The Works of Michael Drayton :: :: University of Virginia Library

Vouchsafe to grace these rude unpolish'd rymes,
Which long (deer friend) have slept in sable night,
And come abroad now in these glorious tymes,
Can hardly brooke the purenes of the light.

But sith you see their desteny is such,
That in the world theyr fortune they must try,
Perhaps they better shall abide the tuch,
Wearing your name theyr gracious livery.

Yet these mine owne, I wrong not other men,
Nor trafique further then thys happy Clyme,
Nor filch from Portes nor from Petrarchs pen,
A fault too common in thys latter tyme.
Divine Syr Phillip, I avouch thy writ,
I am no Pickpurse of anothers wit.

Yours devoted, M. Drayton.

[Ankor tryumph, upon whose blessed shore]

Ankor tryumph, upon whose blessed shore,
The sacred Muses solemnize thy name:
Where the Arcadian Swaines with rytes adore
Pandoras poesy, and her living fame.

Where first this jolly Sheepheard gan rehearse,
That heavenly worth, upon his Oaten reede,
Of earths great Queene: in Nectar-dewed verse,
Which none so wise that rightly can areede.

Nowe in conceite of his ambitious love,
He mounts his thoughts unto the highest gate,
Straynd with some sacred spirit from above,
Bewraies his love, his fayth, his life, his fate:

In this his myrror of Ideas praise,
On whom his thoughts, and fortunes all attend,
Tunes all his Ditties, and his Roundelaies,
How love begun, how love shal never end.
No wonder though his Muse then soare so hie,
Whose subject is the Queene of Poesie.

Gorbo il fidele.

AMOUR. 1.

Reade heere (sweet Mayd) the story of my wo,
The drery abstracts of my endles cares:
With my lives sorow enterlyned so,
Smok'd with my sighes, and blotted with my teares.

The sad memorials of my miseries,
Pend in the griefe of myne afflicted ghost:
My lives complaint in doleful Elegies,
With so pure love as tyme could never boast.

Receave the incense which I offer heere,
By my strong fayth ascending to thy fame,
My zeale, my hope, my vowes, my praise, my prayer,
My soules oblations to thy sacred name.
Which name my Muse to highest heaven shal raise,
By chast desire, true love, and vertues praise.

AMOUR. 2.

My fayre, if thou wilt register my love,
More then worlds volumes shall thereof arise,
Preserve my teares, and thou thy selfe shalt prove
A second flood downe rayning from mine eyes.

Note but my sighes, and thine eyes shal behold,
The Sun-beames smothered with immortall smoke:
And if by thee my prayers may be enrold,
They heaven and earth to pitty shall provoke.

Looke thou into my breast, and thou shalt see
Chaste holy vowes for my soules sacrifice:
That soule (sweet Maide) which so hath honored thee,
Erecting Trophies to thy sacred eyes.
Those eyes to my hart shining ever bright,
When darknes hath obscur'd each other light.

AMOUR. 3.

My thoughts bred up with Eagle-birds of love,
And for their vertues I desierd to know,
Upon the nest I set them, forth to prove,
If they were of the Eagles kinde or no.

But they no sooner saw my Sunne appeare,
But on her rayes with gazing eyes they stood,
Which proov'd my birds delighted in the ayre,
And that they came of this rare kinglie brood.

But now their plumes full sumd with sweet desire,
To shew their kinde, began to clime the skies:
Doe what I could my Eaglets would aspire,
Straight mounting up to thy celestiall eyes.
And thus (my faire) my thoughts away be flowne,
And from my breast into thine eyes be gone.

AMOUR. 4.

My faire, had I not erst adornd my Lute,
With those sweet strings stolne from thy golden hayre,
Unto the world had all my joyes been mute,
Nor had I learn'd to descant on my faire.

Had not mine eye seene thy Celestiall eye,
Nor my hart knowne the power of thy name,
My soule had ne'r felt thy Divinitie,
Nor my Muse been the trumpet of thy fame.

But thy divine perfections by their skill,
This miracle on my poore Muse have tried:
And by inspiring, glorifide my quill,
And in my verse thy selfe art deified.
Thus from thy selfe the cause is thus derived,
That by thy fame all fame shall be survived.

100

AMOUR. 5.

Since holy Vestall lawes have been neglected,
The Gods pure fire hath been extinguisht quite:
No Virgine once attending on that light,
Nor yet those heavenly secrets once respected.

Till thou alone to pay the heavens their dutie,
Within the Temple of thy sacred name,
With thine eyes kindling that Celestial flame,
By those reflecting Sun-beames of thy beautie.

