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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
 | Writings in verse and prose (1872) |  |
21
I. MY MYNDE TO ME A KINGDOME IS.
1
My mynde to me a kyngdome is;Such preasente joyes therein I fynde,
That it excells all other blisse
That earth affords or growes by kynde:
Thoughe muche I wante which moste would have
Yet still my mynde forbiddes to crave.
2
No princely pompe, no wealthy store,No force to winne the victorye,
No wilye wit to salve a sore,
No shape to feede a lovinge eye;
To none of these I yielde as thrall:
For why? My mynde doth serve for all.
3
I see how plenty suffers ofte,And hasty clymers sone do fall;
I see that those which are alofte,
Mishapp doth threaten moste of all;
They get with toyle, they keepe with feare:
Suche cares my mynde could never beare.
22
4
Content I live, this is my staye,I seeke no more than maye suffyse;
I presse to beare no haughty swaye;
Look what I lack, my mynde supplies:
Lo, thus I triumph like a kynge,
Content with that my mynde doth bringe.
5
Some have too muche, yet still do crave;I little have, and seek no more.
They are but poore though muche they have,
And I am ryche with lyttle store;
They poore, I ryche; they begge, I gyve;
They lacke, I leave; they pyne, I lyve.
6
I laughe not at another's losse,I grudge not at another's gayne;
No worldly waues my mynde can toss:
My state at one dothe still remayne:
I feare no foe, I fawn no friende;
I loathe not lyfe nor dread my ende.
7
Some weighe their pleasure by theyre luste,Theyre wisdom by theyre rage of wyll;
Theyre treasure is theyre onlye truste,
A clokèd crafte theyre store of skylle.
But all the pleasure that I fynde
Is to mayntayne a quiet mynde.
23
8
My wealthe is healthe and perfect ease;My conscience cleere my choice defence;
I neither seeke by brybes to please
Nor by deceyte to breede offence;
Thus do I lyve, thus will I dye;
Would all did so well as I.
Finis.
E. Dier.
25
II. A FANCY.
1
Hee that his mirth hath loste,Whose comfort is dismaid,
Whose hope is vaine, whose faith is scornd,
Whose trust is all betraid,
2
If hee have held them deare,And cannot cease to moane,
Come, let him take his place by mee;
He shall not rue alone.
3
But if the smalest sweeteBe mixt with all his sowre;
If in the day, the moneth, the yeare,
He finde one lightsome hower,
4
Then rest hee by himself;He is noe mate for mee,
26
Whose hart his death must be.
5
Yet not the wishèd death,That hathe noe plainte nor lacke,
Which, making free the better parte,
Is onely nature's sacke.
6
Oh mee! that wer too well,My death is of the minde,
Which alwaies yeeldès extreame paines,
Yet keepes the worst behind.
7
As one that lives in sheweBut inwardly doth dye,
Whose knowledge is a bloody field
Wheare all hope slaine doth lie;
8
Whose harte the aulter is,Whose spirit, the sacrifize
Vnto the Powers whome to appease
Noe sorrowes can sufize.
9
Whose fancies are like thornes,On which I goe by night,
Whose arguments are like a hoste,
That force hath put to flight.
10
Whose sense is passion's spye,Whose thoughtes, like ruins old
27
That Sinon bought and sold.
11
Which still before my face,My mortall foe doth lay,
Whome love and fortune once advanced
And nowe hath cast away.
12
O thoughtes! noe thoughtes but woundes,Sometimes the seate of Joy
Sometymes the chaire of quiet rest
But nowe of all annoy.
13
I sowed the feild of peace,My blisse was in the Springe;
And day by day I ate the fruit
That my Live's tree did bring.
14
To nettels nowe my corne,My feild is turnd to flint,
Where sitting in the cipres shade,
I reade the hiacint.
15
The ioy, the rest, the lifeThat I enioyed of yore
Came to my lot that by my losse,
My smarte might smarte the more.
16
Thus to vnhappie menThe best frames to the worste;
28
Deere then but nowe accurst!
17
In ‘was’ stood my delight,In ‘is’ and ‘shall’ my woe;
My horrors fastned in the ‘yea,’
My hope hangs in the ‘noe.’
18
I looke for noe delight,Releefe will come too late;
Too late I finde, I finde too well,
Too well stoode my Estate.
