 | Poems (1872) |  |
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Edward (De Vere) Earl of Oxford.
I. A LOUER REIECTED COMPLAINETH.
The trickling teares, that falles along my cheekes,
The secret sighes, that showes my inward greefe:
The present paines perforce, that Loue aye seekes,
Bids me renue my cares without releefe.
In wofull song, in dole displaye,
My pensiue hart for to bewray.
The secret sighes, that showes my inward greefe:
The present paines perforce, that Loue aye seekes,
Bids me renue my cares without releefe.
In wofull song, in dole displaye,
My pensiue hart for to bewray.
Bewray thy greefe, thy wofull hart with speede,
Resigne thy voice, to her that causde thee woe:
With irksome cries, bewaile thy late doone deede,
For she thou louest is sure thy mortall foe;
And helpe for thee, there is none sure,
But still in paine thou must endure.
Resigne thy voice, to her that causde thee woe:
With irksome cries, bewaile thy late doone deede,
For she thou louest is sure thy mortall foe;
And helpe for thee, there is none sure,
But still in paine thou must endure.
The stricken Deere hath helpe to heale his wound,
The haggard Hauke, with toyle is made full tame:
The strongest tower, the canon layes on ground,
The wisest wit, that euer had the fame,
Was thrall to loue, by Cupid's sleights:
then weigh my cause, with equall wights.
The haggard Hauke, with toyle is made full tame:
The strongest tower, the canon layes on ground,
The wisest wit, that euer had the fame,
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then weigh my cause, with equall wights.
She is my ioy, she is my care and woe,
She is my paine, she is my ease therefore;
She is my death, she is my life also,
She is my salue, she is my wounded sore:
In fine, she hath the hand and knife
That may both saue and end my life.
She is my paine, she is my ease therefore;
She is my death, she is my life also,
She is my salue, she is my wounded sore:
In fine, she hath the hand and knife
That may both saue and end my life.
And shall I liue on earth to be her thrall?
And shall I liue, and serue her all in vaine?
And kisse the steppes that she lets fall,
And shall I pray the Gods to keepe the paine
From her that is so cruell still?
No, no, on her woorke all your will.
And shall I liue, and serue her all in vaine?
And kisse the steppes that she lets fall,
And shall I pray the Gods to keepe the paine
From her that is so cruell still?
No, no, on her woorke all your will.
And let her feele the power of all your might,
And let her haue her most desire with speede:
And let her pine away, both day and night,
and let her mone, and none lament her neede.
And let all those that shall her see,
Despise her state, and pittie me.
And let her haue her most desire with speede:
And let her pine away, both day and night,
and let her mone, and none lament her neede.
And let all those that shall her see,
Despise her state, and pittie me.
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II. NOT ATTAINING TO HIS DESIRE HE COMPLAINETH.
I am not as I seeme to be, for when I smile, I am not glad;
A thrall although you count me free, I most in mirth, most pensiue sad;
A smile to shade my bitter spight, as Haniball that saw in sight
His country soyle, with Carthage towne, by Romaine force defacèd downe.
A thrall although you count me free, I most in mirth, most pensiue sad;
A smile to shade my bitter spight, as Haniball that saw in sight
His country soyle, with Carthage towne, by Romaine force defacèd downe.
And Cæsar that presented was with noble Pompei's princely head,
As 'twere some iudge to rule the case, a floud of teares he seemed to shed,
Although in deede it sprung of ioye, yet other thought it was annoy:
Thus contraries be vsed I finde, of wise to cloke the couert minde.
As 'twere some iudge to rule the case, a floud of teares he seemed to shed,
Although in deede it sprung of ioye, yet other thought it was annoy:
Thus contraries be vsed I finde, of wise to cloke the couert minde.
I Haniball that smiles for griefe, and let you Cæsars teares suffice,
The one that laughs at his mischiefe, the other all for ioy that cries;
I smile to see me scornèd so, you weepe for ioy to see me woe;
And I a hart by Loue slaine dead, presents in place of Pompei's head.
The one that laughs at his mischiefe, the other all for ioy that cries;
I smile to see me scornèd so, you weepe for ioy to see me woe;
And I a hart by Loue slaine dead, presents in place of Pompei's head.
