yt drawes mee to deathe?
O poysonus Medecyn what worse to mee, can bee then yt?—
In what state was I then when I tooke this Deadly disease?
What maner of a mynde, wch had to that Honor a vayne?
Hathe not Reason enoughe vehemency the Desyer to reproove?
Ofte proove I but what salve, when reason seekes to bee gon̄?
Oh what ys yt, what ys yt that may bee a salve to my Love?
What doo Lovers seeke for, Long seeking for to enjoy?
153
Then to an earnest Loove, what dothe best victory lende?
Ende, but I can never ende, love will not give mee the Leave.
Howe bee the myndes disposde that can not taste thy Phisick?
Yet, say ageane thy advyse, for the evills that I tolde thee?
Dothe the Infected wretche of his evell the extremity knowe?
But yf hee knowe not his harmes what guydes hathe hee while hee ys blynde?
What blynde Guydes can hee have that leanes to a fancye?
Can fancyes want eyes? or hee falle that steppeth a lofte?
What Causes first made these Tormentes on mee to lighte?
Can then a Cause bee so lighte, that forceth a Man to go dye?
Yet tell mee what lighte thing I had in mee to draw mee to dye?
Eye sight made mee to yeelde but what first prest to myne eyes?
Eyes hurters eyes hurte but what from them to mee falles?
But when I first did falle what broughte moste falle to my hart?
Arte? What can bee that Arte wch thow doest meane by thy speeche?
What bee the fruites of speaking Arte, what growes by the wordes?
O muche more then wordes, those wordes seemd more to mee blesse.
O when shall I bee knowne where moste to bee knowne I doo longe?
Long bee thy woes for suche Newes: But how Reckes shee my thoughtes?
154
Wynde Tempestes and stormes yet in ende what gives shee desyer?
Silly Rewarde, yet among women hathe shee of vertue ye moste.
What greate name may I give to so heavenly a woman?
Woe, but seemes to mee Joy yt agrees to my thoughtes so?
Thincke so, for of my desyered blisse yt ys onely the Course.
Curst by thy self for cursing yt wch leades mee to Joyes?
What bee ye sweete Creatures where lovely demaundes bee not hearde?
Hard to bee gott, butt gott constant to bee helde like steeles.
How can they bee unkynde speake for thow haste nerely pryed?
Whence can pryde come there, since springes of beuty bee thence?
Horrible ys thy Blasphemy, unto the moste holy.
Thow lyest false Eccho, theyre myndes as vertue bee Just.
Mockest thow those Dyamondes wch onely bee matcht by ye goddes.
Oddes? what an oddes ys there synce them to ye heavens I preferr.
Tell yet ageane mee the names of these fayre formd to do evells?
Devills? yf in hell suche Devills do abyde to the helles I do go?
155
[My Muse, what ailes this Ardoure?]
My Muse, what ailes this Ardoure?
To blase my onely Secrettes:
Alas yt ys no glory,
To singe my owne decayed state:
Alas yt ys no Comfort,
To speake withoute an aunswer,
Alas yt ys no wisdome,
To shewe the woundes without Cure.
To blase my onely Secrettes:
Alas yt ys no glory,
To singe my owne decayed state:
Alas yt ys no Comfort,
To speake withoute an aunswer,
Alas yt ys no wisdome,
To shewe the woundes without Cure.
My Muse what ailes this Ardoure?
My eyes bee Dym̄, my Lym̄es shake,
My voyce ys hoarse, my throate scortche,
My toungue to this my Roof cleaves,
My fancy amasde, my thoughtes Dulde.
My hart dothe ake, my lyfe fayntes,
My sowle begins to take leave,
So greate a passyon all feele.
To thincke a sore so Deadly,
I shoulde so rashly ripp up.
My eyes bee Dym̄, my Lym̄es shake,
My voyce ys hoarse, my throate scortche,
My toungue to this my Roof cleaves,
My fancy amasde, my thoughtes Dulde.
My hart dothe ake, my lyfe fayntes,
My sowle begins to take leave,
So greate a passyon all feele.
To thincke a sore so Deadly,
I shoulde so rashly ripp up.
My Muse what ailes this Ardoure?
Yf unto Songe thow arte bent,
Goo singe the falle of oulde Thebes,
The warres of ougly Centaures,
The Lyfe, the Deathe of Hector,
So may thy Songe bee famous.
Or yf to love thow arte bent,
Recounte the Rape of Europe
Adonis ende, Venus Nett.
The Sleepy Kisse, the Mone stale
So may thy Songe bee pleasant.
Yf unto Songe thow arte bent,
Goo singe the falle of oulde Thebes,
The warres of ougly Centaures,
The Lyfe, the Deathe of Hector,
So may thy Songe bee famous.
Or yf to love thow arte bent,
Recounte the Rape of Europe
Adonis ende, Venus Nett.
The Sleepy Kisse, the Mone stale
So may thy Songe bee pleasant.
My Muse what ailes this Ardoure?
To blase my onely Secrettes.
Wherein doo onely florish,
The sory fruites of Anguish,
The Songe therof, alas will,
The Tunes bee cryes, the Wordes playntes,
The Singer ys the songes Theme,
Wherein no eare can have Joy,
Nor eye receyves an object,
Myne plesure here in fame gott.
To blase my onely Secrettes.
Wherein doo onely florish,
The sory fruites of Anguish,
The Songe therof, alas will,
The Tunes bee cryes, the Wordes playntes,
The Singer ys the songes Theme,
Wherein no eare can have Joy,
Nor eye receyves an object,
Myne plesure here in fame gott.
156
My Muse what ailes this Ardoure?
Alas shee saythe I am thyne,
So are thy paynes, my paynes too?
Thy heated hart my seate ys,
Wherein I burne, thy Breathe ys,
My voyce to hott to keepe in,
Besydes, to heare the Aucthor
Of all my harmes, lo here shee,
That onely can redress thee,
Of her I will demaund help.
Alas shee saythe I am thyne,
So are thy paynes, my paynes too?
Thy heated hart my seate ys,
Wherein I burne, thy Breathe ys,
My voyce to hott to keepe in,
Besydes, to heare the Aucthor
Of all my harmes, lo here shee,
That onely can redress thee,
Of her I will demaund help.
My Muse I yeelde, My Muse singe?
But all thy Song herein knitt,
The Lyfe wee Leade ys all Love,
The Love wee holde ys all deathe.
Nor oughte I crave to feede deathe,
Nor oughte I seeke to shone deathe.
But onely that my Goddess
My lyfe my Deathe dothe Counte hers.
But all thy Song herein knitt,
The Lyfe wee Leade ys all Love,
The Love wee holde ys all deathe.
Nor oughte I crave to feede deathe,
Nor oughte I seeke to shone deathe.
But onely that my Goddess
My lyfe my Deathe dothe Counte hers.
[Reason, tell mee thy Mynde, yf here bee Reason?]
Reason, tell mee thy Mynde, yf here bee Reason?
In this straunge vyolence to make resistance,
Where sweete Graces erect the stately Banner?
Of Vertues Regiment shyning in harness
Of Fortunes Dyadems by Beauty mustered,
Say then Reason (I say) what ys thy Counsell?
In this straunge vyolence to make resistance,
Where sweete Graces erect the stately Banner?
Of Vertues Regiment shyning in harness
Of Fortunes Dyadems by Beauty mustered,
Say then Reason (I say) what ys thy Counsell?
Her Loose hayer bee the shott, The Brestes the Pykes bee,
Skoutes eche Motion ys, The handes the Horsemen,
Her Lyppes are the Riches, the Warryers to meyntayne,
Where well Couched abydes a Coffer of Perle,
Her Legges, Cariage ys of all the sweete Campe,
Say then Reason (I say) what ys thy Counsell?
Skoutes eche Motion ys, The handes the Horsemen,
Her Lyppes are the Riches, the Warryers to meyntayne,
Where well Couched abydes a Coffer of Perle,
Her Legges, Cariage ys of all the sweete Campe,
Say then Reason (I say) what ys thy Counsell?
Her Cannons bee her eyes, Myne eyes, the Walles bee?
Whiche at first volley gave to open entrie,
Nor Ramper did abyde, my Brayne was up blowne,
Undermynde wth a speeche, the perser of thoughtes,
Thus weykened by my self, no help remayneth.
Say then Reason (I say) what ys thy Counsell?
Whiche at first volley gave to open entrie,
157
Undermynde wth a speeche, the perser of thoughtes,
Thus weykened by my self, no help remayneth.
Say then Reason (I say) what ys thy Counsell?
And now Fame, the Herralde of her true Honor,
Dothe proclayme with a sounde made all by mens mouthes,
That Nature, Soveraigne of Earthly Dwellers
Comaundes all Creatures to yeelde obaysance?
Under this her owne her onely Darling.
Say then Reason (I say) what ys thy Counsell.
Dothe proclayme with a sounde made all by mens mouthes,
That Nature, Soveraigne of Earthly Dwellers
Comaundes all Creatures to yeelde obaysance?
Under this her owne her onely Darling.
Say then Reason (I say) what ys thy Counsell.
Reason sighes, but in ende hee thus dothe answer?
Noughte can Reason avayle in heavenly Matters
Thus Natures Dyamond receyve thy Conquest,
Thus Pure Perle I do yeelde my sences and sowle,
Thus sweete payne I do yeelde what ere I can yeelde.
Reason looke to thy self I serve a Goddess.
Noughte can Reason avayle in heavenly Matters
Thus Natures Dyamond receyve thy Conquest,
Thus Pure Perle I do yeelde my sences and sowle,
Thus sweete payne I do yeelde what ere I can yeelde.
Reason looke to thy self I serve a Goddess.
[O sweete woodes, the Delighte of Solitarynes?]
O sweete woodes, the Delighte of Solitarynes?
O howe muche I doo like youre solitarynes,
Where Mans mynde hathe a freed Consideracyon,
Of goodnes, to receyve Lovely direction,
Where Sences do beholde the order of heavenly Hoaste,
And wyse thoughtes do beholde what the Creator ys,
Contemplacyon here holdeth his onely seate,
Bounded with no Limittes borne wth a winge of hope,
Clymes even unto the Starres Nature ys under yt.
Naughte disturbes thy quyett all to thy service yeelde,
Eche sighte Drawes on a thought, thoughte Mother of scyence,
Sweete Byrdes kyndely do graunte harmony unto thee.
Fayre Trees, shade ys ynoughe fortification,
Nor Daunger to thy self, yf not in thy self.
O howe muche I doo like youre solitarynes,
Where Mans mynde hathe a freed Consideracyon,
Of goodnes, to receyve Lovely direction,
Where Sences do beholde the order of heavenly Hoaste,
And wyse thoughtes do beholde what the Creator ys,
Contemplacyon here holdeth his onely seate,
Bounded with no Limittes borne wth a winge of hope,
Clymes even unto the Starres Nature ys under yt.
Naughte disturbes thy quyett all to thy service yeelde,
Eche sighte Drawes on a thought, thoughte Mother of scyence,
Sweete Byrdes kyndely do graunte harmony unto thee.
Fayre Trees, shade ys ynoughe fortification,
Nor Daunger to thy self, yf not in thy self.
O sweete woodes the Delighte of Solitarynes?
O howe muche do I like youre solitarynes,
Here, no treason ys hidd vailed in Innocency,
Nor Envyes snaky eye fyndes any harboure here,
Nor Flaterers venymous Insinuations,
Nor Cunning Humoristes pudled opinyons.
Nor Courteous Ruyning of proffered usury,
Nor Tyme prattled away, Cradle of Ignorance,
Nor tryffling Tytle of vanity daseleth us.
Nor golden Manackles stande for a Paradyse,
Here wronges name ys unhearde, Sclaunder a Monster ys.
Keepe thy Spirite from abuse, here no abuse dothe haunte,
What Man graftes in a Tree dissimulation.
O howe muche do I like youre solitarynes,
Here, no treason ys hidd vailed in Innocency,
158
Nor Flaterers venymous Insinuations,
Nor Cunning Humoristes pudled opinyons.
Nor Courteous Ruyning of proffered usury,
Nor Tyme prattled away, Cradle of Ignorance,
Nor tryffling Tytle of vanity daseleth us.
Nor golden Manackles stande for a Paradyse,
Here wronges name ys unhearde, Sclaunder a Monster ys.
Keepe thy Spirite from abuse, here no abuse dothe haunte,
What Man graftes in a Tree dissimulation.
O sweete woodes the Delighte of Solitarynes?
O howe well do I like youre solitarynes?
Yet Dere sowle, yf a Sowle closde in a Mansion,
As sweete as vyolettes, fayre as a Lilly ys,
Streighte as a Cedar, a voyce staynes the Canarie Birdes
Whose shade safety dothe holde, Daunger avoydeth her.
Suche wysdome, that in her lives speculation.
Suche goodnes, that in her Simplicity tryumphes,
Where Envyes snakye eye wincketh or else dyeth,
Slaunder wanteth, a Pretext Flatery gone beyonde.
O yf suche a one hathe bent to a Lovely lyfe,
Her stepps glad wee receyve, glad wee receyve her eyes,
And thincke not shee dothe hurt oure solitarynes?
For, suche Company deckes suche solitarynes.
O howe well do I like youre solitarynes?
Yet Dere sowle, yf a Sowle closde in a Mansion,
As sweete as vyolettes, fayre as a Lilly ys,
Streighte as a Cedar, a voyce staynes the Canarie Birdes
Whose shade safety dothe holde, Daunger avoydeth her.
Suche wysdome, that in her lives speculation.
Suche goodnes, that in her Simplicity tryumphes,
Where Envyes snakye eye wincketh or else dyeth,
Slaunder wanteth, a Pretext Flatery gone beyonde.
O yf suche a one hathe bent to a Lovely lyfe,
Her stepps glad wee receyve, glad wee receyve her eyes,
And thincke not shee dothe hurt oure solitarynes?
For, suche Company deckes suche solitarynes.
Here ende the Second Eglogues. and Second Booke.
159
The Thirde Booke or Acte.
160
[O sweete glove the witness of my secrett Blisse]
O sweete glove the witness of my secrett Blisse,
(Whiche hyding did preserve that beutyes lighte)
That (opened forthe) my sealle of Comfort ys,
Bee thow my Starr in this my Darckest nighte,
Thow that myne eyes theyre Cherefull Sunne dothe misse,
Which Daseling still doste still meyntayne my sighte,
Bee thow Sweete glove, the Anchor of my Mynde,
Till my frayle Barcke his Haven ageane do fynde.
(Whiche hyding did preserve that beutyes lighte)
That (opened forthe) my sealle of Comfort ys,
Bee thow my Starr in this my Darckest nighte,
Thow that myne eyes theyre Cherefull Sunne dothe misse,
Which Daseling still doste still meyntayne my sighte,
Bee thow Sweete glove, the Anchor of my Mynde,
Till my frayle Barcke his Haven ageane do fynde.
Sweete glove, the sweetest spoyles of the sweetest hand,
Fayre hande, the fayrest pledg of fayrer harte,
True harte, whose truthe dothe yeelde to trusty bande,
Cheef Bande I say wch tyes my cheefest parte,
My Cheefest parte, wherein doo cheefly stande
Those secrett Joyes wch heaven to mee imparte,
Unite in one, my state thus still to save
Yow have my thanckes, Let mee youre Comfort have.
Fayre hande, the fayrest pledg of fayrer harte,
True harte, whose truthe dothe yeelde to trusty bande,
Cheef Bande I say wch tyes my cheefest parte,
My Cheefest parte, wherein doo cheefly stande
Those secrett Joyes wch heaven to mee imparte,
Unite in one, my state thus still to save
Yow have my thanckes, Let mee youre Comfort have.
161
[The Merchaunt Man, whome gayne dothe teache ye Sea]
The Merchaunt Man, whome gayne dothe teache ye Sea,
Where Rockes do weyte for them, the wyndes do chase,
Beaten wth waves, no sooner kenns the Bay,
Where hee was bounde to make his Martyng place,
But (feare forgott and paynes all overpast)
Make present ease receyve the better Taste.
Where Rockes do weyte for them, the wyndes do chase,
Beaten wth waves, no sooner kenns the Bay,
Where hee was bounde to make his Martyng place,
But (feare forgott and paynes all overpast)
Make present ease receyve the better Taste.
The Labourer wch cursed earthe up teares,
With sweaty Browes, some tymes wth watery eyes,
Ofte scorching Sunne ofte cloudy darcknes feares,
While uppon Chaunge his fruite of Labor lyes.
But, Harvest come, and Corne in fertile store.
More in his owne hee toylde hee gladdes the more.
With sweaty Browes, some tymes wth watery eyes,
Ofte scorching Sunne ofte cloudy darcknes feares,
While uppon Chaunge his fruite of Labor lyes.
But, Harvest come, and Corne in fertile store.
More in his owne hee toylde hee gladdes the more.
Thus in my Pilgrimage of mated mynde,
Seeking the Sainte, in whome all graces dwell,
What stormes founde mee, what Tormentes I doo fynde,
Who seekes to knowe acquayntes hym self wth Hell,
But, now, Success hathe gott above anoyes,
That, Sorowes weighte, dothe ballance up these Joyes.
Seeking the Sainte, in whome all graces dwell,
What stormes founde mee, what Tormentes I doo fynde,
Who seekes to knowe acquayntes hym self wth Hell,
But, now, Success hathe gott above anoyes,
That, Sorowes weighte, dothe ballance up these Joyes.
162
[The Merchaunt man, whome many seas have taughte]
The Merchaunt man, whome many seas have taughte,
What horrors breedes where wynde Dominyon beares,
Yet never Rock, nor Rage suche terror broughte,
As nere his home, when storme or shelf hee feares,
For Nature hathe that never faylling scope,
Moste loathe to Loose the moste approching hope.
What horrors breedes where wynde Dominyon beares,
Yet never Rock, nor Rage suche terror broughte,
As nere his home, when storme or shelf hee feares,
For Nature hathe that never faylling scope,
Moste loathe to Loose the moste approching hope.
The Labourer whome tryed body makes,
Holde dere his worcke, wth sighe eche chaunge attendes,
But at no Chaunge, so pinching Care hee takes,
As happy shewes of Corne when Harvest sendes,
For, Reason, will greate sight of hoped blisse
Make greate the Losse, so greate the feare to misse.
Holde dere his worcke, wth sighe eche chaunge attendes,
But at no Chaunge, so pinching Care hee takes,
As happy shewes of Corne when Harvest sendes,
For, Reason, will greate sight of hoped blisse
Make greate the Losse, so greate the feare to misse.
Thus tossed in my Shippe of Huge desyer,
Thus toyled in my worcke of Raging Love,
Nowe that I spye the Haven my thoughtes aspyer,
Nowe that some Flower of Fruites my paynes do proove,
My Dreades augment the more in passyons mighte,
Synce Love with Care, and Hope wth feare do feighte.
Thus toyled in my worcke of Raging Love,
Nowe that I spye the Haven my thoughtes aspyer,
Nowe that some Flower of Fruites my paynes do proove,
My Dreades augment the more in passyons mighte,
Synce Love with Care, and Hope wth feare do feighte.
167
[Phaebus Farewell, a sweeter Sainte, I serve]
Phaebus Farewell, a sweeter Sainte, I serve,
The hye Conceyptes, thy heavenly wisdome breede,
My thoughtes forgett My thoughtes wch never swerve,
From her in whome ys sowne theyre Freedoms feede,
And in whose eyes my daily Doome I reede.