19
Behold, heere is the end,And nothing heere is sure:
Ah nothinge ells but plaints and cares
Doth to the world enduer.
20
Forsaken first was I,Then vtterly foregotten;
And he that came not to my faith,
Lo! my reward hath gotten.
21
Nowe Love, where are thy lawesThat make thy torments sweete?
What is the cause that some through thee
Have thought their death but meet?
22
Thy stately chaste disdaine,Thy secret thanckfulnes,
29
That shines in worthines.
23
O that it were not soeOr that I could excuse!
O that the wrath of Jelousie
My judgement might abuse!
24
O fraile vnconstant kynd,And safe in truste to noe man!
Noe woemen angells are, yet loe!
My mistris is a woeman!
25
Yet hate I but the falte,And not the faultie one;
Nor can I rid me of the bonds
Wherein I lye alone.
26
Alone I lye, whose likeBy loue was never yet;
Nor rich, nor poore, nor younge, nor old,
Nor fond, nor full of witt.
27
Hers still remaine must I,By wronge, by death, by shame;
I cannot blot out of my minde
That loue wrought in her name.
28
I cannot set at naughtThat I have held soe deare,
30
That is indeede soe neare.
29
Nor that I meane, henceforthThis strange will to professe:
I never will betray such trust
And fall to ficklenesse.
30
Nor shall it euer faileThat my word bare in hand:
I gaue my word, my worde gaue me,
Both worde and gaift shall stand.
31
Syth then it must be thusAnd this is all to ill,
I yeelde me captiue to my curse,
My harde fate to fulfill.
32
The solitarie woodes,My Cittie shall become;
The darkest den shalbe my lodge
Whereto noe light shall come.
33
Of heban blacke my boorde;The wormes my meate shalbe,
Wherewith my carcase shalbe fed
Till thes doe feede on mee.
34
My wine, of Niobe,My bed the cragie rocke,
31
The shreikinge owle, my cocke.
35
Mine exercise naught ellsBut raginge agonies;
My bookes, of spightfull fortune's foiles
And drerye tragedies.
36
My walkes the pathes of plaint,My prospect into Hell,
With Sisiphus and all his pheres
In endles paines to dwell.
37
And though I seeme to vseThe poet's fainèd stile,
To figure forth my wofull plight,
My fall and my exile.
38
Yet is my greeffe not faind,Wherein I starve and pine,
Whoe feeleth most shall finde it least
Comparinge his with mine.
39
My songe,—if anie askeWhose grievous case is such?
Dy er thou let'st his name be knowne,—
His follye showes too much.
40
But best, were thee to hideAnd never come to light;
32
These accents sound aright.
41
And soe a end: my tale is tould:His life is but disdaind,
Whose sorrowes present paine him soe,
His pleasures are full faind.
Finis.
Sr Ed. Dyer.
35
III. THE MAN OF WOE.
The mann whose thoughtes agaynste him do conspyre,
One whom Mishapp her storye dothe depaynt,
The mann of woe, the matter of desier,
Free of the dead, that liues in endles plaint,
His spirit am I, whiche in this deserte lye,
To rue his case, whose cause I cannot flye.
One whom Mishapp her storye dothe depaynt,
The mann of woe, the matter of desier,
Free of the dead, that liues in endles plaint,
His spirit am I, whiche in this deserte lye,
To rue his case, whose cause I cannot flye.
Despayre my name, whoe neuer findes releife,
Frended of none, but to my selfe a foe;
An idle care, mayntaynde by firme beleife
That prayse of faythe shall throughe my torments growe,
And counte those hopes, that others hartes do ease,
Butt base conceites the common sense to please.
Frended of none, but to my selfe a foe;
An idle care, mayntaynde by firme beleife
That prayse of faythe shall throughe my torments growe,
And counte those hopes, that others hartes do ease,
Butt base conceites the common sense to please.
For sure I am I neuer shall attayne
The happy good from whence my ioys aryse;
Nor haue I powre my sorrows to refrayne
But wayle the wante, when noughte ellse maye suffyse;
Whereby my lyfe the shape of deathe muste beare,
That deathe which feeles the worst that lyfe doth feare.