Here Chastity that Vestall most divine,
Attends that Lampe with eye which never sleepeth,
The volumes of Religions lawes shee keepeth,
Making thy breast that sacred reliques shryne,
Where blessed Angels singing day and night,
Praise him which made that fire, which lends that light.

AMOUR. 6.

In one whole world is but one Phœnix found,
A Phœnix thou, this Phœnix then alone,
By thy rare plume thy kind is easly knowne,
With heavenly colours dide, with natures wonder cround,

Heape thine own vertues seasoned by their sunne,
On heavenlie top of thy divine desire:
Then with thy beautie set the same on fire,
So by thy death, thy life shall be begunne.

Thy selfe thus burned in this sacred flame,
With thine owne sweetnes al the heavens perfuming,
And stil increasing as thou art consuming,
Shalt spring againe from th'ashes of thy fame;
And mounting up, shalt to the heavens ascend,
So maist thou live, past world, past fame, past end.

101

AMOUR. 7.

Stay, stay, sweet Time, behold or ere thou passe
From world to world, thou long hast sought to see,
That wonder now wherein all wonders be,
Where heaven beholds her in a mortall glasse.

Nay, looke thee Time in this Celestiall glasse,
And thy youth past, in this faire mirror see:
Behold worlds Beautie in her infancie,
What shee was then, and thou or ere shee was.

Now passe on Time, to after-worlds tell this,
Tell truelie Time what in thy time hath beene,
That they may tel more worlds what Time hath seene,
And heaven may joy to think on past worlds blisse.
Heere make a Period Time, and saie for mee,
She was, the like that never was, nor never more shalbe.

AMOUR. 8.

Unto the World, to Learning, and to Heaven,
Three nines there are, to everie one a nine,
One number of the earth, the other both divine,
One wonder woman now makes three od numbers even.

Nine orders first of Angels be in heaven,
Nine Muses doe with learning still frequent:
These with the Gods are ever resident:
Nine worthy men unto the world were given.

My Worthie, one to these nine Worthies, addeth,
And my faire Muse, one Muse unto the nine:
And my good Angell in my soule divine,
With one more order, these nine orders gladdeth.
My Muse, my Worthy, and my Angell then,
Makes every one of these three nines a ten.

102

AMOUR. 9.

Beauty sometime in all her glory crowned,
Passing by that cleere fountaine of thine eye:
Her sun-shine face there chaunsing to espy,
Forgot herselfe, and thought she had been drowned.

And thus whilst Beautie on her beauty gazed,
Who then yet living, deemd she had been dying,
And yet in death, some hope of life espying,
At her own rare perfections so amazed;

Twixt joy and griefe, yet with a smyling frowning,
The glorious sun-beames of her eyes bright shining,
And shee on her owne destiny divining,
Threw in herselfe, to save herselfe by drowning.
The Well of Nectar, pav'd with pearle and gold,
Where shee remaines for all eyes to behold.

AMOUR. 10.

Oft taking pen in hand, with words to cast my woes,
Beginning to account the sum of all my cares,
I well perceive my griefe innumerable growes,
And styll in reckonings rise more millions of dispayres.

And thus deviding of my fatall howres,
The payments of my love I read, and reading crosse,
And in substracting, set my sweets unto my sowres,
Th'arerage of my joyes, directs me to my losse.

And thus mine eyes, a debtor to thine eye,
Who by extortion gaineth all theyr lookes,
My hart hath payd such grievous usury,
That all her wealth lyes in thy Beauties bookes.
And all is thine which hath been due to mee,
And I a Banckrupt quite undone by thee.

103

AMOUR. 11.

Thine eyes taught mee the Alphabet of love,
To con my Cros-rowe ere I learn'd to spell:
For I was apt a scholler like to prove,
Gave mee sweet lookes when as I learned well.

Vowes were my vowels when I then begun
At my first Lesson in thy sacred name,
My consonants the next when I had done,
Words consonant, and sounding to thy fame.

My liquids then were liquid christall teares,
My cares my mutes so mute to crave reliefe,
My dolefull Dypthongs were my lives dispaires,
Redoubling sighes the accents of my griefe:
My loves Schoole-mistris now hath taught me so,
That I can reade a story of my woe.

AMOUR. 12.

Some Athiest or vile Infidell in love,
When I doe speake of thy divinitie,
May blaspheme thus, and say, I flatter thee:
And onely write, my skill in verse to prove.

