University of Virginia Library

THE TARANTULA OF LOUE

I.

O yow who heres the accents of my smart
diffusd in ryme and sad disordred verse,
gif euer flams of love hathe touchte your hart,
I trust with sobbs and teares the same to perse;
yea, euen in these ruid rigours I reherse,
which I depaint with blodie bloodles wou[n]ds,
I think dispared saules there plaints sal sperse,
and mak the haggard rocks resound sad sounds.
yet whils as ȝe the causes reids and grounds
off her immortal beautye and my payne,
through which greit greiffs and grace in bothe abounds,
with huimble speache speake this to her agayne:
“O of this stayles thought the stayed sing
breide him not deathe that glore to the dois bring.”

II.

The fyres, the cordes, the girns, the snairs, and darts,
quhairwith blind love hes me enflamd and wound,
the maist fair face, and the maist cruell hart,
I weiping wryte, and sighing dois resound;
and therwithall the beautyes that rebound
from her quha is of dames maist chaist and fair,
quha is the obiect, subiect, and the ground
of my lothd love, and vndeservd dispaire,
the sweit soure Iarres, the ioyes, the noyes, and caire,
my perIurd othes, and my denyed vowes,
her eyes, her hands, her hyde, her hewe, and haire,
hir lipps, her cheikes, hir hals, and her brent broues,
and things yet hidd, and to the world vnseene,
to wryte with teares, and paint with plaints, I meane.

III.

Sence spreits, thoughts, harts, you haue frome me, faire, taine,
then these lamenting and complayning lynes
may Iustlye to your mereits appertaine,
and dois belang to yow as dewe propynes;
bot sen my style and muse not weill defynes,
bot rather darks your prayse then right descryve,
your Iust disdaynes of reasoun now enclynes
to cast my songs asyde and thame to ryve,
whiche now half deade I have reviud alyfe,
and as the laymed birthe of my blunt brayne,
whils your despyte dois theme of spreits depryve,
I send thame to your plesant hands agayne,
to die by thame, to perrishe in there yre,
to burne by flams as they wer borne by fyre.

IV.

Pryde of my spreits and brightnes of my eyes,
Lamp of my lyfe and onlye hartes delyte,
hope of my paynes, sueit causer of my cryes,
cheife worke of heaven, and naturs mould perfyte,
glass of al bontye and of beautye quhyte,
deare sant on earthe, and yet of heuinlye race,
blist bright suborner of these theames I wryte,
cleire schyning Sun which darknes dois displace,
strong centryeis and wyde storehouss of al grace,
scharpe quik reviuer of my slow ingyne,
wha bothe my wills and witts reulis by thy face,
receave these verse which humblie I propyne,
and in theme reid that which thy beutye bred,
whose wondars hathe me in my folyeis fedd.

V.

Iff great desyre the move to see my harte,
mak in my breist a bore by knyfe or blaid,
and there yow sal your beautyes al advert
to have theme Maistres of my fredome maid;
there sal yow see how fayntinglye I faide,
and how my lighs, lyke bellowes full of wynd,
dois blaw furthe deadlye sighs for laike of aide,
and draw deip grones out of a mornfull mynde.
bot, dea[r]e Bellisa, cruell and vnkynde,
desist for deathe dois suche effects efface:
behold my verse, and in theme ȝe sal fynd
my hart, my love, your favours, and your face,
my plantes, my paynes, my longours, and vnrest,
your high disdaynes to my disgrace exprest.

VI.

O most vnhappie and accursed wight
to prayse her most who doith me most disgrace,
or her extoll that by her pryde and slight
dois circumvene me by a snaring face!
and yet in all my greiffs and cairfull cace,
plundged in the poole of payne and wheil of woe,
by loving and by lothed verse I prease
to eternise her prayse who paynes me soe
shee, obiect, maks me obiects all forgoe
which may displace or yet resent disdaynes;
shee, subiect, subiect not, as wyld as roe
or any hynde that in the woddes remaynes,
dothe mak me of my self with shame reherse
that I am first in love as last in verse.

VII.

With vncouthe flams lyke never felt afore
I feile the pouars of my lyfe decay,
and passions strainge more strongar worke the more
I spye of deathe bot yet of lyfe no way.
O fatal starrs, fearse destins of that day,
quhilk gaue me light and lyfe to love and see
and prayse the face that dothe al prayse despley,
quhilk gendrethe love, and maketh lust to flie!
yet in this curse quhat hap sal happen me
whiche may requyte my love or quenshe my flame,
to the belangs, Sweit Sante, (as lyes in the
to haile and hurt) for to reveale the same:
for looke in me and yow sall see appeare
great fyres of hope bot gretar frosts of feare.

VIII.

Through feare and hope, through fervent flams and frost,
through certen dreid, and maist vncerten caire,
I have the flouer of age and youthe so lost
as now my heade beginns to chainge his haire;
nor yet do I forsee how tyme may paire,
or yet the heavens deminish may my griefe;
nor can I see how to avoyde the snaire
quhairin I rin with ioy to my misheife;
nor spye I yet quhat confort or releif
can I pretend, or yet will shee extend,
sen shee vnto my doole is dombe and deif,
and dois my plaints disdainfullye perpend,
and with her eyes, which sprinkleth frostes and fyre,
maks reasoun, saule, and sence attones exspyre.

IX.

Perhapps yow think with your disdainfull words,
with ruid repulse, with noyes reherst in yre,
with threatning eyes, mair offensiue then suords,
and silent pryde, to baise my high desyre.
Reclame these thoughs which dois yow so inspyre:
Love fearles is of deathe or yet disgrace,
And how les happ he hopeth for his hyre,
so muche the more his baldnes dois encrease.
your beautye was the first that wan the place,
and skaild the walls of my vndantond harte,
which captiue now pynes in a catiue cace,
Vynkndlye mett with rigour for desert:
yet, nochttheles, your servant sal abyde
in spyte of ruid repulse or silent pryde.

