The Whole Works of William Browne of Tavistock ... Now first collected and edited, with a memoir of the poet, and notes, by W. Carew Hazlitt, of the Inner Temple |
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 | The Whole Works of William Browne |  |
Seated at last neere Tavy's siluer streame,
Sleepe seis'd our shepheard; and in sleepe a dreame
Shew'd him Marina all bedew'd with teares:
Pale as the lilly of the field appeares,
When the unkist morne from the mountaynes topps
Sees the sweet flowres distill their silver dropps.
She seem'd to take him by the hand and saye:
O Celadyne, this, this is not the waye
To recompence the wrong which thou hast done
And I have pardon'd, since yt was begun
To exercise my virtue; I am thine
More then I wish'd, or thou canst now devine.
Seeke out the aged Lama, by whose skill
Thou mayst our fortunes know, and what the will
Of fate is in thy future. This she spoke,
And seem'd to kisse him, wherewith he awoke,—
And missing what (in thought) his sleepe had gayn'd,
He mus'd, sigh'd, wept, and lastly thus complaynde:
Sleepe seis'd our shepheard; and in sleepe a dreame
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Pale as the lilly of the field appeares,
When the unkist morne from the mountaynes topps
Sees the sweet flowres distill their silver dropps.
She seem'd to take him by the hand and saye:
O Celadyne, this, this is not the waye
To recompence the wrong which thou hast done
And I have pardon'd, since yt was begun
To exercise my virtue; I am thine
More then I wish'd, or thou canst now devine.
Seeke out the aged Lama, by whose skill
Thou mayst our fortunes know, and what the will
Of fate is in thy future. This she spoke,
And seem'd to kisse him, wherewith he awoke,—
And missing what (in thought) his sleepe had gayn'd,
He mus'd, sigh'd, wept, and lastly thus complaynde:
Vaine dreames, forbeare! yee but deceavers be,
For as in flattring glasses woemen see
More beauty then possest: soe I in you
Have all I can desire, but nothing true.
For as in flattring glasses woemen see
More beauty then possest: soe I in you
Have all I can desire, but nothing true.
Whoe would be rich, to be soe but an howre,
Eates a sweet fruite to rellishe more the sowre.
If but to lose againe we things possesse,
Nere to be happy is a happinesse.
Eates a sweet fruite to rellishe more the sowre.
If but to lose againe we things possesse,
Nere to be happy is a happinesse.
Men walking in the pitchy shades of night
Can keepe their certayne way; but if a light
O'retake and leave them, they are blynded more,
And doubtfull goe that went secure before.
For this (though hardly) I have ofte forborne
To see her face, faire as the rosy morne;
Yet myne owne thoughts in night such traytors be,
That they betraye me to that misery.
Then thincke noe more of her—as soone I maye
Commande the sun to robbe us of a daye,
Or with a nett repell a liquidd streame,
As lose such thoughts, or hinder but a dreame.
Can keepe their certayne way; but if a light
O'retake and leave them, they are blynded more,
And doubtfull goe that went secure before.
For this (though hardly) I have ofte forborne
To see her face, faire as the rosy morne;
Yet myne owne thoughts in night such traytors be,
That they betraye me to that misery.
Then thincke noe more of her—as soone I maye
Commande the sun to robbe us of a daye,
Or with a nett repell a liquidd streame,
As lose such thoughts, or hinder but a dreame.
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The lightsome ayre as eas'ly hinder can
A glasse to take the forme of any man
That stands before yt, as or tyme or place
Can drawe a veyle between me and her face.
A glasse to take the forme of any man
That stands before yt, as or tyme or place
Can drawe a veyle between me and her face.
Yet, by such thoughts my torments hourely thrive;
For (as a pris'ner by his perspective)
By them I am inform'd of what I want;
I envy nowe none but the ignorant.
Hee that ne'er sawe her (O, too happy wight)
Is one borne blynde that knowes noe want of light;
He that nere kist her lipps, yet sees her eyes,
Lives, while he lives soe, still in paradise;
But if he taste those sweets as haples I,
He knowes his want, and meets his miserye.
For (as a pris'ner by his perspective)
By them I am inform'd of what I want;
I envy nowe none but the ignorant.
Hee that ne'er sawe her (O, too happy wight)
Is one borne blynde that knowes noe want of light;
He that nere kist her lipps, yet sees her eyes,
Lives, while he lives soe, still in paradise;
But if he taste those sweets as haples I,
He knowes his want, and meets his miserye.
An Indian rude that never heard one sing
A heav'nly sonnet to a silver string,
Nor other sounds, but what confused heards
In pathles deserts make, or brookes or birds,
Should he heare one the sweet Pandora touch,
And lose his hearing streight; he would as much
Lament his knowledge as doe I my chance,
And wish he still had liv'd in ignorance.
A heav'nly sonnet to a silver string,
Nor other sounds, but what confused heards
In pathles deserts make, or brookes or birds,
Should he heare one the sweet Pandora touch,
And lose his hearing streight; he would as much
Lament his knowledge as doe I my chance,
And wish he still had liv'd in ignorance.
I am that Indian; and my soothing dreames
In thirst have brought me but to painted streames,
Which not allaye, but more increase desire:
A man, neer frozen with December's ire,
Hath, from a heape of glowormes, as much ease
As I can ever have by dreames as these.
In thirst have brought me but to painted streames,
Which not allaye, but more increase desire:
A man, neer frozen with December's ire,
Hath, from a heape of glowormes, as much ease
As I can ever have by dreames as these.
O leave me then! and strongest memorie
Keepe still with those that promise-breakers be;
Goe; bidd the debter mynde his payment daye;
Or helpe the ignorant devoute to saye
Prayers they understand not; leade the blynde,
And bidd ingratefull wretches call to mynde
Their benefactors; and if vertue be
(As still she is) trode on by miserie,
Shewe her the rich, that they maye free her want,
And leave to nurse the fawning sycophant;
Or, if thou see faire honor careles lye,
Without a tombe for after memorye,
Dwell by the grave, and teach all those that passe
To ymitate, by sheweing who yt was.
Keepe still with those that promise-breakers be;
Goe; bidd the debter mynde his payment daye;
Or helpe the ignorant devoute to saye
Prayers they understand not; leade the blynde,
And bidd ingratefull wretches call to mynde
Their benefactors; and if vertue be
(As still she is) trode on by miserie,
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And leave to nurse the fawning sycophant;
Or, if thou see faire honor careles lye,
Without a tombe for after memorye,
Dwell by the grave, and teach all those that passe
To ymitate, by sheweing who yt was.
This waye, Remembrance, thou mayst doe some good,
And have due thanckes; but he that understood
The throes thou bringst on me, would saye I misse
The sleepe of him that did the pale moone kisse,
And that yt were a blessing throwne on me,
Sometymes to have the hated lethargie.
And have due thanckes; but he that understood
The throes thou bringst on me, would saye I misse
The sleepe of him that did the pale moone kisse,
And that yt were a blessing throwne on me,
Sometymes to have the hated lethargie.
Then, darke forgetfulnes, that onely art
The friend of lunatikes, seize on that part
Of memorie which hourely shewes her me!
Or suffer still her waking fantasie,
Even at the instant when I dreame of her,
To dreame the like of me! soe shall we erre
In pleasures endles maze without offence,
And both connex as soules in innocence.
The friend of lunatikes, seize on that part
Of memorie which hourely shewes her me!
Or suffer still her waking fantasie,
Even at the instant when I dreame of her,
To dreame the like of me! soe shall we erre
In pleasures endles maze without offence,
And both connex as soules in innocence.
| The Whole Works of William Browne | |