See myracles, yee unbeleeving see,
A dumbe-borne Muse made to expresse the mind,
A cripple hand to write, yet lame by kind,
One by thy name, the other touching thee.

Blind were mine eyes, till they were seene of thine,
And mine eares deafe, by thy fame healed be,
My vices cur'd, by vertues sprung from thee,
My hopes reviv'd which long in grave had lyne.
All uncleane thoughts, foule spirits cast out in mee,
By thy great power, and by strong fayth in thee.

104

AMOUR. 13.

Cleere Ankor, on whose silver-sanded shore,
My soule-shrinde Saint, my faire Idea lyes:
O blessed Brooke, whose milk-white Swans adore
That christall streame refined by her eyes.

Where sweet Myrh-breathing Zephyre in the spring,
Gently distils his Nectar-dropping showers:
Where Nightingals in Arden sit and sing,
Amongst those dainty dew-empearled flowers.

Say thus fayre Brooke when thou shalt see thy Queene,
Loe, heere thy Shepheard spent his wandring yeeres:
And in these shades (deer Nimphe) he oft hath been,
And heere to thee he sacrifiz'd his teares.
Fayre Arden, thou my Tempe art alone,
And thou sweet Ankor art my Helicon.

AMOUR. 14.

Looking into the glasse of my youths miseries,
I see the ugly face of my deformed cares,
With withered browes, all wrinckled with dispaires,
That for my mis-spent youth the tears fel from my eyes.

Then in these teares, the mirrors of these eyes,
Thy fayrest youth and Beautie doe I see,
Imprinted in my teares by looking still on thee:
Thus midst a thousand woes, ten thousand joyes arise.

Yet in these joyes, the shadowes of my good,
In this fayre limmed ground as white as snow,
Paynted the blackest Image of my woe,
With murthering hands imbrud in mine own blood.
And in thys Image his darke clowdy eyes,
My life, my youth, my love, I heere Anotamize.

105

AMOUR. 15.

Now Love, if thou wilt prove a Conqueror,
Subdue thys Tyrant ever martyring mee,
And but appoint me for her Tormentor,
Then for a Monarch will I honour thee.

My hart shall be the prison for my fayre,
Ile fetter her in chaines of purest love,
My sighes shall stop the passage of the ayre:
This punishment the pittilesse may move.

With teares out of the Channels of mine eyes,
She'st quench her thirst as duly as they fall:
Kinde words unkindest meate I can devise,
My sweet, my faire, my good, my best of all.

Ile binde her then with my torne-tressed haire,
And racke her with a thousand holy wishes,
Then on a place prepared for her there,
Ile execute her with a thousand kisses.
Thus will I crucifie my cruell shee,
Thus Ile plague her which so hath plagued mee.

106

AMOUR. 16.

Vertues Idea in virginitie,
By inspiration, came conceav'd with thought:
The time is come delivered she must be,
Where first my Love into the world was brought.

Unhappy Borne, of all unhappy day,
So luckles was my Babes nativity:
Saturne chiefe Lord of the Ascendant lay,
The wandring Moone in earths triplicitie.

Now, or by chaunce, or heavens hie providence,
His Mother died, and by her Legacie,
(Fearing the stars presaged influence,)
Bequeath'd his wardship to my soveraignes eye;

Where hunger-starven, wanting lookes to live,
Still empty gorg'd, with cares consumption pynde,
Salt luke-warme teares shee for his drinke did give,
And ever-more with sighes he supt and dynde.
And thus (poore Orphan) lying in distresse,
Cryes in his pangs, God helpe the motherlesse.

107

AMOUR. 17.

If ever wonder could report a wonder,
Or tongue of wonder worth could tell a wonder thought,
Or ever joy expresse, what perfect joy hath taught,
Then wonder, tongue, then joy, might wel report a wonder.

Could all conceite conclude, which past conceite admireth,
Or could mine eye but ayme, her objects past perfection,
My words might imitate my deerest thoughts direction:
And my soule then obtaine which so my soule desireth.

Were not Invention stauld, treading Inventions maze,
Or my swift-winged Muse tyred by too hie flying,
Did not perfection still on her perfection gaze,
Whilst Love (my Phœnix bird) in her own flame is dying,
Invention and my Muse, perfection and her love,
Should teach the world to know the wonder that I prove.

AMOUR. 18.

Some when in ryme they of their Loves doe tell,
With flames and lightning their exordiums paynt,
Some invocate the Gods, some spirits of Hell,
And heaven, and earth, doe with their woes acquaint.