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O cruell hap and hard estate, that forceth me to loue my foe,
Accursèd be so foule a fate, my choice for to prefixe it so:
So long to fight with secret sore, and find no secret salue therefore,
Some purge their paine by plaint I finde, but I in vaine do breathe my winde,
Accursèd be so foule a fate, my choice for to prefixe it so:
So long to fight with secret sore, and find no secret salue therefore,
Some purge their paine by plaint I finde, but I in vaine do breathe my winde,
III. HIS MYNDE NOT QUIETLY SETLED HE WRITETH THUS.
Euen as the waxe doeth melte, or dewe consume awaie
Before the Sunne, so I behold through carefull thoughts decaie:
For my best lucke leads me, to such sinister state,
That I doe waste with others' Loue, that hath myselfe in hate,
And he that beats the bushe, the wishèd birde not getts,
But suche I see as sitteth still and holds the foulyng netts.
Before the Sunne, so I behold through carefull thoughts decaie:
For my best lucke leads me, to such sinister state,
That I doe waste with others' Loue, that hath myselfe in hate,
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But suche I see as sitteth still and holds the foulyng netts.
The Drone more Honie sucks, that laboreth not at all,
Then doth the Bee, to whose moste paine, least pleasure doeth befall:
The Gardner sowes the seeds, whereof the flowers doe growe,
And others yet doe gather them, that tooke lesse paine I knowe.
So I the pleasant Grape haue pullèd from the Vine,
And yet I languish in greate thirste, while others drinke the wine.
Then doth the Bee, to whose moste paine, least pleasure doeth befall:
The Gardner sowes the seeds, whereof the flowers doe growe,
And others yet doe gather them, that tooke lesse paine I knowe.
So I the pleasant Grape haue pullèd from the Vine,
And yet I languish in greate thirste, while others drinke the wine.
Thus like a wofull wight, I woue the web of woe;
The more I would weede out my cares, the more they seeme to growe:
The which betokeneth forsaken is of me,
That with the carefull Culuer climes, the worne and withered tree,
To entertaine my thoughts, and there my happ to mone,
That nener am less idle loe then when I am alone.
The more I would weede out my cares, the more they seeme to growe:
The which betokeneth forsaken is of me,
That with the carefull Culuer climes, the worne and withered tree,
To entertaine my thoughts, and there my happ to mone,
That nener am less idle loe then when I am alone.
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IV. CŒLUM NON SOLUM.
If care or skill could conquer vaine desire,
Or Reason's raignes, my strong affection stay:
Their should my sighes, to quiet brest retire,
And shun such sighes as secret thoughts bewray.
Uncomely Loue, which now lurks in my brest,
Should cease my griefe, though Wisdome's power opprest.
Or Reason's raignes, my strong affection stay:
Their should my sighes, to quiet brest retire,
And shun such sighes as secret thoughts bewray.
Uncomely Loue, which now lurks in my brest,
Should cease my griefe, though Wisdome's power opprest.
But who can leaue to looke on Venus face,
Or yeeldeth not to Juno's high estate?
What wit so wise, as giues not Pallas place?
These vertues rare, ech Gods, did yeelde a mate.
Saue her alone, who yet on earth dooth raigne,
Whose beautie's string, no God can well destraine.
Or yeeldeth not to Juno's high estate?
What wit so wise, as giues not Pallas place?
These vertues rare, ech Gods, did yeelde a mate.
Saue her alone, who yet on earth dooth raigne,
Whose beautie's string, no God can well destraine.
What worldly wight, can hope for heauenly hire,
When onelie sighes must make his secret mone?
A silent sute, doth seeld to grace aspire.
My haplesse hap, dooth roule the restlesse stone.
yet Phæbe faire, dirdainde the heauens aboue,
To ioye on earth, her poore Endimion's loue.
When onelie sighes must make his secret mone?
A silent sute, doth seeld to grace aspire.
My haplesse hap, dooth roule the restlesse stone.
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To ioye on earth, her poore Endimion's loue.
Rare is reward, where none can iustlie craue,
For chaunce is choyce, where Reason makes no claime,
Yet luck sometimes, disparing soules dooth saue,
A happie starre made Giges ioy attaine.
A slauish Smith, of rude and rascall race,
Found meanes in time to gaine a Goddesse' grace.
For chaunce is choyce, where Reason makes no claime,
Yet luck sometimes, disparing soules dooth saue,
A happie starre made Giges ioy attaine.
A slauish Smith, of rude and rascall race,
Found meanes in time to gaine a Goddesse' grace.
Then loftie Loue thy sacred sailes aduance,
My sighing seas shall flow with streams of teares:
Amidst disdains, driue foorth thy dolefull chaunce,
A valiant minde no deadly danger feares.
Who loues aloft, and sets his harte on hie,
Deserues no paine, though he do pine and die.
My sighing seas shall flow with streams of teares:
Amidst disdains, driue foorth thy dolefull chaunce,
A valiant minde no deadly danger feares.