The hye Conceyptes, thy heavenly wisdome breede,
My thoughtes forgett My thoughtes wch never swerve,
From her in whome ys sowne theyre Freedoms feede,
And in whose eyes my daily Doome I reede.
Phebus Farewell a Sweeter Sainte, I serve,
Thow arte farr of, thy Kingdome ys above,
Shee heaven on Earthe wch beutyes doo preserve,
Thy Beames I like, but her Clere Rayes I Love,
Thy force I feare, her force I still doo proove.
Thow arte farr of, thy Kingdome ys above,
Shee heaven on Earthe wch beutyes doo preserve,
Thy Beames I like, but her Clere Rayes I Love,
Thy force I feare, her force I still doo proove.
Phebus yeelde up thy Title in my mynde?
Shee dothe possess, thy Image ys defaste?
But yf thy Rage, some brave Revenge will fynde,
On her, in mee who hathe thy Temple raste;
Employ thy mighte, that shee thy fyers may taste.
And howe muche more her wrothe surmounteth thee,
Make her asmuche more base by Loving mee.
Shee dothe possess, thy Image ys defaste?
But yf thy Rage, some brave Revenge will fynde,
On her, in mee who hathe thy Temple raste;
Employ thy mighte, that shee thy fyers may taste.
And howe muche more her wrothe surmounteth thee,
Make her asmuche more base by Loving mee.
169
[Synce that the Stormy Rage of passyons darcke]
Synce that the Stormy Rage of passyons darcke,
(Of passyons darcke made darck by Beutyes Lighte,)
With Rebell force hathe closde in Dongeon darcke,
My mynde ere nowe led forthe by Reasons lighte,
Synce all the thinges wch gives my eyes theyre lighte,
Do Foster still the fruite of Fancyes Darcke,
So that the wyndowes of my Inward Lighte,
Do serve to make my Inwarde powers Darcke.
(Of passyons darcke made darck by Beutyes Lighte,)
With Rebell force hathe closde in Dongeon darcke,
My mynde ere nowe led forthe by Reasons lighte,
Synce all the thinges wch gives my eyes theyre lighte,
Do Foster still the fruite of Fancyes Darcke,
So that the wyndowes of my Inward Lighte,
Do serve to make my Inwarde powers Darcke.
Synce, (as I say) bothe mynde and Sences darcke,
Are hearde, not helped, with pearsing of the Lighte,
While that the Lighte may shewe the horrors darcke
But can not make resolved Darcknes Lighte.
I like this place where at the Least the Darcke,
May keepe my thoughtes from thoughte of wonted lighte.
Are hearde, not helped, with pearsing of the Lighte,
While that the Lighte may shewe the horrors darcke
But can not make resolved Darcknes Lighte.
I like this place where at the Least the Darcke,
May keepe my thoughtes from thoughte of wonted lighte.
170
[Hearke playntfull Ghostes, Infernall furyes harcke?]
Hearke playntfull Ghostes, Infernall furyes harcke?
Unto my wooes, the Hatefull heavens doo sende,
The Heavens conspirde, to make my vitall sparcke,
A wretched wrack, a Glass of Ruyns ende.
Unto my wooes, the Hatefull heavens doo sende,
The Heavens conspirde, to make my vitall sparcke,
A wretched wrack, a Glass of Ruyns ende.
Seeyng, (alas) so mighty powers bende,
Theyre irefull shott ageanst so weyke a Marcke
Come Cave, become my grave, Come deathe and lend,
Receipte to mee within thy Bosome darcke.
Theyre irefull shott ageanst so weyke a Marcke
Come Cave, become my grave, Come deathe and lend,
Receipte to mee within thy Bosome darcke.
For, what ys lyfe to daily dyinge mynde?
Where Drawyng breathe I suck the Ayer of Wooe,
Where, too muche sighte makes all the body blynde,
And highest thoughtes Downeward moste hedlong throwe
Thus then my forme, and thus my state I fynde,
Deathe wrapt in Flesh to Living grave assygnde.
Where Drawyng breathe I suck the Ayer of Wooe,
Where, too muche sighte makes all the body blynde,
And highest thoughtes Downeward moste hedlong throwe
Thus then my forme, and thus my state I fynde,
Deathe wrapt in Flesh to Living grave assygnde.
[Lyke those sicke folckes in whome straunge Humors flowe]
Lyke those sicke folckes in whome straunge Humors flowe,
Can taste no sweetes, the sower onely please,
So, to my Mynde, while passyons daily growe,
Whose fyery Chaynes uppon his freedome seaze,
Joyes Straungers seeme, I can not byde theyre shewe,
Nor brooke oughte ellse, but well acquaynted wooe,
Can taste no sweetes, the sower onely please,
So, to my Mynde, while passyons daily growe,
Whose fyery Chaynes uppon his freedome seaze,
Joyes Straungers seeme, I can not byde theyre shewe,
Nor brooke oughte ellse, but well acquaynted wooe,
Bitter greef tastes mee best, paynes ys my ease,
Sicke to the deathe, still Loving my Diszease.
Sicke to the deathe, still Loving my Diszease.
171
[Howe ys my Sunne (whose Beames are shyning brighte]
Howe ys my Sunne (whose Beames are shyning brighte,
Become the Cause of my Darcke ougly Nighte?
Or howe do I captyved in this darck plighte,
Bewayle the Case, and in the Cause delighte?
Become the Cause of my Darcke ougly Nighte?
Or howe do I captyved in this darck plighte,
Bewayle the Case, and in the Cause delighte?
My mangled mynde huge Horrors still do frighte,
With Sence possest, and claymde by reasons Righte,
Betwixt whiche twoo in mee I have this fighte,
Where, who so wynnes, I putt my self to flighte.
With Sence possest, and claymde by reasons Righte,
Betwixt whiche twoo in mee I have this fighte,
Where, who so wynnes, I putt my self to flighte.
Come cloudy feares, close up my daselled sighte,
Sorow suck up the Marowe of my Mighte.
Dewe Sighes blowe oute all sparckles of joyfull Lighte?
Tyre on Dispayer uppon my Tyered spirite
An ende, an ende, my Dullde penn can not wryte,
Nor masde heade thincke, nor faultering tongue resyte.
Sorow suck up the Marowe of my Mighte.
Dewe Sighes blowe oute all sparckles of joyfull Lighte?
Tyre on Dispayer uppon my Tyered spirite
An ende, an ende, my Dullde penn can not wryte,
Nor masde heade thincke, nor faultering tongue resyte.
[This Cave ys Darcke, but yt had never Lighte]
This Cave ys Darcke, but yt had never Lighte,This waxe dothe waste yt self, yet payneles dyes,
These wordes are full of woes, yet, feele they none,
I darckened am, who once had clearest sighte,
I waste my harte, whiche still new Torment tryes,
I Playne with Cause, my woes are still myne owne,
No Cave, no wasting waxe, No wordes of greef,
Can holde, shewe, tell my paynes withoute Releef.
177
[A Banisshed man longe barrd from his Desyer]
A Banisshed man longe barrd from his Desyer,By inward lettes of them his State possest:
Hidd here his Hopes by whiche hee mighte aspyer,
To have his harmes with wisdomes help redrest.
178
All ys but this, this ys but Laboures hyre,
Of this wee Love, in this wee fynde oure Rest,
Who holdes this fast, no greater Wealth requyer,
Looke furder then, so shalte thow fynde at leaste,
A Bayte moste fitt for hungry mynded guest.
179
[My true Love hathe my harte, and I have his]
My true Love hathe my harte, and I have his,By just exchaunge one for the other given,
I holde his deare, and myne hee can not misse,
There never was a better Bargayne driven.
His harte in mee keepes mee and hym in one,
My hart in hym his Thoughtes and sences guydes,
Hee Loves my Harte, for once yt was his owne,
I Cherish his, bycause in mee yt bydes.
180
My harte was wounded wth his wounded hart,
For, as from mee on hym his hurt did lighte,
So still mee thoughte in mee his hurt did smarte:
Bothe equall hurte in this Chaunge soughte oure Bliss:
My true Love hathe my harte and I have his.
[O wordes whiche falle like Som̄er Deawe on mee]
O wordes whiche falle like Som̄er Deawe on mee,
O breathe more sweete then ys the growyng Beane,
O Toungue in whiche all Hony Liquors bee,
O voyce, that dothe the Thrussh in shrillnes stayne,
Do yow say still this ys her promyse Due,
That shee ys myne, as I to her am true.
O breathe more sweete then ys the growyng Beane,
O Toungue in whiche all Hony Liquors bee,
O voyce, that dothe the Thrussh in shrillnes stayne,
Do yow say still this ys her promyse Due,
That shee ys myne, as I to her am true.
Gay hayer, more gay, then Strawe, when harvest lyes,
Lippes Redd and plum̄e as Cheryes ruddy syde,
Eyes fayre and greate, like fayre greate Oxes eyes,
O Brest in whiche twoo white Sheepe swell in pryde,
Joyne yow with mee, to sealle this promyse due,
That shee bee myne, as I to her, am True.
Lippes Redd and plum̄e as Cheryes ruddy syde,
Eyes fayre and greate, like fayre greate Oxes eyes,
O Brest in whiche twoo white Sheepe swell in pryde,
Joyne yow with mee, to sealle this promyse due,
That shee bee myne, as I to her, am True.
But thow white skynn̄ as white as Curdes well prest,
So smoothe as Slikestone, like yt smoothes eche parte,
And thow Dere flessh as Softe as Woolle new drest,
And yet, as hard as Brawne made hard by Arte,
First Fower, but say, next Fower theyre saying sealle.
But, you must pay the gaige of promist weale.
So smoothe as Slikestone, like yt smoothes eche parte,
And thow Dere flessh as Softe as Woolle new drest,
And yet, as hard as Brawne made hard by Arte,
First Fower, but say, next Fower theyre saying sealle.
But, you must pay the gaige of promist weale.
187
[Doo not Disdayne O streighte upraysed Pyne?]
Doo not Disdayne O streighte upraysed Pyne?
That, wounding thee, my Thoughtes in thee I grave,
Synce that my thoughtes as Streighte as streightnes thyne,
No smaller wounde, (Alas) furr deeper have?
That, wounding thee, my Thoughtes in thee I grave,
Synce that my thoughtes as Streighte as streightnes thyne,
No smaller wounde, (Alas) furr deeper have?
Deeper engraved whiche salve nor Tyme can save,
Given to my harte by my fore wounded eyen
Thus Cruell to my self, how Canst thow Crave;
My Inwarde Hurt shoulde spare thy owteward Rhyne?
Given to my harte by my fore wounded eyen
Thus Cruell to my self, how Canst thow Crave;
My Inwarde Hurt shoulde spare thy owteward Rhyne?
Yet still fayre Tree lyfte up thy stately Lyne?
Live longe, and longe witness my Chosen smarte?
With barrd Desyers, barrd by my self imparte
And in this growyng Barcke, growe verses myne.
Live longe, and longe witness my Chosen smarte?
With barrd Desyers, barrd by my self imparte
And in this growyng Barcke, growe verses myne.
My Harte my worde my worde hathe given my harte?
The Giver given from Gifte shall never parte.
The Giver given from Gifte shall never parte.
[Sweete Roote say thow, the Roote of my Desyer?]
Sweete Roote say thow, the Roote of my Desyer?Was vertue cladd in Constant Loves Attyer.
[Yow goodly Pynes whiche still with brave assent]
Yow goodly Pynes whiche still with brave assent,
In Natures pryde youre heades to heaven warde heave,
Thoughe yow besydes suche graces Earthe hathe lent,
Of some late grace, a greater grace Receyue?
In Natures pryde youre heades to heaven warde heave,
Thoughe yow besydes suche graces Earthe hathe lent,
Of some late grace, a greater grace Receyue?
By her, who was (O blessed yow) content,
With her fayre hande youre tender Barckes to cleave,
And so by yow (O blessed yow) hathe sent,
Suche persing woordes, as no thing else Conceyve,
With her fayre hande youre tender Barckes to cleave,
And so by yow (O blessed yow) hathe sent,
Suche persing woordes, as no thing else Conceyve,
188
Yet, yeelde youre graunte, a Baser hande may Leave,
His Thoughtes in yow where so sweete thoughtes were spent,
For how woulde yow the Mistris thoughtes bereave,
Of wayting thoughtes all to her service ment.
His Thoughtes in yow where so sweete thoughtes were spent,
For how woulde yow the Mistris thoughtes bereave,
Of wayting thoughtes all to her service ment.
Nay, higher thoughtes thoughe Thralled thoughtes I calle
My Thoughtes then hers, who first youre Rhyne did Rent,
Then hers to whome my thoughtes a Lovely thralle
Rysing from Love are to the highest bent,
Where hers whome worthe makes highest over all,
Com̄ing from her can not but Downeward falle.
My Thoughtes then hers, who first youre Rhyne did Rent,
Then hers to whome my thoughtes a Lovely thralle
Rysing from Love are to the highest bent,
Where hers whome worthe makes highest over all,
Com̄ing from her can not but Downeward falle.
[Lyke Dyvers Flowers whose dyvers Beutyes serve]
Pamela.
Lyke Dyvers Flowers whose dyvers Beutyes serve,
To decke the Earthe with this well coloured weede,
Thoughe eche of them his private forme preserve,
Yet joyning Formes, one sighte of Bewty breede
Right so my thoughtes whereon my harte I feede.
To decke the Earthe with this well coloured weede,
Thoughe eche of them his private forme preserve,
Yet joyning Formes, one sighte of Bewty breede
Right so my thoughtes whereon my harte I feede.
Right so my Inwarde partes and owteward glasse,
Thoughe eche possess a dyvers worcking kynde,
Yet all well knitt, to one fayre ende do passe,
That hee to whome these sondry giftes I bynde,
All what I am still one his owne to fynde.
Thoughe eche possess a dyvers worcking kynde,
Yet all well knitt, to one fayre ende do passe,
That hee to whome these sondry giftes I bynde,
All what I am still one his owne to fynde.
Musidorus.
All that yow are still one his owne to fynde,
Yow that are Borne to bee the worldes eye,
What were yt ellse but to make eche thing blynde,
And to the Sunne with Waxen winges to flye,
No, No, suche force with my smalle force to trye
Ys not my skill, nor reache of mortall mynde.
Calle mee but youres, my Tytle ys moste hye?
Holde mee moste youres, then my Longe sute ys signde?
189
For yow doo pass youre self in vertues mighte,
So bothe are youres, I bounde with gaged harte,
Yow onely youres too farr beyond Desert.
[Looke up fayre Liddes, the Treasures of my harte]
Looke up fayre Liddes, the Treasures of my harte,
Preserve those Beames, this Ages onely Lighte,
To her sweete Sence, sweete Sleepe some ease imparte
Her Sence too weyke to beare her Spirites mighte,
And whyle, O Sleepe, thow closest up her sighte,
(Her sighte where Love did forge his fayrest Darte)
O Harboure all her partes in easefull plighte,
Lett no straunge Dreame make her fayre body starte:
Preserve those Beames, this Ages onely Lighte,
To her sweete Sence, sweete Sleepe some ease imparte
Her Sence too weyke to beare her Spirites mighte,
And whyle, O Sleepe, thow closest up her sighte,
(Her sighte where Love did forge his fayrest Darte)
O Harboure all her partes in easefull plighte,
Lett no straunge Dreame make her fayre body starte:
But, yet O Dreame yf thow wilt not Departe?
In this rare Subject from thy Comon Righte,
But wilt thy self in suche a Seate delighte,
Then take my Shape and play a Lovers parte.
Kisse her from mee, and say unto her Sprite,
Till her eyes shyne, I live in darckest lighte.
In this rare Subject from thy Comon Righte,
But wilt thy self in suche a Seate delighte,
Then take my Shape and play a Lovers parte.
Kisse her from mee, and say unto her Sprite,
Till her eyes shyne, I live in darckest lighte.
195
[Whye doest thow haste away]
Whye doest thow haste away,O Tytan fayre, the Giver of the day,
Ys yt to Carry Newes?
To westerne Wightes, what Starres in Easte appeare?
Or doest thow thincke that heare
Ys lefte a Sunne, whose Beames thy place may use,
Yet stay, and well peruse,
What bee her giftes, that make her æquall thee,
Bend all thy Lighte to see,
In Earthly Clothes enclosed a Heavenly sparcke,
Thy Ronning Course can not suche Beutyes marck.
No, No, thy motyons bee
Hastened from us with Barr of shadowe darck,
Bycause that thow the Author of thy sighte,
Disdaynes wee see, thee stayned with others Lighte.
196
[O, Stealing tyme, the Subject of Delay]
O, Stealing tyme, the Subject of Delay,
Delay the rack of unrefraynde Desyer,
What straunge desyer, haste thow my hopes to stay?
My hopes whiche doo but to myne owne aspyer.
Delay the rack of unrefraynde Desyer,
What straunge desyer, haste thow my hopes to stay?
My hopes whiche doo but to myne owne aspyer.
Myne owne (O worde) on whose sweete sounde dothe pray,
My greedy sowle, with grype of Inwarde fyer,
Thy title great I justly challenge may
Synce in suche phrase his faythe hee did attyer.
My greedy sowle, with grype of Inwarde fyer,
Thy title great I justly challenge may
Synce in suche phrase his faythe hee did attyer.
O Tyme become the Charyott of my Joyes?
As thow drawest on, so lett my Bliss drawe nere,
Eche Moment lost parte of my happ Destroyes,
Thow arte the Father of occasyon Deere,
Joyne with thy Sonne, to ease my Longe Annoyes.
In speedy help, thancke worthy freendes appeare.
As thow drawest on, so lett my Bliss drawe nere,
Eche Moment lost parte of my happ Destroyes,
Thow arte the Father of occasyon Deere,
Joyne with thy Sonne, to ease my Longe Annoyes.
In speedy help, thancke worthy freendes appeare.
199
[My Lute within thy self, thy Tunes enclose?]
My Lute within thy self, thy Tunes enclose?
Thy Mistris Songe ys now a Sorowes Crye,
Her hande benomde with Fortunes dayly blowes.
Her mynde amasde can neythers help apply,
Weare these my wordes, as Mourning weedes of woes?
Black Incke become the State wherein I Dye.
And thoughe not my moanes bee not in Musick bounde
Of written greefes yet bee the sylent grounde.
Thy Mistris Songe ys now a Sorowes Crye,
Her hande benomde with Fortunes dayly blowes.
Her mynde amasde can neythers help apply,
Weare these my wordes, as Mourning weedes of woes?
Black Incke become the State wherein I Dye.
And thoughe not my moanes bee not in Musick bounde
Of written greefes yet bee the sylent grounde.
The worlde dothe yeelde suche yll Consorted showes,
With sircled Course, wch no wyse stay can trye,
That Chyldish stuff, wch knowes not frendes from foes,
(Better despysde), bee wonder gasing eye.
Thus Noble golde downe to the bottome goes,
When worthles Corck alofte dothe floating lye.
Thus in thy self, Leste stringes are Lowdest founde,
And Lowest Stoppes doo yeelde the highest sounde.
With sircled Course, wch no wyse stay can trye,
That Chyldish stuff, wch knowes not frendes from foes,
(Better despysde), bee wonder gasing eye.
Thus Noble golde downe to the bottome goes,
When worthles Corck alofte dothe floating lye.
Thus in thy self, Leste stringes are Lowdest founde,
And Lowest Stoppes doo yeelde the highest sounde.