Elizia is too hie a seate for mee,
I wyll not come in Stixe nor Phlegiton,
The Muses nice, the Furies cruell be,
I lyke not Limbo, nor blacke Acheron,

Spightfull Errinis frights mee with her lookes,
My manhood dares not with foule Ate mell,
I quake to looke on Hecats charming bookes,
I styll feare bugbeares in Apollos Cell.
I passe not for Minerva nor Astræa,
But ever call upon divine Idea.

108

AMOUR. 19.

If those ten Regions registred by Fame,
By theyr ten Sibils have the world controld,
Who prophecied of Christ or ere he came,
And of hys blessed birth before fore-told.

That man-god now of whom they dyd divine,
This earth of those sweet Prophets hath bereft,
And since the world to judgement doth declyne,
In steed of ten, one Sibil to us left.

Thys, pure Idea, vertues right Idea,
Shee of whom Merlin long tyme did fore-tell,
Excelling her of Delphos or Cumæa,
Whose lyfe doth save a thousand soules from hell:
That life (I meane) which doth Religion teach,
And by example, true repentance preach.

AMOUR. 20.

Reading sometyme, my sorrowes to beguile,
I find old Poets hylls and floods admire.
One, he doth wonder monster-breeding Nyle,
Another, mervailes Sulphure Aetnas fire.

Now broad-brymd Indus, then of Pindus height,
Pelion and Ossa, frosty Caucase old,
The Delian Cynthus, then Olympus weight,
Slow Arrer, frantick Gallus, Cydnus cold.

Some Ganges, Ister, and of Tagus tell,
Some whir-poole Po, and slyding Hypasis,
Some old Pernassus, where the Muses dwell,
Some Helycon, and some faire Simois,
A fooles thinke I, had you Idea seene,
Poore Brookes and Banks had no such wonders beene.

109

AMOUR. 21.

Letters and lynes we see are soone defaced,
Mettles doe waste, and fret with cankers rust,
The Diamond shall once consume to dust,
And freshest colours with foule staines disgraced.

Paper and yncke, can paynt but naked words,
To write with blood, of force offends the sight,
And if with teares, I find them all too light:
And sighes and signes a silly hope affoords.

O sweetest shadow, how thou serv'st my turne,
Which still shalt be as long as there is Sunne,
Nor whilst the world is, never shall be done,
Whilst Moone shall shyne by night, or any fire shall burne.
That every thing whence shadow doth proceede,
May in his shadow my Loves story reade.

AMOUR. 22.

My hart imprisoned in a hopeles Ile,
Peopled with Armies of pale jealous eyes,
The shores beset with thousand secret spyes,
Must passe by ayre, or else dye in exile.

He framd him wings with feathers of his thought,
Which by theyr nature learn'd to mount the skye,
And with the same he practised to flye,
Till he himselfe thys Eagles art had taught.

Thus soring still, not looking once below,
So neere thyne eyes celestiall sunne aspyred,
That with the rayes his wafting pyneons fired.
Thus was the wanton cause of hys owne woe.
Downe fell he in thy Beauties Ocean drenched,
Yet there he burnes, in fire thats never quenched.

110

AMOUR. 23.

Wonder of Heaven, glasse of divinitie,
Rare beauty, Natures joy, perfections Mother,
The worke of that united Trinitie,
Wherein each fayrest part excelleth other.

Loves Methridate, the purest of perfection,
Celestiall Image, Load-stone of desire,
The soules delight, the sences true direction,
Sunne of the world, thou hart revyving fire.

Why should'st thou place thy Trophies in those eyes,
Which scorne the honor that is done to thee,
Or make my pen her name imortalize,
Who in her pride sdaynes once to looke on mee.
It is thy heaven within her face to dwell,
And in thy heaven, there onely is my hell.

AMOUR. 24.

Our floods-Queene Thames, for shyps & Swans is crowned,
And stately Severne, for her shores is praised,
The christall Trent, for Foords & fishe renowned,
And Avons fame, to Albyons Clives is raysed.

Carlegion Chester, vaunts her holy Dee,
Yorke, many wonders of her Ouse can tell,
The Peake her Dove, whose bancks so fertill bee,
And Kent will say, her Medway doth excell.

Cotswoold commends her Isis and her Tame,
Our Northern borders boast of Tweeds faire flood,
Our Westerne parts extoll theyr Wilys fame,
And old Legea brags of Danish blood:
Ardens sweet Ankor let thy glory be,
That fayre Idea shee doth live by thee.

111

AMOUR. 25.