Who loues aloft, and sets his harte on hie,
Deserues no paine, though he do pine and die.
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V. HIS GOOD NAME BEING BLEMISHED, HE BEWAILETH.
Fram'd in the front of forlorne hope, past all recouerie,
I staielesse stand to abide the shock of shame and infamie.
My life through lingring long is lodg'd in lare of lothsome wayes,
My death delayed to keepe from life, the harme of haplesse daies.
My sprites, my heart, my wit and force, in deep distresse are dround:
The only losse of my good name, is of these greefes the ground.
I staielesse stand to abide the shock of shame and infamie.
My life through lingring long is lodg'd in lare of lothsome wayes,
My death delayed to keepe from life, the harme of haplesse daies.
My sprites, my heart, my wit and force, in deep distresse are dround:
The only losse of my good name, is of these greefes the ground.
And since my minde, my wit, my head, my voice, and toung are weake,
To vtter, moue, deuise, conceiue, sound foorth, declare and speake
Such pearsing plaintes, as answere might, or would my wofull case,
Help craue I must, and craue I will, with teares vpon my face:
Of all that may in heauen or hell, in earth or ayre be found,
To waile with me this losse of mine, as of these griefes the ground.
To vtter, moue, deuise, conceiue, sound foorth, declare and speake
Such pearsing plaintes, as answere might, or would my wofull case,
Help craue I must, and craue I will, with teares vpon my face:
Of all that may in heauen or hell, in earth or ayre be found,
To waile with me this losse of mine, as of these griefes the ground.
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Help Gods, help saintes, help sprites and powers, that in the heauen do dwell,
Help ye that are aye wont to waile, ye howling houndes of hell,
Help man, help beastes, help birds and wormes, that on the earth doo toyle,
Help fish, help foule, that flockes and feedes vpon the salt sea soyle.
Help Eccho that in ayre dooth flee, shrill voices to resound,
To wail this losse of my good name, as of these griefes the ground.
Help ye that are aye wont to waile, ye howling houndes of hell,
Help man, help beastes, help birds and wormes, that on the earth doo toyle,
Help fish, help foule, that flockes and feedes vpon the salt sea soyle.
Help Eccho that in ayre dooth flee, shrill voices to resound,
To wail this losse of my good name, as of these griefes the ground.
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VI. THE COMPLAINT OF A LOUER, WEARING BLACKE AND TAWNIE
A crowne of Baies shall that man weare,
That triumphes ouer me:
For Blacke and Tawnie will I weare,
Which mourning colours be.
That triumphes ouer me:
For Blacke and Tawnie will I weare,
Which mourning colours be.
The more I follow one, the more she fled, away,
As Daphne did full long agoe, Apollos wishfull pray:
The more my plaints I do resound, the lesse she pities me
The more I sought, the lesse I found, yt mine she ment to be.
As Daphne did full long agoe, Apollos wishfull pray:
The more my plaints I do resound, the lesse she pities me
The more I sought, the lesse I found, yt mine she ment to be.
Melpomene, alas with dolefull tunes help than,
And sing Bis, woe worth on me, forsaken man:
Then Daphne's baies shall that man weare, that triumphes ouer me,
For blacke and tawnie will I weare, which mourning colours be.
And sing Bis, woe worth on me, forsaken man:
Then Daphne's baies shall that man weare, that triumphes ouer me,
For blacke and tawnie will I weare, which mourning colours be.
Drowne me with tricklinge teares, you wailefull wightes of woe,
Come helpe these handes to rent my haires, my rufull hap to showe;
On whom the scorching flames of loue, dooth feed you see,
Ah a lalalantida, my deere dame, hath thus tormented me.
Come helpe these handes to rent my haires, my rufull hap to showe;
On whom the scorching flames of loue, dooth feed you see,
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Wherefore you Muses nine, with dolefull tunes help than,
And sing Bis, woe worth on me, forsaken man.
then Daphne's baies shall that man weare, that triumphes ouer me,
For blacke and tawnie will I weare, which mourning colours be.
And sing Bis, woe worth on me, forsaken man.
then Daphne's baies shall that man weare, that triumphes ouer me,
For blacke and tawnie will I weare, which mourning colours be.
An anker's life to lead, with nailes to scratch my graue,
Where earthly wormes, on me shall feede, is all the ioyes I craue:
And hide my selfe from shame, sith that mine eyes doo see,
Ah a lalalantida, my deere dame hath thus tormented me.
Where earthly wormes, on me shall feede, is all the ioyes I craue:
And hide my selfe from shame, sith that mine eyes doo see,
Ah a lalalantida, my deere dame hath thus tormented me.