X.

gif mortal prayers move immortal pouers,
gif pittie (love) may once with the prevayle,
empaire my paines reviving att all houres,
or mak thy flams vs equallyie assayle,
no glorious triumphe nor trophe be my baile
can come to the of my orconqueist corse,
who never in my faithe did fant or fayle,
nor rebell lyke resisted ones thy force:
adress thy chariot and thy suift quhyte horse
gainst her who vants hes murdred men by love;
despley thy flags, subvert her but remorse,
that doth a Mairmayde and Medusa prove;
spaire me, vnarmd, quho at the first did yeild,
and conquer her quho last yet keips the feild

XI.

O wakned thoughts of my incensed mynde,
eternall noyes of vnconseumd desyres,
O endles plaintes dispersed in the wynde,
O sobbs, o sighs, my smokyie vapourd fyres,
O eyes sent dovne from heaunlye thrones and fyres,
the movers first of my mad mour[n]ful muse,
O vncontrolled love, quho never tyres
to sakk the humbled hartes and theme abuse,
O trustles hope, deceaving with excuse,
who maks the feblest harts exempt of feares,
O vndecaying doole through ruid refuse,
O fontaynes tuo of euerflowing teares,
O vndermyning will which works my noy,
possesss her hart that hathe displaist my Ioy!

XII.

But spurr to prick, but brydle for to turne,
to quintescence great ioyes of gretest greif,
to fyre a harte and not the hyde to burne,
to steile a saule but takeris of a theif,
to kill and save, to giue and stey releife,
frie wills but cords to captiuat and bind,
but blaid to drawe my bloode from senews chiefe,
and to enflame a breist but fyre or wynde,
In closest stokkes to hold a oppen mynde,
but entrye in the feght to win the feild,
and to surpasss all wemen of her kynde,
mak wyntar flouers and sommer yce to yeild,
to hayle to heaven through ioy and noy to hell,
the wondars ar quhairin thow doist excell.

XIII.

Enflamed by hope, by frost attones I feare,
and quhils my eyes do gase vpon my dame,
and to her face dois glewe thair gasings neire,
I grone and ioy whils toung no speache can fram[e].
thus hardned by the yce and melt by flame,
I leiue, yet deid, seik sore, I find me sound,
I fal and ryse, I stakkring stand for schame,
I skayle the skyes, yet groveleth on the ground,
proud in my self, an abiect I am found,
commixting hope with doubt, I die disgraist,
payne, ioyes, mirthe, mone dois fra my breist reboun[d],
greif and annoyes my reason hes displaist;
so that my saul displesantlye doth prove,
euen at one tyme, a heaven and hell in love.

XIV.

Besyde these sorroues I sustened long
quhairwith my spreits did faynte and senses faide,
besyds your cruell thoughs, ay working wrong
vpon my huimbled harte but feare or dreide,
besyd the floods of woe quhairin I wayde,
besyde the burdens of my heavye cairs,
besyde these wonds which store of beutye maid,
which skant of bontye mair and mair prepairs,
besyde my great disgraces and dispairs,
besyde your coy contempt and high disdaynes,
I see new glewe, new girns, newe netts, new snairs
adrest to trapp me faster in your traynes,
and mak me crye, as feiling I do prove,
“I did afore bot looke, bot now dois love.”

XV.

Bellisa keips vnder her calmye grace
a thick tempestowous clud of blak disdayne,
cold snowe in harte, and kendled flams in face,
reuthe in her broues, bot rigour in her brayne;
through her faire eyes and myne my hart is tayne,
and pouring poysoun sprinkleth oh all quhaire,
quhilk harte dois sulk as therbye I lye slayne,
and cruell shee taks of my deathe no caire.
her fretts the brightnes of her browes empaire,
her frosts dothe pittie from her harte remove,
her blushing yet decores her beautye maire,
her hardned harte is rebell vnto love:
yet howe muche more in her doit[h] [?] hardnes growe,
so love in me more high and I more lowe.

XVI.

Ten thousand wayes love hes enflamd my harte,
and nature greivd me with far moe agayne;
yea, fortoun in my losses playes her parte,
and with dissembled shawes protracts my payne.
Love doth in hardest knotts my harte enchayne,
and nature discords in my senses place,
and fortoun crosses iust deserts agayne,
and maks me cludds of toyes for ioyes embrace:
so liue I plundge, yea, drovned in disgrace,
and triple foes doth mak me perrish thryse;
I see my wrak, and authours I embrace;
Vnlovd, I love theme that my deathe devyse:
thus wemen tuoe and a chyld forlorne
conspyrs all thrie in killing me to scorne.

XVII.

Suld I not heate these harmefull hands and blame
which shott the shafts of love streight in that part,
that by the bloode that yssewd of the same
is paynte her fatal name with in my harte?
yet ar the wonds so sueit of that sueit darte,
that seing thame the more I theme adore,
and fayne wald kiss thame though they cause my smart,
that the revenge might equal loss and sore.
faire hurting hand, hyde not your hewe no more,
whase quhytnes graces and dothe glad my vewe:
and quhils In wonding me I tak for glore
to perrish and to perrell by your hewe,
how far suld then my ioyes and glaidnes growe,
gif pittie anes culd from your fairnes flowe?

XVIII.

Vnto the Sunn her eyes I do compaire,
which dothe resemble in euerye pointe the same:
the Sunn his course hes in a spheire maist faire,
her eyes with in my harte dois roll the same;
quhils he dois schyne, the daye he doith proclame,
her eyes my Suns the dayes ar of my light;
quhils he declynes, obsceureth is this frame,
quhils shee is gone, I nought dois see bot night;
the Sun the starrs surmont, and is more bright,
my dame in beautye doth all dames surpasss.
thought theirin lyke, yet differs here there might:
he, schyning, lyfe gives to this worldlye masss,
bot yet her eyes, the fairer they dothe schyne,
they drawe my deathe more nerr to their declyne.

XIX.