The happy good from whence my ioys aryse;
Nor haue I powre my sorrows to refrayne
36
Whereby my lyfe the shape of deathe muste beare,
That deathe which feeles the worst that lyfe doth feare.
But what auayles withe tragicall complaynte,
Not hopinge healpe, the Furyes to awake?
Or why shoulde I the happy mynds aquaynte
With doleful tunnes, theire settled peace to shake?
All ye that here behoulde Infortune's feare,
May iudge noe woe may withe my gref compare.
Not hopinge healpe, the Furyes to awake?
Or why shoulde I the happy mynds aquaynte
With doleful tunnes, theire settled peace to shake?
All ye that here behoulde Infortune's feare,
May iudge noe woe may withe my gref compare.
Finis.
Mr. Dier.
37
IV. THE SHEPHERD'S CONCEIT OF PROMETHEUS.
Prometheus when firste frome heauen hye
He broughte downe fyre, 'ere then on earthe not seene,
Fond of Delight, a Satyre standing bye
Gaue it a kyss, as it lyke Sweete had bene.
He broughte downe fyre, 'ere then on earthe not seene,
Fond of Delight, a Satyre standing bye
Gaue it a kyss, as it lyke Sweete had bene.
Feelinge forthewithe the other's burninge powre,
Wood withe the smarte, with shoutes and shreakinge shrill,
He soughte his ease in riuer, feilde and bowre,
But for the tyme his griefe wente with him still.
Wood withe the smarte, with shoutes and shreakinge shrill,
He soughte his ease in riuer, feilde and bowre,
But for the tyme his griefe wente with him still.
So seelye I, with that vnwonted syghte
In humane shape, an angell from aboue,
Feedinge mine eyes, th'impressione there did lyghte,
That since I reste and runn as pleaseth Loue.
In humane shape, an angell from aboue,
Feedinge mine eyes, th'impressione there did lyghte,
That since I reste and runn as pleaseth Loue.
The difference is, the Satyre's lypps, my harte,—
He for a tyme, I euermore,—haue smarte.
He for a tyme, I euermore,—haue smarte.
Finis.
Mr. Dier.
38
A REPLY. BY Sir Philip Sidney.
A Satyre once did runn awaye for dreade,
Of sound of horne which he himselfe did blowe;
Fearinge and fearde, thus from himselfe he fledd,
Deeming strange euill in that he did not know.
Of sound of horne which he himselfe did blowe;
Fearinge and fearde, thus from himselfe he fledd,
Deeming strange euill in that he did not know.
Suche causeles feares when cowardes' mynds do take,
It makes them flye that which they fayne would haue;
As this poore beaste that did his rest forsake,
Seekinge not why, but how, himselfe to saue.
It makes them flye that which they fayne would haue;
As this poore beaste that did his rest forsake,
Seekinge not why, but how, himselfe to saue.
Euen so myghte I, for doubte which I conceyue
Of myne own faith, myne owne good hope betraye;
And so myghte I, for fear of may be, leaue
The sweet persute of my desyrèd praye.
Of myne own faith, myne owne good hope betraye;
And so myghte I, for fear of may be, leaue
The sweet persute of my desyrèd praye.
Better be lyke thy Satyr derest Dier
That burnt his lipps to kiss fayr shininge fyre.
That burnt his lipps to kiss fayr shininge fyre.
39
V. CORIDON TO HIS PHILLIS.
Alas my hart, mine eye hath wrongèd thee,
Presumptious eye, to gaze on Phillis face:
Whose heavenly eye no mortall man may see
But he must die, or purchase Phillis grace.
Poor Coridon, the Nimph whose eye doth mooue thee,
Dooth loue to draw, but is not drawne to loue thee.
Presumptious eye, to gaze on Phillis face:
Whose heavenly eye no mortall man may see
But he must die, or purchase Phillis grace.
40
Dooth loue to draw, but is not drawne to loue thee.
Her beautie, Nature's pride, and sheepheards praise,
Her eye, the heauenly Planet of my life:
Her matchlesse wit and grace, her fame displaies,
As if that Joue had made her for his wife.
Onely, her eyes shoote fierie darts to kill,
Yet is her hart as cold as Caucase hill.
Her eye, the heauenly Planet of my life:
Her matchlesse wit and grace, her fame displaies,
As if that Joue had made her for his wife.