And all that present be, with dolefull tunes helpe than,
And sing Bis, woe worth on me, forsaken man.
And sing Bis, woe worth on me, forsaken man.
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VII. DESIRE.
The liuelye larcke stretcht forthe her winge
The messenger of Morninge brighte,
And with her cheerfull voyce did singe
The Daye's approche, descharginge Nyghte,
When that Aurora, blushing redd
Descride the guilte of Thetis' bedd.
The messenger of Morninge brighte,
And with her cheerfull voyce did singe
The Daye's approche, descharginge Nyghte,
When that Aurora, blushing redd
Descride the guilte of Thetis' bedd.
I wente abrode to take the ayre
And in the meades I mett a knighte,
Cladd in carnatione coulor fayre.
I did salute this gentle wighte:
Of him I did his name inquire
He syghde and sayde it was, Desyre.
And in the meades I mett a knighte,
Cladd in carnatione coulor fayre.
I did salute this gentle wighte:
Of him I did his name inquire
He syghde and sayde it was, Desyre.
Desyre I did desyre to staye,
And while with him I crauèd taulke
The courteous knighte sayde me no naye,
But hand in hand with me did walke:
Then of Desyr I aske agayne
What thinge did please and what did payne?
And while with him I crauèd taulke
The courteous knighte sayde me no naye,
But hand in hand with me did walke:
Then of Desyr I aske agayne
What thinge did please and what did payne?
He smylde, and thus he answerèd thann:
Desyre can haue no grater payne
Then for to see an other mann
The thinge desyrèd to obtayne:
Nor greater ioye can be than this
That to enioye that others mysse.
Desyre can haue no grater payne
Then for to see an other mann
The thinge desyrèd to obtayne:
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That to enioye that others mysse.
IX. LOVE-QUESTIONS.
What is Desyre: wch doth approue to set one fyre eche gentle harte:
A fancy strange or god of loue, whose pininge sweet delyght doeth smarte:
In gentle windes his dwellinge is.
A fancy strange or god of loue, whose pininge sweet delyght doeth smarte:
In gentle windes his dwellinge is.
Is he god of peace or warr? what be his armes? wt is his myghte?
His warr is peace, his peace is warr, eche greife of his is but delyght:
His bitter ball is sugred blisse.
His warr is peace, his peace is warr, eche greife of his is but delyght:
His bitter ball is sugred blisse.
What be his guifts? how dothe he paye? when is he sene? or how conceyued?
Sweet dreemes in sleepe, newe thoughts in day, behouldinge eyes in mynde receyud
A god that rulles and yet obayes.
Sweet dreemes in sleepe, newe thoughts in day, behouldinge eyes in mynde receyud
A god that rulles and yet obayes.
Why is he naked paynted? blind? his sydes with shaftes? his back wth brandes
Playne without guyle, by happ to fynde persuinge wth fayre wordes that withstandes,
And when he craues he takes no naye.
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And when he craues he takes no naye.
What were his parents? gods or no? yt liuinge longe he is yet a chylde:
A goddès sonn? who thinkes not so? a god begot beguylde:
Venus his mother, Mars his syre.
A goddès sonn? who thinkes not so? a god begot beguylde:
Venus his mother, Mars his syre.
What Labours doth this god alowe? wt fruts haue louers for yer paynes?
Sitt still and muse to make a vowe their ladyes if they trewe remayne,
A goode rewarde for trewe desyre.
Sitt still and muse to make a vowe their ladyes if they trewe remayne,
A goode rewarde for trewe desyre.
X. FANCY AND DESIRE.
Come hither, shepherd's swaine!
Sir, what doe you require?
I pray thee shew to me thy name!
My name is Fond Desire.
Sir, what doe you require?
I pray thee shew to me thy name!
My name is Fond Desire.
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When werte thou borne, Desyre?
In pryde and pompe of Maye.
By whom, sweet boy, wert thou begott?
By selfe-conceyte men saye.
In pryde and pompe of Maye.
By whom, sweet boy, wert thou begott?
By selfe-conceyte men saye.
Tell me, who was thy nourse?
Freshe youthe, in sugred ioye.
What was thy meat and dayly food?
Sad syghes and great annoye.
Freshe youthe, in sugred ioye.
What was thy meat and dayly food?
Sad syghes and great annoye.
What haddest thou than to drincke?
Vnfaynèd louer's teares.
What cradle wert thou rockèd in?
In hope deuoyde of teares.
Vnfaynèd louer's teares.