The glorious sunne went blushing to his bed,
When my soules sunne from her fayre Cabynet,
Her golden beames had now discovered,
Lightning the world, eclipsed by his set.

Some muz'd to see the earth envy the ayre,
Which from her lyps exhald refined sweet,
A world to see, yet how he joyd to heare
The dainty grasse make musicke with her feete.

But my most mervaile was when from the skyes,
So Comet-like each starre advaunc'd her lyght,
As though the heaven had now awak'd her eyes,
And summond Angels to thys blessed sight.
No clowde was seene, but christaline the ayre,
Laughing for joy upon my lovely fayre.

AMOUR. 26.

Cupid, dumbe Idoll, peevish Saint of love,
No more shalt thou nor Saint nor Idoll be,
No God art thou, a Goddesse shee doth prove,
Of all thine honour shee hath robbed thee.

Thy Bowe halfe broke, is peec'd with olde desire,
Her Bowe is beauty, with ten thousand strings,
Of purest gold, tempred with vertues fire:
The least able to kyll an hoste of Kings.

Thy shafts be spent, and shee (to warre appointed)
Hydes in those christall quivers of her eyes,
More Arrowes with hart-piercing mettel poynted,
Then there be starres at midnight in the skyes.
With these, she steales mens harts for her reliefe,
Yet happy he thats robd of such a thiefe.

112

AMOUR. 27.

My love makes hote the fire whose heat is spent,
The water, moysture from my teares deriveth:
And my strong sighes, the ayres weake force reviveth.
This love, tears, sighes, maintaine each one his element.

The fire, unto my love, compare a painted fire,
The water, to my teares, as drops to Oceans be,
The ayre, unto my sighes, as Eagle to the flie,
The passions of dispaire, but joyes to my desire.

Onely my love is in the fire ingraved,
Onely my teares by Oceans may be gessed,
Onely my sighes are by the ayre expressed,
Yet fire, water, ayre, of nature not deprived.
Whilst fire, water, ayre, twixt heaven & earth shall be,
My love, my teares, my sighes, extinguisht cannot be.

AMOUR. 28.

Some wits there be, which lyke my method well,
And say my verse runnes in a lofty vayne,
Some say I have a passing pleasing straine,
Some say that in my humor I excell.

Some, who reach not the height of my conceite,
They say, (as Poets doe) I use to fayne,
And in bare words paynt out my passions payne.
Thus sundry men, their sundry minds repeate.

I passe not I how men affected be,
Nor who commend or discommend my verse,
It pleaseth me if I my plaints rehearse,
And in my lynes if shee my love may see.
I prove my verse autentique still in thys,
Who writes my Mistres praise, can never write amisse.

113

AMOUR. 29.

O eyes, behold your happy Hesperus,
That luckie Load-starre of eternall light,
Left as that sunne alone to comfort us,
When our worlds sunne is vanisht out of sight.

O starre of starres, fayre Planet mildly mooving,
O Lampe of vertue, sun-bright, ever shyning,
O mine eyes Comet, so admyr'd by loving,
O cleerest day-starre, never more declyning.

O our worlds wonder, crowne of heaven above,
Thrice happy be those eyes which may behold thee,
Lov'd more then life, yet onely art his love,
Whose glorious hand immortall hath enrold thee.
O blessed fayre, now vaile those heavenly eyes,
That I may blesse mee at thy sweet arise.

AMOUR. 30.

Three sorts of Serpents doe resemble thee,
That daungerous eye-killing Cockatrice,
Th'inchaunting Syren, which doth so entice,
The weeping Crocodile: these vile pernicious three.

The Basiliske his nature takes from thee,
Who for my life in secrete waite do'st lye,
And to my hart send'st poyson from thine eye,
Thus do I feele the paine, the cause, yet cannot see.

Faire-mayd no more, but Mayr-maid be thy name,
Who with thy sweet aluring harmony
Hast playd the thiefe, and stolne my hart from me,
And like a Tyrant mak'st my griefe thy game.
Thou Crocodile, who when thou hast me slaine,
Lament'st my death, with teares of thy disdaine.

114

AMOUR. 31.

Sitting alone, love bids me goe and write,
Reason plucks backe, commaunding me to stay,
Boasting that shee doth still direct the way,
Els senceles love could never once endite.

Love growing angry, vexed at the spleene,
And scorning Reasons maymed Argument,
Straight taxeth Reason, wanting to invent,
Where shee with Love conversing hath not beene.

Reason reproched with this coy disdaine,
Dispighteth Love, and laugheth at her folly,
And Love contemning Reasons reason wholy,
Thought her in weight too light by many a graine.
Reason put back, doth out of sight remove,
And Love alone finds reason in my love.