Onely, her eyes shoote fierie darts to kill,
Yet is her hart as cold as Caucase hill.
My wings too weake to flye against the Sunne,
Mine eyes vnable to sustaine her light,
My hart doth yeeld that I am quite vndone,
Thus hath faire Phillis slaine me with her sight.
My bud is blasted, withred is my leafe
And all my corne is rotted in the sheafe.
Mine eyes vnable to sustaine her light,
My hart doth yeeld that I am quite vndone,
Thus hath faire Phillis slaine me with her sight.
My bud is blasted, withred is my leafe
And all my corne is rotted in the sheafe.
Phillis, the golden fetter of my minde,
My fancie's Idoll, and my vitall power:
Goddesse of Nimphs, and honour of thy kinde,
This Age's Phœnix, Beautie's richest bower.
Poore Coridon for loue of thee must die:
Thy beautie's thrall and conquest of thine eye.
My fancie's Idoll, and my vitall power:
Goddesse of Nimphs, and honour of thy kinde,
This Age's Phœnix, Beautie's richest bower.
Poore Coridon for loue of thee must die:
Thy beautie's thrall and conquest of thine eye.
Leaue Coridon to plough the barren field,
Thy buds of hope are blasted with disgrace:
For Phillis' lookes no harty loue doo yeeld,
Nor can she loue, for all her louely face.
Die Coridon, the spoile of Phillis' eye:
She cannot loue, and therefore thou must die.
Thy buds of hope are blasted with disgrace:
41
Nor can she loue, for all her louely face.
Die Coridon, the spoile of Phillis' eye:
She cannot loue, and therefore thou must die.
Finis.
S. E. Dyer.
VI. TO PHILLIS THE FAIRE SHEEPHEARDESSE.
My Phillis hath the morninge Sunne,at first to looke vpon her:
And Phillis hath morne-waking birds,
her risinge still to honour.
My Phillis hath prime-featherd flowres,
that smile when she treads on them:
And Phillis hath a gallant flocke,
that leapes since she dooth owne them.
But Phillis hath too hard a hart,
alas, that she should haue it:
42
nor grace to those that craue it.
Sweete Sunne, when thou look'st on,
pray her regard my moane!
Sweete birds, when you sing to her,
to yeeld some pitty, woo her!
Sweet flowers that she treads on,
tell her, her beauty deads one.
And if in life her loue she nill agree me,
Pray her before I die, she will come see me.
Finis.
S. E. D.
VII. THE FAIR AMARILLIS.
1
Amarillis was full fayre:The goodlyest mayde was she
From the east vnto the west
That heauen's eye could se.
2
To Diana at her birtheHer parents did her geue,
All vntouchte a mayden's lyfe
Durynge her dayes to lyue:
43
3
Whose beheste she constant kepteAnd whollye was enclynde
To be free to get great prayse
And win eche worthye mynde.
4
As there was good cause enougheSo was she honored most.
They that had her seene abroade
Att home would make their boaste.
5
Twoe ther were that her beheldeWho woulde haue done so euer,
Happye theye (ye happye thryse)
If they had done so neuer
6
Coridon and Caramell:Who longe with deere accorde
Ledd their lyues, and neyther wisht
Of other to be lorde:
7
Good and sure their freendshipp wasTyll Amaryllis fyne
Had the powre, perhapps the will
The bande for to vntwyne:
8
All the goods that eche possestOf bodye, goodes, or mynde
Were employde to other's vse
As eche by profe did fynde:
44
9
They had no cause to enuye oughtThe auncyent worlde's prayse
Of Damō and of Pytheas
And others in those dayes:
10
But the boye, that blynded godIn great despights complaynde:
That one earthe alone they were
That his darte quyte disdaynde:
11
Whereupon his strongest boweAnd sharpest arrowes hente
And in Amarillis eyes
He lyghtely pighte his tente:
12
Where he lay, to watche both tymeAnd place for his auayll:
For the wightes that wiste not yet
What foe should them assayll:
13
One of his two shafts was dipteIn bitter sauce as gaulle,
The other in a pleasant wyne
And poyson myxte withall
14
As the smacke of dyuers sauce,So dyuerslye they wroughte:
By despayre the one to deathe
By vague hope the other broughte.