What cradle wert thou rockèd in?
In hope deuoyde of teares.
What lulled thee to thy sleepe?
Sweet thoughtes wch lyked one beste.
And wher is now thy dwelling place?
In gentle hearts I rest.
Sweet thoughtes wch lyked one beste.
And wher is now thy dwelling place?
In gentle hearts I rest.
Dothe companye displease?
It dothe in manye one.
Where would Desyre than chuse to be?
He loues to muse alone.
It dothe in manye one.
Where would Desyre than chuse to be?
He loues to muse alone.
What feedeth most thy syghte?
To gaze one Beauty still.
Whome fyndest thou most thy foe?
Disdayne of my good will.
To gaze one Beauty still.
Whome fyndest thou most thy foe?
Disdayne of my good will.
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Will euer age or death,
Bring the vnto decaye?
Noe, noe, Desyre both liues and dyes
A thousande tymes a daye.
Bring the vnto decaye?
Noe, noe, Desyre both liues and dyes
A thousande tymes a daye.
Then, fond Desyre, farewell,
Thou art no mate for me;
I should be lothe, methinks to dwell
With such a one as thee.
Thou art no mate for me;
I should be lothe, methinks to dwell
With such a one as thee.
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XI. “OF THE MIGHTIE POWER OF LOUE.”
My meanyng is to worke what wondes loue hath wrought,Wherewith I muse why mē of wit haue love so derely bought:
For loue is worse then hate and eke more harme hath doen,
Record I take of those that rede of Paris Priam's sonne.
It semed the God of slepe had mazed so muche his witts,
Whn he refusèd witt for loue, which cometh but by fitts:
But why accuse I hym whom yearth hath couered long?
There be of his posteritie aliue, I doe hym wrong.
Whom I might well condempne, to be a cruell iudge,
Unto myself, who hath the crime in others that I grudge.
Finis.
E. O.”
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XII. VISION OF A FAIR MAID, WITH ECHO-VERSES.
Sittinge alone vpon my thoughte, in melancholy moode
In sighte of sea, and at my back an ancyente hoarye woode,
I sawe a faire young lady come, her secret feares to wayle,
Cladd all in coulor of a Nun and couerèd wth a vaylle:
Yet (for the day was callme and cleere) I myghte discerne hir face.
As one myghte see a damaske rose hid vnder christall glasse:
Three tymes with her softe hande full harde on her left syde she knocks
And syghèd so sore as myghte haue moude som pittye in the rockes:
From syghes, and shedinge amber teares, into sweete songe she brake
When thus the Echo answered her to euerye word she spake:
In sighte of sea, and at my back an ancyente hoarye woode,
I sawe a faire young lady come, her secret feares to wayle,
Cladd all in coulor of a Nun and couerèd wth a vaylle:
Yet (for the day was callme and cleere) I myghte discerne hir face.
As one myghte see a damaske rose hid vnder christall glasse:
Three tymes with her softe hande full harde on her left syde she knocks
And syghèd so sore as myghte haue moude som pittye in the rockes:
From syghes, and shedinge amber teares, into sweete songe she brake
When thus the Echo answered her to euerye word she spake:
An̄ Vanefors eccho.
O heauens, who was ye first that bredd in me this feauere? Vere.Whoe was the firste yt gaue ye wounde, whose fearre I ware for euere? Vere
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What wighte first caughte this harte, and can from bondage it delver? Vere.
Yet who doth most adore this wighte, oh hollowe caues tell true? you.
What nymphe deserus his lykinge best, yet dothe in sorrowe rue? you.
What makes him not rewarde good will wth some rewarde or ruthe? youth.
What makes him showe besydes his birrthe, suche pryde and such vntruth? youth.
May I his fauour matche wth loue; if he my loue will trye? I.
May I requite his birthe wth faythe? than faythfull will I dy? I.
And I that knew this ladye well, sayde
Lord how great a mirakle
To her how eccho toulde the truthe
As true as Pheobus orakle.
Lord how great a mirakle
To her how eccho toulde the truthe
As true as Pheobus orakle.
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XIII. LOUE THY CHOYSE.
Who taught the fyrst to syghe, alas my harte?Who taught thy tongue ye woefull wordes of playnte?
Who fylled your eyes with teares of bitter smarte?
Who gaue thee greefe and made thy ioyes to faynte?
Who fyrste did paynte with coulers pal thy face?
Who fyrste did breake thy sleeps of quiet rest?
Aboue the rest in Courte who gaue the grace?
Who made the stryue in honour to be beste?
In constante trouthe to byde so fyrme ād sure
To scorne the worlde, regarding but thye freendes?