AMOUR. 32.

Those teares which quench my hope, still kindle my desire,
Those sighes which coole my hart, are coles unto my love,
Disdayne Ice to my life, is to my soule a fire,
With teares, sighes, & disdaine, thys contrary I prove.

Quenchles desire, makes hope burne, dryes my teares,
Love heats my hart, my hart-heat my sighes warmeth,
With my soules fire, my life disdaine out-weares,
Desire, my love, my soule, my hope, hart, & life charmeth.

My hope becomes a friend to my desire,
My hart imbraceth Love, Love doth imbrace my hart,
My life a Phœnix is in my soules fire,
From thence (they vow) they never will depart.
Desire, my love, my soule, my hope, my hart, my life,
With teares, sighes, and disdaine, shall have immortal strife.

115

AMOUR. 33.

Whilst thus mine eyes doe surfet with delight,
My wofull hart imprisond in my breast,
Wishing to be trans-formd into my sight,
To looke on her by whom mine eyes are blest.

But whilst mine eyes thus greedily doe gaze,
Behold, their objects over-soone depart,
And treading in thys never-ending maze,
Wish now to be trans-formd into my hart.

My hart surcharg'd with thoughts, sighes in abundance raise,
My eyes made dim with lookes, poure down a flood of tears,
And whilst my hart and eye, envy each others praise,
My dying lookes and thoughts are peiz'd in equall feares.
And thus whilst sighes and teares together doe contende,
Each one of these, doth ayde unto the other lende.

AMOUR. 34.

My fayre, looke from those turrets of thine eyes,
Into the Ocean of a troubled minde,
Where my poore soule, the Barke of sorrow lyes,
Left to the mercy of the waves and winde.

See where shee flotes, laden with purest love,
Which those fayre Ilands of thy lookes affoord,
Desiring yet a thousand deaths to prove,
Then so to cast her Ballast over boord.

See how her sayles be rent, her tacklings worne,
Her Cable broke, her surest Anchor lost,
Her Marryners doe leave her all forlorne,
Yet how shee bends towards that blessed Coast.
Loe where she drownes, in stormes of thy displeasure,
Whose worthy prize should have enritcht thy treasure.

116

AMOUR. 35.

See chaste Diana, where my harmles hart,
Rouz'd from my breast, his sure and safest layre,
Nor chaste by hound, nor forc'd by Hunters arte,
Yet see how right he comes unto my fayre.

See how my Deere comes to thy Beauties stand,
And there stands gazing on those darting eyes,
Whilst from theyr rayes by Cupids skilfull hand,
Into his hart the piercing Arrow flyes.

See how hee lookes upon his bleeding wound,
Whilst thus he panteth for his latest breath,
And looking on thee, falls upon the ground,
Smyling, as though he gloried in his death.
And wallowing in his blood, some lyfe yet laft,
His stone-cold lips doth kisse the blessed shaft.

AMOUR. 36.

Sweete sleepe so arm'd with Beauties arrowes darting,
Sleepe in thy Beauty, Beauty in sleepe appeareth,
Sleepe lightning Beauty, Beauty sleepes darknes cleereth,
Sleepes wonder Beauty, wonders to worlds imparting.

Sleep watching Beauty, Beauty waking, sleepe guarding,
Beauty in sleepe, sleepe in Beauty charmed,
Sleepes aged coldnes, with Beauties fire warmed,
Sleepe with delight, Beauty with love rewarding.

Sleepe and Beauty, with equall forces stryving,
Beauty her strength unto sleepes weaknes lending,
Sleepe with Beauty, Beauty with sleepe contending,
Yet others force, the others force reviving:
And others foe, the others foe imbrace,
Myne eyes beheld thys conflict in thy face.

117

AMOUR. 37.

I ever love, where never hope appeares,
Yet hope drawes on my never-hoping care,
And my lives hope would die but for dyspaire,
My never certaine joy, breeds ever-certaine feares.

Uncertaine-dread, gyves wings unto my hope,
Yet my hopes wings are loden so with feare,
As they cannot ascend to my hopes spheare,
Yet feare gyves them more then a heavenly scope:

Yet thys large roome is bounded with dyspaire,
So my love is styll fettered with vaine hope,
And lyberty deprives hym of hys scope,
And thus am I imprisond in the ayre;
Then sweet Dispaire, awhile hold up thy head,
Or all my hope for sorrow will be dead.

AMOUR. 38.