201
[When Twoo Sunnes doo appeare]
When Twoo Sunnes doo appeare,Some say yt dothe betoken wonders nere,
As Princes Losse or Chaunge:
Twoo gleaming Sunnes of splendor like I see
And seeyng, feele in mee
Of Princes hart quite lost, the Ruyn̄ straunge.
Butt nowe eche where dothe Raunge,
202
Who full of guilty Spyte,
Suche Living Beames shoulde her black seate assayle
Too weyke for them, oure weyker sighte dothe vayle,
No sayes fayre Moone, my Lighte,
Shall barr that wronge, and thoughe yt not prevayle,
Lyke to my Brothers Rayes, yet those I sende,
Hurt not the face wch no thing can amend.
[Aurora nowe thow shewest thy blusshing Lighte]
Aurora nowe thow shewest thy blusshing Lighte,
(Whiche ofte to hope layes oute a guylefull Bayte)
That trustes in tyme, to fynde the way a Righte,
To ease those paynes, wch on desyer doo wayte;
(Whiche ofte to hope layes oute a guylefull Bayte)
That trustes in tyme, to fynde the way a Righte,
To ease those paynes, wch on desyer doo wayte;
Blusshe on for shame, that, still with thee do lighte,
On pensive sowles (in stead of Restfull bayte)
Or uppon Care (in steade of Dooyng Righte)
To overpressed Brestes more greevous weighte,
On pensive sowles (in stead of Restfull bayte)
Or uppon Care (in steade of Dooyng Righte)
To overpressed Brestes more greevous weighte,
As oh my self, whose wooes are never lighte,
(Tyde to the stake of Doubte) strong passyons Bayte,
Whyle thy knowne Course observing Natures Righte
Sturres mee to thinck what Daungers lye in wayte
For Mischeefes great, day after day do shewe
Make mee feare still, thy fayre appearing hewe.
(Tyde to the stake of Doubte) strong passyons Bayte,
Whyle thy knowne Course observing Natures Righte
Sturres mee to thinck what Daungers lye in wayte
For Mischeefes great, day after day do shewe
Make mee feare still, thy fayre appearing hewe.
206
[Beuty hathe force to catche the Humane sighte]
Beuty hathe force to catche the Humane sighte,
Sight dothe bewitch the Fancy evell awaked,
Fancy (wee feele) eludes all passyons mighte,
Passyon Rebeld, often Reasons strength hathe shaked,
Sight dothe bewitch the Fancy evell awaked,
Fancy (wee feele) eludes all passyons mighte,
Passyon Rebeld, often Reasons strength hathe shaked,
No wonder then, thoughe Sighte, my Sighte did taynte,
And thoughe thereby my Fancy was infected,
Thoughe (yoked so) my mynde with sicknes faynte,
Had Reasons weyght for passyons ease rejected,
And thoughe thereby my Fancy was infected,
Thoughe (yoked so) my mynde with sicknes faynte,
Had Reasons weyght for passyons ease rejected,
But nowe the Fitt ys past, and Tyme hathe given,
Leysure to weyghe what due Desert requyreth,
All Thoughtes so sprunge are from theyre dwelling driven,
And wysdome to his wonted seate aspyreth.
Crying in mee, I hopes deceyptfull proove,
Thinges rightly prysde Love ys the bande of Love.
Leysure to weyghe what due Desert requyreth,
All Thoughtes so sprunge are from theyre dwelling driven,
And wysdome to his wonted seate aspyreth.
Crying in mee, I hopes deceyptfull proove,
Thinges rightly prysde Love ys the bande of Love.
211
[Let him drincke this, Whome longe in Armes to folde]
Let him drincke this, Whome longe in Armes to folde,Thow doest desyer, and with free power to holde.
214
[Gett hence fowle greeffe, the Cancker of the mynde]
Gett hence fowle greeffe, the Cancker of the mynde,
Farewell Complaynte, the Misers onely pleasure,
Away vayne Cares, by whiche fewe men do fynde,
theyre sought for Treasure.
Farewell Complaynte, the Misers onely pleasure,
Away vayne Cares, by whiche fewe men do fynde,
theyre sought for Treasure.
Yee helples sighes blowe oute youre Breathe to noughte,
Teares, drowne youre selves, for woe youre Cause ys wasted,
Thought, thincke to ende, too Longe the fruite of thoughte
my mynde hathe tasted.
Teares, drowne youre selves, for woe youre Cause ys wasted,
Thought, thincke to ende, too Longe the fruite of thoughte
my mynde hathe tasted.
But thow, sure Hope, tickle my leaping harte?
Comfort, sleepe thow in place of wonted sadnes,
Forefelt Desyer, begynn̄ to savoure parte,
of my Cunning gladnes.
Comfort, sleepe thow in place of wonted sadnes,
Forefelt Desyer, begynn̄ to savoure parte,
of my Cunning gladnes.
Lett voyce of sighes into clere Musick ronne,
Eyes lett youre teares with gasing, now bee mended,
Insteade of thoughte, true pleasure bee begun,
and never ended.
Eyes lett youre teares with gasing, now bee mended,
Insteade of thoughte, true pleasure bee begun,
and never ended.
216
[Vertue Bewty and Speeche, did stryke, wounde, Charme]
Vertue Bewty and Speeche, did stryke, wounde, Charme,
My Hart, Eyes, Eares with wonder, Love, Delighte
First, Second Last did bynde, enforce and Arme,
His worckes Shewes Fruites wth witt, grace and vowes might.
My Hart, Eyes, Eares with wonder, Love, Delighte
First, Second Last did bynde, enforce and Arme,
His worckes Shewes Fruites wth witt, grace and vowes might.
217
Thus Honor, lyking, trust, muche, farr and Deepe,
Held, pearst possest, my Judgment, sence, and will,
Till wronge, Contempt, Deceipt, did growe, steale, creepe,
Bandes, favoure, faythe, to breake, Defyle, and Kill.
Held, pearst possest, my Judgment, sence, and will,
Till wronge, Contempt, Deceipt, did growe, steale, creepe,
Bandes, favoure, faythe, to breake, Defyle, and Kill.
Then greef, unkyndenes, proof, tooke, kyndled, taughte,
Wellgrounded, Noble, Dewe, spyte, rage, disdayne,
But, ah, alas, (in vayne) my mynde, sight, thoughte
Dothe him, his face, his wordes, Leave, shunne, refrayne
For nothing, tyme, nor place can lewse, quenche, ease,
Myne owne, embrased, sought, Knott, Fyer, disease.
Wellgrounded, Noble, Dewe, spyte, rage, disdayne,
But, ah, alas, (in vayne) my mynde, sight, thoughte
Dothe him, his face, his wordes, Leave, shunne, refrayne
For nothing, tyme, nor place can lewse, quenche, ease,
Myne owne, embrased, sought, Knott, Fyer, disease.
219
[The Love whiche ys imprinted in my sowle]
The Love whiche ys imprinted in my sowle,
With Bewtyes sealle and vertue fayre disguysde,
With Inward Cryes puttes forthe a bitter Rowle,
Of huge Complayntes, that nowe yt ys despysde,
With Bewtyes sealle and vertue fayre disguysde,
With Inward Cryes puttes forthe a bitter Rowle,
Of huge Complayntes, that nowe yt ys despysde,
Thus thus, the more I Love, the wronge the more,
Monstruous appeares, Long truthe receyved late,
Wrong sturres remorced greef, greefes deadly sore,
Unkyndenes breedes, unkyndenes fostereth hate.
Monstruous appeares, Long truthe receyved late,
Wrong sturres remorced greef, greefes deadly sore,
Unkyndenes breedes, unkyndenes fostereth hate.
But ah, the more I hate, the more I thincke,
Whome I doo hate, the more I thinck on hym,
The more his Matcheles giftes doo deepely sincke,
Into my Brest, and Loves renewed swym̄,
What Medicyn then can suche Disease remoove?
Where Love drawes hate, and hate engendereth Love.
Whome I doo hate, the more I thinck on hym,
The more his Matcheles giftes doo deepely sincke,
Into my Brest, and Loves renewed swym̄,
What Medicyn then can suche Disease remoove?
Where Love drawes hate, and hate engendereth Love.
223
[What Toungue can her perfections tell?]
What Toungue can her perfections tell?
In whose eche parte all penn̄s may dwell.
Her hayre fyne Laces made of golde,
In Curled knottes Mans thoughte to holde,
But that her forehead sayes in mee,
A whiter Bewty yow may see,
Whiter in deede, more white then snowe,
Whiche on Colde wynters face dothe growe.
In whose eche parte all penn̄s may dwell.
Her hayre fyne Laces made of golde,
In Curled knottes Mans thoughte to holde,
But that her forehead sayes in mee,
A whiter Bewty yow may see,
Whiter in deede, more white then snowe,
Whiche on Colde wynters face dothe growe.
That dothe present those prety Browes,
Whose equall Lynes theyre Angles bowes,
Lyke to the Moone when after Change,
Her Horned face in Heaven dothe Range,
And Arches bee to those fayre Lyddes,
Whose wincke eche Bolde attempt forbiddes.
Whose equall Lynes theyre Angles bowes,
Lyke to the Moone when after Change,
Her Horned face in Heaven dothe Range,
And Arches bee to those fayre Lyddes,
Whose wincke eche Bolde attempt forbiddes.
As for the Starres, whose spheares contayne
The Matcheles prayse even prayse dothe stayne,
No Lampe whose Lighte by arte ys gott,
No Sunne whiche shynes and seeth nott,
Can Liken them withoute all pere,
Save one asmuche as other Clere.
The Matcheles prayse even prayse dothe stayne,
No Lampe whose Lighte by arte ys gott,
No Sunne whiche shynes and seeth nott,
Can Liken them withoute all pere,
Save one asmuche as other Clere.
Whiche onely thus unhappy bee,
Bycause them selves they can not see,
Her Cheekes with kyndly Clarett spredd
Like Christall, underlayde with Redd,
Her Nose and Chynn̄ suche Ivory weares,
No Elephant so perfect beares.
Bycause them selves they can not see,
Her Cheekes with kyndly Clarett spredd
Like Christall, underlayde with Redd,
Her Nose and Chynn̄ suche Ivory weares,
No Elephant so perfect beares.
But who those Ruddy Lippes can mysse,
Whiche Blessed still them selves do kisse,
Rubyes, Cheryes, and Roses newe,
In worthe, in Taste, in perfect Hewe,
Whiche never parte but that they showe,
Of precyous partes the Duble Rowe,
The second sweetely fenced warde,
Her hevenly dewed Toungue to garde.
Whiche Blessed still them selves do kisse,
Rubyes, Cheryes, and Roses newe,
In worthe, in Taste, in perfect Hewe,
Whiche never parte but that they showe,
Of precyous partes the Duble Rowe,
The second sweetely fenced warde,
Her hevenly dewed Toungue to garde.
224
Whence never worde in vayne dothe flowe,
Fayre under these dothe stately growe,
The handle of this pleasaunt worcke,
The Neck in whiche strange graces lurcke,
Suche bee I thincke the sumptuous Towers,
Whiche skill dothe make in Princely Bowers.
Fayre under these dothe stately growe,
The handle of this pleasaunt worcke,
The Neck in whiche strange graces lurcke,
Suche bee I thincke the sumptuous Towers,
Whiche skill dothe make in Princely Bowers.
So true a Taste invites the Eye,
A litle Downeward to espye,
The Lovely Clusters of her Brestes,
Of Venus Babb the wanton Nestes,
Lyke Pummells Rounde of Marble Clere,
Where Azured vaynes well mixte appeare,
A litle Downeward to espye,
The Lovely Clusters of her Brestes,
Of Venus Babb the wanton Nestes,
Lyke Pummells Rounde of Marble Clere,
Where Azured vaynes well mixte appeare,
With Lycoras stalkes of Porphiry,
Betwixt these Twoo a way dothe lye,
A way, more worthy Beutyes fame,
Then that wch beares the Milcken Name,
These Leades unto the Joyous feelde,
Whiche onely still dothe Lillyes yeelde.
But Lillyes suche, whose Native smell
The Indyan Odoures doo excell.
Betwixt these Twoo a way dothe lye,
A way, more worthy Beutyes fame,
Then that wch beares the Milcken Name,
These Leades unto the Joyous feelde,
Whiche onely still dothe Lillyes yeelde.
But Lillyes suche, whose Native smell
The Indyan Odoures doo excell.
Waste yt ys callde, for, yt dothe waste,
Menns Lyves untill yt bee embraste,
There may one see, and yet not see,
Her tender Ribbes well armed bee,
Like Whitest Snowe, in silver Brooke,
Fayre, thorow fayre strykes of heedefull Looke.
Menns Lyves untill yt bee embraste,
There may one see, and yet not see,
Her tender Ribbes well armed bee,
Like Whitest Snowe, in silver Brooke,
Fayre, thorow fayre strykes of heedefull Looke.
In these Delightes the Wandering thoughte,
Mighte of eche syde a stray bee broughte,
But, that her Navell dothe unite,
The Curyous Circle buysy sighte,
A Daynty sealle of virgyn waxe,
Where no thing but Impressyon lackes.
Mighte of eche syde a stray bee broughte,
But, that her Navell dothe unite,
The Curyous Circle buysy sighte,
A Daynty sealle of virgyn waxe,
Where no thing but Impressyon lackes.
The Belly theyre glad sighte dothe fyll,
Justly entituled Cupids Hill.
A Hill moste fitt for suche a Master,
A spottles Myne of Alablaster;
Lyke Alablaster fayre and slyke,
But softe and supple, Sattyn like,
For, suche an use the worlde hathe gotten,
The best thinges still must bee forgotten.
Justly entituled Cupids Hill.
A Hill moste fitt for suche a Master,
A spottles Myne of Alablaster;
225
But softe and supple, Sattyn like,
For, suche an use the worlde hathe gotten,
The best thinges still must bee forgotten.
Yet never shall my Songe, omitt,
Those thighes for Ovids songe more fitt,
Whiche flancked with twoo sugred flanckes,
Lifte up theyre stately swelling Banckes,
That Albyon Cleeves in whitenes passe,
With hanches smoothe as Looking glasse.
Those thighes for Ovids songe more fitt,
Whiche flancked with twoo sugred flanckes,
Lifte up theyre stately swelling Banckes,
That Albyon Cleeves in whitenes passe,
With hanches smoothe as Looking glasse.
But, bowe all knees, now of her knees,
My toungue dothe tell what fancy sees,
The knottes of Joye, the Gynnes of Love,
Whose motyon makes all graces moove,
Whose boughte enchaynde dothe yeeld suche sighte,
Like Cunning paynters shadowyng white,
The gartering place dothe Chyldelike signe,
Shewes easy Printe in Mettall fyne.
My toungue dothe tell what fancy sees,
The knottes of Joye, the Gynnes of Love,
Whose motyon makes all graces moove,
Whose boughte enchaynde dothe yeeld suche sighte,
Like Cunning paynters shadowyng white,
The gartering place dothe Chyldelike signe,
Shewes easy Printe in Mettall fyne.
But, there ageane, the flesh dothe ryse,
In her brave Calves, lyke morning skyes,
That Limittes have in smallest smalle,
Whose eeven descent makes equall falle,
There ofte steales oute that Round cleane foote,
This Noble Cedars precyous Roote.
In her brave Calves, lyke morning skyes,
That Limittes have in smallest smalle,
Whose eeven descent makes equall falle,
There ofte steales oute that Round cleane foote,
This Noble Cedars precyous Roote.
In shewe and sente pale vyolettes
Whose stepp on earthe all Beuty settes,
But, Back unto her Back my Muse,
Where Ledas Swann his fethers [mewes],
Alonge whose Ridge suche Bones are mett
Lyke Comfettes Rounde in Marchepane sett.
Whose stepp on earthe all Beuty settes,
But, Back unto her Back my Muse,
Where Ledas Swann his fethers [mewes],
Alonge whose Ridge suche Bones are mett
Lyke Comfettes Rounde in Marchepane sett.
Her shoulders bee like twoo white Doves,
Pearching uppon square Royall Rooves
Whose gentle rayes suche Luster fynde,
Lyke thynnest Lawne with Tynsell lynde,
And thence those Armes deryved are,
The Phenix wynges bee not so Rare.
Pearching uppon square Royall Rooves
Whose gentle rayes suche Luster fynde,
Lyke thynnest Lawne with Tynsell lynde,
And thence those Armes deryved are,
The Phenix wynges bee not so Rare.
226
For faulteles lengthe, and stayneles Hewe,
Ah, woe ys mee, my woes Renewe,
Nowe Course dothe Leade mee to her hande,
Of my first Love, the fatall Band,
Where whitenes dothe for ever sitt,
Nature her self enameld yt.
Ah, woe ys mee, my woes Renewe,
Nowe Course dothe Leade mee to her hande,
Of my first Love, the fatall Band,
Where whitenes dothe for ever sitt,
Nature her self enameld yt.
For, there with straunge Compact dothe lye,
Warme snowe, moyste perle, softe Ivory,
There falle those Saphyre Coloured Brookes,
Whiche Conduyt like with Curyous Crookes,
Sweete Ilandes makes in that sweete Lande,
As for the fyngers of the Hande,
The Bloody shaftes of Cupids warr,
With Amatistes they headed are.
Warme snowe, moyste perle, softe Ivory,
There falle those Saphyre Coloured Brookes,
Whiche Conduyt like with Curyous Crookes,
Sweete Ilandes makes in that sweete Lande,
As for the fyngers of the Hande,
The Bloody shaftes of Cupids warr,
With Amatistes they headed are.
Thus hathe eche parte his Bewtyes parte,
But, howe the Graces doo Imparte,
To all her Lymmes especiall grace,
Becomming every tyme and place
Whiche dothe even Buty butify,
And moste bewitche the wretched ey.
But, howe the Graces doo Imparte,
To all her Lymmes especiall grace,
Becomming every tyme and place
Whiche dothe even Buty butify,
And moste bewitche the wretched ey.
Howe all this ys but a fayre Inne,
Of fayrer Guest whiche dwelles therein,
Of whose hye prayse, and praysefull Blisse
Goodnes the penn, Heaven Paper ys,
The Incke Immortall fame dothe lende,
As I begān, so must I ende,
No toungue can her perfections tell,
In whose eche parte all pennes may dwell.
Of fayrer Guest whiche dwelles therein,
Of whose hye prayse, and praysefull Blisse
Goodnes the penn, Heaven Paper ys,
The Incke Immortall fame dothe lende,
As I begān, so must I ende,
No toungue can her perfections tell,
In whose eche parte all pennes may dwell.
227
Here endes the Thirde Booke or Acte.
228
THE THIRDE EGLOGUES.
229
[Lett Mother Earthe, now deck her self in flowers]
Lett Mother Earthe, now deck her self in flowers,
To see her Ofspring seeke a good encrease,
Where justest Love dothe vanquish Cupids powers,
And Warre of thoughtes ys swallowed up in peace,
Whiche never may decrease:
But like the Turtles fayre
Live One in Twoo, a well united payre,
Whiche, that no Chaunce may stayne,
O Hymen longe theyre Cupled joyes mentayne.
To see her Ofspring seeke a good encrease,
Where justest Love dothe vanquish Cupids powers,
And Warre of thoughtes ys swallowed up in peace,
Whiche never may decrease:
But like the Turtles fayre
Live One in Twoo, a well united payre,
Whiche, that no Chaunce may stayne,
O Hymen longe theyre Cupled joyes mentayne.