With patient mynde eche passione to endure,
In one desyre to settle to the ende?
Loue then thy choyse wherin suche choyse thou bynde
As noughte but deathe maye euer change thye mynde.
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XIV. CUPID AND FORTUNE.
Faction that euer dwelles, in Court, where wit excelles,
Hath set defiance:
Fortune and Loue haue sworne, that they were neuer borne,
Of one alliance.
Hath set defiance:
Fortune and Loue haue sworne, that they were neuer borne,
Of one alliance.
Cupid which doth aspire, to be God of Desire,
Sweares he giues lawes:
That where his arrowes hit, some ioy, some sorrow it,
Fortune no cause.
Sweares he giues lawes:
That where his arrowes hit, some ioy, some sorrow it,
Fortune no cause.
Fortune sweares weakest hearts (the bookes of Cupid's arts)
Turnd with her wheele,
Senseles themselues shall proue: venter hath place in Loue,
Aske them that feele.
Turnd with her wheele,
Senseles themselues shall proue: venter hath place in Loue,
Aske them that feele.
This discord it begot Atheists, that honor not:
Nature, thought good,
Fortune should euer dwell, in Court where witts excell:
Loue keepe the wood.
Nature, thought good,
Fortune should euer dwell, in Court where witts excell:
Loue keepe the wood.
So to the wood went I, with Loue to liue and lie,
Fortune's forlorne:
Experience of my youth, made me thinke humble
Truth,
In desarts borne.
Fortune's forlorne:
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Truth,
In desarts borne.
My Saint I keepe to me, and Joane herselfe is she,
Joane faire and true:
She that doth onley moue passions of loue with
Loue,
Fortune adieu.
Joane faire and true:
She that doth onley moue passions of loue with
Loue,
Fortune adieu.
XV. GREIFE OF MINDE.
What plague is greater than the griefe of minde,The griefe of minde that eates in euerie vaine,
In euerie vaine that leaues such clods behind,
Such clods behinde as breed such bitter paine,
So bitter paine that none shall eu er finde,
What Plague is greater than the griefe of minde.
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XVI. LOUE.
Loue is a discord and a strange diuorce
Betwixt our sence and rest, by whose power,
As mad with reason, we admit that force,
Which wit or labour neuer may diuorce.
It is a will that brooketh no consent,
It would refuse, yet neuer may repent.
Betwixt our sence and rest, by whose power,
As mad with reason, we admit that force,
Which wit or labour neuer may diuorce.
It is a will that brooketh no consent,
It would refuse, yet neuer may repent.
Loue's a desire, which for to waight a time,
Doth loose an age of yeares, and so doth passe,
As doth the shadow seuerd from his prime,
Seeming as though it were, yet neuer was.
Leauing behind, nought but repentant thoughts,
Of dayes ill spent, of that which profits noughts.
Doth loose an age of yeares, and so doth passe,
As doth the shadow seuerd from his prime,
Seeming as though it were, yet neuer was.
Leauing behind, nought but repentant thoughts,
Of dayes ill spent, of that which profits noughts.
It's now a peace, and then a sudden warre,
A hope, consumde before it is conceiu'd;
At hand it feares, and menaceth afarre,
And he that gaines, is most of all deceiu'd.
Loue whets the dullest wits, his plagues be such,
But makes the wise by pleasing, dote as much.
A hope, consumde before it is conceiu'd;
At hand it feares, and menaceth afarre,
And he that gaines, is most of all deceiu'd.
Loue whets the dullest wits, his plagues be such,
But makes the wise by pleasing, dote as much.
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XVII. QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS.
Doth sorrow fret thy soule? ô direfull spirit,Doth pleasure feed thy heart? ô blessed man.
Hast thou bene happie once? ô heauy plight,
Are thy mishaps forepast? ô happie than:
Or hast thou blisse in eld? ô bliss too late:
But hast thou blisse in youth? ô sweet estate.
XVIII. THE SHEEPHEARDS COMMENDATION OF HIS NIMPH.
What Sheepheard can expresse
The fauour of her face?
To whom, in this distresse,
I doo appeale for grace.
A thousand Cupids flye
About her gentle eye.
The fauour of her face?
To whom, in this distresse,
I doo appeale for grace.
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About her gentle eye.
From which each throwes a dart,
That kindleth soft sweet fire:
Within my sighing hart,
Possessèd by desire:
No sweeter life I trie
Then in her loue to die.
That kindleth soft sweet fire:
Within my sighing hart,
Possessèd by desire:
No sweeter life I trie
Then in her loue to die.
