Diana of George of Montemayor :: :: University of Virginia Library

Now faire Diana being come
Vnto the place, where she did spie
Her loue, she would haue spoken some
Few wordes, but greefe did them denie:
And wofull man, he nothing spake,
Though he did oft a semblant make.

How much they had betweene them both
To talke, their eies made manifest,
Declaring that, which very loth
Lay in their secret harts and brest,
With that milde countenance and show,
With which they spake not long agoe.

They both together downe did sit
Vnder a flowrie Myrtle tree,
One by the hand the other yet
Did take, for ouer come was he
By her, and she by him againe,
Both in their mutuall passions slaine.

For that great pleasure and delight
Of seeing one an other there,
And greefe, to leese that happie sight,
So wrought their harts with ioy and feare,
That to each other neither could
Vtter a word, though faine they would.

Some other times they met againe
Vpon this banke with other passions,
Which meetings they did entertaine
And celebrate with other fashions:
Not, as in times then gone and past,
For of this sort, this was the last.

A strange effect of mighty loue,
To see two loue in such degree,
That greater torments they did proue,
When either did each other see,
Then when they were remooued quite
From ioying in each others sight.

Syrenus seeing now the howre,
When greefe of parting was to come,
He had no patience nor no powre
To speake, but straight was striken dumbe:
Nor of his teares he could get leaue
To vtter what he did conceaue.

His Shepherdesse he did behold,
His Shepherdesse beheld againe
The man, whose hart with feare was cold,
Speaking to her with cruell paine:
Indeede his Greefe for him did speake,
For he could not whose hart did breake.

Alas Diana, who would haue said,
When I was in most heauie case,
Or who would haue imagined,
But that, when I did view thy face,
My very soule then most opprest,
Should by that sight haue found some rest.

In any time who would haue thought,
That any thing (sweete Mistresse) might
A greater greefe or paine haue brought
Vnto my soule with more despight,
Then thy sweete presence and thy sight,
(My soueraine ioy and chiefe delight)

Who would haue thought, but that againe
Those eies, when that they viewed me,
Should haue dissolu'd, and burst in twaine
The knot of all my miserie:
Which my mishaps (so long assured)
By any way might haue procured.

Faire Mistresse then behold my state,
And how mishap my soule doth chace,
For if I died but of late
With great desire to see thy face,
Now doe I die by seeing thee
Present and not thou killest me.

And thinke not that this passion drawes
To want of louing thee, for none
Hath bene so firme, but now bicause
I come vnto this meade with mone
To take my leaue, where I before
To see thee came, but now no more.

My soule I would haue giuen faine
This day, which thou hast conquer'd soe,
Not to haue seene thee in this plaine
(Although no other life I knowe)
Onely to misse (I care not how)
The greefe of this departure now.

And giue me leaue (faire Shepherdesse)
To thinke, that thou canst not deny it,
But thou dost feele my heauinesse
In that degree, as I doe trie it:
For in thy presence t'is not such
A matter to presume so much.

If then, Diana, it be so,
Tell me, how can I now depart?
How dost thou suffer me to go
When each doth carry others hart?
Or how doe I come hither yet,
To take my farewell without let?

O my faire Shepherdesse againe
No reason can I yeeld thee why,
Nor how of thee I should complaine,
As thou shalt haue continually
Absent, when I am gone from thee
O, neuer to remember me.

I knowe right well it is not thow,
That mak'st me to depart, and lesse,
My purest faith constraines me now,
(For needes I must the same confesse)
And if I should but tell and show it,
Who doth the same, I doe not know it.

Thus full of paine and bitter teares,
And sighing, which he neuer spar'd,
The Shepherd to her louing eares
Did speake these words which you haue heard.
And hearing them, in minde she kept
Them, and full bitterly she wept.

To answere him she went about
A thousand times, but could not doe it,
For still her greefe did put her out,
And so she could not frame her to it.
But then for her, her loue so stable
An answere shapt (her toong vnable.)

My friend in such a time I am,
Where I shall speake more then I would,
That though mine ill, which lately came
Cannot be vttered (as it should:)
Yet (Shepherd) would I thinke it good,
To hold my peace if that I could.