There never ran more fearse and ouglyie beare,
nor cruell beaste in vnmaneured land,
who, gif the Echoes of my playnts culd heare,
wald not have steyd for woe and taymed stand;
there never lyon was in lybia sand,
nor hill so high bot might bene lowe and playne,
nor bird nor fishe subdewed by lyme or wand
bot wald have wayld with me my endles payne:
yet onlie shee frome pittie dois refrayne,
and voyde of grace shee laughs to see me loure,
the humbler I, shee prouder growes agayne,
and never will one dropp of pittie pouer.
why hest thowe, nature, then thy worke invert,
that framd her not a face lyke to her harte?

XX.

I fallowe her that fleithe far from me,
and flie from her that wald me maist content;
I leave the land to sayle on sands and see;
I lothe the fruit, and feids vpon the sent;
I thrystie am, yet from the wells I went;
I may reape ioy, yet do I sorrow seike;
I suit for grace, and will na w[a]yes relent;
I mercyie move, and yet I am not meike;
I speache requyre, and yet I will not speike;
In flamms consumd, I am bothe frost and yce;
I wishe my woes empaird, I others eike,
and profferd love I had of litill pryce;
I seike redresss, and will not giue releife;
gaynde love I lothe, vngaynd I seik with greife.

XXI.

O quhat great power lurketh in these eyes
which brings me deathe quhen I there beames behald!
O how bothe sueit and soure ar these bright rayes
which att one instant maks me whote and cold!
proud eyes, meik eyes, which maks in doubts me bold,
and dimmis my sight, and dois subdewe my harte,
fair eyes which bothe dois plagues and peace vnfold,
and by sueit discord dois my saule subvert.
stey! stey! my faire, and do not theme devert
which beares the message of my future payne;
go! go! my dame, and theme no more convert
to summond me vnto your love agayne;
stey! stey! go! go! I wott not quhat I wishe,
bot this I knaw, they bring me bayle and bliss.

XXII.

The day is done, the Sunn dothe ells declyne,
night now appr[o]aches, and the Moone appeares,
the tuinkling starrs in firmament dois schyne,
decoring with the poolles there circled spheres;
the birds to nests, wyld beasts to denns reteirs,
the moving leafes vnmoved now repose,
dewe dropps dois fall, the portraicts of my teares,
the wawes within the seas theme calmlye close:
to all things nature ordour dois Impose,
bot not to love that proudlye dothe me thrall,
quha all the dayes and night, but chainge or choyse,
steirs vp the coales of fyre vnto my fall,
and sawes his breirs and thornes within my hart,
the fruits quhairoff ar doole, greiff, grones, and smart.

XXIII. A DREAME.

Is this lovs toure, is this this forrett brent,
that calmes and stormes my discontented mynde?
is this the Muskett mouthe of maist sueit sent,
that lyfe reviud theirbye in me I find?
ar these the eyes quhase brightnes maks me blynde,
in depest of my harte ay kendling fyre?
is this the breist quhair chastetie is schrynde?
ar these the hands proud rebells to desyre?
now in my armes I hald my hoped hyre,
now in my armes I glaspe my gratious dame:
contenewe, love, my conqueist I requyre.
so in my sleip and dreames these words I frayme:
bot oh! quhils wakned I behalds the day,
my pleasurs past all with my dreames away.

XXIV.

I hope, sueit saule, to see at my returne
the heunlye couleur of your angell face,
which is the fyre and flamme quhairby I burne,
and never is empaird by tyme nor place;
quhair ȝe sall als behold in me this space
no other chainge bot that of haire and hewe;
as for my harte, which livs in payne but peace,
euen as it was, so sal yow find it trewe:
bot quhat sal I agayne in youe revewe
bot rigours, frosts, denyells, and disdaynes,
and in that face (from which doth ay ensewe
the streaming course of my vnceasant paynes)
a farder fairnes with a farder pryde,
which dothe my senses from my saul devyde.

XXV.

Newe wondar of the world, one mo then seaven,
whose presence was my pryde and absence payne,
whils this vyld pest in distance heth vs driven,
I equal absence losss with deaths agayne:
for quhen by her we mortallye lye slayne,
to the immortall thrones our soule dois flie,
euen so my harte in this impatient payne
abondons this my corss and fleyes to thee.
deathe maks vs leave the derest things we see,
this pest depryvs me of your heunlye face;
deathe cruell is, so absence is to me;
deathe full of frayes, all ioyes doth absence chase:
yet death putts end to all our noysome caire,
bot in this absence myne revius the maire.

XXVI.

I tred the futstepps of a thorted gate,
quhaire love me leades and doole doth me convoy
In couleurs cledd conforme to my estate,
with eyes In teares, and hart surcharged with noy.
my second sunn, quhose presence is my ioy,
by absence now maks darke my way and pathe;
yea, senses all my reasoun dois destroy,
and all is fallen that I buildt by faithe.
quho then sall drye my teares quhairin I bathe?
quho sall my harte deburden of his greif,
and tak from senses the empyre they hathe?
quho to my schaking feares sal giue releife?
quho, quho bot shee, to whome the gods hes geven
to be the pryde of earthe as pompe of heaven.

XXVII.

although this poysning pest, blak, rid, and paile,
disperseth some and others als infect,
and boith the cyteis and the land assayle,
and terrefyeis with dangers and suspect,
yet vnaffrayed these terrours I neglect.
I have no feare of a pestiferous breathe,
sen of lovs force I feil the full effect,
whoe in my breist his poyson sparpled hathe.
thus wayes prepaird I walk a cairles pathe,
and baldned so I feare no pest nor boache,
which by my senses may proceure my deathe:
for so lovs venim dois on me encroache
as no infectioun can infect my corse:
for quhaire that pest is poyson tynes her force.

XXVIII.

Far from these eyes, and sondred from that face
which with alluring lookes hethe me ortayne,
I move vnmoved, I chainge vnchaingde eache place,
and therbye thinks to mitigat my payne.
and quhils I thus wayes fra your sight remayne,
remembring all the moments that ar past,
yea, euerye houer that I have spent in vayne
in follouing yow quhair ȝe have fled als fast,
Vnto this dyell horologe att last
I me compaire, quhaire love the neidile is,
my hart the glass which schawes al grace is past,
the threid my thoughts, the schaddow a reft kiss:
See me quho then wald morning knaw by noone,
I am the dyell, sirs, and shee the sune.