45
15
With the first was CoridonThroughe piercèd to the herte;
Caramell wh' in his brest
Felte of the other's smarte.
16
Butt with gould both headed wereAnd both wth lyke desyre,
Faygne they would wth'in therre brest
Hyde cloase their kyndled fyre:
17
But wthout it must appeereThat burnte so hot wthin:
Harde it is the flame to hyde
That it no issue win.
18
And in tyme strange lookes beganThat spronge of Jelosye;
Full of care, eche laye in wayghte
For his felowe to descrye:
19
In the end all freendly lookesBetweene these freendes decayde;
Bothe were bente to please thēselues
Theire freende's case nothynge wayde.
20
Amaryllis' loue was soughteWith all they could deuyse,
Yea wth all the power of man
And prayer to the skyes:
46
21
All she sawe, and herde theire moaneAs Aspis dothe the charme;
By and by she bayed them both
As guyltye of theyre harme.
22
Now to the one she would giue eareNow put the other of,
Allurynge him by courteseye,
And tauntynge him by scoff.
23
But that trust by tryalls pasteMade them theire doome suspende;
And indeed she vsèd there
Where passione did offend.
24
He had neede of store of tymeThat would his pen prepare,
To sett forth theire agonyes
Theire dredd hope and feare.
25
Butt in vayne they spente theire tyme,Theire labor all was lost:
She was farthest from theire need
Where they foreweenèd most.
26
Coridon waxte pall and leaneHis younger heares torned hore;
Feates of armes, the horse and hauke
He left and vsed no more.
47
27
He had founde that AmaryllSoughte glorye more than loue;
That she forcèd not his harmes
Her bewtye's power to proue.
28
Yet he could not leaue to loueButt yeeldynge to despayre,
Rente his hearte, his corpes fell downe
His goaste fledd to the ayre:
29
Caramell, thoughte women kynde,Was apte to change and bowe;
And beleeued, to please him selfe
What fancye did allowe.
30
Butt beleefe ne makes the causeNor weauynge, workes the webb;
In the tyde his trauayll came
He tornèd in the ebb:
31
Att the last his vayne hope, himNo longer coulde sustayne;
In his longynge he consumde,
Lyfe coulde not him attayne.
32
Amaryllis herde of thisAnd pyttye moude wth all,
Muche to rue so harde a happ
One such faythe should befall.
48
33
To Diana strayghte she hyghesWhome wayted one she founde,
With a trayne of all the dames
Whose chaste names Fame did sounde:
34
Vnto her in humble wyseShe sayde she came to sue
For that these to lyuyng thynges
Myghte be transformde a newe;
35
In her armes the goddess myldeHer darlynge softe did strayne:
What is that that thou (qth she)
Of me mayste not obtayne?
36
There withall Sr CaramelA yellow flowre became:
Sweete of sente and muche esteemde
And Harte's ease caulde by name.
37
Amarillis pluckte the flowreAnd ware it in her heade:
Sometymes she layde it in her lapp,
Sometymes vpone her bedd.
38
Caramell, O happye flowre!O most vnhappy man!
In thy lyfe thou hadst thy deathe,
In thy deathe thy lyfe began.
49
39
Coridon turnde to an owlleFledd to the wildernes:
Neuer flockes, butt leades his lyfe
In solytarynes:
40
Nor his eyes can yet behouldThe deare lyghte of the sun:
Butt aloofe he stealles his flyghte
And in the darke dothe run.
41
Amaryllis to the woodeAtt sometyme will repayre,
And delyghte to here the laye
And tune of his despayre.
42
Well I wot what here is mentAnd thoughe a talle yt seeme,
Shadowes haue their substance bye
And so of this, esteeme.
43
Ye that chaunce this for to heerAnd do not prayse their speede
Giue them thankes, for you by them
Are warnde to take heede.
Finis.
E. Dier.
50
VIII. LOVE-CONTRADICTIONS.
As rare to heare as seldome to be seene,
It cannot be nor neuer yet hathe bene
That fire should burne wth perfecte heate and flame
Without some matter for to yealde the same.
It cannot be nor neuer yet hathe bene
That fire should burne wth perfecte heate and flame
Without some matter for to yealde the same.