But woe is me, that this great ill
I come to tell, and publish it
In such a time against my will,
That it auailes not any whit
Thy iourney to delay a while,
Nor these my torments to beguile.

Why goest thou hence (O Shepherd) tell:
Why wilt thou now forsake me heere?
So full of greefe alone to dwell,
Where time, and place, and all the deere,
And sweetest ioyes of this our loue
Shall neuer from my minde remooue.

What shall I feele (vnhappy wight)
Comming vnto this pleasant greene,
When I shall say (Farewell sweete sight)
Heere haue I my Syrenus seene;
Heere did we sit, heere did we play,
Discoursing with him day by day.

Behold if that it will not bee
A daily sorrow, when these bankes
I doe beholde, and cannot see
Thy selfe, where goodly trees in rankes
And in their barke my name to stand
Carued so finely by thy hand.

And see if any greefe or dole
Is like to this, when I behold
The place so sorrowfull and sole,
Where deere Syrenus with a cold
And trembling feare thou didst protest
Thy greefe to me within thy brest.

If then thy hart (so cruell now)
Is mollified by falling teares,
How melts it not for greefe, and how
Consumes it not with many feares,
At this occasion (so vniust)
To leaue my comfort in the dust?

Then Shepherd weepe not, for in vaine
Thy plentious teares and sighes are spent,
For he that doth lament the paine,
In whom it lieth to preuent,
I thinke he is not sound of wit,
If such a folly he commit.

But my Syrenus pardon me,
If my sharpe wordes thine eares offend,
And giue me leaue to speake with thee
In this faire meade, where (cruell frend)
Thou leau'st me not one little how'r
With my poore selfe, nor in my pow'r.

For I will not, (nor yet in iest)
Shepherd from thee my selfe absent,
Then goe not, wilt thou? say at lest,
And to these eies, that euer lent
Such helpe to thee, some pitie keepe,
And sorrow now to see them weepe.

Syrenus answered her againe,
Alas thou canst not choose but knowe.
By all these teares I spend in vaine,
If that I doe desire to goe;
But thou commaundest me to stay,
And my hard hap to goe away.

Thy matchlesse beautie when I see,
(Mistresse) then am I euer bound
Willing at thy commaund to be:
But wofull Shepherd when I found
My hap to beare so great a sway,
Of force I must the same obay.

Then my departure forced is,
But by no fault that I did make,
And credit me (sweete Nymph) in this,
That all the world I would forsake,
In these faire meades with thee to wende,
Where now I see my ioyes doe ende.

My Master that great Shepherd is
He, that doth make me to depart,
Whom I may see, and wish that his
Exempted thoughtes and freest hart
Braue loue may punish with such paine,
As at this parting I sustaine.

I would to God, my going hence
(Onely to pleasure thee this day)
By shewing of my iust pretence,
Lay in my power anyway:
As Mistresse in thy fairest handes
My life and death at mercie standes.

But credit me, it is in vaine,
(To that which euer I doe trie,
And that thou think'st as much againe)
That neuer in my handes did lie
Ought in the world, that might but giue
Any content to make me liue.

Another course well might I take,
And leaue my flocke to stray about,
I might my Shepherd to forsake
And seeke some other Master out:
But if the end I marke and see,
This with our loue doth not agree.

For if I doe forsake my flocke,
Which vnto me he did commend,
And take in hand some other stocke
Of cattell or of sheepe to tend,
Tell me, how can I come vnseene
Without thy harme vpon this greene?

And if the force of this great flame
My willing presence heere detaines,
It is a signe, that I doe frame
My thoughts on thee, and so it staines
Thy honour, which to saile is sent,
Onely (sweetelife) for my content.

And if (they say) I doe imploy
(Faire Shepherdesse) my loue on thee,
And that againe I doe enioy
Thy loue so frankly giuen me.
Thee they condemne, thou dost sustaine
The onely losse, and I no gaine.

The Shepherdesse at this same season
This answer with great greefe did make,
O Shepherd tell me now, what reason
Thou hast my presence to forsake?
Since that in loue there is no sound
Of any reason to be found.

A signe it is (not good to vse)
By daily proofe we see the same,
That he that can so well excuse
His absence from his louing dame,
If he were gone out of her sight,
He would account the same but light.