XXIX.

Though now no more I see for which I sight,
nor yet behold the temple of my voues,
I have not yet preaste to escape by flight
furth of your yok, which nek and fredome boues:
for ay my thoughs which chainging disavoues,
trewe secretars of my affections all,
and high extollers of your lovlyie browes,
presents your absent schape more me to thrall,
and in this distance dothe to mynde recall
your rare perfections and theme right recyte,
which maks all men in madness for to fall,
and die for love as wemen for despyte:
so present, absent, I my noyes renewe,
And Fouler rins not Foule to girnis and glewe.

XXX.

if never for to ioy nor yet enioy
ane spark of plesour in my fervent love,
if vaynlye paines and pen and spreits employ
the hardness of her harte to mercye move,
or yet by absence seike for to remove
my hope that by dispair dois more encrease,
if euerye houer a hell of paynes to prove,
and see for service trewe assynde disgrace,
iff all these things may yet my flams efface,
and quensche the fyres that burne within my brest,
iff these things may devert or yet displace
my thoughts from loving her hathe me distrest,
then am I frie; bot this agayne sayes reason,
he goes not quhair he wald who is in preason.

XXXI.

O thetis be thow calme and Iuno cleire!
O boreas assuage the bosteous wynde!
O neptune, whils the seas doth rore and reare,
protect from rocks the maistres of my mynde!
O phebus lenght thy light, stey not behind!
O Cynthia expose the starrs to vewe,
whose double brightnes maks vs confort fynde!
O night destell of poorest aire the dewe!
So night, starns, moone, sun, neptane, Iuno trewe,
quhils my bellisa sayleth now on forthe,
delyver her from dangers and reskewe
who is this kingdomes glore and worlds worthe;
And love guyde thow the rudder, sayles, and oare,
and saiflye lanche faire lesbia on the schore.

XXXII.

Vnto the humeur of Bellisas harte
I see the season of thir dayes applye,
freshe in there hewe, yet cold in euerye pairt,
obscuring by the cludds the clerest skye;
wynds, tempests, haile, vpon the earthe dois lye,
and vncouthe stormes expells his wonted hate;
as euerye man amased dois espye
some strainge exchainge and rare in there conceate,
So my bellisa, on quhome steyes my state,
by her soure lookes and by her high disdayne
the calmness of my Ioyes doth far abate,
not caring how shee doith proceur my payne:
shee maks my eyes to hayle and breist to thunder,
shee loths my love, and dois my lyfe dissunder.

XXXIII.

Euen as the painfull pylot day and night,
in surging seas with tempests overtost,
depryvd of Sun, of Moone, and starrye light,
perplexedlye drawes narr and shunns the cost,
euen so my tossed saule through fyres and frost,
conseumd with feares, confunded with dispaire,
desyrous of the eyes quhase sight shee lost,
doeth covet more the causer of her caire:
alyke far aff, nar hand, now heire, now there,
succumbing in lovs seas I faynte and tyre;
far aff, your face enflams me mair and maire,
nar hand, your eyes dothe burne me in ther fyre:
Alas! quhat paynes and plagues ar these I prove,
to purches death for lyfe in this my love.

XXXIV.

Ar these thy weres O brave bellisa now
quhaire thow vnto my wrak by theme aspyres?
ar these the harralds which thow will avowe
for to denunce the message of thy yres,
to cast thy eyes that may subdewe impyres
vpon that face which thow dois maist disdayne,
and sighing sobb for to rekendle his fyres,
quhome thow hes wrapt in euerlasting payne?
will thow with me be trapped in lyke trayne?
will thow with me this mater now compone,
yeild love for love, giue lyfe by love againe?
we sal agrie if thow amend my mone:
bot this thow sayes, and brings for thy excuse,
Love is the swetar seasound with refuse.

XXXV.

The rearding thoundars highest triees abate,
and staitlye touers dothe with there fal ding dovne,
yet they not ay contenewe in that state,
nor yet they alweys furiouslye dois frovne;
bot thy fearse yre is euer bent and bowne
with sad effects my gladnes to efface,
and maks me scheaver trimblinglye and swowne,
and by disdaynes prolongs my deip disgrace.
the godds there Iust conceaved wreathe release,
and ar appaysed by a humbled harte;
yea, plagues deservd by fervent prayers cease:
bot thow thy thoughts from pittie dois avert,
as nather may my treuthe nor traynes availe
the rampiers of thy rigour for to skayle.

XXXVI.

Although the earthe dois bound the occeane sees,
and boreas blasts disturbs with stormes the same,
thoughe strands and floodes the tribut of theer sees
dois dewlye pay to theme that theme doth clayme,
yet for all this they dothe not proudlye frame
there stormye face in euerye streaming tyde
at euerye houer, bot quyet, calme, and tame,
dothe thole the fleiting schipps on theme to slyde:
bot thow, fearse damme, of fairnes ful and pryde,
yea, beautyes sea to quhome the tribut dewe
of teares, and sighs, of prayers oft denyed,
I have deburdend from a harte maist trewe,
dois rease thy stormes, and maks thy wynds more blaw[e],
to drone me in lovs sees and overthrawe.

XXXVII.

Sad and displesed my sorroues I lament,
and venteth furthe the accents of my bayle,
and with salt teares I bitterlye repent
that euer thow or love did me assayle;
and since no plaints nor prayers can prevayle
the rampiers of your rigour to subvert,
I will my langour and my losses vayle,
and pass my dayes but ather hope or harte.
Loue maks me de, and deathe dothe spair her darte,
bot in this sparing thousand deaths dois bring,
for whils I so do liue I do advert
newe subiects of moe deaths from yow to spring:
thus lyfe lenghts love, and deaths draws on the more
that thow dois me disdayne quhome I adore.

XXXVIII.