A straunger case yet true by profe I knowe
A man in ioy that liuethe still in woe:
A harder happ who hathe his loue at lyste
Yet liues in loue as he all loue had miste:
A man in ioy that liuethe still in woe:
A harder happ who hathe his loue at lyste
Yet liues in loue as he all loue had miste:
Whoe hathe enougehe, yet thinkes he liues wthout,
Lackinge no loue yet still he standes in doubte.
What discontente to liue in suche desyre,
To have his will yet euer to requyre.
Lackinge no loue yet still he standes in doubte.
What discontente to liue in suche desyre,
To have his will yet euer to requyre.
Mr. Dier.
51
IX. LOVE-DESPONDENCY.
Deuyde my tymes and rate my wretched howres
From days to months, frō months to many yeers,
And than compare my sweetest to my sowres then
And see wch more in equall vewe appeares;
And iudge that from my dayes and yeers of care
I haue but howrs of comforte to compare.
From days to months, frō months to many yeers,
And than compare my sweetest to my sowres then
And see wch more in equall vewe appeares;
And iudge that from my dayes and yeers of care
I haue but howrs of comforte to compare.
Just and not muche it were, in thes extreams
To haue a touche and torment of ye thought:
For any myghte that any ryght esteems
To yealde so small delyght so deerly bought;
But he that lyues vnto his owne despyghte
Is not to fynde his fortune by his ryghte.
To haue a touche and torment of ye thought:
For any myghte that any ryght esteems
To yealde so small delyght so deerly bought;
But he that lyues vnto his owne despyghte
Is not to fynde his fortune by his ryghte.
The lyfe that styll runs forth his weary wayes
With sowre to sawce the dayntyes of delyght,
And care to choak the pleasures of his dayes
And not regarde the many wronges to quyte;
No blame to houlde such ircksome tymes in hate,
As but to lose prolongs a wretched state.
With sowre to sawce the dayntyes of delyght,
And care to choak the pleasures of his dayes
And not regarde the many wronges to quyte;
No blame to houlde such ircksome tymes in hate,
As but to lose prolongs a wretched state.
And still I loathe euē to behoulde the lyghte
That shynes wthout all pleasure to myne eyes
Wth greedy wishe I wayte for wearye nyghte
Yet neither this I fynde that maye suffyse:
Not that I hould the daye for more delyghte
But that alyke I loathe both daye and nyghte.
That shynes wthout all pleasure to myne eyes
Wth greedy wishe I wayte for wearye nyghte
Yet neither this I fynde that maye suffyse:
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But that alyke I loathe both daye and nyghte.
The daye I se yeelds but increase of cares,
The nyght that should by nature serue for reste,
Agaynst his kynde denyes suche ease to spare
As pytty woulde afforde the soule opprest:
And broken sleeps oft tymes presents in syght
A dreaminge wishe beguylde wth false delyghte.
The nyght that should by nature serue for reste,
Agaynst his kynde denyes suche ease to spare
As pytty woulde afforde the soule opprest:
And broken sleeps oft tymes presents in syght
A dreaminge wishe beguylde wth false delyghte.
This sleepe, or else what so for sweet appeers,
Is vnto me but pleasures in despyghte.
The flower of age, the name of younger yeeres,
Do but vsurpe the tytle of delyghte.
But careful thoughts, and Sorrowe sundry ways
Consumes my youthe before my agèd dayes.
Is vnto me but pleasures in despyghte.
The flower of age, the name of younger yeeres,
Do but vsurpe the tytle of delyghte.
But careful thoughts, and Sorrowe sundry ways
Consumes my youthe before my agèd dayes.
The touch, the stynge, the torments of desyre,
To stryue beyond the compase of restraynte,
Kepte from the reache whereto it would aspyre
Geues cause (God knowes) too iust, to my cōplainte:
Besydes the wronge wch worketh my distress
My meaninge is, with sylence to suppress.
To stryue beyond the compase of restraynte,
Kepte from the reache whereto it would aspyre
Geues cause (God knowes) too iust, to my cōplainte:
Besydes the wronge wch worketh my distress
My meaninge is, with sylence to suppress.