230
O Heaven awake, shewe forthe thy stately face,
Lett not these slombering Clowdes thy Beutyes hyde,
But with thy Cherefull presence help to grace,
The honest Brydegrome and the basshfull Bryde,
Whose loves may ever byde.
Like to the Elme and Vyne,
With mutuall embracementes them to twyne,
In whiche delightfull payne,
O Himen, long theyre Cupled Joyes mentayne.
Lett not these slombering Clowdes thy Beutyes hyde,
But with thy Cherefull presence help to grace,
The honest Brydegrome and the basshfull Bryde,
Whose loves may ever byde.
Like to the Elme and Vyne,
With mutuall embracementes them to twyne,
In whiche delightfull payne,
O Himen, long theyre Cupled Joyes mentayne.
Yee Muses all whiche Chaste effectes allowe,
And have to Lalus shewed youre secrett skill,
To this Chaste Love your sacred favoures bowe,
And so to hym and her youre giftes distill,
That they all Vyce may kill,
And like as Lillyes Pure,
Do please all eyes and spottles do endure,
Where, that, all Blisse may Raygne
O Himen long theyre Cupled Joyes mentayne.
And have to Lalus shewed youre secrett skill,
To this Chaste Love your sacred favoures bowe,
And so to hym and her youre giftes distill,
That they all Vyce may kill,
And like as Lillyes Pure,
Do please all eyes and spottles do endure,
Where, that, all Blisse may Raygne
O Himen long theyre Cupled Joyes mentayne.
Yee Nymphes whiche in the Waters empyres have,
Since Lalus Musick ofte dothe yeelde yow prayse,
Graunt to the thinge wch we for Lalus crave
Lett one tyme (but longe firste) Close upp theyre dayes,
One grave theyre bodyes sease
And like to Rivers sweete,
When they through dyvers do togethers meete,
One streame bothe streames conteyne,
O Himen long theyre Cupled Joyes mentayne.
Since Lalus Musick ofte dothe yeelde yow prayse,
Graunt to the thinge wch we for Lalus crave
Lett one tyme (but longe firste) Close upp theyre dayes,
One grave theyre bodyes sease
And like to Rivers sweete,
When they through dyvers do togethers meete,
One streame bothe streames conteyne,
O Himen long theyre Cupled Joyes mentayne.
Pan, father Pan, the god of silly Sheepe,
Whose Care ys Cause that they in nomber growe,
Have muche more Care of them wch them do keepe
Synce from these good, the others good dothe flowe.
And make theyre Issue showe,
In nomber like the hearde,
Of younglinges wch thy self with love hast reard
Or like the Droppes of Rayne,
O Himen longe theyre Cupled Joyes mentayne.
Whose Care ys Cause that they in nomber growe,
Have muche more Care of them wch them do keepe
Synce from these good, the others good dothe flowe.
And make theyre Issue showe,
In nomber like the hearde,
Of younglinges wch thy self with love hast reard
Or like the Droppes of Rayne,
O Himen longe theyre Cupled Joyes mentayne.
231
Vertue (yf not a God) yet Goddes cheefe parte,
Bee thow the Knott of this theyre open vowe,
That still hee bee her heade, shee bee his harte,
Hee cleave to her, shee unto hym do bowe.
Eche other still allowe,
Like Oke and Mistelltowe
Her strength from hym, his prayse from her do growe
In wch moste Lovely trayne,
O Himen long theyre Cupled Joyes mentayne.
Bee thow the Knott of this theyre open vowe,
That still hee bee her heade, shee bee his harte,
Hee cleave to her, shee unto hym do bowe.
Eche other still allowe,
Like Oke and Mistelltowe
Her strength from hym, his prayse from her do growe
In wch moste Lovely trayne,
O Himen long theyre Cupled Joyes mentayne.
But thow fowle Cupid, syer, to Lawless lust
Bee thow farre hence with thy impoysoned Darte,
Which thoughe of glittering golde shall here take Rust,
Where simple Love, whiche Chastenes dothe imparte,
Avoydes the hurtfull Arte
That needing Charming still,
Suche myndes wth sweete affections for to kill
Whiche beeyng pure and playne,
O Himen long theyre Cupled Joyes mentayne.
Bee thow farre hence with thy impoysoned Darte,
Which thoughe of glittering golde shall here take Rust,
Where simple Love, whiche Chastenes dothe imparte,
Avoydes the hurtfull Arte
That needing Charming still,
Suche myndes wth sweete affections for to kill
Whiche beeyng pure and playne,
O Himen long theyre Cupled Joyes mentayne.
All Churlish wordes, shrewde answers, Crabbed Lookes,
All privatenes self seeking Inward spite,
All waywardnes wch nothing kyndely brookes,
All stryfe for Toyes and Clayming Masters Righte,
Bee hence ay putt to flighte,
All sturring Husbandes hate,
Geanst Neighboures good for womanysh debate
Bee fledd, as thinges moste vayne,
O Himen longe theyre Cupled Joyes mentayne.
All privatenes self seeking Inward spite,
All waywardnes wch nothing kyndely brookes,
All stryfe for Toyes and Clayming Masters Righte,
Bee hence ay putt to flighte,
All sturring Husbandes hate,
Geanst Neighboures good for womanysh debate
Bee fledd, as thinges moste vayne,
O Himen longe theyre Cupled Joyes mentayne.
All Peacockes pryde, and frutes of Peacockes pryde,
Longing to bee with losse of Substance gay,
With Recklessnes what may thy howse betyde,
So that yowe may on her sure slippers stay
For ever hence away.
Yet lett not Sluttery,
The Sincke of filthe bee Counted huswyfry,
But keeping wholesome meane,
O Himen long theyre Cupled Joyes meyntayne.
Longing to bee with losse of Substance gay,
With Recklessnes what may thy howse betyde,
So that yowe may on her sure slippers stay
For ever hence away.
Yet lett not Sluttery,
The Sincke of filthe bee Counted huswyfry,
But keeping wholesome meane,
O Himen long theyre Cupled Joyes meyntayne.
232
But above all away vyle Jelosy,
The evill of evills just Cause to bee unjust
Howe can hee Love suspecting Treachery?
Howe can shee Love where Love can not wynn trust?
Goo, Snake hyde thee in Dust
Ne dare once shewe thy face,
Where open hartes do holde so Constant place,
That they thy stinge Restrayne,
O Himen longe theyre Cupled Joyes mentayne.
The evill of evills just Cause to bee unjust
Howe can hee Love suspecting Treachery?
Howe can shee Love where Love can not wynn trust?
Goo, Snake hyde thee in Dust
Ne dare once shewe thy face,
Where open hartes do holde so Constant place,
That they thy stinge Restrayne,
O Himen longe theyre Cupled Joyes mentayne.
The Earthe ys deckt with flowers, the Heavens displayed,
Muses graunt giftes; Nymphes longe and joyned lyfe,
Pan, store of Babes, Vertue theyre thoughtes well stayde,
Cupids Lust gōn, and, gonn ys bitter stryffe,
Happy Man, Happy Wyfe,
No pryde shall them oppress,
Nor yet shall yeeld to Lothsome sluttishnes,
And Jelosy ys slayne,
For Himen will theyre Cupled Joyes mentayne.
Muses graunt giftes; Nymphes longe and joyned lyfe,
Pan, store of Babes, Vertue theyre thoughtes well stayde,
Cupids Lust gōn, and, gonn ys bitter stryffe,
Happy Man, Happy Wyfe,
No pryde shall them oppress,
Nor yet shall yeeld to Lothsome sluttishnes,
And Jelosy ys slayne,
For Himen will theyre Cupled Joyes mentayne.
233
[A Neighboure myne, not longe agoo there was]
A Neighboure myne, not longe agoo there was,
(But Nameless hee, for Blameless hee shall bee)
That marryed had a Trick and Bony Lass,
As in a Somer day a Man mighte see,
But hee hym self a fowle unhandsome groome,
And farr unfitt to holde so good a Rowme,
(But Nameless hee, for Blameless hee shall bee)
That marryed had a Trick and Bony Lass,
As in a Somer day a Man mighte see,
But hee hym self a fowle unhandsome groome,
And farr unfitt to holde so good a Rowme,
Nowe whether mooved with self unworthynes,
Or whether Beuty fitt to make a pray,
Fell Jelosy did so his Braynes oppress,
That yf hee absent were but half a day,
Hee gest the worst, (yow wott what ys the worste)
And in hym self newe Doubting Causes nurste.
Or whether Beuty fitt to make a pray,
Fell Jelosy did so his Braynes oppress,
That yf hee absent were but half a day,
Hee gest the worst, (yow wott what ys the worste)
And in hym self newe Doubting Causes nurste.
While thus hee fearde, the silly Innocent,
Who yet, was good, bycause shee knewe none yll,
Unto his Howse a Jolly Shepeheard went,
To whome oure Prince did beare a great good will,
Bycause in Wrastling and in Pastorall,
Hee farr did passe the rest of Shepeherdes all,
Who yet, was good, bycause shee knewe none yll,
Unto his Howse a Jolly Shepeheard went,
To whome oure Prince did beare a great good will,
Bycause in Wrastling and in Pastorall,
Hee farr did passe the rest of Shepeherdes all,
And therefore hee a Courtyer was benamed,
And as a Courtyer was with Chere receyved,
(For they have toungues to make a pore man blamed)
Yf hee to them his Duety mysconceyved,
And for this Courtyer shoulde well like this Table,
The goodman bad his wyfe bee servisable.
And as a Courtyer was with Chere receyved,
(For they have toungues to make a pore man blamed)
Yf hee to them his Duety mysconceyved,
And for this Courtyer shoulde well like this Table,
The goodman bad his wyfe bee servisable.
And so shee was, and all with good Intent,
But fewe dayes past, while shee good maners usde,
But that her Husband thought her service bent,
To suche an ende, as hee mighte bee abusde,
Yet, like a Coward, fearing Straungers pryde,
Hee made the simple wenche his worthe abyde.
But fewe dayes past, while shee good maners usde,
But that her Husband thought her service bent,
To suche an ende, as hee mighte bee abusde,
Yet, like a Coward, fearing Straungers pryde,
Hee made the simple wenche his worthe abyde.
234
With Clumpish Lookes, harde wordes and secrett Nippes,
Grumbling at her when shee his kyndenes soughte,
Asking her howe shee tasted Courtyers Lippes,
Hee forste her thincke, that wch shee never thoughte,
In fyne yt made her gess there was some sweete,
In that wch hee so fearde that shee shoulde meete.
Grumbling at her when shee his kyndenes soughte,
Asking her howe shee tasted Courtyers Lippes,
Hee forste her thincke, that wch shee never thoughte,
In fyne yt made her gess there was some sweete,
In that wch hee so fearde that shee shoulde meete.
When once this entred was in womans harte,
And that yt had inflamde a newe desyer,
There rested then to play a Womans parte,
Fwell to seeke, and not to quenche the fyer,
But, for his Jelous eye shee well did fynde,
Shee studyed Cunning, howe the same to blynde.
And that yt had inflamde a newe desyer,
There rested then to play a Womans parte,
Fwell to seeke, and not to quenche the fyer,
But, for his Jelous eye shee well did fynde,
Shee studyed Cunning, howe the same to blynde.
And thus shee did, one day to hym shee came,
And (thoughe ageanst his will) on hym shee leande,
And oute gan Crye, ah, well away, for shame,
Yf yow help not oure Wedlock will bee staynde,
The goodman starting askte what did her moove,
She sighed and sayde the bad guest sought her love.
And (thoughe ageanst his will) on hym shee leande,
And oute gan Crye, ah, well away, for shame,
Yf yow help not oure Wedlock will bee staynde,
The goodman starting askte what did her moove,
She sighed and sayde the bad guest sought her love.
Hee litle looking that shee shoulde Complayne,
Of that whereto hee fearde shee was enclynde,
Bussing her ofte, and in his harte full fayne,
Hee did demaunde what Remedy to fynde,
Howe they might gett that Guest from them to wende,
And yet the Prince (that loved hym) not offend.
Of that whereto hee fearde shee was enclynde,
Bussing her ofte, and in his harte full fayne,
Hee did demaunde what Remedy to fynde,
Howe they might gett that Guest from them to wende,
And yet the Prince (that loved hym) not offend.
Husband, (quoth shee) goo to hym by and by,
And tell hym that yow fynde I do hym love,
And therefore pray hym, that of Curtesy,
Hee will absent hym self least hee shoulde moove,
A younge Gyrles hart, to that were shame for bothe,
Whereto, yow knowe, this Honest harte were Lothe,
And tell hym that yow fynde I do hym love,
And therefore pray hym, that of Curtesy,
Hee will absent hym self least hee shoulde moove,
A younge Gyrles hart, to that were shame for bothe,
Whereto, yow knowe, this Honest harte were Lothe,
Thus shall yow shewe, that hym yow doo not Doubte,
And as for mee, (sweete Husband) I must beare.
Gladd was the Man when hee had hearde her oute,
And did the same, allthoughe with mickle feare,
For feare hee did, least hee the young man mighte,
In Choller putt, with whome hee woulde not feighte.
And as for mee, (sweete Husband) I must beare.
Gladd was the Man when hee had hearde her oute,
And did the same, allthoughe with mickle feare,
For feare hee did, least hee the young man mighte,
In Choller putt, with whome hee woulde not feighte.
235
The Courtly Shepehearde muche agast at this,
Not seeynge earste suche Token in the wyfe,
Thoughe full of scorne woulde not his Duty miss,
Knowyng, that evell becomes a Howseholde stryffe
Did goo his way, but sojournd nere there, by,
That yet, the grounde therof hee mighte espy,
Not seeynge earste suche Token in the wyfe,
Thoughe full of scorne woulde not his Duty miss,
Knowyng, that evell becomes a Howseholde stryffe
Did goo his way, but sojournd nere there, by,
That yet, the grounde therof hee mighte espy,
The wyfe thus having settled Husbandes Brayne,
Who woulde have sworne his wyfe Diana was,
Watched when shee a furder poynte mighte gayne,
Wch Litle tyme did fittly bringe to pass,
For, to the Courte her Man was calde by name,
Whether hee needes must goo for feare of blame.
Who woulde have sworne his wyfe Diana was,
Watched when shee a furder poynte mighte gayne,
Wch Litle tyme did fittly bringe to pass,
For, to the Courte her Man was calde by name,
Whether hee needes must goo for feare of blame.
Three dayes before that hee must sure departe;
Shee written had (but in a hand disguysde)
A Letter suche whiche mighte from eyther parte,
Seeme to proceede, so well yt was devysde,
Shee sealled yt first, then shee the sealling brake,
And to her Jelous husband did yt take.
Shee written had (but in a hand disguysde)
A Letter suche whiche mighte from eyther parte,
Seeme to proceede, so well yt was devysde,
Shee sealled yt first, then shee the sealling brake,
And to her Jelous husband did yt take.
With weeping eyes, her eyes shee toughte to weepe,
Shee tolde hym that the Courtyer had yt sent,
Alas (quoth shee) thus woemens shame dothe Creepe.
The goodman Redd on bothe sydes the Content,
Yt Tytle had unto my onely Love
Subscription was youres moste yf yow will proove.
Shee tolde hym that the Courtyer had yt sent,
Alas (quoth shee) thus woemens shame dothe Creepe.
The goodman Redd on bothe sydes the Content,
Yt Tytle had unto my onely Love
Subscription was youres moste yf yow will proove.
The Pistle self suche kynde of wordes yt had,
My Sweetest Joy the Comfort of my Sprite,
So may thy Flockes encrease, thy deare hart glad,
So may eche thing (even as thow wisshest) light,
As thow wilt digne to reede and gently Reede,
This Mourning Incke in wch my harte dothe bleede.
My Sweetest Joy the Comfort of my Sprite,
So may thy Flockes encrease, thy deare hart glad,
So may eche thing (even as thow wisshest) light,
As thow wilt digne to reede and gently Reede,
This Mourning Incke in wch my harte dothe bleede.
Longe have I Loved, (alas thow worthy arte,)
Longe have I Loved (alas Love craveth Love,)
Longe have I Loved thy self (alas my harte)
Dothe breake, now toungue unto thy Name dothe moove,
And thincke not that thy answer, answer ys,
But that yt ys my Doome of Bale or Blisse.
Longe have I Loved (alas Love craveth Love,)
Longe have I Loved thy self (alas my harte)
Dothe breake, now toungue unto thy Name dothe moove,
And thincke not that thy answer, answer ys,
But that yt ys my Doome of Bale or Blisse.
236
The Jelous Wretche must nowe to Courte bee gōn,
Ne can hee fayle, for Prince hathe for him sent
Nowe ys the tyme wee may bee here alone,
And give a Longe desyer a sweete Content,
Thus shall yow bothe rewarde a Lover true,
And eke revenge his wronge suspecting yow.
Ne can hee fayle, for Prince hathe for him sent
Nowe ys the tyme wee may bee here alone,
And give a Longe desyer a sweete Content,
Thus shall yow bothe rewarde a Lover true,
And eke revenge his wronge suspecting yow.
And this was all and this the Husband Redd,
With Chafe ynoughe, till shee hym pacyfyed,
Desyering that no greefe in hym bee bredd,
Now that hee had her wordes so truely tryed,
But that shee woulde to hym the Letter showe,
That with his faulte hee might her goodnes knowe.
With Chafe ynoughe, till shee hym pacyfyed,
Desyering that no greefe in hym bee bredd,
Now that hee had her wordes so truely tryed,
But that shee woulde to hym the Letter showe,
That with his faulte hee might her goodnes knowe.
That streight was done, with a many a boysterus threate,
That to the Duke hee woulde his synne declare,
But now the Courtyer gān to smell the feate,
And with some wordes wch shewed litle Care,
Hee stayed untill the goodman was departed,
Then gave hee hym the Blowe wch never smarted.
That to the Duke hee woulde his synne declare,
But now the Courtyer gān to smell the feate,
And with some wordes wch shewed litle Care,
Hee stayed untill the goodman was departed,
Then gave hee hym the Blowe wch never smarted.
Thus may yow see the Jelous wreche was made,
The Pander of the thinge hee moste did feare,
Take heede therefore, how yow ensue that trade,
Least that some Marckes of Jelosy yow beare,
For, sure, no Jelosy can that prevent,
Whereto twoo partyes once bee full Content.
The Pander of the thinge hee moste did feare,
Take heede therefore, how yow ensue that trade,
Least that some Marckes of Jelosy yow beare,
For, sure, no Jelosy can that prevent,
Whereto twoo partyes once bee full Content.
[Who, dothe Desyer that Chaste his wyfe shoulde bee]
Who, dothe Desyer that Chaste his wyfe shoulde bee,
First, bee hee True, for Truthe, dothe Truthe deserve,
Then suche bee hee, as shee his worthe may see,
And one man still Credit with her preserve,
First, bee hee True, for Truthe, dothe Truthe deserve,
Then suche bee hee, as shee his worthe may see,
And one man still Credit with her preserve,
Not toying kynde, nor Causelesly unkynde,
Not sturring thoughtes, nor yet denying Righte,
Not spying faultes, nor in playne Errors blynde,
Never hard hand, nor never Raynes too lighte.
Not sturring thoughtes, nor yet denying Righte,
Not spying faultes, nor in playne Errors blynde,
Never hard hand, nor never Raynes too lighte.
237
As farr from want, as farr from vayne expense,
(The one dothe force, the Later dothe entyse)
Allowe good Company, but keeping from thence,
All filthy Mowthes, that glory in theyre vyce.
