Pandora The Musyque of the beautie of his Mistresse Diana. Composed by John Soowthern ... and dedicated to the right Honorable, Edward Deuer, Earle of Oxenford, &c |
 |
|
|
|
 | Pandora |  |
Elegia. 4. To the prisoners.
Cvpid hath swelde my stomacke, withOn such a sacred poyson,
And I am in Queene Venus fet-
ters, so well entertained:
And with dolour, tormented,
I thinke my selfe well happy, to
Be in a Womans prison.
Now? As for you wretches that no-
thing, but yrons can punishe,
If you lyst you may haue a hope,
to be at lyber-tie:
But as for mee? I tell you, I'll
die in captiui-tie:
Consuming heere in the quicke-sil-
uer-fayre-eyes of my Goddesse,
And well I am contented in-
deede, with her extreeme rigore.
Swearing, that I neuer fell in
My soule so great a dolore,
As when I thinke for her likewise,
Some other should haue passion.
And with all this too, yet I haue
Neither lost all my iudgement:
For we saye that man is happy,
onelie, that is well content,
And I tell you, (you wretches) it
is all my contentation.
Elegia. 5. To his thoughts.
My thoughts, to full of thought, to thought-full thoughts giue now? Repose,
Both to my dolefull soule, and to
my hope that is in vaine:
For well though my teares drop, fro my
eyes like a swift fountaine?
neth not to my propose.
My thoughts, too full of thought, and too
Farre engrau'n in my heart.
My thoughts too full of thought, that giue
mee ouer to my dolore:
My thoughts too thoughtfull, if you pro-
pose yet any more langore:
My thought full thoughts, (O Gods) doo ad-
uaunce therewithall my mort.
And Opinastres thoughts the cau-
sers of my extreeme paines.
And thoughts that boyle this sulfer hu-
mor in my drooping vaines.
Speake thoughtfull thoughts, why feede you me
With this Abist esperaunce,
When possessing the ioye, of which
I haue had such desyres:
And for Idolling the fayre eyes,
In which are my plasyres:
In the end thoughtes, for reward thought
Dooth breede mee a repentaunce.
Elegia. 6. To his Diana.
My hope dooth tell mee, that afterThis great rigour, of you:
I shall with sacred guerdons,
Be recom-pensed for wrong:
Shewing mee that I merite it,
Being patience so long.
But this imagind hope, (my cru-
ell warrier) is it true,
My hope dooth tell mee too (Diana)
That your Diuine beau-tie,
Such crueltie as thine.
But what is't (my angrie warrier)
That yeeldes this plague of mine:
Fortune? or the origene of
The cause of cru-eltie.
My hope dooth tell mee too (my war-
rier) that my dolefull langore:
Will in a passient ende, amo-
lishe your extreeme great rigore:
The which all if it can, when your
Mothers gone we shall trie,
But if it cannot doo it then,
But would yet feede mee styll,
With presses of time: I'll giue ou'r:
And eu'r after I will,
Esteeme our Fortune, too much lowe,
For a hope set so high.
| Pandora | |