Oft wth myselfe I enter in deuyse
To reconsylle these wearye thoughtes to peace;
I treate for truce, I flatter and entyce
My wranglynge wytts to work for theyr release;
But all in vayne I seek the means to fynde
That myght appease the discorde of my mynde.
To reconsylle these wearye thoughtes to peace;
I treate for truce, I flatter and entyce
My wranglynge wytts to work for theyr release;
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That myght appease the discorde of my mynde.
For when I force a faynèd mirth to showe
And would forgett and so beguyll my greefe;
I cannot rydd my selfe of sorrowe so,
Althoughe I feed vpon a false beleefe:
For inward touche of discontented mynde
Retournes my cares by course vnto theyr kynde.
And would forgett and so beguyll my greefe;
I cannot rydd my selfe of sorrowe so,
Althoughe I feed vpon a false beleefe:
For inward touche of discontented mynde
Retournes my cares by course vnto theyr kynde.
Wean'd from my will, and thus by tryall taughte
Howe farr to hould all fortune in regarde;
Though here I boaste of knowledge deerely boughte
Yet thys poore gayne I reape for my rewarde;
I knowe hereby to hardē and prepare
A ready mynde for all assaults of care.
Howe farr to hould all fortune in regarde;
Though here I boaste of knowledge deerely boughte
Yet thys poore gayne I reape for my rewarde;
I knowe hereby to hardē and prepare
A ready mynde for all assaults of care.
Whereto as one euē from the cradle borne
And not to look for better to ensue,
I yeald my selfe and wish these tymes outworne
That but remayne my torments to renewe:
And leaue to those these dayes of my despyghte
Whose better hap may lyue to more delyghte.
And not to look for better to ensue,
I yeald my selfe and wish these tymes outworne
That but remayne my torments to renewe:
And leaue to those these dayes of my despyghte
Whose better hap may lyue to more delyghte.
Finis.
Mr. Dier.
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X. I WOULD AND I WOULD NOT.
I woulde it were not as it is
Or that I cared not yea or no;
I woulde I thoughte it not amiss,
Or that amiss myghte blamles goo;
I woulde I were, yet woulde I not,
I myghte be gladd yet coulde I not.
Or that I cared not yea or no;
I woulde I thoughte it not amiss,
Or that amiss myghte blamles goo;
I woulde I were, yet woulde I not,
I myghte be gladd yet coulde I not.
I coulde desyre to know the meane
Or that the meane desyre soughte;
I woulde I coulde my fancye weane
From suche sweet ioyes as Loue hathe wroughte;
Onlye my wishe is leaste of all
A badge whereby to know a thrall.
Or that the meane desyre soughte;
I woulde I coulde my fancye weane
From suche sweet ioyes as Loue hathe wroughte;
Onlye my wishe is leaste of all
A badge whereby to know a thrall.
O happy man whiche doste aspire
To that whiche semeleye thou dost craue!
Thrise happy man, if thy desyre
Maye winn with hope good happ to haue;
But woe to me vnhappy man
Whom hope nor happ acquiet cann.
To that whiche semeleye thou dost craue!
Thrise happy man, if thy desyre
Maye winn with hope good happ to haue;
But woe to me vnhappy man
Whom hope nor happ acquiet cann.
The budds of hope are starude wth feare
And still his foe presents his face;
My state, if hope the palme shoulde beare
Vnto my happ woulde be disgrace.
As diamond in woode were set
Or Irus raggs in goulde I frett.
And still his foe presents his face;
My state, if hope the palme shoulde beare
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As diamond in woode were set
Or Irus raggs in goulde I frett.
For loe my tyrèd shoulders beare
Desyre's weery beatinge winges;
And at my feet a clogg I weare
Tyde one wth selfe disdayning stringes.
My wings to mounte aloft make hast.
My clog doth sinke me downe as faste.
Desyre's weery beatinge winges;
And at my feet a clogg I weare
Tyde one wth selfe disdayning stringes.
My wings to mounte aloft make hast.
My clog doth sinke me downe as faste.
This is our state, loe thus we stande
They ryse to fall that climbe to hye;
The boye that fled kynge Minos lande
Maye learne the wise more lowe to flye.
What gaynde his poynte agaynste the sonne
He drownde in seas himself, that wonne.
They ryse to fall that climbe to hye;
The boye that fled kynge Minos lande
Maye learne the wise more lowe to flye.
