 | The Works of Michael Drayton |  |
At which the Nimphs to open laughter fell,
Amongst the rest the beauteous Florimel,
(Pleasd with the spell from Claia that came,
A mirthfull Gerle and given to sport and game)
As gamesome growes as any of them all,
And to this ditty instantly doth fall.
Florimel.
How in my thoughts should I contrive
The Image I am framing,
Which is so farre superlative,
As tis beyond all naming;
I would Jove of my counsell make,
And have his judgement in it,
But that I doubt he would mistake
How rightly to begin it:
It must be builded in the Ayre,
And tis my thoughts must doe it,
And onely they must be the stayre
From earth to mount me to it,
For of my Sex I frame my Lay,
Each houre, our selves forsaking,
How should I then finde out the way
To this my undertaking,
When our weake Fancies working still,
Yet changing every minnit,
Will show that it requires some skill,
Such difficulty's in it.
We would things, yet we know not what,
And let our will be granted,
Yet instantly we finde in that
Something unthought of wanted:
Our joyes and hopes such shadowes are,
As with our motions varry,
Which when we oft have fetcht from farre,
With us they never tarry:
Some worldly crosse doth still attend,
What long we have bin spinning,
And e'r we fully get the end
We lose of our beginning.
Our pollicies so peevish are,
That with themselves they wrangle,
And many times become the snare
That soonest us intangle;
For that the Love we beare our Friends
Though nere so strongly grounded,
Hath in it certaine oblique ends,
If to the bottome sounded:
Our owne well wishing making it,
A pardonable Treason;
For that it is derivd from witt,
And underpropt with reason.
For our Deare selves beloved sake
(Even in the depth of passion)
Our Center though our selves we make,
Yet is not that our station;
For whilst our Browes ambitious be
And youth at hand awayts us,
It is a pretty thing to see
How finely Beautie cheats us
And whylst with tyme we tryfling stand
To practise Antique graces
Age with a pale and witherd hand
Drawes Furowes in our faces.
Amongst the rest the beauteous Florimel,
(Pleasd with the spell from Claia that came,
A mirthfull Gerle and given to sport and game)
As gamesome growes as any of them all,
And to this ditty instantly doth fall.
276
How in my thoughts should I contrive
The Image I am framing,
Which is so farre superlative,
As tis beyond all naming;
I would Jove of my counsell make,
And have his judgement in it,
But that I doubt he would mistake
How rightly to begin it:
It must be builded in the Ayre,
And tis my thoughts must doe it,
And onely they must be the stayre
From earth to mount me to it,
For of my Sex I frame my Lay,
Each houre, our selves forsaking,
How should I then finde out the way
To this my undertaking,
When our weake Fancies working still,
Yet changing every minnit,
Will show that it requires some skill,
Such difficulty's in it.
We would things, yet we know not what,
And let our will be granted,
Yet instantly we finde in that
Something unthought of wanted:
Our joyes and hopes such shadowes are,
As with our motions varry,
Which when we oft have fetcht from farre,
With us they never tarry:
Some worldly crosse doth still attend,
What long we have bin spinning,
And e'r we fully get the end
We lose of our beginning.
Our pollicies so peevish are,
That with themselves they wrangle,
And many times become the snare
That soonest us intangle;
For that the Love we beare our Friends
Though nere so strongly grounded,
277
If to the bottome sounded:
Our owne well wishing making it,
A pardonable Treason;
For that it is derivd from witt,
And underpropt with reason.
For our Deare selves beloved sake
(Even in the depth of passion)
Our Center though our selves we make,
Yet is not that our station;
For whilst our Browes ambitious be
And youth at hand awayts us,
It is a pretty thing to see
How finely Beautie cheats us
And whylst with tyme we tryfling stand
To practise Antique graces
Age with a pale and witherd hand
Drawes Furowes in our faces.
| The Works of Michael Drayton | |