If chaste and pure devotion of my youth,
Or glorie of my Aprill-springing yeeres,
Unfained love, in naked simple truth,
A thousand vowes, a thousand sighes and teares:

Or if a world of faithfull service done,
Words, thoughts, and deeds, devoted to her honor,
Or eyes that have beheld her as theyr sunne,
With admiration, ever looking on her.

A lyfe, that never joyd but in her love,
A soule, that ever hath ador'd her name,
A fayth, that time nor fortune could not move,
A Muse, that unto heaven hath raisd her fame.
Though these, nor these, deserve to be imbraced,
Yet faire unkinde, too good to be disgraced.

118

AMOUR. 39.

Die, die, my soule, and never taste of joy,
If sighes, nor teares, nor vowes, nor prayers can move,
If fayth and zeale be but esteemd a toy,
And kindnes, be unkindnes in my love.

Then with unkindnes, Love revenge thy wrong,
O sweet'st revenge that ere the heavens gave,
And with the Swan record thy dying song,
And praise her still to thy untimely grave.

So in loves death shall loves perfection prove,
That love divine which I have borne to you,
By doome concealed to the heavens above,
That yet the world unworthy never knewe,
Whose pure Idea never tongue exprest,
I feele, you know, the heavens can tell the rest.

AMOUR. 40.

O thou unkindest fayre, most fayrest shee,
In thine eyes tryumph murthering my poore hart,
Now doe I sweare by heavens, before we part,
My halfe-slaine hart shall take revenge on thee.

Thy Mother dyd her lyfe to Death resigne,
And thou an Angell art, and from above,
Thy father was a man, that will I prove,
Yet thou a Goddesse art, and so divine.

And thus if thou be not of humaine kinde,
A Bastard on both sides needes must thou be,
Our Lawes alow no Land to basterdy:
By natures Lawes we thee a Bastard finde.
Then hence to heaven unkind, for thy childs part,
Goe Bastard goe, for sure of thence thou art.

119

AMOUR. 41.

Rare of-spring of my thoughts, my deerest Love,
Begot by fancy, on sweet hope exhortive,
In whom all purenes with perfection strove,
Hurt in the Embryon, makes my joyes abhortive.

And you my sighes, Symtomas of my woe,
The dolefull Anthems of my endlesse care,
Lyke idle Ecchoes ever aunswering: so,
The mournfull accents of my loves dispayre.

And thou Conceite, the shadow of my blisse,
Declyning with the setting of my sunne,
Springing with that, and fading straight with this,
Now hast thou end, and now thou wast begun.
Now was thy pryme, and loe, now is thy waine,
Now wast thou borne, now in thy cradle slayne.

AMOUR. 42.

Plac'd in the forlorne hope of all dispayre,
Against the Forte where Beauties Army lies,
Assayld with death, yet arm'd with gastly feare,
Loe thus my love, my lyfe, my fortune tryes.

Wounded with Arrowes from thy lightning eyes,
My tongue in payne, my harts counsels bewraying,
My rebell thought for me in Ambushe lyes,
To my lyves foe her Chieftaine still betraying.

Record my love in Ocean waves (unkind,)
Cast my desarts into the open ayre,
Commit my words unto the fleeting wind,
Cancell my name, and blot it with dispayre,
So shall I be, as I had never beene,
Nor my disgraces to the world be seene.

120

AMOUR. 43.

Why doe I speake of joy, or write of love,
When my hart is the very Den of horror,
And in my soule the paynes of hell I prove,
With all his torments and infernall terror.

Myne eyes want teares thus to bewayle my woe,
My brayne is dry with weeping all too long,
My sighes be spent with griefe and sighing so,
And I want words for to expresse my wrong.

But still distracted in loves Lunacy,
And Bedlam like thus raving in my griefe,
Now rayle upon her hayre, now on her eye,
Now call her Goddesse, then I call her thiefe,
Now I deny her, then I doe confesse her,
Now doe I curse her, then againe I blesse her.

AMOUR. 44.

My hart the Anvile where my thoughts doe beate,
My words the hammers, fashioning my desires,
My breast the forge, including all the heate,
Love is the fuell which maintaines the fire.

My sighes, the bellowes which the flame increaseth,
Filling myne eares with noyse and nightly groning,
Toyling with paine, my labour never ceaseth,
In greevous passions my woes styll bemoning.

Myne eyes with teares against the fire stryving,
With scorching gleed my hart to cynders turneth:
But with those drops the coles againe revyving,
Still more and more unto my torment burneth.
With Sisiphus thus doe I role the stone,
And turne the wheele with damned Ixion.