What gaynde his poynte agaynste the sonne
He drownde in seas himself, that wonne.
Yet Icarus more happy was,
By present deathe his cares to ende
Than I, pore mann, on whom alas
Tenn thousande deathes theire paynes do sende.
Now greife, now hope, now loue, now spyghte
Longe sorrows mixte withe shorte delyghte.
By present deathe his cares to ende
Than I, pore mann, on whom alas
Tenn thousande deathes theire paynes do sende.
Now greife, now hope, now loue, now spyghte
Longe sorrows mixte withe shorte delyghte.
The pheere and fellowe of thy smarte
Prometheus I am indeede;
Vpon whose euer liuinge harte
The greedy gryphes do daylye feede;
But he that lyfts his harte so hye
Muste be contente to pine and dye.
Prometheus I am indeede;
Vpon whose euer liuinge harte
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But he that lyfts his harte so hye
Muste be contente to pine and dye.
Finis.
Mr. Dier.
XI. A LADY FORSAKEN, COMPLAYNETH.
If pleasures be in painefulnesse, in pleasures doth my body rest,If ioyes accord with carefulnesse, a joyful hart is in my brest:
If prison strong be libertie, in libertie long haue I been,
If ioyes accord with miserie, who can compare a lyfe to myne:
Who can vnbind that is sore bound? who can make free yt is sore thrall,
Or how can any meanes be found to comfort such a wretch withall?
None can but he yt hath my hart, conuert my paines to comfort then,
Yet since his seruant I became, most like a bondman haue I beene:
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That neuer once he could [m]e blame, except for louing him too much.
Which I can iudge no iust offence, nor cause that I deserud disdayne,
Except he meane through false pretēce, through forgèd loue to make a trayne.
Nay, nay, alas, my fainèd thoughts my frēded and my fainèd ruth,
My pleasures past, my present plaints, shew well I meane but to much truth:
But since I can not him attaine, against my wil I let him goe,
And lest he glorie at my paine, I wyl attempt to cloke my woe.
Youth learne by me but do not proue, for I haue prouèd to my paine,
What greeuous greefes do grow by loue, and what it is to loue in vaine.
M. D.
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XII. CYNTHIA OR FAIR AND FAITHLESS.
Amidst the fayrest mountayne topps,Where Zepherus doth breathe
The pleasant gale, that clothes with flowres
The valleys underneath;
A shepparde liude, that dearly loude;
Deare Loue, tyme brought to passe
A fforest nimphe, who was as fayre
As euer woman was.
His thoughtes were higher then the hills
Whereof he had the keepe,
But all his actions innocent,
As humble as his sheep:
Yet had he powre, but her pure thoughts
Debar'd his powers to rise
Higher then, kissinge of her handes,
Or lookinge in her eyes,
One day, (I neede not name the daye
To loouers of their sorrows,
But say, as once a shepparde sayd,
Their mone nights haue no morrows)
He from his sheep-cot ledd his sheepe
To pasture in the lease,
And ther to feed while he, the while,
Might dream of his disease.
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Alone, that is in loue,)
Vnto himselfe alone, he mourn'd
The passions he did proue.
Oh heauens! (quoth he) ar these th'effects
Of faithfull loue's desarts?
Will Cynthea now forsake my loue?
Haue women faithless hearts?
And will not witts, nor woords, nor woorks,
Nor long-endur'd laments,
Bring to my playnts, pitie or peace;
Or to my teares, contents?
I, that enchayn'd my loue desires,
From changinge thoughts as free,
As euer was true thoughts to her,
Or her thoughts false to me.
I that for her my wanderinge sheepe,
Forsook, forgott, forwent;
Nor of my selfe, nor them tooke keepe,
But in her loue's content.
Shall I, like meads with winter's rayne
Be turnèd into teares,
Shall I, of whose true feelinge payne,
These greeues the record beares;
Causeles, be scorn'd, disdayn'd, despis'd?
Then witnes this desire;
Loue was a woman's weed disguisde,
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And thus he said, and downe he lies,
Syinge as life would part.
Oh, Cynthia, thou hast angel's eyes,
But yet a woman's heart!
Mr. Dier.
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End of Uerse.
| Writings in verse and prose (1872) | |