The Lilly in the field,
That glories in his white:
For purenes now must yeeld
And render vp his right.
Heauen pictur'd in her face,
Dooth promise ioy and grace.
That glories in his white:
For purenes now must yeeld
And render vp his right.
Heauen pictur'd in her face,
Dooth promise ioy and grace.
Faire Cinthiae's siluer light,
That beates on running streams:
Compares not with her white.
Whose haires are all Sunne-beames.
So bright my Nimph dooth shine.
As day vnto my eyne.
That beates on running streams:
Compares not with her white.
Whose haires are all Sunne-beames.
So bright my Nimph dooth shine.
As day vnto my eyne.
With this there is a red
Exceedes the Damaske-Rose:
Which in her cheekes is spred;
Whence euery fauour growes.
In Skie there is no starre,
But she surmounts it farre.
Exceedes the Damaske-Rose:
Which in her cheekes is spred;
Whence euery fauour growes.
In Skie there is no starre,
But she surmounts it farre.
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When Phœbus from the bed
Of Thetis dooth arise:
The morning blushing red,
In faire Carnation wise:
He shewes in my Nimph's face,
As Queene of euery grace.
Of Thetis dooth arise:
The morning blushing red,
In faire Carnation wise:
He shewes in my Nimph's face,
As Queene of euery grace.
This pleasant Lilly white,
This taint of roseate red:
This Cinthiae's siluer light,
This sweete faire Dea spred,
These Sun-beames in mine eye,
These beauties make me die.
This taint of roseate red:
This Cinthiae's siluer light,
This sweete faire Dea spred,
These Sun-beames in mine eye,
These beauties make me die.
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XIX. FAYRE FOOLES.
If woemen could be fayre and yet not fonde,
Or that theire loue were firme, not fickell, still
I woulde not meruayle that they make mē bonde,
By seruise longe to purchase theyre good will;
But when I se how frayll those creatures are,
I muse that men forget themselues so farr.
Or that theire loue were firme, not fickell, still
I woulde not meruayle that they make mē bonde,
By seruise longe to purchase theyre good will;
But when I se how frayll those creatures are,
I muse that men forget themselues so farr.
To marcke the choyse they make, and how they change,
How ofte from Phœbus they do flee to Pann,
Vnsettled still, like haggardes willd, theye range,
These gentlle byrdes that flye from man to man;
Who woulde not scorne and shake thē from the fyste,
And let them flye, fayre fooles, which waye they lyste.
How ofte from Phœbus they do flee to Pann,
Vnsettled still, like haggardes willd, theye range,
These gentlle byrdes that flye from man to man;
Who woulde not scorne and shake thē from the fyste,
And let them flye, fayre fooles, which waye they lyste.
Yet, for disporte we fawne and flatter bothe,
To passe the tyme when nothinge else can̄ please;
And trayne them to our lure with subtylle othe,
Till, wearye of theyre wiles, ourselues we ease:
And than we saye, when we theire fancye trye,
To playe with fooles, oh, what a foole was I.
To passe the tyme when nothinge else can̄ please;
And trayne them to our lure with subtylle othe,
Till, wearye of theyre wiles, ourselues we ease:
And than we saye, when we theire fancye trye,
To playe with fooles, oh, what a foole was I.
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XX. LONGINGS.
Feyne would I singe, but fury makes me frette,
And Rage hath sworne to seke reuenge of wrong;
My mazèd mynde in malice so is sette,
As Death shall daunte my deadly dolors longe:
Pacience perforce is such a pinchinge payne,
As dy I will, or suffer wrong agayne.
I am no sott to suffer suche abuse
As dothe bereve my hart of his delighte;
Nor will I frame my self to suche as use
With calme consent to suffer such despight:
Noe, quiet sleep shall once possesse myne ey,
Till Wit have wroughte his will on Iniurye.
And Rage hath sworne to seke reuenge of wrong;
My mazèd mynde in malice so is sette,
As Death shall daunte my deadly dolors longe:
Pacience perforce is such a pinchinge payne,
As dy I will, or suffer wrong agayne.
I am no sott to suffer suche abuse
As dothe bereve my hart of his delighte;
Nor will I frame my self to suche as use
With calme consent to suffer such despight:
Noe, quiet sleep shall once possesse myne ey,
Till Wit have wroughte his will on Iniurye.
My hart shall fayll and hand shall loose his force,
But some devise shall pay Despight his dewe;
And Fury shall consume my carefull coorse, corse
Or raze the ground whereon my sorow grew:
Loe! thus, in rage of ruthful mind refusd,
I rest revengd of whome I am abusd.