Thus done, thow haste no more, but leave ye Rest,
To Vertue, Fortune, Tyme and Womans brest.
(The one dothe force, the Later dothe entyse)
Allowe good Company, but keeping from thence,
All filthy Mowthes, that glory in theyre vyce.
Thus done, thow haste no more, but leave ye Rest,
To Vertue, Fortune, Tyme and Womans brest.
[As I my litle Flock on Ister Bancke]
As I my litle Flock on Ister Bancke,
(A Litle Flock, but well my Pype they couthe)
Did pyping Leade, the Sunne allredy sancke,
Beyonde oure Worlde, and ere I gatt my Boothe,
Eche thinge with Mantle black, the Night did soothe.
Saving the Glowe worme whiche woulde Curteous bee,
Of that smalle Lighte ofte watching Sheepeherdes see.
(A Litle Flock, but well my Pype they couthe)
Did pyping Leade, the Sunne allredy sancke,
Beyonde oure Worlde, and ere I gatt my Boothe,
Eche thinge with Mantle black, the Night did soothe.
Saving the Glowe worme whiche woulde Curteous bee,
Of that smalle Lighte ofte watching Sheepeherdes see.
The Wellkyn had full nigardly inclosde,
In Coffer of Dymme Clowdes his sillver groates,
(Yclipped Starres) eche thing to Rest disposde,
The Caves were full, the Mountaynes voyde of Goates,
The Byrdes eyes closde, closde up theyre Chirping Notes,
As for the Nightingale, wood Musick Kinge,
(Yt August was) hee daynde not then to singe.
In Coffer of Dymme Clowdes his sillver groates,
(Yclipped Starres) eche thing to Rest disposde,
The Caves were full, the Mountaynes voyde of Goates,
The Byrdes eyes closde, closde up theyre Chirping Notes,
As for the Nightingale, wood Musick Kinge,
(Yt August was) hee daynde not then to singe.
238
Amydd my Sheepe, thoughe I sawe noughte to feare,
Yet, (for I no thing sawe) I feared sore,
Then founde I whiche thinge ys a charge to beare,
For, for my Sheepe I feared mickle more,
Then ever for my self, synce I was bore,
I satt mee downe, (for so to goo ne coulde)
And sange unto my Sheepe, least stray they shoulde.
Yet, (for I no thing sawe) I feared sore,
Then founde I whiche thinge ys a charge to beare,
For, for my Sheepe I feared mickle more,
Then ever for my self, synce I was bore,
I satt mee downe, (for so to goo ne coulde)
And sange unto my Sheepe, least stray they shoulde.
The Songe I sange oulde Languette had mee taughte,
Languette the Shepehearde best swifte Ister knewe,
For Clerckly reade, and hating what ys naughte,
His faythfull harte, Cleane mowthe and handes as trewe,
With his sweete skill, my skilless youthe hee drewe,
To have a feeling Taste of hym that sittes,
Beyonde the Heaven, farre more beyonde oure wittes.
Languette the Shepehearde best swifte Ister knewe,
For Clerckly reade, and hating what ys naughte,
His faythfull harte, Cleane mowthe and handes as trewe,
With his sweete skill, my skilless youthe hee drewe,
To have a feeling Taste of hym that sittes,
Beyonde the Heaven, farre more beyonde oure wittes.
Hee sayde the Musick best thilke Powers pleasde,
Was Jumpp Concorde betweene oure witt and will,
Where Highest notes to godlynes are Raysde,
And Lowest sinck not downe to Jott of yll,
With oulde true Tales hee wonte my eares to fille,
Howe Shepeherdes did of yore, howe nowe they thryve,
Spoylling theyre Flock, or while tuixt them they stryve.
Was Jumpp Concorde betweene oure witt and will,
Where Highest notes to godlynes are Raysde,
And Lowest sinck not downe to Jott of yll,
With oulde true Tales hee wonte my eares to fille,
Howe Shepeherdes did of yore, howe nowe they thryve,
Spoylling theyre Flock, or while tuixt them they stryve.
Hee lyked mee, butt pittyed Lustfull yowthe,
His good stronge Staffe my slippery yeares up bore,
Hee still hopte well, bycause I Loved truthe,
Till forste to parte, with harte and eyes even sore,
The worthy Coredens hee gave mee ore,
But thus in Okes trewe shade recoumpted hee,
Whiche now in Nightes deepe shade Sheepe, hearde of mee,
His good stronge Staffe my slippery yeares up bore,
Hee still hopte well, bycause I Loved truthe,
Till forste to parte, with harte and eyes even sore,
The worthy Coredens hee gave mee ore,
But thus in Okes trewe shade recoumpted hee,
Whiche now in Nightes deepe shade Sheepe, hearde of mee,
Suche maner tyme there was, what tyme I nott,
When all this Earthe this Dām or Moulde of oures,
Was onely won'de with suche as Beastes begott
Unknowne as then were they that buylden Towers,
The Cattell wylde or tame in natures Bowers,
Might freely Ronne, or Rest as seemed them.
Man was not Man theyre Dwellinges in to hemm,
When all this Earthe this Dām or Moulde of oures,
Was onely won'de with suche as Beastes begott
Unknowne as then were they that buylden Towers,
The Cattell wylde or tame in natures Bowers,
Might freely Ronne, or Rest as seemed them.
Man was not Man theyre Dwellinges in to hemm,
239
The Beastes had sure some Beastly pollicy,
For, no thinge can Indure where order nys;
For once the Lyon by the Lambe did lye,
The fearefull Hynde the Leoperd did kisse,
Hurtles was Tygers pawe, and Serpentes hisse,
This thincke I well the Beastes with Corage cladd,
Lyke Senators a harmeles Empire had.
For, no thinge can Indure where order nys;
For once the Lyon by the Lambe did lye,
The fearefull Hynde the Leoperd did kisse,
Hurtles was Tygers pawe, and Serpentes hisse,
This thincke I well the Beastes with Corage cladd,
Lyke Senators a harmeles Empire had.
At whiche whether the others did repyne,
(For Envye harboureth moste in feeblest hartes)
Or that they all to Chaunging did enclyne,
(As even in Beastes theyre Dāmes leave Chaunging partes)
The Multitude to Jove a Sute impartes,
With Naying, Blaying, Braying and Barking,
Roaring and Howling, for to have a Kinge.
(For Envye harboureth moste in feeblest hartes)
Or that they all to Chaunging did enclyne,
(As even in Beastes theyre Dāmes leave Chaunging partes)
The Multitude to Jove a Sute impartes,
With Naying, Blaying, Braying and Barking,
Roaring and Howling, for to have a Kinge.
A Kinge, in Language theyres they sayde they woulde,
(For then theyre Language was a perfect speeche)
The Byrdes likewyse with Chirpes and pyinge coulde,
Chackling and Chattering that of Jove beseeche,
Onely the Owle warnde them not to seeche
So hastely that, whiche they woulde Repent
But, sawe they woulde, and hee to Dezertes went.
(For then theyre Language was a perfect speeche)
The Byrdes likewyse with Chirpes and pyinge coulde,
Chackling and Chattering that of Jove beseeche,
Onely the Owle warnde them not to seeche
So hastely that, whiche they woulde Repent
But, sawe they woulde, and hee to Dezertes went.
Jove, wysely sayde, (For wysdome wysely sayes)
O Beastes take heede what yow of mee desyer,
Rulers will thincke all thinges made them to please,
And soone forgett the Swincke Due to theyre hyer,
But, (synce yow will) parte of my Heavenly fyer,
I will yow lende, The Rest youre selves must give,
That yt bothe seene and felt may with yow live.
O Beastes take heede what yow of mee desyer,
Rulers will thincke all thinges made them to please,
And soone forgett the Swincke Due to theyre hyer,
But, (synce yow will) parte of my Heavenly fyer,
I will yow lende, The Rest youre selves must give,
That yt bothe seene and felt may with yow live.
Full glad they were, and tooke the Naked Sprite,
Whiche streight the earthe yclothed in his Clay,
The Lyon, Harte, the Ounce gave active Mighte,
The Horse good shape, The Sparrow Lust to play,
Nightingale voyce, entysing Songes to say,
Elephant gave a perfect memory,
And Parret redy toungue that to apply.
Whiche streight the earthe yclothed in his Clay,
The Lyon, Harte, the Ounce gave active Mighte,
The Horse good shape, The Sparrow Lust to play,
Nightingale voyce, entysing Songes to say,
Elephant gave a perfect memory,
And Parret redy toungue that to apply.
240
The Foxe gave Crafte, the Dogg gave flattery,
Asse, patience, the Moulle a worcking thoughte,
Ægle hye Looke, Wolffe secrett Crewelty,
Monkye sweete Breathe, the Cowe her fayre eyes broughte,
The Ermion whitest skynne spotted with noughte.
The Sheepe mylde seeming face, Clyming the Beare,
The Stagg did give the harme eschewing feare.
Asse, patience, the Moulle a worcking thoughte,
Ægle hye Looke, Wolffe secrett Crewelty,
Monkye sweete Breathe, the Cowe her fayre eyes broughte,
The Ermion whitest skynne spotted with noughte.
The Sheepe mylde seeming face, Clyming the Beare,
The Stagg did give the harme eschewing feare.
The Beare her sleightes the Catt his Melancholy,
Ante Industry, and Cony skill to buylde,
Cranes Order, Storckes to bee apearing Holy,
Cameleon ease to Chaunge, Duck ease to yeelde,
Crockadile teares whiche mighte bee falsly speelde,
Ape greate thinge gave, thoughe hee did mooving stand,
The Instrument of Instrumentes the hand.
Ante Industry, and Cony skill to buylde,
Cranes Order, Storckes to bee apearing Holy,
Cameleon ease to Chaunge, Duck ease to yeelde,
Crockadile teares whiche mighte bee falsly speelde,
Ape greate thinge gave, thoughe hee did mooving stand,
The Instrument of Instrumentes the hand.
Eche other Beast lykewyse his present bringes,
And (but they Drad theyre Prince they ofte should want,)
They all Consented were to give hym winges,
And ay more Awe towardes hym for to plante,
To theyre owne Worcke this priviledg they graunte,
That from thence forthe to all eternity,
No Beaste shoulde freely speake, but onely hee.
And (but they Drad theyre Prince they ofte should want,)
They all Consented were to give hym winges,
And ay more Awe towardes hym for to plante,
To theyre owne Worcke this priviledg they graunte,
That from thence forthe to all eternity,
No Beaste shoulde freely speake, but onely hee.
Thus Man was made, thus Man theyre Lorde became,
Who at the first wanting or hyding pryde,
Hee did to Beastes best use his Cunning frame,
With water, Drincke, herbes, meate, and naked hyde,
And Fellowlyke lett his Dominyon slyde,
Not in his sayinge (saying I.) but Wee.
As yf hee ment his Lordshipp Comōn bee.
Who at the first wanting or hyding pryde,
Hee did to Beastes best use his Cunning frame,
With water, Drincke, herbes, meate, and naked hyde,
And Fellowlyke lett his Dominyon slyde,
Not in his sayinge (saying I.) but Wee.
As yf hee ment his Lordshipp Comōn bee.
But when his seate so Rooted hee had founde,
That they now skilde not, howe from hym to wende,
Then gan in giltles Earthe full many a wounde,
Iron to seeke, whiche ageanst yt self shoulde bende,
To teare the Bowells that good Corne should sende,
But yet the Comōn Damm̄ none did bemone,
Bycause (thoughe hurt) they never heard her grone.
That they now skilde not, howe from hym to wende,
Then gan in giltles Earthe full many a wounde,
Iron to seeke, whiche ageanst yt self shoulde bende,
To teare the Bowells that good Corne should sende,
But yet the Comōn Damm̄ none did bemone,
Bycause (thoughe hurt) they never heard her grone.
241
Then gan̄ hee factions in the Beastes to breede,
Where helping weyker sorte, the Nobler Beastes,
As Tygres, Leoperdes, Beares and Lyons seede,
Disdaynd with this in Dezertes soughte theyre Restes,
Where famyn, Raven, toughte theyre hongry Chestes,
Thus Craftely hee forced them to do yll,
Whiche beeyng done hee afterwardes woulde kill.
Where helping weyker sorte, the Nobler Beastes,
As Tygres, Leoperdes, Beares and Lyons seede,
Disdaynd with this in Dezertes soughte theyre Restes,
Where famyn, Raven, toughte theyre hongry Chestes,
Thus Craftely hee forced them to do yll,
Whiche beeyng done hee afterwardes woulde kill.
For Murder done, whiche never earst was seene,
By those greate Beastes, as for the weykers good,
Hee Chose them selves his Guarders for to bee,
Geanst those of mighte of whome in feare they stood,
As Horse and Dogg not greate but gentle blood,
Blythe were the Com̄ons Cattle of the Feelde,
Tho, when they sawe theyre Foen of greatnes kilde.
By those greate Beastes, as for the weykers good,
Hee Chose them selves his Guarders for to bee,
Geanst those of mighte of whome in feare they stood,
As Horse and Dogg not greate but gentle blood,
Blythe were the Com̄ons Cattle of the Feelde,
Tho, when they sawe theyre Foen of greatnes kilde.
But, they or spent, or made of sclender mighte,
Then quickly did theyre meaner Cattell fynde,
The greate Beames gon̄ the Howse on shoulders lighte,
For by and by, the Horse fayre Bittes did bynde,
The Dogg was in a Collar toughte his kynde,
As for the gentle Byrdes like Case mighte Rewe,
When Faulcon they and Gosshauke sawe in Mewe.
Then quickly did theyre meaner Cattell fynde,
The greate Beames gon̄ the Howse on shoulders lighte,
For by and by, the Horse fayre Bittes did bynde,
The Dogg was in a Collar toughte his kynde,
As for the gentle Byrdes like Case mighte Rewe,
When Faulcon they and Gosshauke sawe in Mewe.
Worste fell to smallest Byrdes, and meanest Hearde,
Who now his owne full like his owne hee usde,
Yet first but woolle, or Fethers of hee tearde,
And when they were well usde to bee abusde,
For hongry Throate theyre flessh with Teethe hee brusde
At Lengthe for glutton taste hee did them kill,
At last for sporte theyre silly Lyves did spill.
Who now his owne full like his owne hee usde,
Yet first but woolle, or Fethers of hee tearde,
And when they were well usde to bee abusde,
For hongry Throate theyre flessh with Teethe hee brusde
At Lengthe for glutton taste hee did them kill,
At last for sporte theyre silly Lyves did spill.
But, yet, O Man, Rage not beyond thy neede,
Deeme yt no prayse to swell in Tyranny,
Thow arte of Blood, Joye not to make thinges bleede.
Thow fearest Deathe, thincke they are loathe to dye
A Playnte of guiltles Hurte dothe pearse the skye,
And yow pore Beastes in pacyence byde youre hell,
Or know youre strengthes and then yow shall doo well.
Deeme yt no prayse to swell in Tyranny,
Thow arte of Blood, Joye not to make thinges bleede.
Thow fearest Deathe, thincke they are loathe to dye
A Playnte of guiltles Hurte dothe pearse the skye,
And yow pore Beastes in pacyence byde youre hell,
Or know youre strengthes and then yow shall doo well.
242
Thus did I singe and pype Eighte solempne howers,
To Sheepe whome Love, not knowledge made to heare,
Now Fancyes Fittes, now Fortunes balefull stowers.
But then I homeward Calde my Lambkyns Dere,
For to my Dymmed Eyes began to appeare,
The Night, growne oulde, her Black heade waxen graye
Sure Sheepeheardes signe, that Morne woulde soone fetch day.
To Sheepe whome Love, not knowledge made to heare,
Now Fancyes Fittes, now Fortunes balefull stowers.
But then I homeward Calde my Lambkyns Dere,
For to my Dymmed Eyes began to appeare,
The Night, growne oulde, her Black heade waxen graye
Sure Sheepeheardes signe, that Morne woulde soone fetch day.
Finis.
[In faythe good Histor, Longe ys youre delay]
Geron. Histor.Geron.
In faythe good Histor, Longe ys youre delay,
Frome Holly Mariage, sweete and surest meane,
Oure Foolish Lustes in Honest Rules to stay,
I pray thee doo to Lalus sample leane,
Thow seest how friske and Jolly nowe hee ys,
That last day seemd hee coulde not chewe a Beane.
Frome Holly Mariage, sweete and surest meane,
Oure Foolish Lustes in Honest Rules to stay,
I pray thee doo to Lalus sample leane,
Thow seest how friske and Jolly nowe hee ys,
That last day seemd hee coulde not chewe a Beane.
Beleeve mee, Man, there ys no greater Blisse,
Then ys the quyet Joy of Loving wyffe,
Whiche who so wantes, half of hym self dothe mysse
Frende withoute Change, Playfellow withoute stryfe,
Foode withoute fullnes, Counsell withoute stryfe,
Ys this sweete Dubling of oure single Lyfe.
Then ys the quyet Joy of Loving wyffe,
Whiche who so wantes, half of hym self dothe mysse
Frende withoute Change, Playfellow withoute stryfe,
Foode withoute fullnes, Counsell withoute stryfe,
Ys this sweete Dubling of oure single Lyfe.
243
No Doubte to whome so good Chance did betyde,
As for to fynde a Pasture strewde with golde,
Hee were a Foole yf there hee did not byde,
Who woulde not have a Phenix yf hee coulde,
The Humming Wasp yf yt had not a Stinge,
Before all Flees the Wasp accept I woulde,
But this Bad worlde fewe golden Feeldes dothe bringe,
Phenix but one, of Crowes wee Millyons fynde,
The Wasp seemes gay, but ys a Comberus thinge.
As for to fynde a Pasture strewde with golde,
Hee were a Foole yf there hee did not byde,
Who woulde not have a Phenix yf hee coulde,
The Humming Wasp yf yt had not a Stinge,
Before all Flees the Wasp accept I woulde,
But this Bad worlde fewe golden Feeldes dothe bringe,
Phenix but one, of Crowes wee Millyons fynde,
The Wasp seemes gay, but ys a Comberus thinge.
Yf many Kalas oure Arcadia gave,
Lalus example I woulde soone ensue,
And thincke I did my self from sorowe save,
But of suche wyves wee fynde a sclender Crewe,
Shrewdnes so sturres, Pryde so puffes up theyre hart
They syldome ponder what to them ys due.
Lalus example I woulde soone ensue,
And thincke I did my self from sorowe save,
But of suche wyves wee fynde a sclender Crewe,
Shrewdnes so sturres, Pryde so puffes up theyre hart
They syldome ponder what to them ys due.
With Maigre Lookes, as yf they still did smarte,
Pewling and whimpering or else scoulding flatt
Make home more payne then following of the Carte
Eyther dull sylence, or Eternall Chatt.
Still Contrary to what her Husband sayes,
Yf hee do prayse the Dogg, shee likes the Catt,
Auster shee ys when hee woulde honest playes.
And gamesome then when hee thinckes on his Sheepe,
She biddes hym goo, and yet from Journey stayes,
Shee warre dothe ever with his kinsfolke keepe,
And makes them fremd, who frendes by Nature are,
Envying shallowe Toyes with Mallys Deepe,
And yf forsoothe there come some newfounde ware,
The Litle Coyne his sweating browes hathe gott,
Must goo for that, yf for her Love hee Care,
Or else, nay faythe, myne ys the Luckless Lott,
That ever fell to honest woman, yett,
No wyfe but I have suche a Man god wott,
Suche ys theyre speeche, who bee of sober witt,
But who dothe lett theyre toungues shew well theyre Rage,
Lorde what by wordes they speake, what spyte they spitt.