O might it plese the high supernall pouers
for to redresss my sore afflicted state,
or short my lothed lyfe and happles houers,
which confort dois abase and ioyes abate!
from day to day my dollours grow so greate,
as love insists to wound me more and more;
I rin so far I can not mak retrait;
ther is no herbe may cuir or salve my sore.
And quhils, faire dame, I do deaths help implore,
I call to mynde that deathe will then deny;
I pen your prayse quhome I with ȝeale adore;
ȝea, gif I die, we bothe sal loss heirbye,
for yow sal tyne the obiect of your yre,
And I the subiect of my high desyre.

XXXIX.

O cruell love, why dothe thow sore assayle
my humbled harte with torments overtorne?
quhat triumphs dost thow mereit of avayle
in thralling me who is so far forlorne?
and to quhat end is shee as yet forborne
who, cairles of thy flams, thy bowe and darte,
in her great pryde doeth all thy pouer scorne,
and dois remark my flams with frosen harte?
now through my loss I am maid more expert,
and now dois see to be bot taels and dremes
that thow hes Mars and Iove him self subvert,
with phebus bright in his resplendant beames,
sen that my dame, the glorye of myne eyes,
dispyseth the, and dois disdayne my cryes.

XL.

Within this mortal vayle I coverd beare
a solid doubt of ane vnsolid stey,
with fearfull baldnes and a hardie feare,
which doeth vncertene ioyes and noy bewray;
Anonder pittyeis schade schee dois desplay
the fulnes of her rigour and her pryde,
quhilk to beate downe by service I assey,
and trewe deserts which maks me more confyde.
grace bids me hope, dispair agane defyde,
hence courage comes, and thence dois feare encres,
the ane alreddie quenschte and spent vntryed,
the other growing on groues never less:
thus whils suche contrairs dothe my lyfe subvert,
I might sone perrish if I had a harte.

XLI.

I walk within this wood to vent my woes,
remembring all my greiffs and endles grones,
whils growing ioyes deip sad conceates orgoes,
and loades my hart with love and mynde with mones:
the playsant singing birds my plaints expones;
my teares from springs and wells semes to discend;
yea, baith the highest hills and hardest stones,
gif eare they have, a eare to me extend.
then att the aeks and allers that perpend
my plaints I speire, quhat way will they me feid,
if for to stey with theme I condiscend:
“on grene,” say they, “for grene dois hope ay breid,
which fedethe wrachles as by proofe they prove,
and brings disparing saules some ease in love.”

XLII.

O nights, no nights bot ay a daylye payne!
o dayes, no dayes bot cluddie nights obscure!
o lyfe most lothd, transchandge in deathe againe!
o doole, no doole bot certen deathe and suire!
o harte, no harte bot rok and marble dure
quhair wawes of woe with tempests stryketh soare!
o eyes, which ay against my harte conteure!
o teares, no teares bot of salt streames the store!
o heavens, no heavens bot cahos of disglore!
o godds, the guyders of my best hard happ!
o dame, quho dothe depress all reuthe and smore!
o nights, day, lyfe, o doole of deathe the trapp,
o harte, o eyes, o teares, o godds, and dame,
quhen sal her frosts be warmed be my flame?

XLIII.

If from my love thow partes, I will from thyne;
if thow denyes it, I will it disclayme;
if thow vntuist the cordes, I will vntwyne;
if thow but fyre remayne, I sal but flame;
if thow substract thy hart, I will the same;
if thow contemis, I lykwyse will disdayne;
if thow refuse, I will no more the blame,
and if thow finds no fault, I will not playne.
thow reules vnreuld, and so will I agane;
thow fixed love, I vnprofest sal vowe;
thow thyne, I myne, thow quyet, I but payne;
thow scoffs, I scorne, thow drifts, I disallow;
thow lovsse, I frie, thow mirrye, I will easde,
so in this chainge we thus w[a]yes baith ar pleasde.

XLIV.

Aire be thow ferme, O fyre agane be cold,
sea stand vnmovd, Earthe rin a restles race;
deathe become sweit, that kills bothe yong and old;
heavens chainge your course, your circles, and your place;
rage, hete, disdaynes, wreathe, rigour, and disgrace,
trewe lovers hartes content; lat theme for play
there greate contempts, that does there ioyes efface,
tak in gud pairt, and beare with all deley;
Lat all things chainge and alter without stey;
imposseble things posseble may be,
sen these my flams be quenscht which boore the suay,
and to to long of ioyes hes spoyled me:
for now the cordes ar cutt and lousse the chaynes
of my affectioun and afflicting paynes.

XLV.

Blist be that houer, and blissed be that day,
that opned vp the wyndowes to disdayne,
whair through my eyes there blyndnes dothe bewraye,
which, whils they servd, they served but ay in vayne:
my harte now knawes quhat sore perpetuell payne
adoring yow with ȝeale it hes susteande,
and quhat conceates to honour yow did frame,
and quhat trewe markes of doole it long reteand:
now more advysde this muche by greif I gaynde,
that, as I hope, so sall I see your face
with weake encroaching age baith spoyld and staynde,
as pailnes doithe your purpill cheikes deface,
and see the roses faid which they have worne,
and from my harte with theme to feill the thorne.

XLVI.

Full of desyre bot fraught agane with feare,
I burne by hope, and by dispaire dois freise;
with speide I merche, with als muche I reteire,
and bakward the beholds with lotts wyffs eyes;
I seme content, yet nothing can me pleise,
and in this battell beares a naked harte,
and cairles of my lyfe I scoure the sees
of stormye thoughts and of tempesteous smart;
baith of my weill and woe I pyle the cairt;
I humblye crave, yet allwayes comes behind;
I mereit muche, but rigour smores desert;
I seik for grace, and dois displeasour fynde:
thus do I see approache my fatal houers
quhair loss and shame is myne and blame al yours.

XLVII.