Ah greefe, since going now away,
I knowe not what will chaunce to thee,
And forced if I am to stay
Nor then what shall become of me?
Nor there if thou wilt thinke (my deere)
That one did see another heere.

I knowe not if I am deceau'd,
By hauing laide before thine eies
This painfull greefe that hath bereau'd
Me of my ioy, where now it dies,
But that which to my harme must be,
I knowe shall be most sure in me.

Thou greeu'st not at my little ease,
Go Shepherd then, take shipping now,
With brittle barke the Ocean seas,
In steede of these greene fieldes goe plow:
Since of my teares these seas (alas)
So quickly thou dost ouerpasse.

The heauens from stormes thy barke defend,
From rockes, from wrecke, and swallowing sand,
And that thou mai'st (my sweetest frend)
Safely arriue in wished land:
And fortune better deale with thee,
Then at this time thou dost with me.

Alas for very greefe I die,
Seeing mine eies to take their leaue
Of all their sweete contents, whereby
This greefe, and teares doe so bereaue
My toong of speech, that faine I would
Speake more vnto thee if I could.

And Shepherd I doe wish besides,
That these two eies (which weepe in vaine)
Before that death my life deuides,
May see thee heere yet once againe:
And though their harme thou dost procure,
They wish thee yet all good be sure.

He answered her, my Mistresse deere,
A mischeefe neuer comes alone:
A mortall greefe doth not appeere
Without more companie, and one
That is more mightie then the rest,
And this it is that wounds my brest.

For though I see I must depart
From my sweete life, (since from thy sight)
Not halfe so much it greeues my hart,
As seeing thee in such a plight
For my departure, and sustaine
Such greefe indeede and cruell paine.

But if those eies I doe forget,
(The mirrours of my happinesse)
I wish that God aboue may let
Me not this wished life possesse,
Or if my thoughtes imploied be
(Sweete life) on any but on thee.

And if that any beautie else
Shall make new motions in my minde,
(Though it be neuer so excelse)
Or in the same content I finde,
For one small howre of such content,
I wish eternall punishment.

And if my firmest faith for strange
And forren loue, that may befall,
Or my sincerest loue I change,
I wish that fortune may recall
Me to a life most desperate,
Throwing me downe from this estate.

O sweetest Mistresse of my hart,
Prescribe no time for my retourne:
For it doth kill me to depart,
And I shall neuer cease to mourne,
And passe the greatest greefe and paine,
Vntill these eies see thee againe.

She answered him, (my deere Syrenus)
If that I shall in any day
(Though now our destinies doe weane vs)
Forget thee, then I wish the May
And freshest flowers in this meade
May die, when on them I doe treade.

And if on any man aliue,
But onely thee (my loue) I thinke,
I wish, that, (when my sheepe I driue
Vnto the riuer streames to drinke)
Comming vnto them, at my sight,
The waters may be dry'd vp quite.

Shepherd, receiue this little string
Made of my haire for thy sweete sake,
Bicause by seeing of the thing,
Thou maist remember thou did'st take
Possession of my louing hart,
And them, with which thou deest depart.

And this ring with thee thou shalt beare,
With hand in hand, as thou dost see,
Which for my sake I pray thee weare,
That though our bodies parted bee,
Nothing shall part, not death alone,
Two soules vnited both in one.

He saide with thee what shall I leaue,
Naught haue I but this Sheepehooke heere:
The which I pray thee to receiue,
And Rebecke, to the which (my deere)
Thou saw'st me sing in this greene meade,
And play and many a daunce to leade.

To sound of which (my Shepherdesse)
A thousand songs to thee I soong,
Singing of thy great worthinesse
(Too high for my base song and toong)
And of our loues and of my passions,
And of my sweetest lamentations.

Each one imbrac't the other fast,
And this (I thinke) the first time was,
And (as I gesse) it was the last,
Bicause those times did change and passe:
And loue with time did change and varie
From that, which once they both did carie.

For though Diana felt great paine
For absence of her louer deere,
Yet in the same she found againe
A remedie, as did appeere,
For after he the seas did passe,
She to another married was.