The howse ys made a very loathsome Cage,
Wherein the Byrde dothe never singe but Crye,
With suche a Will that no thinge can asswage,
Dearely the Servauntes do theyre wages bwye
Revylde for eche smalle faulte, some tyme for none,
They better Live, that in a Gayle doo lye,
Lett other fowler spottes away bee blowne,
For I seeke not theyre shame, but still mee thinckes
A better Lyfe yt ys to live alone.
Pewling and whimpering or else scoulding flatt
Make home more payne then following of the Carte
Eyther dull sylence, or Eternall Chatt.
Still Contrary to what her Husband sayes,
Yf hee do prayse the Dogg, shee likes the Catt,
Auster shee ys when hee woulde honest playes.
And gamesome then when hee thinckes on his Sheepe,
She biddes hym goo, and yet from Journey stayes,
Shee warre dothe ever with his kinsfolke keepe,
And makes them fremd, who frendes by Nature are,
Envying shallowe Toyes with Mallys Deepe,
And yf forsoothe there come some newfounde ware,
The Litle Coyne his sweating browes hathe gott,
Must goo for that, yf for her Love hee Care,
Or else, nay faythe, myne ys the Luckless Lott,
That ever fell to honest woman, yett,
No wyfe but I have suche a Man god wott,
Suche ys theyre speeche, who bee of sober witt,
But who dothe lett theyre toungues shew well theyre Rage,
Lorde what by wordes they speake, what spyte they spitt.
244
Wherein the Byrde dothe never singe but Crye,
With suche a Will that no thinge can asswage,
Dearely the Servauntes do theyre wages bwye
Revylde for eche smalle faulte, some tyme for none,
They better Live, that in a Gayle doo lye,
Lett other fowler spottes away bee blowne,
For I seeke not theyre shame, but still mee thinckes
A better Lyfe yt ys to live alone.
[Geron.]
Who for eche fickle feare from vertue shrinckes,
Shalle in this lyfe embrace no worthy thinge,
No mortall Man the Cupp of Surety drinckes,
The Heavens doo not good happes in Handfulles bringe,
But let us pick oute good from oute muche badd,
That still oure litle worlde may knowe his kinge,
But certenly so longe wee may bee glad,
While that wee doo what nature dothe requyer,
And for the event wee never oughte bee sadd,
Man ofte ys plaigued wth ayer, ys burnte wth fyer,
In water Drownde, in earthe his Buryall ys,
And shall wee not therefore theyre use desyer,
Nature above all thinges requyreth this,
That wee oure kynde do Laboure to meyntayne
Whiche drawne oute Lyne, dothe holde all humane blisse.
Shalle in this lyfe embrace no worthy thinge,
No mortall Man the Cupp of Surety drinckes,
The Heavens doo not good happes in Handfulles bringe,
But let us pick oute good from oute muche badd,
That still oure litle worlde may knowe his kinge,
But certenly so longe wee may bee glad,
While that wee doo what nature dothe requyer,
And for the event wee never oughte bee sadd,
Man ofte ys plaigued wth ayer, ys burnte wth fyer,
In water Drownde, in earthe his Buryall ys,
And shall wee not therefore theyre use desyer,
Nature above all thinges requyreth this,
That wee oure kynde do Laboure to meyntayne
Whiche drawne oute Lyne, dothe holde all humane blisse.
Thy Father justly may of thee Complayne,
Yf thow doo not repay his deedes for thee,
In graunting unto hym a Graundsyers gayne,
Thy Comon wealthe may Rightly greeved bee
Whiche must by this Immortall bee preserved,
Yf thus thow murder thy posterity,
His very beeyng hee hathe not deserved,
Who for a self Conceipt will that forbeare,
Whereby that beeyng ay must bee Conserved,
And God forbidd woemen suche Cattell were,
As yow paynte them. But, well in yow I fynde,
No man dothe speake arighte, who speakes in feare,
Who onely sees the evill ys worse then blynde,
These Fifty winters marryed I have beene,
And yet fynde no suche faultes in Womankynde,
I have a Wyfe worthy to bee a Queene,
So well shee can Comaunde, and yet, obay,
In Ruling of a Howse so well shee ys seene,
And yet in all this tyme betwixt us Tway,
Wee beare oure Duble yock with suche Consent
There never past fowle worde, I dare well say,
But these are youre Love toyes wch still are spent
In Lawless games, and Love not as yow shoulde,
But with muche study learne late to Repent,
Howe well last day before youre Prince yow coulde,
Blynde Cupids worckes with wonder testify,
Yet nowe the Roote of hym abase yow woulde,
Goo too Goo too and Cupid now applye,
To that where thow thy Cupid mayste avowe,
And thow shalte fynde in woemen vertues lye,
Sweete supple myndes wch soone to wisdome bowe,
Where they by wisdomes Rules directed are;
And yet not forst fonde Thraldome to allowe,
As wee to gett are framed, so they to spare,
Wee made for paynes, they made oure paynes to cherish,
Wee care abroade, and they of home have Care,
O Histor, seeke within thy self to Florishe,
Thy Howse by thee must Live or else bee gone,
And then who shall the name of Histor norishe?
Riches of Children passe a Princes throane,
Whiche touche the Fathers harte with secrett Joy,
When withowte shame hee saythe these bee myne owne.
Marry therefore, for Marryage will Destroy,
Those passyons wch to youthfull hedd do Clyme,
Mothers and Nurses of all vayne Annoy.
Yf thow doo not repay his deedes for thee,
In graunting unto hym a Graundsyers gayne,
Thy Comon wealthe may Rightly greeved bee
Whiche must by this Immortall bee preserved,
Yf thus thow murder thy posterity,
His very beeyng hee hathe not deserved,
Who for a self Conceipt will that forbeare,
Whereby that beeyng ay must bee Conserved,
And God forbidd woemen suche Cattell were,
As yow paynte them. But, well in yow I fynde,
No man dothe speake arighte, who speakes in feare,
245
These Fifty winters marryed I have beene,
And yet fynde no suche faultes in Womankynde,
I have a Wyfe worthy to bee a Queene,
So well shee can Comaunde, and yet, obay,
In Ruling of a Howse so well shee ys seene,
And yet in all this tyme betwixt us Tway,
Wee beare oure Duble yock with suche Consent
There never past fowle worde, I dare well say,
But these are youre Love toyes wch still are spent
In Lawless games, and Love not as yow shoulde,
But with muche study learne late to Repent,
Howe well last day before youre Prince yow coulde,
Blynde Cupids worckes with wonder testify,
Yet nowe the Roote of hym abase yow woulde,
Goo too Goo too and Cupid now applye,
To that where thow thy Cupid mayste avowe,
And thow shalte fynde in woemen vertues lye,
Sweete supple myndes wch soone to wisdome bowe,
Where they by wisdomes Rules directed are;
And yet not forst fonde Thraldome to allowe,
As wee to gett are framed, so they to spare,
Wee made for paynes, they made oure paynes to cherish,
Wee care abroade, and they of home have Care,
O Histor, seeke within thy self to Florishe,
Thy Howse by thee must Live or else bee gone,
And then who shall the name of Histor norishe?
Riches of Children passe a Princes throane,
Whiche touche the Fathers harte with secrett Joy,
When withowte shame hee saythe these bee myne owne.
Marry therefore, for Marryage will Destroy,
Those passyons wch to youthfull hedd do Clyme,
Mothers and Nurses of all vayne Annoy.
Histor.
Perchaunce, I will, but, nowe mee thinckes yt tyme,
Wee goo unto the Bryde, and use this day,
To speake with her, while freely speake wee may.
246
Here ende The Thirde Booke and Thirde Eglogues.
247
The Fourthe Booke or Acte.
[Who hathe hys Hyer, hathe Well his Laboure plaste]
Who hathe hys Hyer, hathe Well his Laboure plaste,Earthe thow doste seeke and store of Earthe thow haste.
256
[O Nighte the ease of Care the pledge of pleasure]
O Nighte the ease of Care the pledge of pleasure,Desyers best meane, Harvest of Hartes affected,
The seate of peace, the Throne whiche ys erected,
Of humane Lyfe to bee the quyett Measure.
Bee Victor still of Phebus golden Treasure.
Who hathe oure sighte, with too muche sight infected,
Whose Lighte ys Cause wee have oure Lyves neglected,
Turning all Natures Course to self displeasure.
These stately starres in theyre now shyning faces,
With slyly sleepe and Silence Wisdomes Mother,
Witness his wronge whiche by thy help ys eased,
Thow arte therefore of these oure Dezert places,
The sure Refuge by thee, and by none other.
My sowle ys blist, sence joyed, and fortune raysed.
265
[Synce wayling ys a budd of Causefull Sorrowe]
Synce wayling ys a budd of Causefull Sorrowe,
Synce sorrowe ys the follower of yll Fortune,
Synce no yll Fortune equalles publique Damage,
Nowe Princess Losse hathe made oure Damage publique,
Sorrowe pay wee unto the Rightes of Nature,
And Inward greeffe seale up with outeward waylinge.
Synce sorrowe ys the follower of yll Fortune,
Synce no yll Fortune equalles publique Damage,
Nowe Princess Losse hathe made oure Damage publique,
Sorrowe pay wee unto the Rightes of Nature,
And Inward greeffe seale up with outeward waylinge.
Why shoulde wee spare oure voyce from endles waylinge?
Who Justly make oure hartes the seates of Sorowe,
In suche a Case, where yt apeares that Nature,
Dothe add her force unto the stinge of Fortune,
Chosing alas, this oure Theater publique,
Where they woulde Leave Tropheys of cruell Damage.
Who Justly make oure hartes the seates of Sorowe,
In suche a Case, where yt apeares that Nature,
Dothe add her force unto the stinge of Fortune,
Chosing alas, this oure Theater publique,
Where they woulde Leave Tropheys of cruell Damage.
Then since suche powers conspire unto oure Damage,
Whiche may bee knowne, but never helpt wth wayling,
Yet let us leave a Monument in publique,
Of willing teares, torne here, and Cryes of Sorrowe.
For lost, lost, ys by Blowe of Crewell Fortune,
Arcadias gemme the Noblest Chylde of Nature.
Whiche may bee knowne, but never helpt wth wayling,
Yet let us leave a Monument in publique,
Of willing teares, torne here, and Cryes of Sorrowe.
For lost, lost, ys by Blowe of Crewell Fortune,
Arcadias gemme the Noblest Chylde of Nature.
O Nature Doting olde, O blynded Nature?
Howe haste thow torne thy self, soughte thyne owne Damage?
In graunting suche a Scope to filthy Fortune.
By thy Impes loss, to fill the worlde with wayling?
Cast thy Stepp mother eyes uppon oure Sorowe,
Publique oure Loss, to see thy shame ys publick.
Howe haste thow torne thy self, soughte thyne owne Damage?
In graunting suche a Scope to filthy Fortune.
By thy Impes loss, to fill the worlde with wayling?
Cast thy Stepp mother eyes uppon oure Sorowe,
Publique oure Loss, to see thy shame ys publick.
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O that wee had, (to make oure woes more publique)
Seays in oure eyes, and brazen Toungues by Nature,
A yelling voyce, and Hartes compost of Sorowe,
Breathe made of flames with knowing noughte but Damage.
Oure Sportes murdering oure selves, oure Musickes wayling
Oure studyes fixte uppon the falles of Fortune.
Seays in oure eyes, and brazen Toungues by Nature,
A yelling voyce, and Hartes compost of Sorowe,
Breathe made of flames with knowing noughte but Damage.
Oure Sportes murdering oure selves, oure Musickes wayling
Oure studyes fixte uppon the falles of Fortune.
No, no, oure myscheef growes in this vyle Fortune,
That private panges, can not breathe oute in publique,
The furyous Inward greeffes with hellish wayling.
But forced are to burden feeble Nature
With secrett sence of oure eternall Damage,
And sorowe feede feeding oure Sowles with sorowe.
Synce Sorowe then concludeth all oure Fortune,
With all oure deathes, shewe wee this Damage publique
His Nature feares to dye who lives still Wayling.
That private panges, can not breathe oute in publique,
The furyous Inward greeffes with hellish wayling.
But forced are to burden feeble Nature
With secrett sence of oure eternall Damage,
And sorowe feede feeding oure Sowles with sorowe.
Synce Sorowe then concludeth all oure Fortune,
With all oure deathes, shewe wee this Damage publique
His Nature feares to dye who lives still Wayling.
306
HERE BEGIN THE FOURTHE EGLOGUES.
307
[Yee goteheard Gods that love the grassy Mounteynes?]
Strephon. Klaius.Strephon.
Yee goteheard Gods that love the grassy Mounteynes?
Yee Nymphes wch haunte the springes in pleasaunt valleys,
Yee Satyres joyed with free and quyet Forestes,
Vouchesafe youre sylent eares to playing Musick,
Whiche to my woes gives still an earely Morninge,
And Drawes the Dolor on till weary Eevening.
Klaius.
O Mercury, foregoer to the Eevening,
O heavenly Huntress of the Savage Mountaynes,
O Lovely Starr, entytled of the Morning,
(While that my voyce dothe fill these wofull valleys)
Vouchsafe youre silent eares to playing Musick,
Wch ofte hathe Echo tyred in secrett Forestes.
Strephon.
I that was once free Burgess of the Forestes
(Where shade from Sunn̄ and sporte I sought in Eevening)
I that was once esteemd for pleasaunt Musick,
And banisht now amongst the Monsterus Mountaynes,
Of huge Dispayre and fowle afflictions valleyes,
Am growne a Scriche Owle to my self eche morning.
308
I that was once delighted every morning,
Hunting the wylde Inhabiters of the Forestes,
I that was once the Musick of the valleyes,
So Darckened am, that all my day ys Eevening,
Hart broken so, that Mole hilles seeme hye Mounteynes,
And fill the valleyes wth Cryes in steade of Musick.
Strephon.
Longe synce, alas, my Deadly Swannish Musick,
Hathe made yt self a Cryer of the Morning,
And hathe with wayling strengthe clymed hyest Mountaynes,
Longe synce my thoughtes more Dezert bee then Forestes,
Longe synce I see my Joyes come to theyre Eevening,
And State throwne downe to every trodden valleys.
Klaius.
Longe synce the happy dwellers of these valleyes,
Have prayde mee leave my straunge exclaming Musick,
Whiche trubles theyre dayes worcke and Joyes of Eevening,
Longe since I hate the Nighte, more hate the Morning,
Longe synce my thoughtes chase mee like Beastes in Forestes
And make mee wish my self layde under Mountaynes.
Strephon.
Mee seemes I see the hye and stately Mountaynes,
Transforme them selves to Lowe dejected valleys,
Mee seemes I heare in these yll chaunged Forestes
The Nightingales do learne of Owles theyre Musick,
Mee seemes I feele ye Comfort of the Morning,
Turne to the Mortall Siren of an Eevening.
Klaius.
Mee seemes I see a filthy Clowdy Eevening,
Assoone as Sunn̄ begyns to clyme the Mountaynes,
Mee seemes I feele a Noysome sent the Morninge,
When I do smell the Flowers of the valleyes,
Mee seemes I heare (when I do heare sweete Musick)
The Dreadfull Cryes of Murdered men in Forestes.
Strephon.
I wish to fyre the trees of all these Forestes,
I give the Sunne a Last farewell eche eevening,
I Curse the fidling fynders oute of Musick,
With Envy I do hate the lofty Mountaynes,
And with Despyte do spyte the humble valleyes.
I Do detest Nighte, Eevening day and Morning.
309
Curse to myself my Prayer ys the Morninge,
My fyer ys more then can bee made with Forestes,
My estate more base, then ys the basest valleyes,
I wish no Eevening, more, to see eche eevening.
Shamed, I hate my self in sighte of Mountaynes,
And stopp myne Eares lest I growe Madd wth Musik.
Strephon.
For shee whose partes meyntayne a perfect Musick,
Whose bewtyes shyne more then the blusshing morninge,
Who muche did pass in state, the Stately Mountaynes,
In streightnes past the Caedars of the forrestes,
Hathe cast mee wretche into Eternall Eevening,
By taking her twoo Sunnes from these darck valleyes.
Klaius.
For shee with whome Comparde the Alpes are valleyes,
Shee whose Least worde bringes from the Spheares theyre Musick,
At whose approche the Sunne rase in the Eevening,
Who where shee went bare in her forehead Morning,
Ys gon̄ ys gon̄ from these oure spoyled Forestes,
Turning to Dezartes oure best pastured Mountaynes.
Strephon.
These Mountaynes witnes shall, so shall these valleyes,
Klaius.
These Forestes eeke made wretched by oure Musick,
Oure Morning Hymne this ys and Songe at Eevening.
Strephon.
I joy in greef and do detest all Joyes,
Despyse Delighte, and tyer with thoughtes of ease,
I turne my mynde to all Formes of Annoyes,
And with the Chaunge of them, my fancy please,
I Study that wch moste may mee displease,
And in Despite of that Displeasure mighte,
Embrace, that moste that moste my Sowle destroyes,
Blynded with Beames, fell Darcknes ys my sighte,
Dwell in my Ruyns, fedd with sucking smarte,
I thincke from mee, not from my woes to parte.
310
I thincke from mee, not from my woes to parte,
And lo this tyme calde Lyfe may thinck that lyfe,
Nature to mee, for Tormentes did imparte,
Thinck my hard happes have blunted Deathes sharp knyfe,
Not sparing mee in whome his worcke bee ryfe,
And thincking this thincke Nature lyfe and deathe,
Place, sorowes tryumphe, on my Conquerd hart,
Whereto I yeelde, and seeke no other breathe,
But from the sent of some infectious grave,
Nor of my fortune, oughte but mischeef crave.
Strephon.
Nor of my Fortune oughte but myscheef Crave,
And seeke to nourish that wch now contaynes,
All what I am, yf I my self will save,
Then must I save what in mee cheefly raynes,
Whiche ys the hatefull webb of sorowes paynes
Sorow then Cherish mee for I am Sorowe,
No beeyng now but Sorow I can have,
Then deck mee as thyne owne, thy help I borowe,
Synce thow Joy reckles arte, and that thow haste,
Inoughe to make a fertyle mynde lye waste.
Klaius.
Inoughe to make a fertile mynde lye waste,
Ys that huge storme wch powers yt self on mee,
Hayle stones of teares, of Sighes a Monsterus blast,
Thunders of Cryes, Lightninges my wylde Lookes bee.
The Darckened Heaven my Sowle wch nought can see,
The Flying spirites wch Trees by Rootes up teares,
Be those Dispayres wch have my hopes quite raste,
The Difference ys all Folckes those stormes forbeare,
But I can not, who then my self shoulde flee
So close unto my self my wrackes do lye.
Strephon.
So close unto my self my wrackes do lye,
Bothe Cause, Effect beginning and the ende,
All are in mee, what help then can I trye
My Shipp my self whose Course to Love dothe bend,
Sore beaten dothe her mast of Comfort spend
Her Cable Reason, breakes from Ancker Hope,
Fancy her Tackling, Torne away dothe flye,
Rwyn the wynde hathe blowne mee from her scope,
Brused with waves of Care, but broken ys
On Rock Dispayre the Buryall of my Blisse.