Quhen that her eyes giues hope of better happ,
and pittie in bellisas face appeirs,
then to my playntes I do the passage stapp,
and dois orpass my grones, my greifs, and teares;
quhils thow, fair saule, incace thow len thy eares
vnto the mornfull accents of my mone,
hes revisht me above ten heu[n]lye spheres,
then I conceate I sitt above Ioves throne;
and quhen these hands, which schame the yvore bone,
I softlye touche, though they not gripp agayne,
I feill my former sorroues all ar gone,
as no remembrance of my noyes remayne:
with suche sueit thoughts love dois my thoughs possess,
that hope groues more and I dispair the less.

XLVIII.

Schip brokken men whome stormye seas sore tosss
protests with oaths not to adventur more,
yet all there perrells, promeses, and losss
they quyte forgett quhen they come to the schore:
Euen so, fair dame, whils sadlye I deplore
the schipwrak of my witts proceurd by yow,
your lookes rekendleth love as of before,
and dois reviue which I did disavowe;
so all my former voues I disallowe,
and buryeis in oblivions grave my grones;
yea, I forgiue herefter euen as now
my feares, my teares, my cares, my sobbs, and mones,
in hope, gif I agane on roks be dreven,
ȝe will me thole to ancer in your heaven.

XLIX.

Sueit lovlye kisss and vncontrold disdaynes,
sueit lovlye frosts, sueit kyndlye loving flams,
sueit burning fyres, which suetar cold restraynes,
eyes full of peace and eyes that deathe proclaymes,
face full of bliss, which nocht bot rigour shames,
strong rok of faythe and feble reide of love,
harte soft with hope, harte that al happ disclaymes,
myndes that with myldnes wyldnes dois approve,
this humeur her, that humeur me doth move,
this is her state, and that is myne agayne,
now lowting lowe, now monting high above,
so none of vs can tell quho feils more payne;
bot this I knaw, shee smyles quhen I do dwyne,
so all the dommage and the doole is myne.

L.

O faire whyte hand, who onlye ought to hold
of cupids chariott the triumphant reanes,
whils he with conquests chargd of young and old
will all the warld and heavens did feil his traynes;
O lyvlye snow, lovs sceptar that susteanes,
from whome proceids bothe fyre and golden darte;
quhyte silk, quhyte Milk, which spredeth in my vaynes,
by heire, by touche, by taist, that kills my harte;
whyte polisht yvore, wondar of gods arte,
Faire obiec of the heavens eye and beames,
Lovs pryde and pompe of his triumphant cairte,
yeild grace to me the trophee of extremes,
and panse the wonds of my vnceasant payne,
for as yow hurt so can yow hail agayne.

LI.

Love sayes its tyme that I agane returne
to wayle my wonted woes and sad lament,
and to resume the flams by which I burne,
and which hethe bothe my blood and bodye spent.
thus wayes I feil his bow ay euer bent
but intermissioun to perseue my harte,
who never yet his rigour hethe relent,
yea, in trewes to play a tratours parte:
for whils that he dothe seme for to convert
bellisas face from rigour vnto reuthe,
and gentlye now and then to spair his darte,
that hes him servd twelf Moones and months with treuthe,
I feill him now agane prepaird the more
to mak freshe wonds of a half heald sore.

LII.

Bellisa faire, as I am bound I byde:
deathe me devyde er I from yow refraine;
no proude disdayne of yours nor spytful pryde,
quhilk love hathe tyde, dissunder sal in tuayne.
suppose I payne in this my constant vayne,
which is bot vayne, though it be constant kythd,
yet I assyde layes all that ought restrayne
me to remayne so daft of love denyed.
ȝow sene and spyde my faithe lyk to your hyde,
and hathe it tryed trewe gold by rigours stayne:
it brings bot stayne to yow to have defyed
the god, my guyde, who hathe afore yow tayne,
and may agayne yow stay fra wandring wyde,
and say with me, “as I am bound I byde.”

LIII.

Muse, yow fair dame, from whense doth flow this vayne
quhilk dois incense me in your lasting fame?
whils ȝow do dryve my thoughts to speachles payne,
which, for your love, I to this age proclame,
No Muses help, nor yet appollos flame
reclered hathe the cludds of my conceate.
but sence I vewed your beautye but al blame,
verse flowes but art as skill comes alwayes late:
your browe, your hair, your compast vaults maist fate,
tua starns, a mouthe with perle and rubyeis dekt,
whyte hands, which suld weire sceptars of estate,
whyte breist, quhyte hyde, quhyte alabaster nek,
grave paece, quik witt, and wisdome maist devyne,
appollo ar to me and muses nyne.

LIV.

O of my barren muse the birthfull seed!
o quik reviver of my deid conceates!
o scharpe persewar of my slow retraits,
In whose fair face bothe lyfe and deathe I reid!
o thow my foe in love and freind in feed,
that rayses vp my courage and abaites,
that saves by hope, and by dispair defeats,
that semes to help, and geveth no remeide!
O chanell of my ioy, and well of woe!
O tempests of my noyes, and calme of caire,
who nather halds me stil nor letts me goe!
o heavens bliss, and hell of all dispaire!
o glore of earthe and pryde of euerye place
dispachte my lyfe or ells do grant me grace!

LV.

My langour dothe by lingring gretar growe;
my greiffs ar graven baithe in bronse and brasss;
my harte first hurt now kendled lyes in lowe;
my miserye her mercye dothe surpass;
my bitter hope, no better then it was,
whils as it is, sua must it ay remayne,
which weathers wadther [?] lyke and groues as grasss;
as I doe boyle in bayle and pyne in payne,
bound in loves bands I liue, and fayne do fayne
for to be fried quhair I am fingar fangd,
exemd, exeimend baith of his trone and trayne:
in vane conceate whils I am wringd and wrangd
I thus wayes crye, “O Ioyles, ielous man,
that feares to loss the lass I never wan!”

LVI.

In serving yow I see my losse insewe,
and to my ruyne that I rin with speide;
I see that deathe, with terrour to my vewe,
dothe with her darte vnto my fall proceide;
I see I must dispaire to find remeid,
quhils pittie hathe no place nor plaints prevayle;
I see yow cruel, cairles of my deide,
and cairfullye your murder I conceale:
yet thow, curst, blist engendrer of my bayle,
extend thy grace at last and harte relent,
perpend my woes in ballances of zeale,
and trye my treuthe and my vnstaynd intent:
iff they be light, downe wey thame with a kiss,
the gayne wer great, and gever I wald bliss.