But some devise shall pay Despight his dewe;
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Or raze the ground whereon my sorow grew:
Loe! thus, in rage of ruthful mind refusd,
I rest revengd of whome I am abusd.
XXI. THE EARL OF OXFORD TO THE READER OF BEDINGFIELD'S CARDANUS. (1576).
The labouring man, that tilles the fertile soyle,
And reapes the haruest fruict, hath not in deede
The gaine but paine, and if for al hys toyle
He gets the strawe, the lord will have the seede.
And reapes the haruest fruict, hath not in deede
The gaine but paine, and if for al hys toyle
He gets the strawe, the lord will have the seede.
The manchet fyne falles not vnto his share,
On coursest cheat, his hungrye stomacke feedes,
The landlord doth possesse the fynest fare;
He pulles the flowers, he plukes but weedes.
On coursest cheat, his hungrye stomacke feedes,
The landlord doth possesse the fynest fare;
He pulles the flowers, he plukes but weedes.
The mason poore that buildes the lordly halles
Dwelles not in them; they are for hye degree;
His cottage is compact in paper walles
And not with bricke or stone as others be.
Dwelles not in them; they are for hye degree;
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And not with bricke or stone as others be.
The idle drone, that labours not at all,
Suckes vp the sweete of honny from the bee;
Who worketh most, to their share least doth fall;
With due desert, reward will neuer be.
Suckes vp the sweete of honny from the bee;
Who worketh most, to their share least doth fall;
With due desert, reward will neuer be.
The swiftest hare, unto the mastiue slowe
Oft-times doth fall, to him as for a praye;
The greyhounde thereby, doth misse his game, we knowe,
For which he made such speedy hast away.
Oft-times doth fall, to him as for a praye;
The greyhounde thereby, doth misse his game, we knowe,
For which he made such speedy hast away.
So he that takes the payne to penne the booke,
Reapes not the giftes of goodly golden Muse,
But those gayne, that who on the worke shal looke
And from the soure the sweete by skill doth chuse.
For he that beates the bushe the byrd not gets,
But who sittes still and holdeth fast the nets.
Reapes not the giftes of goodly golden Muse,
But those gayne, that who on the worke shal looke
And from the soure the sweete by skill doth chuse.
For he that beates the bushe the byrd not gets,
But who sittes still and holdeth fast the nets.
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XXII. EPIGRAM.
[Weare I a kinge, I mighte com̄ande contente]
Weare I a kinge, I mighte com̄ande contente,Weare I obscure, unknowne should be my cares,
And weare I deade, noe thoughts should me torment,
Nor woordes, nor wronges, nor love, nor hate, nor feares
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A kingdome, or a cottage, or a grave.
Answered thus by Sir Philip Sidney.
Wearte thou a kinge, yet not com̄ande content,
Sith empire none thy mind could yet suffice,
Wearte thou obscure, still cares would thee torment,
But wearte thou dead, all care and sorrow dyes.
An easy choys of three things one to crave,
Noe kingdome, nor a cottage, but a grave.
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XXIII. LOVE-LAY.
When I was fayre and younge then fauour gracèd me
Of many was I soughte theire mystres for to be.
But I did scorne them all and awnswerd thē therfore.
Goe, Goe, Goe, seek som other wher.
Importune me no more.
Of many was I soughte theire mystres for to be.
But I did scorne them all and awnswerd thē therfore.
Goe, Goe, Goe, seek som other wher.
Importune me no more.
How manye weepinge eyes I made to pyne in woe,
How many syghinge hartes I have no skyll to showe:
Yet I the prowder grewe and awnswerde them therfore
Goe, Goe, Goe, seeke som other where
Importune me no more.
How many syghinge hartes I have no skyll to showe:
Yet I the prowder grewe and awnswerde them therfore
Goe, Goe, Goe, seeke som other where
Importune me no more.
Than spake fayre Venus' son, that proude victorious boye
And sayde: fyne Dame since that you be so coye
I will so plucke your plumes, that you shall say no more
Goe, goe, goe seeke some other where.
Importune me no more.
And sayde: fyne Dame since that you be so coye
I will so plucke your plumes, that you shall say no more
Goe, goe, goe seeke some other where.
Importune me no more.
When he had spake these wordes, suche change grew in my brest
That neyther nyghte nor day since that, I could take any rest
Than loe I did repente that I had sayde before,
Goe, goe, goe, seeke some other where
Importune me no more.
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Than loe I did repente that I had sayde before,
Goe, goe, goe, seeke some other where
Importune me no more.
| Poems (1872) | |