311
On Rock Dispayre, the Buryall of my Blisse,
I longe do plowe with plowe of Depe Desyer,
The seede fast meanyng ys no truthe to misse,
I harrowe yt with thoughtes wch all Conspyre,
Favoure to make my Cheef and onely hyer,
But woe ys mee the yeare ys gon̄ aboute,
And now I fayne woulde reape, I reape but this,
Hate fully growne, absence new spronge oute,
So that I see allthoughe my sighte empayre,
Vayne ys theyre payne, who Laboure in Dispayre.
Strephon.
Vayne ys theyre payne, who Laboure in Dispayre
For so did I when with myne Angle will,
I sought to catche the Fish Torpedo fayre
Even then Dispayre did hope all redy kill,
Yet Fancy wolde perforce employ his skill,
And this hathe gott the Catcher now hathe caught
Lamed with the Angle wch yt self did beare,
And unto Deathe, quite Drownde in Doloures brought,
To Deathe as then Disguysde in her fayre face,
Thus, thus, alas I had my Losse in Chace.
Klaius.
Thus, thus alas, I had my Losse in Chace,
When first that Crowned Basilik I knewe,
Whose Footsteppes I with kisses ofte did trace,
Till (by suche happ, as I must ever Rue)
Myne eyes did lighte uppon her shyning Hue,
And thus on mee astonisht with her sight,
Synce then my hart did Lose hys wonted place,
Infected so with her sweete poysons mighte
That Leaving mee for Deade to her yt went
But ah her flight hathe my Dead Reliques spent.
Strephon.
But ah her flight hathe my Deade Reliques spent,
Her flight from mee, from mee, though Dead to mee,
Yet Living still in her while her beames lent,
Suche vitall sparck, that her myne eyes might see,
But nowe these Living lightes absented bee,
(Full Deade before) I nowe to dust should falle
But that eternall paynes my sowle have hent,
And keepe yt still within this Body thralle.
That thus I must while in this Deathe I dwell,
In earthly fetters feele a Lasting hell.
312
In earthely fetters feele a Lasting hell,
Alas, I doo, from wch to fynde release,
I woulde the Earthe, I woulde the Heavens fell,
But vayne yt ys, to thincke those paynes shoulde Cease,
Wheare lyfe ys Deathe, and Deathe can not bringe peace,
O fayre, O onely fayre from thee alas,
These fowle moste fowle Desasters to my falle,
Since thow from mee, (O mee) O Sunn̄ didst pass.
Therefore esteeming all good blessinges Toyes,
I joyed in greef and do Detest all Joyes.
Strephon.
I joy in greef and do Detest all Joyes,
But now an ende, O Klaius now an ende,
For even the herbes oure hatefull Musick stroyes,
And from oure burning Breath the Trees doo bend.
313
[Now was oure Heavenly vaulte deprived of the Lighte]
Now was oure Heavenly vaulte deprived of the LighteWith Sunnes Departe, and nowe the Darcknes of the Nighte,
Did light those Beamy starres wch greater light did Darcke,
Nowe eche thinge wch enjoyed that fyery quickning sparcke,
Whiche lyfe ys calde were mooved theyre Spirites to repose,
And wanting use of eyes, theyre eyes began to Close,
And silence sweete eche where with one Consent embraste,
(A Musick sweete to one in Carefull Musick plaste)
And Mother Earthe now cladd in Morning weedes did breathe,
A Dull desyer to kisse the Image of oure Deathe.
When I Disgraced wretche, not wretched then did give,
My sences suche Release, as they wch quyett live,
Whose braynes boyle not in woes, nor brestes wth beatinges ake,
With Natures prayse are wonte in safty home to take.
Farr from my thoughtes was oughte whereto theyre myndes aspire,
Who under Courtly pompes do hatche a base desyer.
Free all my powers were, from those Captiving snares,
Wch Heavenly purest giftes defyle in muddy Cares.
314
As tender Conscyence mighte wth furyous panges assault,
But like the feeble Flower (whose stalke can not sustayne,
His weighty Topp) his Topp dothe downeward dropping leane.
Or as the silly Byrde in well acquaynted Nest
Dothe hyde his heade wth Cares, but onely howe to Rest.
So I in simple Course, and unitangled mynde,
Did suffer drowsy liddes myne eyes (then clere) to blynde.
And laying downe my heade, did natures Rule observe,
Whiche sences up dothe shutt, the senses to preserve.
They first theyre use forgatt, then fancy lost theyre force,
Till Deadly sleepe at lengthe possest my Living Corse.
A Living Corse I lay, but, ah my Wakefull mynde,
(Wch made of heavenly stuff, no mortall chaunge dothe bynde).
Flewe up with Freer winges, of Flesshly bondage free.
And having plaste my thoughtes, my thoughtes thus placed mee,
Mee thoughte, nay, sure I was, I was in fayrest wood,
Of Samothea Land, a Lande wch whilome stood,
An Honor to the Worlde, while Honor was theyre ende,
And while theyre Lyne of yeares they did in vertue spend.
But there I was; and there my Callmy thoughtes I fedd,
On Natures sweete repast, as helthfull sences ledd.
Her giftes my study was, her beutyes were my sporte,
My worcke her worckes to knowe, her Dwelling my Resort.
Those Lampes of Heavenly fyer to fixed motion bounde,
For ever turning Spheres the never mooving grounde.
What essence destny hathe yf fortune bee or no,
Whence oure Immortall sowles, to mortall Earthe doo flowe.
What Lyfe yt ys, and howe that all these Lyves do gather,
With owteward Makers force, or like an Inward Father.
Suche thoughtes (mee thought) I thought, and straynd my single mynde,
Then voyde of nerer Cares, the Depthes of thinges to fynde.
Who, Loe, wth hugest Noyse, suche noyse as Tower makes,
When yt (blowne up with myne) a falle of Rwyn takes.
Or suche a Noyse yt was, as hyest Thunders sende,
Or Canons thunder like all shott together lend.
The Moone a sunder rent (O Gods) o pardon mee,
That forste wth greef revayles what greeved eyes did see.
The Moone a sonder rent, whereat with sodeyn falle,
(More swifte then Faulcons stoope, to feeding Falconers calle).
315
Whose stormelike Course stayde not, till hard by mee yt byded
I wretche astonisht was, and thought the Deathfull Doome,
Of heaven of Earthe of hell of tyme and place was come.
But streight there issued forthe twoo Ladyes, (Ladyes sure,
They seemde to mee) on whome did wayte a virgyn pure,
Straunge were the Ladyes Weedes, yet more unfitt then straunge,
The first with Clothes tuckt up, as Nimphes in woodes do Range.
Tuckt upp even to the Knees, with Bowe and Arrowes prest,
Her Right arme naked was, discovered was her brest.
But hevy was her pace, and suche a Maigre cheare,
As litle hunting mynde (god knowes) did there appeare.
The other had with Arte (more then oure woemen knowe)
As stuff ment for the sale sett oute to glaring showe,
A wanton womans face, and wth Curlde knottes had twynde,
Her hayer wch by the help of Paynters Cunning shynde,
When I suche guests did see come oute of suche a howse,
The Mountaynes great wth Chylde I thought brought forthe a mowse.
But walking forthe, the first, thus to the seconde sayde,
Venus come on, (sayde shee) Diana yow are obayde,
Those Names abasht mee muche, when those great names I hearde,
All thoughe theyre fame (mee seemd) from truth had greatly jarrd.
As I thus musing stoode, Diana calde to her,
Her wayting Nymphe, a Nymphe, that did excell as farr,
All thinges that earst I sawe, as Oryent Perles exceede,
That wch theyre Mother highte, or else theyre silly seede.
In Deede a perfect Hue, in deede a sweete Consent,
Of all those graces giftes the Heavens have ever lent.
And so shee was attyrde, as one that did not pryze,
So muche her pereles partes, nor yet coulde them despize.
But calde she came apace, a pace wherein did moove,
The Band of Beutyes all the litle worlde of Love.
And bending humbled eyes (O eyes the Sunne of Lighte)
Shee wayted Mistrys will, who thus disclosde her spright
Sweete Mira myne (quoth shee) the pleasures of my mynde,
In whome of all my Rules the perfect proof I fynde,
To onely thee, (thow seest) wee graunt this speciall grace,
Us to attend in this moste private tyme and place.
Bee silent therefore, nowe, and so bee silent still,
Of what thow seest close up in secrett knott thy will.
316
And Mira I admirde, her shape, sancke in my brest.
But thus with Irefull eyes, and face that shoke with spyte,
Diana did begyn̄: What mooved mee to invite
Youre presence, Sister Dere, first to my moovy spheare,
And hether now vouchsafe to take with willing eare.
I knowe full well yow knowe, what discord long hathe raignd,
Betwixt us twoo how muche that discord fowle hathe stainde,
Bothe oure estates while eache the other did deprave,
Prooff speakes to muche to us, that feeling tryall have.
Oure names are quite forgott, oure Temples are Defaste
Oure offeringes spoylde, oure Preestes from Preesthood are displaste?
Ys this the fruite of stryfe, those thowsand Churches hye,
Those thowsand Alters fayre, now in the Dust to lye?
In mortall myndes oure myndes but Planetes names preserve,
No knee once bowed forsoothe, for them they say wee serve,
Are wee theyre Servauntes growne? no Doubt a Noble stay,
Celestiall powers to wormes Joves Children serve to play,
But suche they say wee bee, this prayse oure Discord bredd,
While wee for mutuall stryfe, a stryving passyon fedd.
But let us wyser bee, and what fowle discorde brake,
Somuche more stronge ageane let safest Concord make.
Oure yeares do yet requyer, yow see wee bothe doo feele,
The weykning work of tymes for ever whirling wheele.
All thoughe wee bee Devyne, oure Graundsire Saturn ys,
With ages force decayde, yet once the heven̄ was his.
And now before wee seeke by wyse Appollos skill,
Oure younge yeares to renewe (for so hee saithe hee will)
Lett us a perfect peace betuixt us twoo Resolve,
Whiche lest the Ruynous want of government dissolve,
Let one the Princes bee, to her the other yeelde,
(For vayne Equality ys but Contentions feelde)
And let her have the giftes that shoulde in bothe remayne,
In her lett Beuty bothe and Chastenes fully raigne.
So as yf I prevayle, yow give youre giftes to mee,
Yf yow, on yow I lay, what in my office bee.
Now resteth onely this, wch of us Twoo ys shee,
To whome precedentes shall of bothe accorded bee.
For that (so that yow like) hereby dothe lye a youthe,
(Shee beckened unto mee) as yet of spottless truthe.
317
Becometh us, in us, Fortune determyns nott.
This Crowne of Amber fayre, (an Amber Crowne shee helde)
To worthyest lett hym give, when bothe hee hathe beheld.
And bee yt as hee saythe, Venus was glad to heare,
Suche proffer made wch shee well shewde wth smyling chere,
As thoughe shee were the same, as when by Paris doome,
Shee had cheef Goddesses in beuty overcome.
And surely thus gan say, I never soughte debate,
Diana dere, my mynde to love and not to hate,
Was ever apte, but yow my pastymes did despyse,
I never spyted yow, but thought yow overwyse.
Nowe kyndenes proffered ys, none kynder ys then I,
And so moste redy am, this meane of peace to try.
And lett hym bee oure Judge: The Ladd dothe please mee well,
Thus bothe did come to mee and bothe began to tell.
(For bothe, together spake, eche lothe to bee behynde)
That they by solempne oathe theyre Deityes wold bynde,
To stand unto my will, theyre will they made mee knowe,
I that was first agast, when first I sawe theyre shawe
(Now boulder waxte) waxt prowde that I suche sway might beare,
For, nere acquayntance dothe diminish reverent feare.
And having bounde them fast by Stix, they shoulde obay,
To all what I decreed, did thus my verdict say.
How yll bothe yow can Rule, well hathe youre Discorde taughte,
Ne yet, (for oughte I see) youre Beutyes merit oughte.
To yonder Nymphe therefore, to Mira, I did poynt,
The Crowne above yow bothe, for ever I appoynt,
I woulde have spoken owte but oute they bothe did Crye,
Fye, Fye what have wee done, ungodly Rebell fye,
But nowe wee must needes yeelde to what oure Oathes requyre,
Yet thow shalt not goo free, (quoth Venus) suche a fyer,
Her Beuty kyndle shall within thy foolish mynde,
That thow full ofte shalt wish thy Judging eyes were blynde,
Nay, then (Diana sayde) thee Chastenes I will give,
In asshes of Dispayre, though burnt shall make thee live.
Nay, thow (sayde bothe) shalt see suche beames shyne in her face,
That thow shalt never dare seeke help of wretched Case.
And with that Cursed Curse, away to heavens they fledd,
First having all theyre giftes uppon fayre Mira spredd.
318
And founde with Deadly feare that all my synewes shakte.
Was yt a Dreame? O Dreame how haste thow wrought in mee?
That I thinges earst unseene, shoulde first in Dreaming see.
And then (O Traytor sleepe) made for to bee oure Rest
Howe haste thow framde the payne wherewith I am opprest.
O Cowarde Cupide thus doest thow thy honor keepe?
Unarmde, alas unarmde to take a Man asleepe?
[Unto the Caytiff wretche whome long affliction holdeth]
Unto the Caytiff wretche whome long affliction holdeth;And now fully beleeves help to bee quyte perisshed.
Graunt yet graunt yet a looke to the last monument of his anguish.
O, yow (alas so I fynde) Cause of his onely Rewyn.
Dread not a whitt (o goodly crewell) that pitty may enter,
Into thy hart by the sighte of this Epistle I sende.
And so refuse to beholde of these straunge woundes the Recitall,
Least yt might thee allure home to thy self to returne,
(Unto thyself I do meane those graces dwell so within thee,
Gratefullnes, sweetenes, Holylove, Harty regarde,)
Suche thinge can not I seeke, Dispayre hathe given mee my answer,
Despayre, moste tragicall Clause to a Deadly Request.
319
Hard lyfe, a Riche Marble, hard, (but a fayre) Dyamond.
Can those eyes (that of eyes drownde in moste harty flowing teares,
Teares and Teares of a man had no returne to remorse,)
Can those eyes now yeelde to the kynde Conceypt of a Sorowe?
Whiche Inck onely Relates, but ne lamentes, ne Replyes,
Ah that I do not Conceyve, though that to mee Leefe were
More then Nestors yeares, more then a Kinges Dyadem.
Ah that I do not conceyve to the Heaven when a Mowse clymes
Then may I hope to atcheeve grace of a Heavenly Tygre.
But but alas like a Man Condempned dothe crave to bee heard speake,
Not that hee hopes for amendes of the Disaster hee feeles.
But, fynding thapproche of Deathe with an Inly relenting,
Gives an Adieu to the worlde, as to his onely delighte.
Right so my boyling harte enflamed wth fyre of a fayre eye,
Bubbling oute dothe breathe signes of his huge doloures
Nowe that hee fyndes to what ende his lyfe and love bee reserved
And that hee hence must parte, where, to Live, onely I lived,
O fayre, O fayrest, are suche the Tryumphes to thy fayrenes?
Can Deathe Bewty become? must I bee suche Monument?
Must I bee onely the Marck shall proove that Vertue ys angry?
Shall prove the fiercenes can with a white Dove abyde?
Shall to the worlde appeare, that faythe and Love bee Rewarded?
With mortall disdayne bent to unendly Revenge?
Unto Revenge, O sweete, on a wretch wilt thow bee Revenged,
As the offence ys done? and goo beyonde, yf hee can,
All my offence was Love, with Love then must I bee chastened,
And with more by the Lawes that to revenge do belonge.
Yf that Love bee a faulte, more faulte in yow to bee Lovely,
Love never had mee opprest, but that I sawe to bee Loved,
Yow bee the Cause that I love, what reason blameth a shadowe?
That with a Body yt goes, synce by a Body yt ys?
Yf the Love hate yow did, yow shoulde youre Beuty have hidden,
Yow shoulde those fayre eyes have wth a vayle covered.
But, Foole, Foole that I am, those eyes wolde shyne from a dark Cave?
What vailes then do prevayle, but to a more Mirackle?
Or those golden Lockes (those Lockes wch lock mee to bondage,
Torne), yow shoulde disperse unto the blastes of a wynde,
But, Foole, Foole that I am, tho I had but a hayer of her hed founde,
Eeven as I am, so I shoulde, unto that hayer bee a thrall,
320
Yow shoulde have youre face (synce Love ys evell) blemysshed.
O, wretche, what did I say, shoulde that fayre face bee defaced?
Shoulde my too muche sight cause so true a Sunn̄ to bee lost?
First let Cymmerian Darcknes bee my only habitation,
First bee myne Eyes pulde oute, first bee my brayne perished
Ere I shoulde consent to doo suche excessive a Damage,
Unto the Earthe by the hurt of this her heavenly evell.
Oh, not. But suche Love yow say yow coulde have afforded,
As mighte learne Temperance voyde of outragius eventes
O sweete Simplicity, from whence shoulde Love bee so learned?
Unto Cupide that Boy shoulde a pendaunt bee founde?
Well, but faulty I was reason to my passyon yeelded,
Passyon unto my Rage, Rage to a hasty Revenge?
But, whatts this for a fault? for wch such faithe bee abolished?
Suche faythe so stayneless Inviolate, violent.
Shall I not Oh may I not thus yet refresh the Remembrance?
What sweete Joyes I had once, and what a place I did holde?
Shall I not once object that, yow, yow graunted a favoure?
Unto the Man whome now suche myseryes yow awarde?
Bende youre thoughtes to the Dere sweete wordes wch then to mee given were.
Thincke what a worlde ys now, thinck who hathe altered her hart.
What? was I then worthy of suche good? now worthy somuche evell?
Now fledd, then cherished, then so nye, now so remote?
Did not a Rosed Breathe from Lippes more Rosy proceeding,
Say, that I well shoulde fynde in what a Care I was hadd?
With muche more: Now, what do I fynde, but Care to abhorr mee?
Care, that I sinck in greef, Care, that I live banisshed.
And banisshed, doo I live? nor nowe wee seeke a Recovery,
Synce so shee will whose will ys to mee more then a Lawe,
Yf then a Man in moste evell Case may give yow a farewell,
Farewell, longe Farewell all my wooe all my Delighte.
321
[Since that to deathe ys gon̄ the Shepeheara hye]
Since that to deathe ys gon̄ the Shepeheara hye,
Who moste the silly Shepeheards pype did pryze,
Youre Dolefull Tunes sweete Muses now applye,
And yow (O Trees) yf any lyfe there lyes
In Trees, nowe throughe youre proved parckes receyve
The straunge Resounde of these my Cawsefull Cryes.
And lett my Breath uppon youre Braunches cleave,
(My Breath distinguisht into wordes of woe)
That so I may signes of my sorowes Leave,
But yf among your selves some one Tree growe
That aptest ys to figure misery,
Lett yt (embraced) beare youre greeves to showe.
Who moste the silly Shepeheards pype did pryze,
Youre Dolefull Tunes sweete Muses now applye,
And yow (O Trees) yf any lyfe there lyes
In Trees, nowe throughe youre proved parckes receyve
The straunge Resounde of these my Cawsefull Cryes.
And lett my Breath uppon youre Braunches cleave,
(My Breath distinguisht into wordes of woe)
That so I may signes of my sorowes Leave,
But yf among your selves some one Tree growe
That aptest ys to figure misery,
Lett yt (embraced) beare youre greeves to showe.