LVII.

Ten thousand tymes from syde to syde I turne,
and restles rowe as on a edge of thorne;
all thir cold nights I gant, I glow, and burne;
I wishe for day, yet languish quhil the morne;
and thinking all that quhyle I here a horne
annuncing that aurora dois appeire
to glad my harte by langour all forlorne,
and closed darknes of my eyes to cleire,
I mak thir verse, but light and beames perqueire,
not knawing yet the sequell of the same,
disturbd with youling hounds that hourlye beare,
and kekling crawes that semes my paynes proclame,
and aye crye off her quhose beutyes works my smart,
reuthe in thy eyes and rigour in thy harte.

LVIII.

Loue for my loss is changde in fyres and wormes,
which doith inflam my spreits and hert dois gnawe,
and vowing treuthe all falseoode euen performes,
pretending reuthe, yet rigour dois bot shawe:
my forces ar bot frayle, yet gainst all lawe
he armed me vnarmed dois invayde;
he sees my teares, he heares the sighs I blawe,
and maks my service thankleslye repayed.
I see him now in ambushe closlye layd
amangs the roses rid and lillyies quhyte;
I see him now to mak my forces fayde
be rubyeis which me burne and perles that byte;
And thought I see this loss I can not shun,
quhils naked now into the fyre I run.

LIX.

I burne by hope, I freise agayne by feare;
I fredome searche, yet spoyles me of the same;
I peace embrace, from rest I doe reteire;
I am In hel, and yet the heavens I clayme;
I see far off, yet vayles to eyes I frame;
as I me yeild, so bakward I withdrawe;
I her extoll quhome I agane doe blame,
and puft with pryde I prostrat me more lawe;
yea, dombe I crye, and smyling sadnes schawe;
I walk with light, and taks a blynd for guyde;
yea, not attentiue, I bothe heare and knawe;
the more I crave, the more I am denyde:
thus love me binds and drawes by double rope,
and maks me fondlye perrish be my hope.

LX.

As that poure foolisch fliee, quhase custome is
by flams to fyre her wings and lyfe to lose,
dothe fondlye flie to her conceated blisss,
and purches deathe in place of her repose,
so in beholding thee, my fragrant rose,
thy sweit aspect hethe quikned vp desyre,
which of my ruiyne doth the cause disclose,
and forceth me for to refanne my fyre;
So that in this for quhilk we bothe aspyre,
we equall doole and disadvantage prove;
with lyke effects of our imagind hyre
we lose our lyfe and onlye bot by love.
disequall yet in this ar thow and I:
thow quiklyee dees, I deing never die.

LXI.

This is the actioun I intend to move
and pleye at beautyes barr but all appeale:
whils your faire eyes wer summonds first of love,
and then my lookes the lybells of lyke ȝeale,
I doe accuse yow that ȝe mak me vayle,
and restleslye dryve over my nights and dayes;
by burdings of the greifs quhilk I conceale,
quhair love dois grow, and lyfe, alas, decayes,
my tymles, aged, silver haire bewrayes
there tymles chainge by rigour and my smart;
and sence my flams with coldnes thow repayes,
contemming cairleslye all trewe deserte,
ryve thow the charters of my fainting breathe,
sen from thy skarlet lipps proceids my deat[he].

LXII.

As one quhome trembling feaver hathe ortayne,
by intermitted tymes bothe hote and cold,
dothe faintlye on his right and left syde leane,
and finds his bedd more harder then he wold,
euen so in love suche passions I vnfould,
now frost, now fyre, now waxing reade and paile;
al night on left and right syde I have rold,
and seaking ease, all ease, alas, doeth faile;
and quhils that hee quhome thrist dois sore assayle,
remembring drink, recressis mair his drouthe,
so I remembring the rebreids my bayle,
quho can not sucke these lipps nor kiss that mouthe:
yet though our doole be lyke and our desyre,
Les painfull feavers ar then lovs his fyre.

LXIII.

Vpon this firthe, as on the sees of love,
my beaten bark, with waltring wawes tost sore,
to the bright fyre her wandring course dothe move,
imagining I see the on the schore:
thy words, the Mapp and cairt is, O my glore,
thy eyes, the ey attractiue calamite,
thy winks, the tuinkling stars which I adore,
the pointed compass ar thy proper feite,
the rudder is my reason vndiscreit,
the airs my greiffs, the reas my piteous plaint,
the ancar doubt, the suits sowre sueit,
the schip my half deade harte through mad Intent,
the see my teares, my sighs the whirling wynde,
which maks me seik the heaven I can not fynd.

LXIV.

This lark releiud by yow, greate soverane queene,
refigurs not my paynes nor yet my plight,
which in the foulers hand with feare hethe bene,
conceating causes baith of deathe and flight:
schee fredoome hes recoverd by your sight,
fred of the cage whair shee suld bene enclosd,
miracoulouslye hethe on your neck now light,
and ioying lairgar lyfe hathe there reposd;
Bot I, alas, no lark to deathe exposd,
no Fouler cachting bot a Fouler caught,
inthralled by the [whose] beautye hathe me glosd,
and sereinlyke hes at my thraldome laught,
can never fredome to my harte proceure,
quho might to mercye euen wyld beastes alleure.

LXV.

Tuix heavenes and her whome onlye I adore
I euerye wheare discerne resemblance greate:
theme phebus bright and phebe faire decore,
shee in her breist and hair is lyke perfyte;
theme bloodie Mars and Mercure dois delyte,
sueite speache doth her and harte severe maist grace;
they Saturne Sad possess with venus quhyte,
shee witts maist grace with faire and lovlye face;
In theme great Iove dois thundar furthe a pace,
in her ar lyke effects of calme and storme.
quha then to see the heunlye Spheres wald prease,
veue her who to the heavens is most conforme;
And he agane who wold behold my faire,
convert his eyes to heaven and sie her thaire.