121

AMOUR. 45.

Blacke pytchy Night, companyon of my woe,
The Inne of care, the Nurse of drery sorrow,
Why lengthnest thou thy darkest howres so,
Still to prolong my long tyme lookt-for morrow?

Thou Sable shadow, Image of dispayre,
Portraite of hell, the ayres black mourning weed,
Recorder of revenge, remembrancer of care,
The shadow and the vaile of every sinfull deed.

Death like to thee, so lyve thou still in death,
The grave of joy, pryson of dayes delight,
Let heavens withdraw their sweet Ambrozian breath,
Nor Moone nor stars lend thee their shining light.
For thou alone renew'st that olde desire,
Which still torments me in dayes burning fire.

AMOUR. 46.

Sweet secrecie, what tongue can tell thy worth?
What mortall pen suffyciently can prayse thee?
What curious Pensill serves to lim thee forth?
What Muse hath power, above thy height to raise thee?

Strong locke of kindnesse, Closet of loves store,
Harts Methridate, the soules preservative,
O vertue, which all vertues doe adore,
Cheefe good, from whom all good things we derive.

O rare effect, true bond of friendships measure,
Conceite of Angels, which all wisdom teachest,
O richest Casket of all heavenly treasure,
In secret silence, which such wonders preachest,
O purest merror, wherein men may see
The lively Image of Divinitie.

122

AMOUR. 47.

The golden Sunne upon his fiery wheeles,
The horned Ram doth in his course awake:
And of just length our night and day doth make,
Flinging the Fishes backward with his heeles.

Then to the Tropicke takes his full Careere,
Trotting his sun-steeds till the Palfrays sweat,
Bayting the Lyon in his furious heat,
Till Virgins smyles doe sound his sweet reteere.

But my faire Planet, who directs me still,
Unkindly, such distemprature doth bring,
Makes Summer Winter, Autumne in the Spring,
Crossing sweet nature by unruly will.
Such is the sunne, who guides my youthfull season,
Whose thwarting course, deprives the world of reason.

AMOUR. 48.

Who list to praise the dayes delicious lyght,
Let him compare it to her heavenly eye:
The sun-beames to that lustre of her sight,
So may the learned like the similie.

The mornings Crimson, to her lyps alike,
The sweet of Eden, to her breathes perfume,
The fayre Elizia, to her fayrer cheeke,
Unto her veynes, the onely Phœnix plume.

The Angels tresses, to her tressed hayre,
The Galixia, to her more then white:
Praysing the fayrest, compare it to my faire,
Still naming her, in naming all delight.
So may he grace all these in her alone,
Superlative in all comparison.

123

AMOUR. 49.

Define my love, and tell the joyes of heaven,
Expresse my woes, and shew the paynes of hell,
Declare what fate unlucky starres have given,
And aske a world upon my life to dwell.

Make knowne that fayth, unkindnes could not move,
Compare my worth with others base desert,
Let vertue be the tuch-stone of my love,
So may the heavens reade wonders in my hart.

Behold the Clowdes which have eclips'd my sunne,
And view the crosses which my course doth let,
Tell mee, if ever since the world begunne,
So faire a Morning had so foule a set?
And by all meanes, let black unkindnes prove,
The patience of so rare divine a love.

AMOUR. 50.

When first I ended, then I first began,
The more I travell, further from my rest,
Where most I lost, there most of all I wan,
Pyned with hunger, rysing from a feast.

Mee thinks I flee, yet want I legs to goe,
Wise in conceite, in acte a very sot,
Ravisht with joy, amidst a hell of woe,
What most I seeme, that surest am I not.

I build my hopes, a world above the skye,
Yet with the Mole, I creepe into the earth,
In plenty, am I starv'd with penury,
And yet I surfet in the greatest dearth.
I have, I want, dispayre, and yet desire,
Burn'd in a Sea of Ice, & drown'd amidst a fire.

124

AMOUR. 51.

Goe you my lynes, Embassadors of love,
With my harts trybute to her conquering eyes,
From whence, if you one teare of pitty move
For all my woes, that onely shall suffise.

When you Minerva in the sunne behold,
At her perfection stand you then and gaze,
Where, in the compasse of a Marygold,
Meridianis sits within a maze.

And let Invention of her beauty vaunt,
When Dorus sings his sweet Pamelas love,
And tell the Gods, Mars is predominant,
Seated with Sol, and weares Minervas glove.
And tell the world, that in the world there is
A heaven on earth, on earth no heaven but this.

FINIS.