University of Virginia Library

MADRIGALS.

xvi. On the image of Lucrece.

Wise Hand, which wiselie wroght
That dying Dame who first did banish kings,
Thy light & shadow brings
In doubt the wondring thought,
If it a substance be or faignet show,
That doth so liuelie smart.
The colours stroue for to haue made her liue,
Wer not thy hart said No,
That fear'd perchance the wound so should her griue:
Yet in the fatall blow
She seemes to speake, nay speakes with Tarquins hart;
But death her stays, surprising her best part.

xvii. Neroes image.

A cunning hand it was
Of this hard rocke did frame
That monster of all ages, mankinds shame,
Ferce Nero, hells disgrace:
Of wit, sence, pitie void,
Did he not liuing, marble hard surpasse,
His mother, master, countrie, all destroyed?
Not altring his first case,
A stone he was when set vpon a throne,
And now a stone he is, although throwne downe.

xviii. Amphion of marble.

This Amphion, Phidias frame,
Though sencelesse it apeare,
Doth liue, and is the same
Did Thebes towres vpreare;
And if his harpe he tuitche not to your eare,
No wonder, his harmonious sounds alone
Wauld you amaze, & change him selfe in stone.

xix. Of a Be.

Ingenious was that Bee
In lip that wound which made,
And kind to others, though vnkind to thee;
For by a iust exchange,
On that most liulie red
It giues to those reuenge,
Whom that delitious, plump, and rosie part,
All pittilesse (perhaps) now wounds the hart.

xx. Of Chloris.

Forth from greene Thetis Bowers
The morne arose; her face
A wreath of rayes did grace,
Her haire raind pearles, her hand & lap dropt flowres.
Led by the pleasant sight
Of those so rich and odoriferous showres,
Each shepheard thither came, & nimphes bright:
Entrancd they stood; I did to Chloris turne,
And saw in her more grace than [in] the Morne.

xxi. Chloris enamoured.

Amintas, now at last
Thou art reuengd of all my rigor past;
The scorning of the, softnesse of thy hart,
Thy longings, causefull teares,
Doe double griefe each day to mee impart.
I am not what I was,
And in my Miseries I thyne doe glasse;
Ah! now in perfect yeares,
E'r Reason could my coming harmes descrie,
Made loues fond Taper flie,
I burne mee thinkes in sweet & fragrant flame:
Aske mee noe more: Tongue hide thy Mistres shame.

xxii. Regrat.

In this Worlds raging sea
Where many Sillas barke,
Where many Syrens are,
Saue, and not cast away,
Hee onlye saues his barge
With too much ware who doth it not o'recharge;
Or when huge stormes arise,
And waues menace the skies,
Giues what he got with no deploring show,
And doth againe in seas his burthen throw.

xxiii. A sigh.

Sigh, stollen from her sweet brest,
What doth that marble hart?
Smartes it indeed, and feales not others smart,
Grieues it, yet thinkes that others grieued ieast?
Loue or despight, which forct thee thence to part
Sweet harbinger, say from what vncouth guest?
Sure thou from loue must come,
Who sighd to see there drest his marble Tombe.

xxiv. Stollen pleasure.

My sweet did sweetlie sleep,
And on her rosie face
Stood teares of pearle which Beauties selfe did weepe;
I (wond'ring at her grace)
Did all amazd remaine,
When loue said, foole, can lookes thy wishes crowne?
Time past comes not againe.
Then did I mee bow downe,
And kissing her faire brest, lips, cheekes, & eies,
Prou'd heere on earth the ioye of Paradise.

xxv. Of a Kisse.

Lips, double port of loue,
Of joy tell all the arte,
Tell all the sweetnesse lies
In earthlie paradise,
Sith happy now yee proue
What blisse
A kisse
Of sweetest Nais can bring to the hart.
Tell how your former joyes
Haue beene but sad annoyes:
This, onlye this, doth ease a long felt smart,
This, onlye this, doth life to loue impart.
Endymion, I no more
Enuie thy happye state,
Nor his who had the fate
Rauisht to be and huggd on Ganges shore:
Enuie nor yet doe I
Adon, nor Joues cup-bearer in the skie.
Deare crimson folds, more sweetnesse yee doe beare
Than Hybla Tops or Gardenes of Madere.
Sweet, sweetning Midases, your force is such,
That eurye thing turnes sweet which yee doe touch.

xxvi. A Locke desired.

I neuer long'd for gold;
But since I did thy dangling haire behold,
Ah! then, then was it first
That I prou'd Midas thrist;
And what both Inde and rich Pactolus hold
Can not my flames allay,
For onlie yee, faire Treseresse, this may,
Would yee but giue a locke to helpe my want,
Of that which prodigall to winds yee grant.

xxvii. Persuasive dissuading.

Show mee not lockes of Gold,
Nor blushing Roses of that virgine face,
Nor of thy well-made leg and foote the Grace;
Let me no more behold
Soule-charming smyles nor lightnings of thyne eye,
For they (deare life) but serue to make mee dye.
Yes, show them all, and more; vnpine thy brest,
Let me see liuing snow
Where straw-berries doe grow;
Show that delitious feild
Which lillies still doth yeeld,
Of Venus babe the Nest:
Smyle, blush, sigh, chide, vse thousand other charmes;
Mee kill, so that I fall betweene thyne armes.

xxviii.

[Prometheus am I]

Prometheus am I,
The Heauens my ladyes eye,
From which I stealing fire,
Find since a vulture on my hart to tyre.

xxix. Non vltra.

When Idmon saw the eyne
Of Anthea his loue,
Who yet, said he, such blazing starres hath seene,
Saue in the heauens aboue?
She thus to heare her praise
Blusht, and more faire became.
For nought (said he) thy cheekes that Morne do raise
For my hart can not burne with greater flame.

xxx. Fragment.

[Now Phœbus vhept his horse vith al his might]

Now Phœbus vhept his horse vith al his might,
Thinking to take Aurora in her flight;
But sche, vho heares the trampling of his steeds,
Gins suiftlie gallop thruch heauens rosie meeds.
The more he runs, the more he cums her neare;
The lesse her sped, sche finds the more her feare.
At last his coursiers angry to be torne,
Her tooke; sche vith a blush died al the morne.
Tethis, agast to spie her greens made red,
All drousie rose furth of her corral bed,
Thinking the Nights faire Queen suld thole sume harmes,
Sche saw poor Tithons vyff in Phœbus armes.

xxxi. Fragment.

[It Autumne vas, and cheereful chantecleare]

It Autumne vas, and cheereful chantecleare
Had varn'd the vorld tuise that the day drew neare;
The three parts of the night almost var spent,
Vhen I poure vretch, vith loue & fortune rent,
Began my eies to close, & suetest sleep,
Charming my sence, al ouer me did creep,
But scars vith Lethè drops & rod of gold
Had he me made a piece of breathing mold ...