The weeping Mirhe I thincke will not denye,
Her help to this, this justest Cause of playnte,
Youre Dolefull Tunes sweete Muses now apply,
And thow pore Earthe whome fortune dothe attaynt,
In natures name to suffer suche a harme,
As for to loose thy gemm, or earthly Sainte,
Uppon thy face, let Cooly Ravens swarme,
Lett all the sea thy teares accoumpted bee,
Thy Bowells with all killing Mettals arme.
Her help to this, this justest Cause of playnte,
Youre Dolefull Tunes sweete Muses now apply,
And thow pore Earthe whome fortune dothe attaynt,
In natures name to suffer suche a harme,
As for to loose thy gemm, or earthly Sainte,
Uppon thy face, let Cooly Ravens swarme,
Lett all the sea thy teares accoumpted bee,
Thy Bowells with all killing Mettals arme.
Let golde now Rust lett Dyamondes waste in thee,
Let Perles bee wann̄ with woe theyre Dam̄ dothe beare,
Thy self henceforthe the Light do never see,
And yow (O Flowers) wch sometymes Princes were,
(Till these Straunge Alteringes yow did happ to trye,)
Of Princes Losse youre selves Foretokens reare,
Lilly in Morning black, thy whitenes dye,
O Hyacinth lett ai bee on thee still,
Youre Dolefull tunes sweete muses now apply
O Echo all these woodes with Roaring fill.
Let Perles bee wann̄ with woe theyre Dam̄ dothe beare,
Thy self henceforthe the Light do never see,
And yow (O Flowers) wch sometymes Princes were,
(Till these Straunge Alteringes yow did happ to trye,)
Of Princes Losse youre selves Foretokens reare,
Lilly in Morning black, thy whitenes dye,
O Hyacinth lett ai bee on thee still,
Youre Dolefull tunes sweete muses now apply
O Echo all these woodes with Roaring fill.
And do not onely marcke the accentes Last,
But all, for all, reache not my wailefull will,
One Echo, to an other Echo cast,
Sounde of my greeves: and lett yt never ende,
Till that yt hathe all woodes and waters past,
Nay, to the Heavens youre just Complayninges send,
And stay the Starres unconstant Constant race,
Till that they do unto oure Doloures bend,
But all, for all, reache not my wailefull will,
One Echo, to an other Echo cast,
Sounde of my greeves: and lett yt never ende,
322
Nay, to the Heavens youre just Complayninges send,
And stay the Starres unconstant Constant race,
Till that they do unto oure Doloures bend,
And aske the Reason of that speciall grace,
That they wch have no Lyves shoulde live so longe,
And vertuous sowles shoulde so soone leave theyre place,
Aske yf in great Men, good men so do thronge,
That hee (for want of Ellbowe roome must Dye,
Or yf that they bee scant) yf this bee wronge,
Did wisdome this oure wretched tyme espy?
That they wch have no Lyves shoulde live so longe,
And vertuous sowles shoulde so soone leave theyre place,
Aske yf in great Men, good men so do thronge,
That hee (for want of Ellbowe roome must Dye,
Or yf that they bee scant) yf this bee wronge,
Did wisdome this oure wretched tyme espy?
In one true Chest, to Robbe all vertuous treasure,
Youre Dolefull Tunes sweete Muses now apply,
And yf that any counseile yow to measure,
Youre Dolefull Tunes, to them still playing say,
To well felt greef, playnt ys the onely pleasure,
O Lighte of Sunne, whiche ys entitled Day,
O well thow doest, that thow no longer buydest,
For mourning Night, her black weedes may display,
O Phebus with good Cause thy face thow hydest,
Rather then have thy all beholding eye,
Fowlde with this sighte while thow the Charyott guydest
And well meethinckes becomes this vaulty skye,
A stately Tombe to cover hym deceassed,
Youre Dolefull Tunes sweete Muses now apply.
O Philomela with thy Brest oppressed,
By shame and greef, help, help, mee to Lament
Suche Cursed harmes as can not bee redressed,
Or yf thy mourning Notes bee fully spent,
Then give a quyett eare unto my playning,
For I to teache the worlde Complaynt am bent,
Yee Dimmy Clowdes whiche well employ youre stayning,
This Cherefull Ayer with youre obscured cheare,
Witnes youre wofull teares with dayly rayning,
And yf o Sunne, thow ever didst apeare,
In shape wch by mans eye mighte bee perceyved,
Vertue ys Deade, now sett thy Tryumphe here,
Now sett thy Tryumphe in this Worlde bereaved,
Of what was good, wheare now no good dothe lye,
And by the Pompe “or” Losse will bee conceyved,
All notes of myne, youre selves together tye,
With too muche greef mee thinckes yow are dissolved,
Youre Dollefull tunes sweete Muses now apply,
Tyme ever oulde and younge ys still revollved,
Within yt self and never taketh ende,
But Mankynde ys for ay to noughte resolved,
The filthy snake her aged Cote can mend,
And getting yowthe, in yowth ageane can florish.
But unto Man Age ever deathe dothe sende,
The very Trees with grafting wee can Cherish,
So that wee can longe tyme produce theyre tyme,
But Man wch helpeth them must helples perish,
Thus thus the Myndes wch over all do clyme,
When they by yeares experience gett best graces,
Must finish then by Deathes detested Cryme,
Wee last short while, and buylde long lasting places,
Ah lett us all ageanst fowle Nature Crye,
Wee Natures worckes do help, shee us defaces,
For howe can Nature unto this apply?
That shee her Chylde I say her best Childe killeth,
Youre Dolefull Tunes, sweete Muses now apply,
Alas mee thinckes my weykened voyce but spilleth,
The vehement Course of this just Lamentation,
Mee thinckes my sounde no place wth sorrow filleth.
I knowe not I, but once in Detestation,
I have my self and all what lyfe conteyneth,
Synce Deathe on vertues forte hathe made invasyon,
One worde of woe, an other after trayneth,
Ne doo I Care howe Rude bee my Invention,
So yt bee seene what sorowe in mee rayneth
O Elementes by whose (they say) Contention,
Owre Bodyes bee in living power meyntayned
Was this Mans Deathe the fruite of youre Dissention,
O Phisickes powre whiche (some say) hathe restrayned
Approche of Deathe; alas thow helpest meigerly,
Whenn once one ys for Atropos distrayned,
Greate bee Phisicions bragges, but ayde ys beggerly,
When Rooted moysture fayles or groweth dry,
They leave of all and say Deathe comes too aegerly,
They are but wordes therefore wch men do bwye,
Of any synce Esculapius ceassed,
Youre Dolefull tunes, sweete Muses now apply,
Justice, Justice, ys now (alas) oppressed,
Bountyfullnes hathe made his last Conclusyon,
Goodnes for best attyre in Dust ys dressed,
Shepeheardes bewayle youre uttermoste Confusion,
And see by this Picture to yow presented,
Deathe ys oure Home, Lyfe ys but a Delusion.
For, see, (alas) who ys from yow absented,
Absented, Nay, I say, for ever banisshed,
From suche as were to dye for hym, contented,
Oute of oure sight in turne of hand ys vanished
Shepeheard of Shepeheardes whose well settled order,
Private with wealthe, Publique with quyet garnisshed,
While hee did Live, farr, farr was all Disorder,
Example more prevayling then Direction.
Farr was Home stryfe, and farr was fooe from border,
His Lyfe a Lawe, his Looke a full Correction,
As in his healthe wee healthfull were preserved,
So in his sicknes grewe oure sure infection.
His Deathe our Deathe, but ah my Muse hathe swerved,
Frome suche deepe playnte, as shoulde oure woes discrye,
Whiche hee of us for ever hathe deserved,
The style of heavy harte can never Flye,
So hye as shoulde make suche a fame notoryous,
Cease Muse therefore, thy Dart O Deathe apply?
And Farewell Prince whome goodnes hathe made gloryous.
Youre Dolefull Tunes sweete Muses now apply,
And yf that any counseile yow to measure,
Youre Dolefull Tunes, to them still playing say,
To well felt greef, playnt ys the onely pleasure,
O Lighte of Sunne, whiche ys entitled Day,
O well thow doest, that thow no longer buydest,
For mourning Night, her black weedes may display,
O Phebus with good Cause thy face thow hydest,
Rather then have thy all beholding eye,
Fowlde with this sighte while thow the Charyott guydest
And well meethinckes becomes this vaulty skye,
A stately Tombe to cover hym deceassed,
Youre Dolefull Tunes sweete Muses now apply.
O Philomela with thy Brest oppressed,
By shame and greef, help, help, mee to Lament
Suche Cursed harmes as can not bee redressed,
Or yf thy mourning Notes bee fully spent,
Then give a quyett eare unto my playning,
For I to teache the worlde Complaynt am bent,
Yee Dimmy Clowdes whiche well employ youre stayning,
This Cherefull Ayer with youre obscured cheare,
Witnes youre wofull teares with dayly rayning,
And yf o Sunne, thow ever didst apeare,
In shape wch by mans eye mighte bee perceyved,
Vertue ys Deade, now sett thy Tryumphe here,
Now sett thy Tryumphe in this Worlde bereaved,
323
And by the Pompe “or” Losse will bee conceyved,
All notes of myne, youre selves together tye,
With too muche greef mee thinckes yow are dissolved,
Youre Dollefull tunes sweete Muses now apply,
Tyme ever oulde and younge ys still revollved,
Within yt self and never taketh ende,
But Mankynde ys for ay to noughte resolved,
The filthy snake her aged Cote can mend,
And getting yowthe, in yowth ageane can florish.
But unto Man Age ever deathe dothe sende,
The very Trees with grafting wee can Cherish,
So that wee can longe tyme produce theyre tyme,
But Man wch helpeth them must helples perish,
Thus thus the Myndes wch over all do clyme,
When they by yeares experience gett best graces,
Must finish then by Deathes detested Cryme,
Wee last short while, and buylde long lasting places,
Ah lett us all ageanst fowle Nature Crye,
Wee Natures worckes do help, shee us defaces,
For howe can Nature unto this apply?
That shee her Chylde I say her best Childe killeth,
Youre Dolefull Tunes, sweete Muses now apply,
Alas mee thinckes my weykened voyce but spilleth,
The vehement Course of this just Lamentation,
Mee thinckes my sounde no place wth sorrow filleth.
I knowe not I, but once in Detestation,
I have my self and all what lyfe conteyneth,
Synce Deathe on vertues forte hathe made invasyon,
One worde of woe, an other after trayneth,
Ne doo I Care howe Rude bee my Invention,
So yt bee seene what sorowe in mee rayneth
O Elementes by whose (they say) Contention,
Owre Bodyes bee in living power meyntayned
Was this Mans Deathe the fruite of youre Dissention,
O Phisickes powre whiche (some say) hathe restrayned
Approche of Deathe; alas thow helpest meigerly,
Whenn once one ys for Atropos distrayned,
Greate bee Phisicions bragges, but ayde ys beggerly,
When Rooted moysture fayles or groweth dry,
324
They are but wordes therefore wch men do bwye,
Of any synce Esculapius ceassed,
Youre Dolefull tunes, sweete Muses now apply,
Justice, Justice, ys now (alas) oppressed,
Bountyfullnes hathe made his last Conclusyon,
Goodnes for best attyre in Dust ys dressed,
Shepeheardes bewayle youre uttermoste Confusion,
And see by this Picture to yow presented,
Deathe ys oure Home, Lyfe ys but a Delusion.
For, see, (alas) who ys from yow absented,
Absented, Nay, I say, for ever banisshed,
From suche as were to dye for hym, contented,
Oute of oure sight in turne of hand ys vanished
Shepeheard of Shepeheardes whose well settled order,
Private with wealthe, Publique with quyet garnisshed,
While hee did Live, farr, farr was all Disorder,
Example more prevayling then Direction.
Farr was Home stryfe, and farr was fooe from border,
His Lyfe a Lawe, his Looke a full Correction,
As in his healthe wee healthfull were preserved,
So in his sicknes grewe oure sure infection.
His Deathe our Deathe, but ah my Muse hathe swerved,
Frome suche deepe playnte, as shoulde oure woes discrye,
Whiche hee of us for ever hathe deserved,
The style of heavy harte can never Flye,
So hye as shoulde make suche a fame notoryous,
Cease Muse therefore, thy Dart O Deathe apply?
And Farewell Prince whome goodnes hathe made gloryous.
[Farewell O Sunne, Arcadias clearest Lighte]
Farewell O Sunne, Arcadias clearest Lighte,
Farewell O Perle the Pore mans plenteous treasure,
Farewell O golden staff the Weyke mans mighte,
Farewell O Joy the Woofulles onely pleasure,
Wisdome, Farewell, the skilles mans direction,
Farewell with thee, Farewell all oure affection.
Farewell O Perle the Pore mans plenteous treasure,
Farewell O golden staff the Weyke mans mighte,
Farewell O Joy the Woofulles onely pleasure,
Wisdome, Farewell, the skilles mans direction,
Farewell with thee, Farewell all oure affection.
325
For what place now ys lefte for oure affection,
Now that of purest Lampe ys queynte the Lighte
Whiche to oure Darckned myndes was best Direction,
Nowe, that the Mynde ys Lost of all oure Treasure,
Now Deathe hathe swallowed up oure worldly pleasure,
Wee Orphantes lefte voyde of all publique mighte,
Now that of purest Lampe ys queynte the Lighte
Whiche to oure Darckned myndes was best Direction,
Nowe, that the Mynde ys Lost of all oure Treasure,
Now Deathe hathe swallowed up oure worldly pleasure,
Wee Orphantes lefte voyde of all publique mighte,
Orphantes in deede deprived of Fathers mighte,
For hee oure Father was in all affection,
In oure well dooynge placing all his pleasure,
Still studdying howe to us to bee a Lighte,
As well in peace hee was a safest treasure,
In warr his witt and worde was oure direction.
For hee oure Father was in all affection,
In oure well dooynge placing all his pleasure,
Still studdying howe to us to bee a Lighte,
As well in peace hee was a safest treasure,
In warr his witt and worde was oure direction.
Whence, whence, alas shall wee seeke oure Direction?
When that wee feare oure hatefull Neighboures mighte
Who longe have gapte to gett Arcadian treasure,
Shall wee now fynde a Guyde of suche affection,
Who for oure sakes will thincke oure travell lighte,
And make his payne [to keepe us safe his] pleasure.
When that wee feare oure hatefull Neighboures mighte
Who longe have gapte to gett Arcadian treasure,
Shall wee now fynde a Guyde of suche affection,
Who for oure sakes will thincke oure travell lighte,
And make his payne [to keepe us safe his] pleasure.
No; no, for ever gon̄ ys all oure Pleasure,
For ever wandering from all good direction,
For ever blynded of oure Clearest sighte,
For ever lamed, of oure surest mighte.
For ever banisht from well plaste Affection
For ever robbed of oure Royall Treasure.
For ever wandering from all good direction,
For ever blynded of oure Clearest sighte,
For ever lamed, of oure surest mighte.
For ever banisht from well plaste Affection
For ever robbed of oure Royall Treasure.
Lett Teares for hym, therefore bee all oure Treasure
And in oure wailefull naming hym, oure pleasure,
Lett Hating of oure selves bee oure affection,
And unto deathe bend still oure thoughtes direction.
Lett us ageanst oure selves employ oure Might,
And putting oute of eyes seeke wee oure Lighte.
Farewell oure Lighte, Farewell oure spoyled treasure,
Farewell oure Mighte, Farewell oure Daynted pleasure,
Farewell Direction, Farewell all affection.
And in oure wailefull naming hym, oure pleasure,
Lett Hating of oure selves bee oure affection,
And unto deathe bend still oure thoughtes direction.
Lett us ageanst oure selves employ oure Might,
And putting oute of eyes seeke wee oure Lighte.
Farewell oure Lighte, Farewell oure spoyled treasure,
Farewell oure Mighte, Farewell oure Daynted pleasure,
Farewell Direction, Farewell all affection.
326
Here ende the Fourthe Eglogues, and the Fourthe Booke or Acte.
327
The Fifte and Last Booke or Acte.
347
[Since Natures worckes bee good and Deathe dothe serve]
Since Natures worckes bee good and Deathe dothe serve,
As Natures worckes, why shoulde wee feare to dye?
Synce Feare ys vayne, but when yt may preserve?
Why shoulde wee feare that wch wee can not flye?
As Natures worckes, why shoulde wee feare to dye?
Synce Feare ys vayne, but when yt may preserve?
Why shoulde wee feare that wch wee can not flye?
Feare ys more payne, then ys the Payne yt feares,
Disarming humane myndes of Native mighte,
While eache Conceipt, an ugly Figure beares,
Whiche were not evill well wayed in Reasons light.
Disarming humane myndes of Native mighte,
While eache Conceipt, an ugly Figure beares,
Whiche were not evill well wayed in Reasons light.
Oure Owly Eyes wch dymmd with passions bee,
And scarce discerne the Dawne of Coming Day,
Lett them bee Clearde, and nowe begin to See,
Oure Lyfe ys butt a Stepp in Dusty Way.
Then lett us holde the Bliss of peacefull Mynde,
Since this wee feele, great Loss we can not Fynde.
And scarce discerne the Dawne of Coming Day,
Lett them bee Clearde, and nowe begin to See,
Oure Lyfe ys butt a Stepp in Dusty Way.
Then lett us holde the Bliss of peacefull Mynde,
Since this wee feele, great Loss we can not Fynde.
401
APPENDIX
I O my thoughtes, sweete foode my onely owner
O my thoughtes, sweete foode my onely owner,
O my heavens for taste by the heavenly pleasure,
O the fayre Nymphe borne to doo woemen honor,
Lady, my Treasure,
O my heavens for taste by the heavenly pleasure,
O the fayre Nymphe borne to doo woemen honor,
Lady, my Treasure,
Where bee now those Joyes, that I lately tasted?
Where bee nowe those eyes ever inly persers?
Where bee now those wordes never idelly wasted?
Woundes to Rehersers,
Where bee nowe those eyes ever inly persers?
Where bee now those wordes never idelly wasted?
Woundes to Rehersers,
Where ys ay that face, that a Sunne defaceth?
Where bee those wellcomes by no worthe deserved?
Where bee those mooving the Delightes, the graces?
Howe bee wee swerved?
Where bee those wellcomes by no worthe deserved?
Where bee those mooving the Delightes, the graces?
Howe bee wee swerved?
O hideous absence, by thee I am thralled?
O my vayne worde gon̄, Ruyn of my glory?
O dere allegiance, by thee am I called
Still to bee sory.
O my vayne worde gon̄, Ruyn of my glory?
O dere allegiance, by thee am I called
Still to bee sory.
But no more wordes, thoughe a worde bee spoken,
Nor no more wording with a worde to spill mee?
Peace due alledgeance, Duty must bee broken,
Yf Duety kill mee.
Nor no more wording with a worde to spill mee?
Peace due alledgeance, Duty must bee broken,
Yf Duety kill mee.
Then come, O come, then I do come, receyve,
Slay mee not, for stay, doo not hyde thy blisses;
But betweene those armes, never else do leave mee
Give mee my kisses.
Slay mee not, for stay, doo not hyde thy blisses;
But betweene those armes, never else do leave mee
Give mee my kisses.
O my thoughtes, sweete foode, my onely owner?
O my heavens for Taste, by the heavenly pleasure?
O the fayre Nymphe borne to doo woemen honor?
Lady, my Treasure.
O my heavens for Taste, by the heavenly pleasure?
O the fayre Nymphe borne to doo woemen honor?
Lady, my Treasure.
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