LXVI.

Wurk as thow list my wrak, and frame thy face
to reuthe, to yre, to rancour, and disdayne;
my thoughts vnto suche wrongs gevs no more place
then does searocks vnto the Occean Mayne;
be as thow art and as thow wast remayne;
not as I was I am, for I am frie,
and sore ashaymed so long to serve in vayne,
but any gayne by bontethe or by fee.
I was a catiue slave to love and thee,
and humblye on thy plesour did abyde,
bot scorns the now as thow haste scoffed me,
and maister of my self doith dant thy pryde:
yea, lovles now I do my workes disclayme,
which for thy prayse I spent and to my schame.

LXVII.

Quhat more can I performe or thow exspect
then consecrat to the my lyfe and harte,
and that sueit fredome which men maist affect
into a slavishe thraldome to convert?
quhat more can I, faire dame, to the imparte
then houers, then oulks, then monthes and yeres to spend,
devysing how thow may resist deaths darte
be these my verse whiche for thy prayse I pend?
I fraymd my witts thy vertewe to comend,
I sought by gifts and service the to gayne,
I sought by slights and treuthe thy yres to end,
I sought thy love be my eternal payne;
yet to thy lasting glorie and my shame,
I gett no guerdon of the, cruell dame.

LXVIII.

Not for thy sake, o fair disdanfull dame,
whome I weill knaw how euil thow thinks of me,
I do my passions and thy prayse proclayme,
who lenghts my lyfe that I may alwayes dee;
not for thy sake, that thow suld here or see
the melancolik accents of my mone,
I vent my woes, and sings of love and thee,
and to this age and future theme expone;
Bot that al these with me may sobb and grone,
who through trewe love hathe chaingd bothe hewe & haire,
and folishlye vnto there deaths hes gone,
and not resents the horrours of dispaire,
may now lament there loss, there shame, and smarte,
in geving homage to a rebell harte.

LXIX.MILITAT OMNIS AMANS.

How can I be cald constant in my love
sen in inconstancyie my dedes consists?
I mount and fall; I baithe stand stil and move;
I feare, I hope; I leave aff yet insists;
my lauliness all proude disdayne resists;
baithe glad and sadd, I frese and I do burne;
and in despyte in patience more persists;
content, displeasd, attones I smyle and murne;
as I wald go, als sone I wald returne;
my plaints sueit musik ar, my confort caire;
I bakward stey with bitt, and fordword spurne;
thus of inconstant constant am I maire:
And since thow, love, suche contrairs dois agrie,
Ioyne me to her and her agane to me.

LXX.

Eternal lord, God of immortal glore,
though I in love my self and sense have lost
by vainlie vowing quhome now I do abhor,
with sighs and teares causd baithe by flams & frost,
though, soverene prence, I have in playning most
bewaild my panis bot not bewaild my sinn,
and so maid sad in me thy holie ghost,
yet drawe my saule from hell that thense doth rin.
this, O Sueit lord, to grant I will begin,
that I have blaikned beutyes lovd and servd,
and hethe adord bot outward bark and skin,
and earthlie things to heunlye hes preferd:
yet let thy mercie the to mercie move,
and off my mortal mak immortal love.

LXXI.

[_]

This is the last sonnet in the Drummond manuscript.

Lord quha redemes the deid and doth reviue,
and stumbling things preservs fra farder fall,
quha mercyeis maks the sinfull saul to liue,
and dothe to mynde na mair there guylt re[call],
aboliss, lord, my faults baith great and smal,
and my contempt and my offence efface;
by thy sweit meiknes and thy mercye thral
my stubborne thoughts, proud rebells to thy grace;
In thy sones bloode my sinns, great god, displace,
and giue me words to cal vpon thy name.
Lord in thy wonted kyndnes me embrace,
that to this age I may these words procla[m]e:
“as I In one god euer ay haith trust,
so ar his promeis steadfast, trewe, and Iust.”

LXXII.

LXXIII.

Bellisa pansiue satt, and in her hands,
more whyte then snaw, did hald the holye booke,
and reiding that which shee weill vnderstands
devoltlye with her eyes did thairin looke;
and quhils her heide was boued her brest shee strooke,
and with a godlye and a gudlye ȝeale
pourd furth her sighs of vapours ful and smoke,
and with such incence did her plantis revele.
“O god,” sayd [?] I, “and [?] dois my day[m]e bewayle
my sore afflicted and distressed state?”
“O god,” sayd[?] I, “repents shee of her fayte,
her wrathe, her rigours, and her m[u]rder [?] greate?
no! no! for this I see and am asseurd,
her godlines dois mak her mair indurd.”

LXXIV.

Quhils with more reuthfull and alluiring eyes
thow wings my hope that I may yet aspyre,
and dois prepair the tymber, colls, and treis,
for to reviue my half exti[n]gisht fyre,
so sone I feel the force of thy desyre
tak full effect and fuller me enflame;
yea, never Lunt more Lint nor poulders yre
inkendled soner then ȝow me, my dame.
bot seing the Vntouched [?] with the same,
I twirle [?] a [OMITTED] roll of love, and rubb eache part
of your sueit corse for to enflame the same,
quhilk sone was quensht by coldnes of thy hart:
so nather booke [?] nor songs contentment brings,
for paper flams not [OMITTED] with saddnes sings.

LXXV. RAPPORT.

So hard a hart, so could, so frie then myne,
no arrow, flame, nor cord, perst, brunt, nor band;
bot captiue now I am through these assaults of thyne;
sore hurt I am, flamd, chainde by feit and hand,
more ferme then stone, more cold then frost or sand;
frie and exemd fra force of lovs impyre,
I feard no wond, no letts, nor bur[n]ing brand,
by bow, by netts, by sparks of whote desyre;
bot now by shott I am destroyed in yre,
as never dart, nor fewell, chayne so sore,
a hart more oppned, fastned, or did fyre;
and yet save death I see no help therfor
to staunche, quenshe, lousse, the bloode, the bleise, and knott,
that binds, waists, rinis, which I to stey meanes not.